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watery-lane · 3 years

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Words into Smoke

The Night You Cared Sequel.

Pairing: Modern!Ivar Lothbrok x Reader

Summary: As a part of his therapy, Ivar writes letters to unwind and keep track of his mental health progress. He writes to his mom, he misses her. He writes to Sigurd, sometimes he regrets his departure. One night, he writes about her.

Warnings: Angst

Words: 3864

A/N: (3/5/20) I had this idea in my head that I simply could not let go.

(10/4/21) P.S: Can’t promise I’m back, but I’m definitely turning to writing as a way of winding down. I hope you guys are alright.

Part I / Part II / Epilogue

Some nights, while the city sleeps, Ivar stays awake. Like an owl looking for a prey, the Ragnarsson remains seated upright at the edge of his bed, his now heavily tattooed chest exposed to the world through the panoramic window, heaving. Beating.

Some nights were amazing. He got his drivers license, and Freydis got him an adapted Bentley as a gift. He would spend the nights driving by himself down the empty streets of Kattegat, not worrying about speeding tickets or angry neighbours.

Not so long ago, he learned his wife was finally carrying a child, her round belly reminding him that he had a legacy to keep, now that the Lothbrok dynasty seemed to be more fragmented than ever. After spending thousands of krone on in vitro fertilisation, the universe seemed to work in his favour. Their favour. If the gods were unwilling to bless them two, science would. These were the nights that were made for celebrations, champaign showers and water for the mother to be.

Some nights were alright. Ivar would come back after a long day of meetings and getting his ass kissed, to find Freydis immersed in her little personal projects. He would tell Erik to pick up some takeaway while he washed away the power and wrapped himself in mundane clothes. He would eat in silence, elbows propped on the counter and eyes on the horizon, watching the sun kiss the skyscrapers goodbye as he mindlessly put food in his mouth. Then he would take his new baby for a ride, to the bar he now owned with his brother Hvitserk.

Ivar would go there, check the inventory and the register, ask the employees how everything was going and what could he do for them. Sometimes he would also find Hvitserk at the bar, practicing the cocktail skills he had been mastering since he took over your share of the bar. Ivar would simply walk past, not entirely avoiding making contact with his sibling but prefering to keep a healthy distance from the person that substituted you. He started visiting the local more often after you left, feeling the responsibility to continue what you started. He found peace in the simplicity of managing a bar: at the office, he was a tyrannic boss, voice always booming through the walls, keeping both employees and investors in check. At the bar, he was just the young lovestruck Ivar he once was. He understood then, why you wished to escape from it all. You are just a memory now, but sometimes he still feels you around, checking on the girls, checking on him.

Some nights were... Painful. Therapy had a big presence in his life. He no longer needed a cane thanks to nurse Hansen, his physical therapist. But on some days, the stress and the weather would simply take a toll on his legs, forcing him to carry around that metal stick that reminded him that he was, in fact, human.

Before you left, Freydis figured out a question that would calm Ivar down and make him focus: “What would Dr. Nielsen tell you to do?”. That was how she got him to control himself and open up the last time he was onstage, the night she met you. They were just engaged back then. Oh, how quick did time pass. Ivar no longer organised events like that. He was too consumed by his two jobs. There were nights where Freydis would be on business trips, or out hanging out with friends until the next morning, nights where absences were felt more than presences. But he was coping now. Dr. Nielsen helped the youngest Lothbrok greatly since his great breakdown.

Ivar had thought he physically felt his heart break the night he got down the stage to find you, only to figure out you were gone after most of the guests had left the hotel ballroom. He felt compelled to call you dozens of times to ask for an explanation. After his calls went unanswered, he decided to drive around town in search of you, not knowing where to start, not knowing where to ask, anger poisoning his brain and taking over his actions. That night he stayed at Loki’s after barging in to see if you were hiding there like “the coward you were”. He hated the fact that you could make him feel that weak. It felt like he was putty and Freydis was fire, hardening him the more he was exposed to her. You were water, turning him into a pliable being, at mercy of your actions.

For five days in a row, he found himself staying at his office until late at night, observing his office telephone with attention and indecision, silently praying for you to pick up the phone, practicing the rage filled words he was about to rain down on you the moment you uttered a response. He prayed with ill intentions, but he prayed nonetheless. It was his last resort.

The earth seemed to crack open and swallow him whole the moment he gathered all his courage and dialed your number, only to hear an automated voice telling him that the number no longer existed. He sat there, phone on his hand as a white noise took over the voice message, thinking about the different possibilities that could have happened for you to cancel your line. Maybe, he thought. Maybe I really asked for too much this time.

“Fuck no,” Ivar reflected out loud as he tossed his phone away, “In no fucking way this is my fault.”

“Ivar?” A distant voice reverberated through the glass corridors. It sounded familiar. The youngest Ragnarsson frowned, weirded out by the fact that one of his brothers was still in the office this late.

It wasn’t just one of his brothers, but the three of them.

“Freydis called us asking where you were. You’ve been out late at night for many days in a row, she literally just confronted each one of us asking whether you were having an affair.” Hvitserk said, arms crossed as he leaned on the door frame. “That woman nearly dragged each one of us out to look for you.” Ivar pursed his lips, outraged by such accusations from his then fiancée.

“Well, tell her I’d never do such thing.” He answered, swatting his hand in annoyance. “I am surprised she came to that conclusion, knowing how busy I always am as the bloody CEO!” He exclaimed, letting the following silence fill the room as he flashed a disdainful look towards his brothers.

“Why are you here, brother?” Ubbe finally dared to ask, observing his youngest sibling sway in his chair from side to side.

Ivar looked up for a brief moment, like a puppy who lost his favourite toy, and decided to tell them the whole story. That the had the hunch you were back from a strange event where someone knocked on his penthouse door. To that, Ubbe awkwardly shifted in his place, still listening intently. Ivar explained that he sent you an invite to his inaguration gala and how he asked you to stay for his speech so you could have a dance afterwards, unaware of the utterly personal turn his speech would take just because an old man decided to drink a bit more than usual that night. How he waited for you, called you and looked for you tirelessly, frustration filling his voice as he talked about how you had been avoiding him for a week now, changing your phone number in the process.

“If she thinks she can avoid me by changing numbers she’s dead wrong. We’re business partners, for fucks sake!” He complained, registering the situation as a burden. “I’ll find her new phone sooner or later.”

Unbeknownst Ivar, tension had been gradually building up as he spoke, his three brothers standing still in their places, not knowing how to break the news. Sure they knew this day would come, but none of the three expected to be trapped with the ticking bomb. It was way too soon. Too recent.

Hell, it was about you. It was most likely no amount of time would soften the blow.

Ubbe took a step forward, leaning on the hardwood desk. With a resigned tone, he mumbled:

“She’s gone, Ivar.” He swallowed. “(Y/n) left Kattegat.”

Already motionless before, Ivar remained still. He darted his eyes to look at his brother, confusion and fear brewing within him, fueling a fire he thought it was extinguished the day he made Sigurd leave. With trembling lips but a determined voice, he asked how did he know. How did Ubbe Ragnarsson, the brother who would stab his youngest sibling in the back at the slightest opportunity, know the whereabouts of his woman, while he sat there completely lost, disoriented.

With an attempt of a soothing voice, Ubbe confessed that months ago he offered you a job position to work on a humanitarian project he had running in Haiti. Aslaug had stated in her will that she wished to expand the non-profit organisation she created to other countries and Ubbe decided to make his deceased mother’s wish come true. He told Ivar that while you rejected the offer at first, you ended up accepting it the night of his gala. That you made him promise to make the process fast and discreet, and that, while you insisted on paying for the plane tickets, Lothbrok Inc. paid for your travel expenses and necessities. You left three days ago, unnanounced, with only Ubbe at the airport to bid you farewell.

Hvitserk, who remained silent all this time, let him know that you were no longer the owner of the bar you opened together. At that, Ivar panicked, his eyes wide open as he snapped his head towards his older brother. You simply signed a transfer contract, with Ubbe as the witness and five krone as the contingency, stating that you were returning the property to Lothbrok Inc., thus paying your debt to the family and releasing yourself from any ties to Ivar. He tried to soften the blow, letting him know that he didn’t know you gave him your share because you were leaving. He thought it was a rash decision that stemmed from seeing Ivar with a fiancée, that you’d come back and take back the business when you were ready. He promised he’d take care of the bar as well as you took care of it, that nothing would change under his management.

Ivar listened intently, motionless. His breathing was deep, yet steady. He never moved a muscle voluntarily, but his nostrils flared with every breath and his hand, hidden under the desk, shook incontrollably as he processed their words. His piercing gaze was focused on the oldest Aslaugsson, who was now relaxing and straightening his back as he regained his composure.

It felt like every action happened in slow motion, yet the blow came fast. In mere seconds, Ivar had propped himself forward from the chair, one of his hands grabbing the jacket Ubbe was wearing while the other, contracted in a fist, made contact with his right cheek. That is when Bjorn, who had been silent during the whole exchange, stepped in, grabbing the torso of his youngest brother as he struggled to keep himself standing, making sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Sometimes, Ivar still hears his own screams.

“YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!” Ivar accused, eyes absent of tears but voice cracking at the end of the sentence. “SHEWAS GOING TO STAY,” He roared, fists swinging towards his brother’s face. “AND YOU FUCKING TOOK HER FROM ME!”

He lost it that night. The screams he released came from the depths of his sorrow, his eyes only registering red while all his nerves could only feel the desperation taking over his soul. Ivar kept trying to reach Ubbe, unaware of how he repeatedly banged his legs against the desk as Bjorn tried to pin him down.

But what started as a justified outburst gradually led to nonsensical, rage-filled accusations.

“You wanted to fuck her, didn’t you? You wanted her and you couldn’t stand the fact that she chose ME!” Ivar recriminated, grabbing a sharp glass ornament and throwing it to his brother. Ubbe pursed his lips, dodging the improvised weapon. “You did this to get back at me, hmm? YOU WANT ALL I HAVE, DON’T YOU?” He seethed, eyes and mouth wide open, exposing his teeth like a menacing predator as he let out a guttural laugh.

Bjorn was having a difficult time restraining him. Years relying on his upper body strength gave Ivar the advantage of resilience amongst his biggest sibling, while Bjorn struggled to keep him in place. Ivar managed to grab the second glass ornament, throwing it as he shrieked.

“DON’T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” his voice boomed in the room, palm pounding his chest as his free hand signaled the whole place. “YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME, I AM IVAR LOTHBROK! YOU CAN’T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM ME!” Ivar kept shouting, cursing as he spat towards Ubbe.

Hvitserk stepped forward, having seen enough, ready to take on his little brother. To his surprise, Ubbe halted him, his arm creating a barrier between Hvitserk and Ivar as he observed with intent and horror etched on his face.

That night, Ivar lost the little progress he made. He broke his femur, dignity left behind as an ambulance carried him to the emergency room.

As if that wasn’t enough, he lost another family member to Lagertha that night.

With a reedy voice as he laid down in the hospital bed, he asked Ubbe one thing:

“Bring her back.” He whispered, his eyes stuck in the ceiling, pretty certain that if he laid his eyes on his brother, he would kill him. “She is working for Lothbrok Inc. now. Bring her back.” His request was met with silence. “That’s an order.” He swallowed, nostrils flaring with each ticking second.

“I’m sorry, Ivar.” Ubbe mumbled. “The Sigurðdóttir Trust is out of your reach.” He reminded him, reopening a wound that Ivar closed not so long ago. “That’s what mother wished.” Ivar snapped his head at the mention of his beloved mother. The brim of his eyes were red like his sclera, a menacing gaze stabbing his brother as Ivar grabbed his wrist.

“You have three days to gather your stuff and leave Lothbrok Inc.” Ivar seethed as he moved his face closer to his brother. “If you’re not gone after that, I will make sure you’ll leave the premises crawling like I crawled as a child.” Ivar swore, releasing his wrist as he let his head drop back to the sterile pillow.

Up to this day, Ivar still saw Ubbe’s action as a huge betrayal. He knew his older brother would return to his life as the new addition of Lagertha’s legal team, Bjorn granted his little brother this little backup plan.

Tonight, his thoughts weighted a little heavier. His eyes scanned the city before focusing on his bedroom, where he finds the clothes he wore today discarded on the leather chair. Behind him, his wife slept peacefully, her baby bumb protuding more and more each passing day. His legs were alright, but with the absence of physical pain he could sense his yearning looming over his head.

Ivar sighs and stands up silently, his bare feet and metallic support dragging on the tiles as he moved to his home office.

Dr. Nielsen taught him the importance of adapted emotional releases. She actively discouraged Ivar from indulging in his impulses and told him to write them down instead. For business meetings, Ivar was told to count until 10, 20 or even 30 if he was encountered with bad news. When it came to personal affairs, Dr. Nielsen told him to write letters addressed to the pertinent subject. Ivar could write them and discard them, write them and take them to therapy or he could write them and send them to the addressee.

It wasn’t the most effective exercise, but it kept his flame at bay. He needed to learn to do that, now that he knew he had a little one coming soon.

Sometimes he wrote to his mother, asking her questions about ruling an empire he wished he had the answer to. Those he kept, as a tool to reflect later on when his ambition peaked. The more emotional ones he’d take to Dr. Nielsen, a proof of his progress on his journey to... normalcy. The ones he wrote to Sigurd, those he threw away. In those pages filled with guilt and rage, he found himself cornered in a bleak past that seemed to refuse to let him go.

Tonight, he thought about you.

It wasn’t like you weren’t a constant presence in his mind, like an annoying tenant in his brain that refused to leave or pay rent. Ivar just chose to remember the best parts of you, those who could be found at the bar you owned, or on his bed when Freydis left him for the night. If he kept you alive that way, he would also keep alive that part of him he thought he lost. You were inevitable, like the pain after a blow or the kiss after a reencounter.

He wishes he could blame you. For leaving, for stepping outside the gala without waiting for your dance. For silently giving away your shares to Hvitserk, who the only thing he knew about bars was how to empty the alcohol pantry. But there is a part of him that cannot physically repulse you.

Ivar sits down and turns on the desk lamp in front of him. He finds his precious pen and puts a piece of paper on the desk. Before starting, he hesitates.

Dear (Y/n),

He groans, crossing the two words with disdain.

Hello.

“Hello?” Ivar shakes his head, crossing the word again.

Hi, princess.

Ivar cringes. No.

Frustrated, he discards the paper. He had done it before. Why was it so hard to do it all over again now?

Just... Jump right in. Start from the beginning, start from the middle, start from the end if you prefer. He recalls the advice of his therapist. Sometimes, formalities are overrated. It may help when you have nothing to say, but it becomes a burden when you got too much to say. Ivar reflected.

And so he did.

Every night I drive through the streets of Kattegat I find myself looking for you wandering around, looking for me to give you a lift, for the memory of our first reencounters were the ones that helped us find redemption.

It is weird, but I still have the need to find you even though I know you are no longer here. The idea of you lives in my head, that I am sure of. The feel of you, that is what I miss.

I guess part of me feels like I still need to apologise for something that I’ve done.

At the sight of his words written on paper, Ivar blinks. He never consciously thought much more ahead of his negations, his feelings dictating the perspectives he kept imposing to his reality.

He sacrificed so much for you. He tried to change for you. He went to therapy, he learned to walk. Ivar tried to become the right man for you, he really tried.

He wished you were there to see it.

Ivar doesn’t really know what he did wrong. All he knows is...

And now that you’re gone for good,

He shakes his head, crossing the last two words.

all I wish for is to be in the wrong this time.

Ivar huffs in frustration.

I wish I had been selfish, I wish I was the old Ivar. I wish I had begged you to stay, to manage this empire I never chos- by my side.

I know you would have never wanted this.

But I know you would have never said no to us.

Mindlessly, Ivar puts his pen in his mouth, a subconscious tick he developped not-so recently. Passing his hands through his hair, he sighed.

I started to smoke. He confessed. I know you never liked the smell, how it clings to my clothes, my mouth, how it lingered around the house when my brothers decided to have one one in their rooms. Ivar snorts at the memory. Not that you’re here to tell me off.

Freydis has been buying candles, they’re all around the house now. The smell of the cigarettes blends with the essences and I technically get to have fire dispensers in every single room.

“Maybe I’m waiting for you to magically show up and tell me to fuck off.” He whispers.

Suddenly, Ivar shakes his head, as if the physical gesture cleared his mind.

I guess I’ll have to stop soon, I have a baby on the way. He releases an airy laugh as he re-reads what he just wrote. Who would have thought, (Y/n)? A baby. Me. Your Ivar.

The young Ragnarsson lets out a tired sigh, strenghening his grip on the metalling pen as he mindlessly tapped on the crystal desk. With resigned resolution, he decides to write his last lines, telling himself that he is finally starting to accept reality.

I know you’re not going to come back. Not to the place we grew up at, at least.

If you ever do, I just want to let you know, as sappy as it may sound, that my heart will always be open for you, even when my arms are not.

I miss you.

I miss us.

Take care,

Ivar.

Dropping the pen, Ivar stares at his letter. His hands blindly search for an envelope, a frown etched on his face until his fingertips brush against the soft surface of the letter. You don’t know, but he found your new address. He searched around Ubbe’s old files.

With a careful manner, Ivar writes down your address on the envelope.

He stands up, walks to his living room and grabs a jacket as he makes his way to the exit.

All of the sudden he stops right on his tracks, his free hand almost reaching to the door handle. Freydis seemed to have forgotten to put out a lone candle, a tiny fragrance dispenser resting on the entrance drawer.

Ivar may not be aware of a lot of things in life, but one thing he was certain of: smoke traveled faster than mail.

His hand was trembling slightly, but it managed to follow his instructions. With a swift move, Ivar positioned the ephemeral piece of paper on the fire, watching intently how the flames consumed his words and took them to you. Discreetly, he threw the burning letter in the empty bin, the lid cutting short the trail of smoke escaping from the container.

He makes sure ashes are all what it remains from his indecent confession and makes his way back to the bedroom. Slowly but steadily, Ivar returns to bed, nesting himself between the sheets before holding his beloved wife in his embrace.

Tonight, he was human. Tomorrow, he’ll have to be a God.

The end.

Taglist:

Note: This is the old taglist I have noted from my past Ivar ficts. Please let me know if you want to be removed or added by sending an ask here.

@aesstheticallypleasing @captstefanbrandt @unicornbaby741 @fuckthatfeeling @huffelpuffers @yannii04 @collecting-stories @timber3 @darkwolfpeanutskeleton @vampsclassiffied @lenafarn @yourpurplequeen@youbloodymadgenius @lettersofwrittencollective

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar/reader #ivar the boneless/reader #ivar ragnarsson/reader #ivar imagine #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar lothbrok imagine #ivar lothbrok/reader #Ivar One shot #ivar the boneless one shot #ivar lothbrok one shot #ivar ragnarsson one shot #ivar ragnarsson imagine

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gingerxxale · 6 years

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Nakama & Shame

I think anime kinda made me disillusioned to friendships. To those who already watch anime often, I think you may already know what I’m alluding to – the unearthly dedication and support to one’s friends (sometimes even enemies) because you believe in the good and growth in them. The incessant self-sacrifice in order to induce safety and/or happiness for a loved one; someone cherished so innocently, so purely, that there is no romantic tie. Just an unpolluted friendship, a bond that is so strong, all the evils of the world – EVEN DEATH – cannot break you apart.

But maybe this perspective isn’t exclusive to anime; maybe it’s even a character trait embedded in Japanese culture.

I walked into a ramen shop in Boston about a month ago and saw this written in huge, white letters upon the burgundy wall over my head:

NAKAMA [n.] A person that shares your destiny for whom you would sacrifice your life; Its meaning is too entangled to be “friend” but it is also too deep to be just “companion.”

If there’s an entire country who really embodies this notion (no matter how small or large), that’s pretty awesome.

Under the font, were drawings of manga-esque characters with their backs turned to the customers but their fists in the air. As usual, upon seeing these kinds of images, I had an immediate feeling of camaraderie and hospitality – inspiration even.

So I was curious.

After researching a bit online (for about five minutes), nakama may actually just be a fictional trope in Japanese television – actually given its deeper meaning from the legendary anime One Piece – but Japan is famously known for its low crime rate, its unarmed officers, its friendly strangers who will fasten a young man’s tie because it’s undone and he’s headed for an interview, and they want him to succeed! So will gladly aid in his looking sharp without needing to be related to this person in any way. Then they’ll wish him the best of luck and pray he gets the job! As if they knew him. As if they were family. So even if nakama is a fictional concept, it seems there is an innate goodness instilled in the Japanese people that obviously gave root to the concept of nakama. An innate, unrelated goodness we haven’t really grasped anywhere else (that I’ve been exposed to at least).

And whether it be instilled in Japanese tradition or simply an injection to their entertainment, I love that I grew up with this idea of nakama. Though this mentality has (I’ll be perfectly honest) made me lose a few friendships here and there, it’s definitely kept the right ones closer and stronger for longer than I expected or felt I deserved. My most valuable friends have respected and even reflected my personalized form of nakama because of the familial relationship it had inevitably created between us.

I was exposed to anime at quite a young age, and I was re-exposed to anime at the crack of dawn of every morning as my brother snuck out of our bedroom to watch reruns of Dragon Ball on the Cartoon Network; the early hours were a safe haven for a relatively violent and bloody show of foreign origins despised by most parents but loved by some teensy children (such as ourselves). He used to take out our most recently purchased bag of pita bread and pack of American cheese from the fridge and would nibble his way through the end of each – until we had nothing left to use for our family breakfasts during the weekends (reflecting on this now, I’m sure this drove both my mom and dad a little crazy).

Now, I often credit my having an older brother for a lot of my toughness and a lot of my disconnect with the common American young lady – my best friends in school were mostly boys. We were always playing Pretend. Dreaming we were magical creatures climbing trees and burning down buildings was a lot more fun than being a part of the local girl-gang in my opinion (which I was also a part of. But I picked my shifts). I owed this early exposure and exercising of a speedily-expanding imagination to my older brother and to the shows he didn’t let me watch.

The shows I only watched while hiding behind the couch and peering over the cushions with my little fingers hinged on the edges of suspense. Clawing through the fabric – just to watch Dragon Ball without him knowing; without him catching me and demanding that I leave (because apparently I was deemed too young for such mature content). Despite him being only two years older than me and like… eight. If he ever did spot me, I’d have to not only be yelled at (mind you, while my parents were sleeping in our tiny apartment in Los Angeles which struck a whole other type of fear through my 3-foot-frame) but I would also have to sink to the floor and stare at the wall for the next two hours – behind the couch, listening to the show instead. Painting the scenes in my head as I had to imagine they were on the TV screen because my evil, older brother claimed I was too immature to see it.

* I will have you know, this was the final power trip I allowed him to have over me. The future was bleak for my older brother, but bright for my unrelenting defiance and eventual overthrow of his tyrannous nature. Bullies are not to be tolerated. *

But I was just so damn curious. Like what could be so amazing, so interesting, that it pulled my brother out of his bed at 5 am every morning like clockwork to eat cold bread and cheese and sit two inches away from the TV screen for the next two/three hours??

It had to be thee coolest thing ever.

So I risked it all. I risked the deportation back to my bedroom, the hellish fire that could awaken my sleeping parents, their hellish fire after being woken by their son’s hellish fire which would then be redirected to me as the source of his hellish fire that had woken them up in the first place.

It all didn’t seem worth it. (But it was).

I couldn’t wake up as early as him every day, but I always made it out to see at least the concluding hour of Dragon Ball/Dragon Ball Z those mornings. I did it so often, that eventually, my brother refrained from fending me off with a foam baseball bat or a stick. Maybe he understood that I was his little sponge whom he could influence and make awesome, rather than the rabid gerbil he made me out to be that ejected out of our mother’s womb for the sole purpose of ruining his life. My seat placement beside him was a promotion. I had graduated to soft-plaything; something that could still be tormented and abused, but should no longer be feared.

I didn’t understand why he liked cold pita bread and American cheese so much, but that seemed to be the Snack of Kings. And I had just been promoted. Beggars can’t be choosey, y’know?

This development in our sibling relationship was also when I discovered my severe case of lactose-intolerance. So in a way, anime’s role in my life was more than just a didactic ruling of friendship and sibling-warfare, but also a court hearing for prospective-allergies.

After discovering my intolerance of yellow-American cheese, my mom introduced my small intestine to goat milk, goat cheese, and an array of goat-rather-than-cow related products; it was a comparatively smelly alternative lifestyle-change that I remember enjoying. I also was not a very picky kid – but again, I saw myself as a trampled vagabond of the streets – so I took what was give to me without question.

But I was a sanctified vagabond. I had made my way from the nosebleeds to the courtside all on my own, a product of my own resilience and ambition. And I thought I was incredible. Like… I wasn’t even old enough for this show. My older brother said I wasn’t allowed to watch these things, and yet here I was… him petting my head and eating cheese while I ogled skyward toward a sizzling, 90s, television filled with awkward screaming, high-voltage blasts and decapitated heads. I was taking it all in and I was loving it.

And one of the reasons I loved it was because Goku (who’s literal growth we have avidly followed from Dragon Ball to DBZ and onward) had a son that he fought alongside. Like how cool would that be?! His son, Gohan, was around my brother’s/my age, depending on the episode, and was being taken out on missions?! Like what?! The amount of TRUST that Goku not only had in his son but in his comrades taking care of his son was powerful. He had enough faith that his son could help him – the greatest Super Saiyan in the world – “fight crime,” defeat enemies, purge the universe of evil!

But also knew when to tell Gohan to like back the f*ck up cause he was 6 and had little to no training. And that was dope.

I was six. I could be great. I could have friends bigger and better than me (which I already did ‘cause I was the shortest kid in my class and still am at the bold age of 22) but friends who still believed in me in spite of that! I could be everyone’s equal. The grown-ups would see my latent potential, the bold energy I harbored, and pay no mind to my age. They would look at me and expect greatness; not because my father was their friend nor because my father was great, but because I was their friend and I was great.

They would do anything for me. Even give up their life for me? Whoa.

The episode that is engrained in my memory most was my brother’s favorite – we re-watched this scene countless times once YouTube became a thing on the internet and a mighty weapon for internet babies like us to digest.

Gohan turning Super Saiyan 2 for the first time.

Mostly I just remember Android 16’s head bouncing around on the dirt, and his dreary eyes looking up as he drawled… “Gooooohaaaaaaan. Let it gooo…” in this deep, robot voice – but let’s remember why 16’s head was rolling around at everyone’s feet. Because he had just pounced on Cell’s back with the belief that he still had a bomb lodged inside his body and was ready to self-destruct – to sacrifice his own life in order to save his comrades. Comrades now, but enemies not so long ago. Hell, Android 18 was going around bustin’ everyone’s asses and suddenly she’s marrying Krillin – goes to show that bad guys have can have a lot of good inside them (and if you’re marrying Krillin… you have a lot of good inside you).

But alas, 16 no longer had a bomb inside his body, and therefore Cell blasted him to bits and kicked his skull aside like it was the neighbor-kid’s deflated soccer ball. This is where 16 recites his epic speech of encouragement:

“It is not a sin to fight for the right cause… It is because you cherish life that you must protect it… I know how you feel, Gohan.” Despite being an android.

And then Cell stepped on his face and his head exploded – but! With all the coils, gadgets, chips, and metal – out came a lot of blood; and that was very humanizing to me. That things that bleed – animals, humans, and apparently androids – we all have a quality that bonds us, a frailty and an appreciation for life that unifies us. We are all unified by the blood in our veins. Despite being just an android! Gohan was right! 16 did love life, and he gave it up because he loved his friends even more and wanted them to enjoy the rest of their existences. It’s an abrasive scene, but thanks to my older brother, Andrew, one I’ve seen a million times nonetheless.

And due to the power of emotions! Gohan crosses the threshold and reaches Super Saiyan 2.

With glistening tears in his eyes.

It reminded me of the samurai – avenging the death of a loved one. Pride. Brotherhood. Bonds. Protection. Justice. Self-sacrifice… Nakama.

And then came Naruto.

This could easily mark the end of my existence. I lost my youth at the mere age of 12. Cause if Naruto doesn’t traumatize you for life, then bless your soul – nothing else can, my child.

Masahi Kishimoto intended the first arc of Naruto Uzumaki’s adventures to be his last as well. That single manga was illustrated for the notoriously heart-wrenching plot movement of Squad 7 facing Zabuza, Demon of the Hidden Mist, and the orphan Haku. (Let’s not get too into this though cause that’ll just tear me up in seconds).

Transformed into an anime, this plot movement was the first for many of us to watch. And very quickly were we faced with the complex of sympathizing for the enemy, maybe a little too much.

Zabuza Momochi, a rogue Shinobi of the Village Hidden in the Mist is known as one of the most dangerous ninjas of the land. Very unexpectedly, we learn he also practically raised an orphan child named Haku on his own, training him as a swordsman to defend himself. Haku has a special ability that people in his village feared; therefore, people like Haku and Haku’s mother were summarily executed. So Haku’s mother taught him to keep his ability a secret – until her own spouse discovered their secret and murdered her. Haku lost control in response to this, kills his own father and the rest of his village and is then found by Zabuza Momochi…

In this first arc, Zabuza is hired as an assassin that inevitably clashes with Squad 7 (our protagonists), and we’re obviously rooting for Squad 7 to survive! We want them to win. The lead character, Naruto is in Squad 7! Clearly we like them the most. Then why is it that every fan of the show immortalizes Zabuza and Haku?

Because we see a bond between Zabuza and Haku. When Haku appears in the mist to sacrifice his safety in order to keep his caretaker safe – that act changes everything.

As of yet – there is no strong bond holding together Squad 7. Yeah, Naruto and his comrades fight their hardest, and one of them almost to the death; they have to utilize the teamwork they’d been avoiding for so long – but that’s not nakama. The bond of love between an assassin and his conditioned apprentice, though? THAT was nakama.

You see that moment, that presentation of empathy, love, and care for something other than themselves made those characters greater – unselfish, forgiving, merciful and kind to someone outside of them – making them stronger than any of the adored members of our beloved Squad 7. Their pasts, their wrongdoings, their sins I won’t say meant nothing… but they suddenly meant much less. Because we just witnessed their humanity, and much more than their humanity – selflessness.

In fiction – we frequently equate the enemy with negative qualities. They are the enemy, therefore they must carry no virtue. They are all evil.

But a person who steals bread, inspired by the love for their starving children… A person is risking their life, reputation, and future with an evil act in order to protect/save others.

Self-sacrifice is the greatest sacrifice is it not? And great self-sacrifice I imagine should be the hardest decision to make. The amount of bravery and inner-peace needed to execute such a choice… is impressive. I am grateful to have never been placed in the predicament where I must choose between my life and another’s. Would I have the strength to give up everything for someone I love? Could I make that decision? I have no idea, but I can tell you that when I see a mother sacrifice herself for her child, or any adult jump in front of a child they are unrelated to who is in harm… there’s something magical behind that choice. There’s a passion, a power of emotion that exceeds the brain and is pure heart – which may be stupid – but it’s selfless. And altruism is admirable if not the most admirable.

Nakama is a purely altruistic act, and though I cannot say I’ve ever felt that I would give my life for my friends in a moment (which seems like nakama-extremism), I know I sacrifice a lot for my loved ones, even when we are not blood related. I donate a lot, I believe in people a lot, I offer plenty of my time which in my opinion… is giving my life.

But a lot of people do not understand this idea of nakama and are very quick to judge it, if not feel unsettled by it; it is not clinginess, it is not desperation; it is just empathy, faith, and affection but it does not take away for someone’s love for themselves – at least it shouldn’t. It is there only to make you stronger.

So maybe that’s why some of our most evil characters in popular culture are incredibly strong. Enemies in fiction aren’t always 100% made out of Satan-Squeeze. We do see some humanity in our antagonists here and there. But there’s a weird, religious, consecration when a bad guy “sees the light” and decides to suddenly “go green and be good.” So it almost seems like… there really is no adversary… cause… in an instant, they’re absolutely cleansed. So… if everyone can be saved, than that means everyone is made of goodness. And then what a relief that is! What a belief that is! Ahhhh what a happy, spiritually satisfying ending ☺.

This brings up the complicated character development between Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha. (We’re diving into murky waters, my friends).

Sasuke Uchiha was my favorite character from the moment I laid eyes on him, but he has probably one of the most tragic pasts I’ve ever had the honor of absorbing. Born of the Uchiha Clan, Sasuke was raised among some of the most intelligent, perceptive, and valuable ninja-warriors of Konoha. Their trademark is the Sharingan – a powerful dōjutsu (an eye technique) that augments a ninja’s insight and hypnotism against their rival… basically. Sasuke lives a pretty normal and happy childhood, constantly idolizing his older brother Itachi and striving to be just as strong and helpful to the community as his brother has been. Then we discover Itachi has had undisclosed motives for a long time. Abruptly, he unleashes… going on a rampage, slaughtering the whole entire Uchiha clan, including his and Sasuke’s parents… but leaves Sasuke alive and alone.

So Sasuke’s mission practically from birth becomes to avenge his clan, locate, and defeat his brother.

But then he meets Naruto Uzumaki and Sakura Haruno who seem to veer him from the path of self-destruction and revenge. He finds a family he once lost amongst Squad 7 and its hilarious but unsurpassable sensei, The Copy Ninja, Kakashi Hatake (who, for lengthy reasons, also attains an eye with the clan’s Sharingan). There is a bond growing between all four of these characters, an empathy, a pure caretaking quality that was not there when they were up against Zabuza and Haku.

But inescapably… we lose Sasuke to the dark side (and let’s just leave it at that for now).

One of the worst things that can probably happen to you as a human being (aside from an audience member) is seeing your favorite character go bad. Yeah sure it’s kinda cool and they become even edgier than they once were, but there’s nothing cool about seeing someone you believed to be your best friend go rogue and forsake the home you built together because suddenly you and your friendship mean absolutely nothing to them… That always sucks.

But according to nakama, you have an unbreakable bond… yet you see the goodness being sucked out of your nakama’s soul… does that mean that you give up on the friend who has given up on you? Do you turn your back on the criminal your best friend has now become?

One of my dad’s favorite movies is Seabiscuit. He’s definitely a big fan of the comeback-kid and always tended to root for the underdog. His favorite quote in the film became one to live by in our household. It was when Chris Cooper’s character was asked why he kept trying to fix this horse that had injured its ankle. It was a racehorse. With an injured ankle it had become useless. And to that he responded,

“You don’t throw a whole life away just because it’s banged up a little.” Beautiful.

So when your BFF goes all homicidal on the townspeople… what do you do? Well, because of anime, I don’t think I’d ever be able to completely hate them. Even if I had the responsibility of killing them… the nakama between us would still exist despite their death and my being the cause of their death.

I am not quite sure that this is a good thing. You see… sometimes… I do believe we need to lose friends, and we shouldn’t keep raising excuses for why it’s okay that they’ve truly begun to suck as people. It is their fault. You have tried. You’re now beginning to work yourself to the bone defending an ego that apparently doesn’t even want your defending.

The fatal flaw of nakama: difficulty knowing when to let go.

But the problem that I feel most people face, is letting others go too easily. I watch my acquaintances releasing friends like breath out of their lungs sometimes, and the stories I hear of them being suddenly dropped from a friendship are staggering… I think people have forgotten how to be brave, and forgotten how to be there for our buddies when they need us the most and evidentially become the most difficult versions of themselves to deal with. It is hard being a good friend – if anyone tells you otherwise I can confidently state that they are wrong and probably have a lot of interpersonal issues as well. But it is hard being there when someone needs you, especially when they need you more than that one time when they got the news.

I credit this rude awakening to my emotional intelligence, my time spent being introspective and aware of the people and the world around me – to my understanding and my empathy. Because I know I’ve “strayed-from-the-path” before, I know I’ve hit concrete walls and sulked in the pitfalls of depression, and more often than not was abandoned by my friends rather than finding them waiting for me to wake up on the other side as a new person. And I’ll tell you what – I got used to the abandonment, but I never accepted it as a viable approach. So every time a friend of mine hit the concrete walls or were in the jaws of anxiety and stress, I was always sitting cross-legged with my head cocked to the side, my ears wide-awake, and a smile in my pocket for when they were ready. ‘Cause I knew that’s what could’ve helped me. I knew that support meant something to people. I was showing my friends in pain that they had a cheerleader, and I was going to be rooting for them until they’d come back to Earth. And did I learn this from the air? Did I think of this approach by myself? Ruminating on it, anime and manga trained me to be a good friend before I even had a friend to be good to.

But what about when they don’t come back to Earth? And what if it’s because they refuse to? When do you let go, and does letting go mean ‘stop loving?’

That’s when things get complicated.

But nakama still doesn’t lose its value.

My BFF is a homicidal freak now, right? Okay. So it appears that I’m head of the defense force that is meant to take my ex-BFF DOWN TO THE GROUND… those characters that suddenly just flip the switch and delete every memory they have had with that person… that’s great and all, and I’m sure a useful tool when you’re in the business of saving lives (you’ve essentially deleted your bias towards a person who is now your enemy) but that doesn’t feel very human to me. Like we just discussed above, you’ve also given up on someone. And the idea of giving up on someone does not exist in anime. Unless it’s a supporting-role who had a hand in poorly raised one of our vindictive protagonists. But they always feel shame in the end anyway, and the protagonist has the inner peace to forgive them because of their understanding, their love, and at the root of it – nakama.

So how and why did nakama appear in manga and anime? Where did it come from and why is it still so prevalent in Japanese culture? Could it be a reaction to something rather than an intrinsic value?

What if nakama was in some way a response to shame? That if you did not behave this way towards your comrades (for example fellow samurai) you would then be identified as a coward, unwilling to risk your life for your brethren. Therefore you have brought dishonor to you family. Dishonor on your cow! (as per Mushu) and shame upon your head. An ultimate, sin according to the ancient culture, inducing suicides throughout the empire.

So could the innocent idea of nakama have been born from the embarrassment of shame? And is that why western society does not grasp this value… as a value? /how do we experience shame and do we value it?

What is our idea of shame? I’ll tell ya, it usually doesn’t stem from how we treat other people:

Someone cheated on their spouse? Yeah well it happens.

Someone keeps cheated on their math tests? Shame.

A person is corrupt in the workplace? It’s terrible, we hate it but… what’re we gonna do, it happens.

A person comes out as gay. Shame.

A human who likes a unique style of music. Shame.

A human who was raped. Shame.

A teenager who isn’t athletic like their parents. SHAAAME.

You see, we treat shame as a form of social acceptance, and by that I mean, if you do not meet the criteria of the put-together citizen, you should be ashamed of yourself! During the Edo Period of Premodern Japan, if you were a Samurai and could not uphold Bushido; “the way of the warrior,” the moral code of that culture; shame was brought upon you. But their moral code was often in the pursuit of benefitting other people.

The eight rules of bushido code are as follows:

Righteousness Heroic Courage Benevolence/Compassion Respect Integrity Honor Duty and Loyalty Self-Control

These laws outline the responsibilities of samurai; to be deeply honest with yourself and your neighbor, to not only find opportunities to help your neighbor but to create those opportunities when they do not arise. Understanding that true strength does not come in proving your strength. Staying true to your word and being aware that you are the judgment you sleep with at night. Decisions you make and how these decisions are carried out are a reflection of who you truly are.

For, “you cannot hide from yourself.”

But it appears that our in-vogue moral code dictates that you must hide from yourself because if you are different… you are a deviant. Its standing does not rely on our treatment of others but more on our ability to conform to a certain standard of acceptable normalcy. Not too weird but not too common. So our code just seems to be self-imposed and self-inflicted. We don’t seem to really value how we treat one another but how well we mold to one another. I think the last time I was taught that being kind to others was a code to live by was in kindergarten, when I learned, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” Pretty much, treat people how you’d wanna be treated. And then of course “keep your hands to yourself.” * thumbs up *

But after that… I dunno… there wasn’t much stress on the ethical upbringing of our population, of our citizens. Do we really not care that much? Yeah sure, I took ethics in college, I took several courses in Sociology and Philosophy and studied the Ethics of Documentary Filmmaking… Literature can often times be a nice bridge into empathy as well… but these were all choices. I was not obligated to take any of these classes… which means… a lot of people don’t. And won’t. And even if they did/do, college may have been a late start to have these discussions.

We are raising a population of Narutos that will not chase after their Sasukes. Generations of children that believe hurting someone is an okay practice if that person hurt them first and feel no shame afterwards. That reflecting fire proves your strength rather than dousing it and turning your cheek and being a bigger person. The way we’re going, everyone is going to want their fire to be larger and brighter than their enemies’ and their friends,’ igniting an egotistical flame that’ll just burn down city hall… thanks guys.

Hot-heads are generally looked down upon in Japanese entertainment. They’re a source of humor and the butt of everybody’s jokes because they’re assumed to be quite immature and stupid. They are nothing like their leaders; they lack self-control and respect, empathy, and awareness. In these shows, characters have certain codes to live by that are very similar to the samurai’s bushido, and if you’re not striving for that admirable way of life… something seems to be wrong with you:

The way of the ninja in Naruto.

Saiyan Culture’s emphasis on pride, honor, strength, and honesty.

And even in shōjo manga like Mermaid Melody and Special A, there is a camaraderie between our main characters that is so strong, any outside force cannot defeat it. You see these stories do not have to revolve around intense, dramatic plots entrenched in suspense and guided by their twists and turns. The characters set in a village ravaged by demons are quite the same as characters trying to survive high school. They are inspired by their peers; peers who neglect them, hate them, terrorize them, love them… they want to grow and become stronger because of their peers.

There is a constant theme in anime about weakness and how weakness is looked down upon, but not in the overtly-masculine way that you may think. It is not that weakness itself is shameful, but that one’s inability to protect their loved ones is shameful. Characters are often tormented by their guilt for feeling like deadweight, like an anchor, being incapable of protecting their best friends and their families. So they are motivated by their pain, their rivals, their nakama all in order to evolve and grow into someone stronger – and a character’s strength is measured by how well they can protect other’s.

What an incredible notion. Measuring strength based on your selflessness and your ability to love.

If I have to lose friends because they do not understand nakama… because they find weakness in it, they’re missing out on a tool that builds up only the toughest and the bravest. It hurts, but it must be endured and it must be accepted by people like myself. Those friends I will lose are luckily few, and are not guided by the same light that guides the characters I’ve admired since my childhood. And people like that cannot inspire themselves, nor will they be able to inspire others.

I am an endless fire lit in perpetuity by the sensation of my nakama, and I will continue to be fueled by this heat, inspired by every day and every night, because I have people I care for and people to live for. My ability to love can break the bank – and I can thank my evil, big brother for that.

- Ashley Beroukhim

11.24.17

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