#I just think that the american left might learn some lessons about how they do stuff if they looked at Ukraine

[medicinemane]

.

[some-triangles]

Now that everyone's a little less raw it looks like the Takes are rolling in, so I might as well add mine.

The thing that frustrates me is that everybody knows that the democratic party is a bought and paid for centrism machine, but we forget this every time an election rolls around. It's been the most important election of my lifetime, where we have to set aside petty concerns like the social safety net or not slaughtering people in the middle east in order to vote for the lesser of two evils, for the last 20 years. It is a reflection on how eagerly human beings will divide themselves into factions that this continues to work.

I want you to reflect on that moment of enthusiasm the left collectively had when Harris came on board (do you remember when Walz made that joke about Vance fucking a couch? Good times.) Do you ever get the feeling you've been cheated?

There is a very obvious lesson to be learned from Trump's win here, but it will go aggressively unlearned, because it is not in the interests of the media or the political classes to learn it. The CNN roundtable on how Harris lost because she wasn't pro-Israel enough went out yesterday. Consider how much money is spent on a presidential election in this country - even the nicest, most liberal lobbyists, lawyers, "journalists", consultants and associated professionals have mortgages to pay and mouths to feed.

All I want at this point is a little honesty from the "in my america" lawn sign brigade, a little reflection. All I want is for the next time the democratic party comes around asking for your money, your energy, your attention- just think a little bit about what you've bought from them so far. Think about the current state of the healthcare system, think about who profits from it, think about how much you still spend on insurance and on top of insurance. Think about how the rich get richer under both parties. Think about how this election was decided when business decided they could accept Trump and the democrats were left holding the principles they'd been trying to sell, outbid for them. Tear up the fundraising letters, and on top of that, tear up your medical bills. Kick the sunk cost fallacy out of your brain and admit that this isn't working. I'm not asking you to take the next step, to think about why a message founded on white supremacy and american exceptionalism is so persuasive to so many of us, or why every single person in a position of real power is lying about a genocide that we can see happening on our phones. Just think about where your money has gone and whether there's been a return on your investment.

For those of you who already know what I'm talking about, the story is the same as it ever was. Due to inflation the 20 bucks of mutual aid we pass around should probably be updated to 50, and we should probably find some way of passing it that doesn't involve Peter Thiel, but other than that, business as usual.

[fipindustries]

oppen heimer style

let me just start this by saying that this is not necesarily nolan being back to form, necesarily. i would place it just above the rest of nolan's dark period known as intersrellar, dunkirk and tenet. but that is not an exceedingly high bar to pass.

he has sadly become a director that i still respect appreciate and whose movies i enjoy but whom i can no longer say is an unmatched genius.

lets start with the bad.

its too long, and its pacing its a little awkward, no need to worry for spoilers here since we all know the history. the big money shot that we were all expecting, the trinity test, it happens roughly at the middle of the movie and after that the movie struggles to reach any other point of heightened emotion as high as that one.

its a solid three hour experience and more than once it had me wondering "ok, how much left, are we done yet?" but i will say this: once i reached the final scene and the credits start i did not feel a tired relief that it was finaly over, thank god. i feel dread, i felt doom and dread. i was fucking terrified. this movie has a good strong final scene that makes you forget of previous tests of patience you might have gone through watching it.

it tries to do this weird parallel story telling between lewis strauss and oppenheimer that it feels like they tried to film two different movies and then awkwardly splie them together. it jumps back and forth between the past and the present told form different points of view and a lot of it feels like it could have been cut out and the movie would have worked just as well. im not sure how necessary was the whole lewis strauss subplot to be honest.

the characters and dialog work a little better than in previous movies although we still get a lot of scenes of people talking in a clinical manner with expository dialog and deep philosophical musings. but once again i will say nolan seems to be learning some lessons, we do get a lot of scenes where actors are allowed to flex their emotional muscles.

in a lot of ways this is nolan's most lurid film. i think this is the first time we get to see breasts and naked people having sex in a nolan movie and it hits hard, both because of how unexpected it is in a nolan film and because of how out of context it shows up in-universe. i dont actually want to spoil this one because the effect it achieves actually worked really well.

and now moving on to the good, if i mentioned this might be nolan at his most lurid, it is certainly also at his most poetic. sure there is inception, but in here we get to see a lot of surrealist or downright metaphorical scenes without the excuse of being inside a dream. we get to see things that are not happening literally in universe but that are an artistic representation of what the characters are feeling. it felt really effective.

the man himself

this is a movie that is very much about the titular guy and trying to understand his inner world, trying to understand who the hell was this person, and honestly, where did he get off.

it seems oppenheimer was a complicated man, whose actions and desitions were sometimes confusing, sometimes downright contradictory (there is a nice wink to this when talking about the paticle/wave duality at the beggining of the film). he was a communist, he was a proud american, he was a genius, he was painfully naive,he was merely following orders but he had absolute control over his little town in los alamos, he worked hard for peace, he created nuclear war, he built a bomb that he didnt want people to use.

i heard criticisms that this movie romanticizes his work, that it may excuse or justify the use of the bomb, that it may be too kind with the guy. rest assured it doesnt. the movie brings up multiple times how the japanese were basically already surrendering, how senseless and callous and cruel the use on japanese cities was, how attrocious and horrifying the effects of the bomb were. and how oppenheimer definely contributed to it. if it shows the guy hand wringing or feeling gulty or trying to be a martyr of sorts, the movie definetly calls him out on that too by saying that its very rich of him to have done the deed and then regret it as if he didnt knew what he was doing or as if he had no control over it. a lot of times the movie shows the man as spineless, as a moral coward, as someone who was too weak to take on a position. "you dont get to commit a sin and then make everyone else feel pity for you because there are consequences!" is yelled at his face.

yet all the same, either because he is portrayed by cyllian murphy and his puppy dog eyes or because nolan deep down still admires who he was and what he did, you cant help but feel bad for the guy and like him still. he was a person, a complicated person with ugly sides that this movie in no way ignores, but still a brilliant man who at the very least had the basic decency to feel bad for the atrocities he contributed to.

going back to the movie itself

its has a weirdly star studded cast. if you were surprised by the sudden appearance of matt damon in interstellar, get ready to have that feeling multiple times during this film, every other scene suddenly shows up a hollywood megastar and it will take a few seconds before you accept ok, i guess gary oldman is in this film, and is that rami malek? and oh right, robert downy junior and oh my god is that fucking kenneth brannagh. in fact the one hollywood actor who is NOT in this movie, is surprisingly, inexplicably enough michael caine.

truly, breaking new ground.

and the cameos dont stop at the stars, the characters themselves are a constant delightful surprise if you are into the history of quantum mechanics and science in the first half of the 20th century. you have einstein of course (presented as this old exiled king, his time of glory long past but still sough after for his wisdom) but you have also bohrs, heisenberg, feynman, fermi, and fucking gödel somehow (they managed to shoe in a comment about his paranoia and hipocondry)

the actual explosion

time to talk about the thing we all went to see this movie for. is the atomic explosion cool? is it big? is it loud? does it go boom? does it look cool?.

suffice to say. yes. one of the coolest experiences i had in watching film ever in my life. it has a build up of a solid 30 minutes or so (arguably its been building up the entire movie) the tensin keeps on rising all through out. the countdown slowly advances, the expectations are at the highest theyve ever been and by the time the bomb was actually about to go off in the middle of the american desert, the first atom bomb ever exploted, my heart was hammering out of my chest.

its fully worth the price of admission and the three hours.

final comments

i want to double back to the poetic filmmaking i mentioned early to comment about the main thing its used for. nolan makes it clear in no uncertain terms the horror that atomic weapons unleashed on the world. the man goes out of his way to make it clear, these things can destroy the planet. we've all become perhaps a bit desensitized to atomic explosion in film, made more and more espectacular with the advancement of cgi. but this movie brings it back home and leaves you with a last message about the danger of nuclear proliferation.

i walked out of the theatre with my legs shaking and my eyes falling out of my skull. i had a hard time talking a bit afterwards, i was a little shell shocked.

so, i guess in the end, my thoughts on this movie are just as complicated as the man himself, the man who oppenheimed the world.

8/10

[fan-of-many24]

New Face

Wayne x fem!Reader

Letterkenny

Word Count: 1.76k

Contains: Drinking / mentions of drinking, American reader, female reader

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

Moving from Wisconsin to Letterkenny was a big change for you. Your aunt and uncle moved there for work and you decided that getting out of the US would be a welcome change. Even though some of the politics wouldn’t be much different, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the hack job conspiracy theories from the parents at work.

Of course the school at Letterkenny was desperate for new teachers, with some of the old ones waiting to retire until their position could be filled. As an art teacher, there wouldn’t be much to change in your lessons. There were still a few weeks until the school year started and you had just finished decorating your classroom. It was the end of a long, hot, summer day and you decided to treat yourself to a drink at the local bar, MoDean’s. 

You walked into the small building immediately smelling the stale air of the bars you were used to in Wisconsin. At least some things are the same. You pulled out a worn down wooden stool, plopping down, relief easing your aching feet. “What can I get ‘cha hot stuff?” the woman behind the bar asked with a twang in her voice and a tilt in her head. You smiled, already somewhat used to the town’s quirky residents.

“I’m new to town,” you asked, “What do people usually get?” 

“Lemme get ‘cha a puppers,” she stated turning to grab a beer and slamming it down in front of you.

You nodded and took a sip, feeling the cool liquid slide down your throat. “Good shit.” you commented.

Unbeknownst to you, you had grabbed the attention of two hockey players sitting at a table across the room.

“Yo Jonesy, a fuckin’ rocket just sat down,” a fluffy-haired Reilly elbowed his buddy.

“Oh yeah bro,” Jonesy replied, “total babe. You think one of us could get a takedown? Or both of us?”

“Sure as shit bro,” Reilly confirmed, “let’s wheel some snipes.”

You were making light conversation with the bartender you just learned was Gail. She was telling you who were good people and who were the skids and degens to stay away from, and even though you didn’t exactly know what a skid was, you took her advice. She seemed genuine and you had to take pointers from someone. You were talking about moving here and your job when you were interrupted by the bar stools on either side of you getting pulled out with a guy sitting on either side. You looked at the two guys in muscle tees, sighing internally. You didn’t particularly come to the bar to get hit on, just to wind down.

“Sup,” the blond one started. “Sup,” the other continued.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted blandly, sipping your drink.

“So what’s a guy like us,” blondie pointed to himself.

“Gotta do to get with a snipe like you?” the other pointed to you. 

You gulped down the drink in your mouth, making a face. “A fuckin’ what?” you chuckled.

“You know, a rocket,”

“A ten,”

“A zinger,”

“Someone that makes you go ‘yew!’” they listed.

“A hottie,” Gail explained in words you’d understand.

You took a breath, processing the… compliments?

“Sorry boys,” you sighed, “you’re not really my type.”

The boys gasped, “What?”

“How so?”

“Well for one, you look like you could be my students,” you chuckled, causing the boys to exchange some looks, “And two, you’re a bit fuckin’ much.”

Gail laughed at your words that left the boys speechless.

“So how ‘bout you go find some other… rocket… that might be more your speed,” you got up from your seat and patted the blond’s shoulder before moving to a different seat down the bar, one next to a girl with long brown hair pulled into two ponytails on either side.

You plopped down again, setting down your beer, leaning onto your hand, letting out another sigh.

“Nice job fending those two off,” the girl next to you commented, “dealing with them can be a lot. I know from experience.”

“Thanks,” you chuckled, “hope I wasn’t too harsh. Don’t wanna go causing any bad blood just starting out here.”

“Thought you looked new to town. I’m Katie,” she stuck out her hand.

“Y/N,” you shook it, “ I moved here with some family, I’m gonna start teaching here in a couple weeks.”

“Good on you, god knows we need some new faces,” she rolled her eyes, “but at least now you know a couple people.”

You smiled and the conversation took off from there. She asked where you were from, you asked what she did. It felt easy talking to her, even if she was a bit younger than you. Gail was nice enough, but it was good to talk to someone a bit more… normal. She talked about how she ran a farm with her brother and how he was actually gonna meet her there soon so you’d have a chance to meet him. The door opened and Katie mumbled, “Speak of the devil, there he comes.”

You didn’t know what you were expecting from her brother but it certainly wasn’t the man walking towards the two of you. He had a lean, sturdy frame. His face was strong and a bit stern and he walked with a confidence that had your stomach full of butterflies, so much so you almost didn’t notice the two men trailing in behind him. While you may not have noticed the heat settling on your cheeks, Katie sure did. A sly smile broke across her face.

“Wayne, this is my new friend, Y/N,” Katie turned around in her stool to face her brother, leading you to do the same, “She moved her with family and is gonna start teaching here in a few weeks.”

The flush remained on your face as you smiled and nodded at him a bit shyly.

“Thank god, we needed a new face,” the man repeated Katie’s earlier sentiment.

“She did a good job of putting Jonesy and Reilly in their place earlier,” Gail piped up behind you, “Sent them with their tails between their legs.”

You chuckled, remembering the situation from earlier. “I just told the truth, wouldn’t call it sending them with their tails between their legs.”

Wayne gave an impressed nod and sat next to his sister, his two friends sitting on the other side. The burlier of his friends, Dan, continued the conversation with you, asking whereabouts you’re from, what brought you here, etc. The men were a bit taken aback when they heard you were from the US but with Katie vouching for you a bit they weren’t all that shaken.

Wayne had gotten up to go to the bathroom and Katie used the chance to scootch down a seat to talk to Darry about something. You continued to make casual conversation with Dan about random things here and there. When Wayne came back, he just stood behind Katie, arms folded. “You’re in my seat.” he stated.

“Move your feet, lose your seat big brother,” she smiled, “you’re free to take mine.”

“Mmm…” Wayne groaned before letting out a breath through his nose and sitting down in what used to be Katie’s seat.

Before you were able to continue your conversation with Dan, Katie had dragged him into the conversation she was having with Darry, turning her back to the two of you, somewhat excluding you from the conversation. With Gail on the other side of the bar, it was just you and Wayne sitting in somewhat awkward silence. You blushed again but decided to start a conversation with the handsome man next to you. But to your surprise, you didn’t have to.

“What brings you to Letterkenny?” Wayne asked, still facing forward.

“Well, my aunt and uncle moved here for a butchering job, and America isn’t getting better anytime soon,” you chuckled, “So I came with them. Figured I could find a teaching job here and if not I could work with ‘em.”

Wayne nodded, “Not afraid to get your hands dirty, huh?”

You shook your head, “Nah, I grew up in the country and as much as I didn’t like some of the… ideology there, I did like getting stuff done myself. Something about it was… satisfying.”

“Well, uh, if you ever miss that, I’m sure Katie and I wouldn’t mind you, uh, comin’ over and choring some time,” Wayne sniffed a bit, “if you’re up for it that is.”

You smiled and cocked your head a bit, “I might have to.”

The conversation flowed just as it did with Katie. The two of you talked about family and how you missed yours back in the US. You talked about your dog, a pittie mix named Hero, and how he loved running around your aunt and uncle’s property. He talked about his sister and his buddies, told stories about the town, some that sounded almost unbelievable, but when you remembered some of your earlier interactions you believed them.

It had gotten dark out and when you checked your phone it was about time for you to leave.

“Well, I should head out or my aunt is gonna send a search party for me.”

“Need me to call you a cab?” he asked gruffly.

“Nah, I’ve been nursing this beer since before you got here,” you nodded towards the beer besides you, “If I had any more I’d say yes.”

You left more than enough cash on the counter for Gail, tipping out of habit.

“Want me to wall you to your car then?” he suggested.

“Sure,” you smiled.

You waved goodbye to Katie, Darry, and Dan before walking out of the bar. The cool summer evening sent a chill down your spine, and it didn’t help that Wayne was standing so close. It was a short walk and once you had gotten to the car door you turned around to face the man once more. “Thanks for the walk to my car. Very gentlemanly of you.”

“Yeah, well, never know when a degen’s around,” he stated, glancing around a bit, “So, uh, could I, uh, get your number.” He still wasn’t looking you in the eye. Your face flushed and a smile split across your face.

“Yeah, yeah of course,” you stuttered a bit, “gimme your phone, I’ll put it in.”

He pulled out his phone and handed it to you, contact creator open. You typed in your number and texted yourself, handing the phone back to him.

“Feel free to text me if you need any help choring. If it’s the weekend that is.” you smiled and got into your car. You waved at the man and pulled out of the spot, driving home.

He looked down at the conversation on his phone, the name at the top reading “Y/N ;))”. He knew he was going to take you up on your offer.

[soundwavefucker69]

there is nothing more infuriating than being absolutely fucking obsessed with a psychological BL that's over 100 chapters but you hate the 2nd ML to like. an insane degree. never in my fucking life have I hated a character like this. normally if they're despicable I still love them for being well crafted. or I feel ambivalent or slightly annoyed by them. the problem with this 2nd ML is he IS very fucking well crafted and complex but unfortunately he embodies literally fucking everything I despise in the world.

which means when i get bored with all the other BLs like I am right now I straight up still can't reread it bc he's still relevant and has an active place in the plot until like. the third season. and the worst part is I can understand why the MC is so fucking stupid about him. for the most part. he knows exactly how to manipulate the MC and take advantage of him and yeah his mask slips like a lot but he knows exactly which buttons to press to make MC gloss over his actions. especially compared to the actual ML. if I was in the MC's shoes I would see through his bullshit but the way the MC is crafted it makes perfect fucking sense why he's reacting the way he is. like, yes, he's seeing through the 2nd ML's mask and has his red flags up but like. the MC not being able to understand just how bad the situation is with him fucking makes sense. the MC is always willing to give people the benefit of the doubt even when his instincts are telling him it's a bad idea and that's why he's in this fucking situation. and bc of that he thinks the 2nd ML is just someone that might not be normal, but is normal enough with a twisted personality and intense mood swings. he doesn't realize literally everything the 2nd ML has been doing from the start is an act and a front. he hasn't put enough thought into the situation and realized just how fucking insane the 2nd ML actually is.

it's relieving he doesn't want 2nd ML at all at this point. but like. Jesus fucking Christ. he still is at the point where he thinks it'll be okay if he meets him in person and explain why he doesn't like him so he can give 2nd ML some closure. he does not realize that if he meets 2nd ML in any fucking capacity he is absolutely gonna get kidnapped and imprisoned to a degree that he simply is not with the ML currently. he does not realize the danger he's in.

it's really fucking annoying. mostly bc if I was in the MC's shoes I would have been running for the hills before we even got to that disastrous first date. and if I made it to that first date, I would have definitely left him after that and put some clear fucking rules in place. but the difference in me and MC is I am an autistic American gay trans man and he is a South Korean cis gay man. I do not have the blinders he has. I do not have the mindset he has. I am not as forgiving as he is. I have learned very fucking painful lessons from giving people the benefit of the doubt bc of my autism, bc of my transness, and because of my childhood. furthermore, the 2nd ML cries to get his way and unlike MC who reacts to tears the normal way, with compassion and worry and guilt, I react with "why the fuck are you doing that, I'm uncomfortable". like obviously I'm not an asshole to people that are crying. but for the most part i get very deeply uncomfortable and seriously dislike it. so it's pretty difficult to manipulate me with tears. unless you're trying to provoke me to anger. but that's even more difficult bc you have to say the right things while crying to set me off.

anyways. I get why MC has his blinders on bc his character has been really well crafted. and honestly the 2nd ML is VERY fucking well crafted and works VERY well as a foil compared to the ML. but goddamn. I hate the 2nd ML with every fucking fiber of my being so rereading is a pain in the ass.

but i wanna reread bc it's more delicious to read the absolute clusterfuck of the third season with all the context of the first two seasons. but i can't. because I absolutely fucking despise the 2nd ML.

honestly all this has taught me is i would be the worst possible option for a psychological BL protagonist unless the ML was like. very fucking well crafted with my personality in mind. like you could stick me with a tropey black flag ML but uh. that would not fucking work. it would straight up HAVE to be an entrapment story bc otherwise I'd be gone for the hills before his interest ever reached the point where he'd chase me down. but like. I also would probably be the perfect protagonist bc objectively. looking at my dating history. the vast majority of my relationships have ended bc I ultimately got bored. like I never TOLD them that but yeah. most of them ended bc I was bored or exhausted with them. a black flag ML might be perfect for me bc at least I wouldn't get bored. but that comes with other fucking problems. I would eventually get addicted to the thrill and start upping the ante until I was crazier than them. ugh.

[cody-apexart]

Day 6

!!! wwwwwwwwwwooowwwwwwwww !!! How curated are these days? Because looking at photos of the effects of agent orange all morning and then seeing an abortion horror movie at night really offered some insight to the culture here. Honestly the movie was a bit triggering, like a heads up that the first scene is someone having an abortion at four months without anesthesia would have been cool, but it's fine. Like the fact that they're able to make a movie about abortion where your abortions haunt you till you die and then you meet your abortions in the after life really shows that abortion isn't as taboo here as at home-- and I guess thats what you get when you have a country so heavily impacted by chemical warfare. The movie implied Vietnam has a much high abortion rate than other places, and that 80% of abortions take place after the first trimester. At the end of the movie the main character died and she met her gang bang abortion, it asked for a name (!), and said she didn't resent her. While I think the movie was ultimately pro choice....it just left me feeling really weird. The War Remnants Museum, formerly the Exhibition House for the United States and Puppet Crimes was a lot too. I teared up a couple times. I don't like seeing the tanks, and planes, and bombs, or pics of dismembered bodies...Over hearing boomer American men talking about their time in the war, reading the list of torture methods America implored...it's wild. Also the way we ravaged the natural environment was hard to see. Killing people and poising their water and destroying their surrounding ecologies is really some heartless shit. It's hard for me to believe America is still allowed to have an army-- feel like we should be on our German shit where we are not allowed to do war in a big way any more, but I guess thats hard when you're the ones building the planes and shit. It was an interesting contrast to the exhibition at the Palace, which really favored Americas democratic influence, but I still feel like I don't have a grasp on the whole story.

But anyway, back to the movie-- I don't really go see movies at home, but I think when I travel now I will. I feel like I learned so much about the culture here through both the experience at the theater, and the content of the movie. It cleared up some questions I had about religion and worship here, and movie theater culture seems different here-- everyone was talking, and on their phone. The person next to me even took a phone call during the movie! and all these couples were making out during the abortion horror movie. I was shocked tbh.

Today I also experienced the river roads! I got stuck in a downpour while I was on a motorbike, so the driver lifted up his rain poncho for me to get under. I couldn't see anything around me, all I could do was look down, where at some points, it seemed like we were driving through 5 inches of water. The person at the desk of the motorbike lesson place, where I had been traveling too, said all the run off goes into the rivers and canals, so when it rains during high tide, there is just no place for the water to go. Flooding always feels like home.

Though today was more or less a bummer, it might have been my fav day here so far, but maybe I'm just finally settled in.

[ivankahasbeentreatedsounfairly]

Everyone has a moment when they first realized that Donald Trump might well return, and here is mine. It was back in March, during a visit to the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery, when I happened to read the explanatory text beside an old painting. This note described the westward advance of the United States in the 19th century as “settler colonialism.” I read it and I knew instantly where this nation was going.

My problem with this bit of academic jargon was not that it was wrong, per se, or that President Biden was somehow responsible for putting it there, but rather that it offered a glimpse of our poisoned class relations. Some curator at one of our most exalted institutions of public instruction had decided to use a currently fashionable, morally loaded academic keyword to address a visitor to the museum — say, a family from the Midwest, doing the round of national shrines — and teach them a lesson about American wickedness.

Twenty years ago I published a book about politics in my home state of Kansas where white, working-class voters seemed to be drifting into the arms of right-wing movements. I attributed this, in large part, to the culture wars, which the right framed in terms of working-class agony. Look at how these powerful people insult our values!, went the plaint, whether they were talking about the theory of evolution or the war on Christmas.

This was worth pointing out because working people were once the heart and soul of left-wing parties all over the world. It may seem like a distant memory, but not long ago, the left was not a movement of college professors, bankers or high-ranking officers at Uber or Amazon. Working people: That’s what parties of the left were very largely about. The same folks who just expressed such remarkable support for Donald Trump.

My Kansas story was mainly about Republicans, but I also wrote about the way the Democrats were gradually turning away from working people and their concerns. Just think of all those ebullient Democratic proclamations in the ’90s about trade and tech and globalization and financial innovation. What a vision they had: All those manifestoes about futurific “wired workers” or the “learning class” … all those speeches about how Democrats had to leave the worker-centric populism of the 1930s behind them … all those brilliant triangulations and reaching out to the right. When I was young, it felt like every rising leader in the Democratic Party was making those points. That was the way to win voters in what they called “the center,” the well-educated suburbanites and computer-literate professionals whom everybody admired.

Well, those tech-minded Democrats got exactly what they set out to get, and now here we are. At the Republican convention in July, JD Vance described the ruination visited on his working-class town in Ohio by NAFTA and trade with China, both of which he blamed at least in part on Mr. Biden, and also the human toll taken by the Iraq War, which he also contrived to blame on Mr. Biden. Today Mr. Vance is the vice president-elect, and what I hope you will understand, what I want you to mull over and take to heart and remember for the rest of your life, is that he got there by mimicking the language that Americans used to associate with labor, with liberals, with Democrats.

By comparison, here is Barack Obama in 2016, describing to Bloomberg Businessweek his affinity for the private sector: “Just to bring things full circle about innovation — the conversations I have with Silicon Valley and with venture capital pull together my interests in science and organization in a way I find really satisfying.”

I hope Mr. Obama finds his silicon satisfaction. I hope the men of capital whose banks he bailed out during the financial crisis show a little gratitude and build him the biggest, most expensive, most innovative presidential library of them all. But his party is in ruins today, without a leader and without a purpose.

It would have been nice if the Democrats could have triangulated their way into the hearts of enough educated and affluent suburbanites to make up for the working class voters they’ve lost over the years, but somehow that strategy rarely works out. They could have gone from boasting about Dick Cheney’s endorsement to becoming a version of Mr. Cheney themselves, and it still wouldn’t have been enough. A party of the left that identifies with people like Mr. Cheney is a contradiction in terms, a walking corpse.

For a short time in the last few years, it looked as if the Democrats might actually have understood all this. What the Biden administration did on antitrust and manufacturing and union organizing was never really completed but it was inspiring. Framed the right way, it might have formed the nucleus of a strong appeal to the voters Mr. Trump has stolen away. Kamala Harris had the skills: She spoke powerfully at the Democratic convention about a woman’s right to choose and Mr. Trump’s unfitness for high office. Speaker after speaker at the gathering in Chicago blasted the Republicans for their hostility to working people. There was even a presentation about the meaning of the word “populism.” At times it felt like they were speaking to me personally.

At the same time, the convention featured lots of saber-rattling speeches hailing America’s awesome war-making abilities. The administration’s achievements on antitrust were barely mentioned. There was even a presentation by the governor of Illinois, an heir to the Hyatt hotel fortune, in which he boasted of being a real billionaire, not a fake one like Donald Trump supposedly is, and the assembled Democrats cheered their heads off for this fortunate son. Then, once Ms. Harris’s campaign got rolling, it largely dropped economic populism, wheeled out another billionaire and embraced Liz Cheney.

Mr. Trump, meanwhile, put together a remarkable coalition of the disgruntled. He reached out to everyone with a beef, from Robert Kennedy Jr. to Elon Musk. From free-speech guys to book-banners. From Muslims in Michigan to anti-immigration zealots everywhere. “Trump Will Fix It,” declared the signs they waved at his rallies, regardless of which “It” you had in mind.

Republicans spoke of Mr. Trump’s persecution by liberal prosecutors, of how he was censored by Twitter, of the incredible strength he showed after being shot. He was an “American Bad Ass,” in the words of Kid Rock. And clucking liberal pundits would sometimes respond to all this by mocking the very concept of “grievance,” as though discontent itself was the product of a diseased mind.

Liberals had nine years to decipher Mr. Trump’s appeal — and they failed. The Democrats are a party of college graduates, as the whole world understands by now, of Ph.D.s and genius-grant winners and the best consultants money can buy. Mr. Trump is a con man straight out of Mark Twain; he will say anything, promise anything, do nothing. But his movement baffled the party of education and innovation. Their most brilliant minds couldn’t figure him out.

I have been writing about these things for 20 years, and I have begun to doubt that any combination of financial disaster or electoral chastisement will ever turn on the lightbulb for the liberals. I fear that ’90s-style centrism will march on, by a sociological force of its own, until the parties have entirely switched their social positions and the world is given over to Trumpism.

Can anything reverse it? Only a resolute determination by the Democratic Party to rededicate itself to the majoritarian vision of old: a Great Society of broad, inclusive prosperity. This means universal health care and a higher minimum wage. It means robust financial regulation and antitrust enforcement. It means unions and a welfare state and higher taxes on billionaires, even the cool ones. It means, above all, liberalism as a social movement, as a coming-together of ordinary people — not a series of top-down reforms by well-meaning professionals.

That seems a long way away today. But the alternative is — what? To blame the voters? To scold the world for failing to see how noble we are? No. It will take the opposite sentiment — solidarity — to turn the world right-side up again.

https://www.nytimes.com/2024/11/09/opinion/democrats-trump-elites-centrism.html

[jcmarchi]

Master bladesmith Bob Kramer’s lessons from the school of life

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/master-bladesmith-bob-kramers-lessons-from-the-school-of-life/

Master bladesmith Bob Kramer’s lessons from the school of life

The story of Bob Kramer’s career is a wild one, peppered with twists and turns, false starts, and happy accidents. Before gaining renown as one the finest bladesmiths at work today (a bladesmith is an expert at creating knives and other bladed objects), Kramer had enrolled in and dropped out of college, worked as a chef, performed in improvisational theater, and traveled the United States by train as a circus clown.   “The main takeaway for me was that this is an incredible adventure,” Kramer said in a special lecture at MIT on Jan. 26. He was talking about his stint under the big top, but Kramer might as well have meant his lifelong quest for excellence, of making things of exceptional quality and passing on his expertise to others.   One of just 120 master bladesmiths in the world, Kramer earned the American Bladesmith Society title after years of hand-forging knives from hot steel and then passing a rigorous test — swiping through an inch-thick rope, chopping a two-by-four, and shaving off his own arm hair.   Kramer was at MIT for all of January, invited by the Department of Materials Science and Engineering (DMSE) to teach bladesmithing classes during the institute’s Independent Activities Period. Students lucky enough to get a spot — more than 100 people signed up for 18 spots — learned to shape, heat treat, and grind blades in DMSE’s forge and foundry.

Play video

Special Lecture: “In Pursuit of the Perfect Blade” by Bob Kramer Video: Department of Materials Science and Engineering

Pursuit, and perfection

Although he called his talk “In Pursuit of the Perfect Blade,” Kramer admitted that perfection is unachievable. “You might think that ‘perfect’ is the operative is this sentence, but for me it’s the pursuit,” Kramer said. “I got my master smith rating in 1997, and in many ways that’s like getting your black belt in a martial art. You are just beginning. You are just starting to understand what needs to be done.”   He began by displaying pictures of some of his Kramer Knives — blades with intricate patterns that “go all the way through the steel,” one with a gold inlay of a boy riding a fish, a “plug weld,” or metal insert, and another with steel made from the metals found in a meteorite.   Kramer traced his life journey back to his childhood in Michigan as the youngest of six; his older brothers and sisters “were looking outwards. They want to move on, they want to begin their lives. And I’m just trying to figure out like how to survive, how to get some chicken off the plate or get a little bit of attention.”   So he was “a little bit of a goofball.” In school, Kramer took to wood shop — measuring and cutting materials and making things — rather than reading and writing book reports. Later, in a high school divided into alternative-lifestyle hippies and letter-sweater-wearing jocks, he learned how to juggle, do card tricks, and ride a unicycle.   After a short time as a college student at Wayne State University, where he found out he had dyslexia, he was inspired by Robin Lee Graham’s memoir “Dove,” about the author’s voyage in a sloop as a teenager: “This was one of the easiest books for me to read because it was about adventure.”   At 19 Kramer left Detroit to travel across the country. “I was now fully responsible for myself,” he said. “And I began to try to figure out, ‘How do I fit in the world?’”   His travels took him to Houston, Texas, where he found a job waiting on the wealthy patrons of the Houston Country Club. Later, on a lark, he went to auditions for Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey Circus clowns, got a contract, and went off with the circus for a year, performing all over the country.   “I saw another way to make it through the world. So my mind is opening up to all these other possibilities,” Kramer said.   He returned to the service industry, this time getting a job in a hotel kitchen in Seattle. Though the chefs he worked with were professionals with excellent credentials, none knew how to sharpen knives. So he decided he would learn. “I learned how to juggle. I’m going to learn how to sharpen a knife,” he said.   After some study, he acquired the right skills and the right tools and started a knife-sharpening business, driving a truck around Seattle, Washington, to fish markets, hotels, and restaurants, making blades razor sharp.

“Make a lot of mistakes”

After about five years, he got bored. “I’ve made enough money, but my mind is not stimulated anymore,” he said. Then one day in Blade, a magazine about custom knives, he saw an ad for a two-week bladesmithing class in Arkansas — an experience that forever changed his life.   After attending class, smashing coal into high-carbon coke to make steel and hand-forging a 10-inch blade with a 5-inch handle, he was enraptured.   “And when I got home from that, I thought, ‘I’m doing this.’ Somehow this is going to be incorporated in my life,” Kramer said.   Soon, he stopped driving his knife-sharpening truck and opened a knife shop in downtown Seattle, hand-making knives in an on-site forge. A review in Saveur magazine brought in swift business. After a move to the country, business slowed. Then Kramer got another review, this time in Cook’s Illustrated, on a $400 chef’s knife the publication bought from him.   “And they said, the best knife they had ever tested. The phone starts ringing again, and it happens all over again. Great problem to have,” Kramer said.   Kramer described how he makes steel for knives: It starts by stacking layer upon layer, then heating that up to 2,350 degrees Fahrenheit (1,288 Celsius) in the forge and hammering the layers together until they bond. It’s a process he has honed over years of trial and error.   “Make a lot of mistakes,” he advised the audience. “That’s how you get to know the stuff.”   Professor Yet-Ming Chiang, the Kyocera Professor of Ceramics at MIT and one of Kramer’s DMSE hosts, says what sets Kramer apart is his endless curiosity and passion for self-learning.   “Bob is not only a craftsman and an artist; he’s an innovator, in the best sense of that word,” Chiang says. “He doesn’t have any fancy university degrees, but he has illustrated throughout his life how to learn on your own.”

[hotpoopymilk]

lately i've been going through this thing- i don't want to call it a phase because this has been kind of a reoccurring thing throughout my life- where every time i take notes or draw in my sketchbook or journal about some random thought or feeling that consumes me, i think about how it might come across to someone discovering my words/drawings for the first time three-thousand years from now.

i wonder if they'll speak the same language as me. i wonder if the abbreviations or made up ella-isms that i use might frustrate or confuse future archaeologists or linguists, or if they might mistakenly cement my nonsense words and phrases into their Ancient American-English lexicon.

i think about how future scholars may one day look at my work and think, "what a foolish, uncouth girl," and i wonder if perhaps there'll be even just one young girl who can look at my words and see my intentions and see herself and think, "wow, how beautiful girlhood is, it really is a sisterhood that transcends time and connects me to women who have long left this earth."

i've been spending a lot of time lately wondering if people will know me and love me more in death than they did in life.

i think about how we spend more time mourning the dead than we do loving the living.

i wish that we as humans didn't have to lose things in order to realize their worth.

i wish that we could learn our lesson, i wish that we could learn to listen before it gets too late.

i'm not religious, but i hope that there's a heaven. i hope that the dead can see how we mourn and remember them, and i hope that someday we are able to apologize to them for never loving them enough in life.

less than three ~hotpoopymilk

[boutny]

Anchor'dventures

The view from Boutny's deck, drying out at Point quay

The lessons have been accumulating, and I have not been good at logging them. There was the spinnaker left too long to fly in the early crossing of Biscay; the gib that came out of the furler reel a few hours later; the lesson that I will learn one day, to reef early and reef often; the auto-pilot that broke down ... all fine until the wind dropped and the shipping lanes filled. There was dragging in Camaret, there was chicken with cargo-ships in a storm, there was setting course for the harbour entrance buoy at Falmouth and almost hitting it at the end of a long night. There was dragging at Trefusis Point, and not having a starboard engine that idles correctly. There was the storm on the buoy in Falmouth and bad innovations in my bridle ... There was trusting my depth sounder and running a-mud when it showed 0.6m ... there really are many lessons to catch up on, and let this list be a reminder for some winter postings.

This lesson is fresher than the others, so here goes. It is my third anchor drag. First lesson: I really must work out what is going wrong with my technique. From no drags on the sandy Mediterranean and Algarve, Brittany and Cornwall, with their powerful winds and tides, their complex bottoms, have brought the average of drags per anchorage to an uncomfortable high.

Here is how the weather turned out last night, and it was more or less as forecast.

I had just spent three wonderful nights - the first good weather in weeks - at the beautiful anchorage in front of Trelissick House.

The forecast was for 30+kts, with gusts perhaps to 40+, from the South West, so best to move across the river to find protection for the night.

I got there early, together with a handful of other boats. I came in closer than anyone, around high tide, taking advantage of Boutny's shallow draft and her ability to sit even on the ground. The obvious point of greatest protection, in the shallow tongue on the east side of Turnaware Point, was occupied, so I picked a place on the point.

The wind during the afternoon was not strong, and the rain was bucketing. I took a stroll along the gravel beach, shingle and kelp with occasional concrete blocks from a feature that Navionics has as a WW1 embarcation dock.

Ah... now I remember another and separate lesson: I tied up my tender on returning from the beach, and settled down to continue writing the report that is taking up my attention right now, when I heard some shouts from shore. My dinghy was drifting down-river with the tide ... How could my knot have come loose? Why hadn't I done what I usually do - have two separate lines to secure the tender? So ... a subsidiary lesson for the day - don't slacken on old rules of thumb, just because your feeling confident.

Andy, from a boat next door, shouted that he would go and get her. How attentive and kind. He came back to Boutny towing my tender, and we talked of the night to come.

"Who will drag, I wonder", he asked. I agreed that we'd all have to look out for each other. I did not think that anyone would drag onto me - if they did, they'd be heading straight onto the beach. I felt quietly confident, though I said that I should probably go and dive onto my anchor to have a look. He talked about adding a second anchor in a V configuration, and I told him I might put one in front of the other, as Jean-Yves had recommended.

I went back below. I felt tired and the words weren't flowing for my report. I ate some left-over pasta and lay down with American Pastoral and was dosing by about 6pm. I had, however, set my anchor alarm properly, this time, after the Cameret lesson. Around 8pm I got up to have a look around, and saw with some satisfaction the waves and white horses on the North bank where I had come from that morning. The trees at the shoreline to windward seemed to be protecting me from the wind, though an occasional gust would come around the point and yank at Boutny's bridles. I turned on my masthead anchor light and returned to my bunk.

The anchor alarm woke me at 10pm. I got out of bed, silenced it, and looked at the track. Perhaps I had set it too conservatively and I was in fact holding. I went on deck and checked my distances. Storm Betty was at full power, by now, and the wind was regularly coming around the point and pulling at Boutny's tethers.

When the alarm went off again at 10.30, I finally took it with the seriousness it had originally required. Another little lesson here, though it feels like a repeat: resist wishful thinking, and do not lie in hope without having tried to fix the problem or properly gathered evidence that there is none. I was seriously drifting, and was now level with the old ramshackle ketch with the 2 noisy wind generators.

Adrenalin gets you moving fast. I started the starboard engine to get some sort of directional control, even with the 30m of chain and anchor dragging. One I was headed towards open space - more or less straight for the Northern shores - I went to the foredeck and tried to get my windlass to bring the chain in.

I have been having connection problems - known about but unfixed - and my remote also stopped working after I started playing with the batteries in A Coruna ... However much I pressed the red button, I could not get the windlass to turn. I am afraid there is an obvious lesson here - fix problems when you've noticed them, not after the crisis when you wish you had fixed them already. ("A stitch in time", and all that...)

So ... it was dark, wet and I was heading into the path of Betty's full force, dragging a lot of chain and stuff. Urgh. I stood astride the windlass and pulled chain in at whatever rate I could muster, all adrenalined-up. I rounded the elegant yacht with the blue ensign that had confidently anchored in the windy channel, having hauled most of it in, relieved not to have become tangled with hers. Lesson: you got away with it, but counting on luck is a poor strategy.

What now? Just as I was considering the question, a voice on my port stern said: "Are you alright, Tony?"

That was it. The hallucination that comes to so many in situations of crisis. Mountaineers talk about the figures who appear, seeming entirely real, from their imagination to help them through tough passes. I had wondered whether any such figure would appear when I solo'd those last crossings. Although I occasionally mistook the creaking of a beam for a voice that spoke, no one had come.

But it really was too real. I went to look astern, and there was Andy in his tender, doing what he'd said he'd do, looking after whoever it was who'd need it in the night.

"Go up river, after the pontoons ... there's a small creek where you should be able to lie alongside the trees, protected. Do you want me to come with you?"

Better than a hallucination ... Andy had local knowledge.

"Thank you, no. I'll be fine and follow your advice. You return to looking after your boat."

Another lesson, a big one: try to be as kind and helpful as Andy. How very reassuring it was to be offered advice in that moment.

Betty's power was in my stern, and I made my way quickly past the pontoon. And there was the micro-creek, that place, right up in the top-right of the Navionics screenshot, that thing that looks like a thorn on a rosebush:

And here it is in satellite view, perhaps more telling for the account of the next 3 hours I spent in the creek, St Just-in-Roseland, Google tells me:

There was a party on in that house behind the trees. Lively. I thought at one point they were calling out to me, but they weren't. I wonder if they even knew the micro-drama yards away from them.

I placed my anchor about where I have the marker. It was the most protected corner, and the northern shore was windy. There was enough light to see the great branches of the overhanging trees swaying and waving as gust upon gust came down or around.

But how much chain to put down? Too much, and I would be pushed into those trees. Too little, and it would be unlikely to hold. I tried 10m, I tried 20m, I tried putting here and putting it there. I tried both anchors. But I never felt confident the chain would keep me away from the banks.

I remember Olivier talking to me about anchorages slipping in strong wind: "If you have to, if your anchorage isn't holding and you've run out of options, you'll just have to keep on your engines, drive onto the chain, relieve it, adjust your position. You'll have to keep going all night if you must. But just don't give up. Remember that you need to save your boat from the shoreline. That's your priority".

So that was now my plan. To use the engines to stay in the right place, to avoid hitting the sides of the creek. And here starts the next lesson ... a rather unsurprising one about tidying lines and fouling an engine prop.

I often find the mainsail sheet - it is very long, and needs to be - dragging in the water. This time, however, it dragged and tangled in my starboard prop. OK, there were odd clicking sounds, some coming from unusual places, but rather than stop the engine and check what was up, my priority was staying clear of the banks, I thought, so I kept revving. Until the poor engine cut out.

Then, in a lull, I opened the hatches and looked at what was up - it would be prudent to have two engines working in these conditions. And here is what I found - the ugly bundle that Anna and Esme, the artists who came on board the next day, immediately called "Misericordia":

This, sadly, is the line that used to go through the triple block on the main sheet, and the rotations had pulled it quite tight around the prop, and had stretch the clew to the point where the tension in the foot of the sail stopped it going any further.

The conditions felt stable enough, so I stripped down and put my wingfoil board into the water, paddled under the boat with my Opinel, and cut through the mess. The party was going full pelt, and I was, at some level, loving the cold lashings and adrenaline of it all. And, of course, the pride and comfort when the motor started again.

By 1pm, Betty, still powerful, was losing some of her peaks, and the tide was low. I might run aground in this minuscule creek, and I would have to watch like a hawk the moment of refloating. So I headed back to where I had originally slipped, dropped my anchor, dried out, and woke every 20 minutes after 4am to catch the moment the tide would float Boutny again. I was worried both that I might drift up the beach and not refloat, and that if I did, I would swing on an untested anchor hold and into my neighbours. I dropped my spare anchor off the stern to avoid the first problem, and waited for the waters to rise to avoid the second.

I was asleep again at 6 and woke, somewhat refreshed and with slightly surreal memories of the night, at 7.30, ready to catch high tide to collect Anna and Esme from the quay at Point.

Many lessons in all that. Keep the lines tidy. Properly check anchor hold, not just with a big reverse thrust. Give up on wishful thinking. Be as kind as Andy.

But maybe another one too. I hadn't checked out the "escape routes" from a dragging in the hours before the storm. If I had, perhaps I would not have gone to the mini-protection of the microcreek. Perhaps I would have pressed on and found easier protection and a better night's sleep upstream:

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[therealvinelle]

Ok I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I'm just now copying your Norwegian Bella AU into a text translator, and if you don't already have 50 people in your inbox demanding a translation then shame on ALL OF US because this is glorious! And while Google Translate does have a certain charm (it translated "piper hun ut" as "she beeps") I'm curious to see how you'd put it in English.

Troquantary is referring to this post. In which Bella doesn't speak English.

Fun fact, you're the only one who's gone into my inbox to request this. I was so sad, had the translation half-written and everything, but I was too proud to beg. So thank you, Troquantary, for popping this ask.

As for the dictionary fuckups, sounds about right. I made a few typos, too, that made Google Translate suffer even more. (Such as managing to mix up "henne" (her) and "hendene" (hands), resulting in Aro patting Bella instead of clapping his hands. Poor Google.)

Also, there are a few cultural references and language things that would be lost in the translation, in an attempt to keep them I included notes clarifying things.

Some things, like Aro and Carlisle's very old man way of speaking, are easier said than done to translate, you'll have to bear with me there.

Additional notes are that I added a few things to this version, many of them because translating is hard, but a few because while translating I thought "oh you know what would be much funnier-" and then wrote that.

Alright, without further ado:

When Renée left Charlie she did not go to Florida, she went to Oslo. And she went all in to make her daughter a true Norwegian, hiring Norwegian nannies and making sure never to speak English around the child. Since transatlantic flights are expensive, little Bella Swan rarely got to visit her father, and as such she never did learn what should have been her native language.

She quickly forgot what English she did have in favor of Norwegian, with the exception of words like “Yes”, “No”, and “I’m Bella”.

The few trips she took to visit her father were all the more awkward than in canon since she couldn’t play with the Black kids. Let not the blame fall upon Charlie: he took Norwegian classes and speaks conversational Norwegian. He can’t speak to Renée, because her Norwenglish is incomprehensible even to Norwegians, but he can communicate with Bella.

Not that he’s had a lot of chances to do so.

Bella makes it to seventeen years old, she’s in second grade at Handels* and is a major outsider among the preps there, and then Renée marries a handsome skier**. Together they shall travel the continent all winter to participate in as many skiing races as they can, and in the summer they’ll take gigs at Hurtigruta to see the coast.

*“Handels” is the nickname for an Oslo high school infamous for its pupils being rich and beautiful blonds who are going to be CEOs when they grow up.

**Skiing as a sport is huge in Norway

***Hurtigruta is a famous ferry that travels across the Norwegian West coast

Bella, who sucks at skiing and is too young to work at Hurtigruten, takes the hint.

With dread in her stomach and dictionary in hand she goes to her father in America.

Where she doesn’t speak the language.

Faen.

Charlie gives her a car, and I wish this meta was set in the present because I could have joked about electric cars and the automat only driver’s license*, but Twilight is set in 2005 so I can’t. The car part proceeds without drama.

*An increasing number of Norwegian youth take the driver’s license for automatic cars only, and we’re the country in the world with the highest percentage of electric car purchases.

School is worse than in canon, because she is now a thousand times more sensational than if she was merely the new student. She is from another country! All of Forks keels over with excitement.

To make matters even worse, our girl doesn’t understand a word of what people are saying.

She is too awkward to let them know she doesn’t know English. It’d become a thing, and they might think she’s dumb. To be fair, it’s not good that she’s been through primary, secondary, and now a year and a half of high school and still sucks at English.

So she nods, smiles, mumbles “Hi, I’m Bella” to the new faces, and blushes heavily when anybody says anything.

People assume she’s shy. That’s a bit boring, but oh well.

She has her biology class with the redhead hottie she noticed during lunch. She watched him and his family, they were fascinatingly pretty, but she doesn’t know anything more about them. Sure would have been great if she could have asked the tiny girl (was it Jess?) about them.

Biology proceeds as in canon - Edward badly wants to eat the delicious girl, but fortunately doesn’t.

She runs into him in the office when he tries to switch to another biology lesson, but she has no idea what he’s saying so she only has the suspicion that this somehow concerns her. Which is still uncomfortable, but Bella is probably the problem here. The hottie surely can’t be.

He’s missing from school for a week, Bella finds that weird.

He returns, and to her great horror he starts talking to her.

“Hello”, he says.

Bella dies inside. He’s too handsome!

"I'm Edward Cullen," he continues, and ok, she got that. The hottie is called Edward, that’s good to know. She’s not sure she caught that last name, though, Köln?

He says something else, it’s gibberish to Bella even though she’s concentrating, and at the end there he says “Bella Swan”.

She gulps.

"I'm Bella Swan," she confirms and nods. That should be correct. God, she hopes it’s correct.

He smiles a crooked, boyish smile. She’s awed. She didn’t think it was possible to be so beautiful.

He says something else.

Bella didn’t catch it.

She blushes even harder, she hasn’t been more embarrassed in her life. Here he is, the most handsome guy in all the world, and she has nothing to say to him. Literally, they don’t speak the same language.

She should tell him.

It’s one thing to chicken out of telling the town she doesn’t speak English, but there’s something different about Edward Cullen. He deserves the truth.

But...

He’s the most beautiful person she has seen in her life. He is American, too, so the odds of him knowing Norwegian are microscopical. If he finds out she doesn’t understand a word he says he’ll stop talking to her, and selfish as she is she doesn’t want that.

So with a slightly guilty conscience (but not enough to fess up) she contributes to the conversation with enough words and smiles to pull through. "Yes", "No", "Thank you", and "That's nice".

He is surprised by several of these answers, but instead of giving her odd looks and losing interest he grows more invested in the conversation.

Class ends.

The next day the near accident happens, and he saves her. She is stunned - dear god, did he just pick up a whole car? After teleporting across the parking lot..?

Soon she’s in the ER, and more than a little bit stressed about that fact since she knows the Americans have a terrible healthcare system.

She hopes Charlie has an insurance.

An insanely beautiful man walks into the ER, and Bella is shocked. He is just as handsome as Edward and Edward’s lunch friends!

He introduces himself as Carlisle Cullen, and Bella can only assume this is someone’s older brother. Possibly related to the blonde girl.

He smiles at her, says something, and she answers, "I'm Bella Swan."

He frowns.

That must have been the wrong answer, then.

His hands return to investigating her scalp, and to her great surprise he switches to perfect Norwegian, "kjenner De* noe ubehag når jeg holder her?" Do you feel any discomfort when I touch here?

*De is the Norwegian polite pronoun for “you”. Du = thou = the French tu, and De = you = the French vous. These polite pronouns went out of use in the 1980’s, save for when addressing royal persons, and would be considered antiquated in 2005.

He hurries to add, "Norsk lærte jeg i... fjor sommer. Det var et nettkurs." I learned Norwegian… last year. Online class.

"Hvilket da?" Which one? Bella asks, because Charlie needs to hear about this. The doctor has beautiful, if slightly outdated, pronunciation.

The doctor’s smile turns uncertain. She gets the feeling there’s something he doesn’t want to say. "Husker ikke," I don’t remember, sier han etter en litt vel lang pause.

That’s a shame. And weird.

"De hadde hellet med Dem i dag, som ikke ble truffet av den bilen." You were lucky today, not getting hit by that car. he then says, noticeably changing the subject.

"Det var ikke hell, det var Edward," It wasn’t luck, it was Edward, she replies sharply.

The doctor definitely looks uncomfortable.

She continues, "Han krysset skolegården på et blunk, og plukket opp hele bilen. Jeg så det," He crossed the schoolyard in a moment, and picked up the whole car. I saw it,

The doctor laughs. "Om han kunne det hadde nok gymkarakteren hans vært meget bedre. Nei, frøken Swan*, jeg beklager å si at det høres ut som at De er litt omtåket. Det er helt normalt ved hjernerystelse." If he could do that, his PE grade would be a lot better. No, Miss Swan, I’m sorry to say you seem confused. That’s normal with concussions.

*Addressing a young woman as “frøken” is even more outdated than using polite pronouns.

Why does Bella get the feeling he’s lying?

She’s discharged.

We’ll jump ahead to her trip to La Push - that trip uneventful, since Jacob knows she doesn’t speak English. They stick their hands in their pockets and stare at the sea.

The next day she’s shanghaied to Port Angeles, because apparently she said “Yes” at the wrong time when talking to Jessica (Turns out Jess’s name was Jessica!) and accidentally said yes to a day trip to Port Angeles.

Like in canon she wanders away from the others, and as in canon she is nearly gang raped. And again as in canon she is saved at the last moment by Edward.

He buys her dinner, and she can’t believe her own luck- and misfortune. A date with the most handsome guy on the planet (hence the luck) and she can’t say a word to him (hence the misfortune)!

He says things to her, lends her his jacket, and really this is it for Bella, she’s peaked, life can’t get better than this.

(That’s a lie, it would be better if she spoke English.)

He’s so amazing.

She’s gotten pretty good at navigating conversations with him, so she nods and aha’s her way through.

In his car on the way home the tone takes a more serious turn.

He asks her about something, and it’s a serious question, that much she’s gathered. She answers in the confirmative.

He is silent.

Did she say anything wrong?

(Edward, on his end, just asked if she knows what he is. She said yes, so calmly, not even a trace of fear in her.)

A few days later he takes her out on a walk in the woods.

He shows her a meadow in the woods, and when he steps into it he lights up in the sunlight.

Bella is in shock.

She knew there was something different about him, but- holy cow. This guy isn’t human.

Is she dating a god?

She stumbles into the clearing after him, and they spend a day together where he says things, and she can barely hear any of it (nevermind understand it) because she’s so distracted by how pretty he is.

The next day he takes her to a house in the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t want to guess that this can be where he lives. Surely gods don’t live in houses?

He shows her inside the house, and introduces her for Dr. Cullen and a lady with a name she doesn’t catch.

Bit weird that these two are acting like a couple of parents, they’re far too young and divine for that.

Edward shows her around in an old-fashioned office, and she doesn’t know what to make of i when she sees a painting of Carlisle. Edward launches into a long story when he sees her watching it, unfortunately she doesn’t catch any dates or artist names. At one point she heard the word “suicide”, though, and that’s not good.

She doesn’t get much out of the story.

The baseball game doesn’t happen because Bella didn’t pick up on what Edward wanted and didn’t realize she was being invited to a thing. They spend the afternoon watching a movie instead.

The relationship continues, impeded slightly by communication problems, but she’s mostly able to cover those up.

Until her birthday comes around.

She gets a papercut.

Jasper lunges at her. Edward throws her into a glass table, and then everyone is leaving.

Carlisle is kind enough to switch to Norwegian when he’s stitching up her arm, perhaps remembering the last time she was his patient. "Jasper har ikke vært på dietten vår så veldig lenge." Jasper hasn’t been on our diet for very long.

"Diett?"she asks. She’s never seen Edward eat anything. She wasn’t clear on what the Cullens ate, honestly she thought they were above such things. She was thinking maybe photosynthesis. The knowledge that they apparently eat food astounds her, but diets?

"Dyreblod istedenfor menneskeblod," Animal blood in stead of human blood, Carlisle clarifies.

Whachasay?

Carlisle gives a slight smile. “Jaspers liv som vampyr fikk en brutal start." Jasper’s life as a vampire got off to a brutal start.

...

Vampire?!

Bella’s missed something here.

Oh dear lord, oh fy faen, she has missed something.

“Åja”, uh huh, is all she can say, and suddenly she’s very aware of the fact that she’s sitting there with a bleeding arm.

And Carlisle.

Who is a vampire.

Over the course of the following conversation Bella makes a host of discoveries.

Edward has been a vampire this whole time, and he’s a telepathic vampire. Whether Bella should be a vampire too or not has been a matter of hot debate, but due to religious reasons Edward doesn’t want that.

Carlisle also brings up how Edward died of the Spanish flu.

"Jeg var under den oppfatning at Edward fortalte deg bakhistorien min?" I was under the impression Edward told you my back story? Carlisle asks at one point, and Bella just has to ask very nicely if he’d be so kind as to repeat it.

Turns out the guy is nearly four hundred years old.

Jaha.

Jahahaha jaa ha.

That’s… a lot.

She wanders out of the house in shock, and hardly notices Edward’s strange behavior over the next couple of days.

One day he picks her up at school, and takes her behind the house.

That works out.

He’s a vampire, but he never hurt her. He is endlessly beautiful, perhaps easier to love now that she knows he’s not a god. He’s her Edward, and that’s suddenly easier now that she knows.

They can still be together.

But now that she knows this about him, it’s about time he knows something about her as well.

It’s time to finally be honest with him.

So when he opens his mouth, she opens her mouth as well, but she doesn’t get any further than to “Edward-” before he launches into a monologue.

She’ll have to wait until he’s done before saying her piece. It’s a bit embarrassing, but it doesn’t seem like he intends to stop talking anyway.

And what he’s saying seems to be serious, so it’s probably best to let him finish.

Edward concludes his monologue by kissing her forehead. Then he disappears.

Where did he go?

A big unsure, Bella goes back to the house. She’ll just have to wait until he gets back.

She doesn’t know what to think when Charlie returns from work and tells her the Cullens have all left.

Oh, god.

Edward must have found out she doesn’t speak English.

She made a mockery of him.

He has every right to leave.

Knowing this doesn’t make it any easier to live with.

Bella sinks into a depression.

The hallucinations begin, as in canon, though Hallusinward speaks Norwegian. Thank god for small mercies.

The friendship with Jacob (dictionary in hand) blooms, as someone has to help her see those hallucinations.

The cliff diving happens, and Alice shows up. Bella’s not sure what this is about, but she has gotten good enough at English to know that something bad happened, and Alice wants them to do something.

She’s a bit surprised to find herself on a plane to Italy, though.

Alice tells her to “Run to Edward” and ok, she got that, actually.

So she saves Edward.

After that she’s taken into the sewer, which turns out to house dozens of vampires.

Bella, Edward, and Alice are received in some kind of hall, where an unusual vampire has quite a bit to say. She understands some of what he’s saying, at least the part about “la tua cantante”. She knows a bit about Italian, see, so she knows that he’s talking about a song now.

She wishes she knew the context.

At one point he takes her hand, and appears fascinated by it. She wonders if he’s a palmreader. Not very vampirey, but what does she know.

He asks her a question.

"Yes," she says.

Saying yes has gotten her this far, after all.

But when he lights up and claps his hands together, and Edward and Alice stare at her in shock and betrayal, she knows she must have said the wrong thing.

The two are dismissed from the room before Bella can do or say anything, she’s just listening to Edward make a racket outside in the hallway.

Not good.

The unusual vampire brings her further down in his sewer palace to a basement, and she is given comfortable clothes to wear.

This is getting terrifying.

The vampire leans towards her - and she chickens out.

"Jeg snakker ikke engelsk!" she squeaks. "Non habla ingles!" I don’t speak English.

Han stanser, og ser forvirret ut. "Que- Hva behager*?" I beg your pardon? spør han etter et øyeblikk.

*A very formal, and slightly outdated (you can use it, but people will think you’re putting on airs. And they will be right) way of saying “excuse me?”

Sobbing, Bella tells him the whole story, from how she didn’t want to be the weird kid in school to how she’s now somehow in Italy without knowing why nor what she just agreed to.

When she’s done the vampire starts laughing.

"Dette forklarer jo en hel del," This explains quite a bit, ler han. "Men, kjære Bella, jeg er redd det ikke endrer noe." But, my dear Bella, I’m afraid it changes nothing.

He tells her that she has agreed to serve him and his army of undead warriors into eternity.

Well fuck.

"Du skal få slippe det, når du ikke visste hva du samtykket til - men skjebnen din forblir den samme. Loven er loven." You’re released from that promise, as you didn’t know what you agreed to - but your fate remains the same. The law is the law.

After a moment of silence, during which she looks terrified, he hurries to add, "Vi har en lov. Du må bli en av oss." We have a law. You must become one of us.

A law that Bella Swan has to become a vampire?

People are finally speaking Norwegian, and Bella is still lost. And it’s too embarrassing to keep pestering this poor, polite man with questions.

So she nods.

He gives her a glittering smile, and bites her.

When she wakes, Aro offers her an English course. A language course that, naturally, leads to her staying in Volterra. Why not learn a few more languages while we’re at it, dearest Bella?

Some time later Edward breaks into Volterra to save his Rapunzel, only to barely recognize her now that she’s a vampire who says things. Lots of things, she talks all the time now. WHAT DID ARO DO TO HER.

Too mortified to admit that she never spoke English, Bella claims she’s been brainwashed.

Aro is having too much fun to correct her, and the whole sad affair sets off a regrettable flood of rumors.

[bokunosimpfiction]

Yandere!Karl Heisenberg x Reader Pt. 2

You could read this as a stand-alone fic, but there’s some more context of the situation on the first one.

Usertags: @fandomtrashgoddess

Synopsis: Some fluff/hurt slash comfort after and escape attempt. tw:kidnapping (implied) tw:physical abuse (implied)

             You sat on in the bathtub, facing the wall, head leaned back, while Heisenberg sat on the toilet seat behind you. You counted the little dots and indentations in the ceiling while he repaired your injuries.

             You tried not to hiss when he poked around your face, checking your wounds and scratches for any metal debris or splinters. Your eyes watered when he would pull one out, no matter how gently he did it (or tried to), it made your eyes water. You pretended to be strong.

             After a little bit you feel a warm, damp cloth pat your skin. It doesn’t sting as much, and if anything soothes the burn.

             “I told you not to try and escape,” he mutters, “look at what you did to yourself… You’re lucky I found you when I did.”

             “Who was the one that set up the traps that almost killed me?” Your voice was hoarse, dry, and tired from screaming, and your body was sore from running and kicking and screaming. You lost the fight in you an hour or so ago, and here you were being cleaned up from the mess that was made. The mess that you made.

             “I wouldn’t have to set up traps like that if you stopped trying to escape.” He takes a cotton pad with saline solution on it and lightly dabs at the cuts all across your face. “These are going scar, sweetie.” You can feel the sarcasm and hostility at the end but chose to ignore it. “You’ll be beautiful no matter what, of course, but you get them through pain, and I can’t stand the thought you ever being hurt.”

             “Okay boomer.”

             “What the ever-living fuck is a boomer?”

             “Google it.”

             “How did you even get wifi here?”

             “Not telling.”

             He sighs and begins to gently apply aloe to the cuts. You’d never use those words to describe Heisenberg. He’s big, bulky, strong, and intimidating, but for some reason his rough and callous covered hands managed to be so nimble and delicate on top of being bulky and strong. It has to do with his tinkering and building, you suppose.

             He places a kiss on your forehead, above one of the bigger gashes and leans your head off of his lap. “Alright, I think that’s the last of them.”

             You still sit in the tub, covering yourself with your left, covered in gauze and bandages. The other one in a sling with ice inside. It hurt terribly, some of the worst pain you’ve ever felt. You remind yourself to NOT dislocate your elbow.

             You felt so exposed, in nothing but an oversized tank-top and your underwear. He had put you in one of his shirts to have easier access to your arms and such. You were exhausted, and just needed sleep. But you knew that you had a punishment ahead of you, and that you needed to endure a little longer.

             He tilts your head up, to look him in the eyes. There was so much more emotion than you could comprehend: anger, sadness, betrayal, love, there were too many and he was clearly conflicted on what to do.

             He scoops you up bridal style, easily, and holds you close. “I think you’ve learned your lesson for now, being chased by propeller man is more than enough excitement for today, we’ll worry about the consequences tommorow.”

             You just nod your head. “Thank you, Dr. Doofenshmirtz.” It’s a quiet statement, and despite the exhaustion, you still are able to maintain a bit of snark. You refuse to be fully submissive, and in moments where you don’t have the energy to fight physically or battle it out with yelling insults or witty comebacks, you have to resort to statements like these.

             “I told you to call me Karl.”

             You pretend to consider it for a moment. “Hm… no.”

             “I might change my mind and spank you now.”

             You yawn. “You don’t have the nerve.”

             Still, he carries you gently into the shared bedroom. The kink-sized bed with beige sheets and a comforter folded at the end of the bed. It was yours mostly because it’s always cold at night. Heisenberg always found his way under it or wrapped around it somehow, and by morning he was either dead asleep with no way to escape or in the workshop, waiting for you to come visit him in your pajamas.

             “You’re not going to be able to change tonight by yourself.”

             “I’d like to try.”

             “Well, you won’t.”

             “Don’t act so tough, Schwarzenegger.” All of this snark is tiring you out, but you refuse to give up what little control you have left: freedom of speech. Thank God for being an American because lord do you know how to use it.

             “I’d imagine you’d learn to shut your mouth after all the times I’ve gagged you but apparently not.” He sits you down on the poorly made bed and slips his shirt off you. The cold nips at your skin and perks your nipples, which he ogles at for several moments before going to the shared dresser.

             He doesn’t ask how cold you are, just grabs the short-sleeved slip-on night gown from its place in the draw and a pair of underwear. He lifts your legs and slips off your current pair. It’s been a while since you last shaved, but he shows no disgust or even disinterest. He wants to lean closer, smell you, taste you, feel you, but he restrains himself. Your shaken and tired enough as is, no need to worsen that. He slides the new pair back up, lifting your ass with his hands while he pulls the briefs up to the small of your back.

             He slides the sling off your arm, and carefully maneuvers it through the arm hole. “Keep it still, okay.” His voice is soft and gruff, and for a moment, you melt, before you remembered he kidnapped you. You’ve had more domestic moments, ruined by the circumstance in which they came, but for some reason, you feel his caring nature come through more.

             He slides your other arm through the arm hole and tugs the dress down over your head. It’s bunched at your hips from you sitting, but there’s not much he can do about it besides move you, which he doesn’t plan on doing.

             “Heisenberg?” You call out softly, pulling him out of his train of thoughts, “I’d like to go to bed now.” Why the hell do you have to ask for his permission? But you do anyhow. He pushes you back onto your side of the bed, and rests your head on the pillow, that’s almost flat enough to be replaced. Almost. He pulls the covers from under you, and tucks you in up to your chin, just like how you would a child. You see him walk to the end of the bed, his coat moving behind him as he pulls the comforter up. He leans down, and you look in his eyes a moment before kissing you on the forehead.

             “Goodnight pumpkin.”

             “Goodnight Zoidberg.”

             “Goddamn it.”

[reallyhardy]

went through the goes-wrong-verse playbills/programmes - that is, ‘the play that goes wrong’ and ‘peter pan goes wrong’ (thank you @cornleypolytechnicgoeswrong​ !) trying to piece together each society member’s career within the society PLUS if possible whatever it was they were doing at the polytechnic (university) course-wise, along with whatever other character snippets they give. this is mostly to inform me when writing but i thought it’d be useful for other mischief/goes wrong fans!

chris bean:

as of TPTGW is the ‘newly elected’ head of the drama society, and is known at the university for his charitable & philanhropic work. he has six acting credits within the polytechnic to his name.

i was going to presume his choice of course at the uni was acting or directing, but his PPGW bio states that his ‘dacting’ (directing and acting) is all self-taught, so who knows. maybe he’s just in the society because of his aforementioned charitable work.

robert grove:

has starred in 40 productions with the society since 2002 (when he began work at cornley polytechnic as a caretaker - i’m taking this to mean he was never actually a student there.) anyway wow explains why they call him a “veteran actor” lol.

he offers acting lessons (reacting, gesturing, emotioning and acting) and can be contacted via twitter @robertgoodactor. i’ve looked this twitter account up and it does exist it’s just not been used since 2017 - that said there are some in-character photos of henry lewis as robert and nancy zamit as annie on there and plenty of tweets.

he runs an extremely dubiously safe cornley youth theatre program and can be contacted at his email robertgoodactor@hotmail.com (membership fees are non-refundable.)

trevor watson:

in TPTGW is arbitrarily from ‘the north east’ (rob falconer’s portrayal, whereas chris leask’s portrayal is firmly and specifically scouse.)

he has a twitter account (rob falconer’s portrayal) @trevtechie, with i think probably the most tweets of the cornley twitters. stopped being updated in 2017.

his participation in haversham was to complete an electronics module - as the light and sound technician i’d assume his course was in this kinda field.

he states that after haversham he wants to never work with the cornley drama society again, but as of PPGW he’s “following in his parents footsteps” and has pivoted to possibly actually studying stage management. (his PPGW bio states that he’s in his final year at the uni for the 3rd time running. so it could mean his staying on with cornley is like partially due to failing his course?)

dennis tyde:

in his TPTGW bio it states that he joined the drama society after failing to get in to any other societies.

he didn’t live on university campus and commuted in from his parents’ house. he mostly just wanted to make friends - he’s interested in snooker and wants to meet like-minded people.

in his PPGW bio he still wants to make friends and says you can reach him via twitter @dennistyde. i checked this account too and again it does exist but hasn’t been used since 2013, and there are only 3 tweets so its much more bare-bones than the others. i like his one tweet about drinking a mug of bovril to calm his nerves before a show.

as of 2021 in promotional vids we learn that dennis and robert now live together.

max bennett:

in TPTGW bio it says he was a first year studying human geography and crime which i was surprised about but sure okay. it also says here that he happily donated “a large portion of his recent inheritance” to the society to help fund it.

at the bottom of TPTGW’s cast page it states that the west end performance of the play is “made possible by a generous legacy from claude bennett” who’s presumably max’s grandfather? or just father? idk

his TPTGW bio also says his favourite movie is the legend of bagger vance which i’ve never seen but is apparently a will smith golf movie.

his hobbies as listed in his PPGW bio are chess, cooking & hanging out with friends and fam. he also dedicates his performance in PPGW to his grandma claire, which is sweet.

annie twilloil:

as of TPTGW she’s designed, built, painted, costumed & stage managed every cornley show for the past 3 years. in the PPGW bio, it states she’s studying cognitive behavioural therapy and pottery, and has taken up life drawing at the student’s union (as the model.)

after haversham, she apparently had an internship lined up at the bolton octagon.

she has WILD backstory in her PPGW bio that says she dedicated her performance to her estranged husband julian who she hoped was in the audiance and two children frangipani and ylang-ylang. not sure if the kids are with her or with the husband but either way, wild. nuts. pretty funny but also pretty tragic.

she’s also got an ad out looking for a new bloke (i suppose if her husband isn’t in the audience) apparently she’s been left by boyfriends previously for an air hostess, a stripper, and a coal miner.

she also enjoys knitting and playing the banjolin (an instrument she made herself.) her email address is greatfunmum@hotmail.com.

she has a twitter account that again hasnt been used since 2017 (@annietwiloil). a couple tweets chronicle dave hearn’s shoulder dislocation but as max so i guess its canon that max also dislocated his shoulder, but he did it while trying to open a twix? lmao

sandra wilkinson:

in her TPTGW bio it states that haversham manor is her 11th production with the company. idk how frequently they put on shows.

she won some kind of local kids beauty pageant in 1998 and did some modelling for a local restaurant (the sunam balti house, which apparently the cornley crew frequent? or have at least been to - seems they struggled with spicyness levels there, especially dennis.)

nothing on her course at the university, i might just take a stab and assume she was actually doing acting, since her bio is mostly about her being a performer.

she’s a big fan of jeremy irvine, they mention him in both of her bios.

jonathan harris:

is a total health & fitness guy. his course at the uni is in physical education and he’s also a model, though who’s to say what for. in PPGW this is expanded and he’s moved on to being a combo model/actor/photographer/lifecoach.

he loves his outdoor sports: mountain biking & kayaking are noted.

he had a bath salts advert out and he hoped it was gonna go national.

lucy grove:

her surname IS grove! i wasn’t sure, but that’s confirmed. not really much about her in there, because the bio is written by robert and he just used it to gas himelf up.

can’t tell if she’s a student at the university or just in the society through robert. genuinely there’s just not a lot to go on when it comes to lucy.

another note is that the murder at haversham manor and the version of peter pan that the cornley crew perform are both written by ‘susie h. k. brideswell’ who i guess either chris knows or chris is a big fan of?

other notes... they try so hard to make out like the characters aren't all the same age like implying that robert is genuinely older than most of them etc etc but ofc the cast featured in the TV broadcasts are all visibly the same age... ofc all this is just comedy innit so you can take it or leave it

also i realised that the american version of TPTGW calls it “the cornley university drama society” since i guess you guys dont have polytechnics over there. a polytechnic is like... a university that offers the arts (among the classics you know science law what have you) basically. by 2021 in promotional videos etc. shields in character as chris has dropped “polytechnic” altogether from the group’s name (but varies between calling it ‘the cornley drama society’ and ‘the cornley amateur dramatics society’) i assume to reflect how much time has passed since the group put on their first production under chris’ leadership - and that now they’re simply operating unattached to the university because they’ve become a real family. love love love, sillyness and love.

[mystic-sky]

✨part 1 here ✨

Satoru’s only been in love once. Though it wasn’t with you, it wasn’t long before he met you either. The summer before he graduated high school he fell into a deep infatuation with someone. 

He was always a fast guy, even during his earlier youth- having lost his virginity in his sophomore year. He was a curious one, and he had the looks and the charm to scoop as many women as he chose. But he did give love a try with her. She was spunky, but shy at the same time. Outspoken, and he’d never forget how she kissed him first. She scooped him off his feet, somehow wrapping him around her finger- until she got bored. Gradually, there were no more late night phone calls, no more study dates and sneaking out together. She no longer responded immediately to his text messages, and casually rescheduled plans on short notice. Satoru had never been out right rejected before. But his nonchalant attitude lead him to adapt, and just reciprocate everything she had been doing. 

And in came his ex best friend, Suguru, who he no longer spoke to for external reasons.

He couldn’t go anywhere in school without witnessing or hearing the two laughing amongst one another or watching them hold hands. He felt nauseous every time he saw him wrap his arms around her; her sickening smile and her eyes sparkled just for him.

Senior year felt way too long. In the end, she left the both of them high and dry for an American University after graduation. But Satoru saw it as a lesson of sorts. He didn’t think all women were the same, but he certainly didn’t leave himself open to disappointment after this.

And that’s why he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he saw Suguru pressing his lips to your knuckles in the cafe you both first met in.

“Snake,” Satoru muttered under his breath.

He had no plans to walk inside the establishment at all, until he saw your cheery smile over the head of the brunette on his arm through the window. He shifted his gaze towards the source of your happiness, feeling that same sickening feeling from 3 years prior. 

He needed something sweet to rid the awful taste on his tongue. He took the brunette girl on his arm with him, offering to buy her a sweet drink. She happily obliged, simply ecstatic to be in his highly esteemed presence.

He imagined you didn’t even know who Suguru was, or what kinds of things he was capable of. But who was he to try and inform you? The both of you had split long before, and the last thing he needed was you thinking he actually cared about you. 

But he couldn’t stop looking at you. His heart swelled as he remembered when you both first met. It wasn’t even in lecture the way he had convinced you prior- oh no, long before that. It had been in sophomore year of college, the semester before you signed up for the political science course. 

He saw you in the college office, discussing electives you’d possibly be into with your counselor and one of your friends. He thought you were a cute, timid little thing. He gave himself a project, figuring he’d plant the seed and flirt with you in the near future when he had less women in his current line up. He could tell you were a busy one, rushing out of the office just as quickly as you came in. He didn’t even get a chance to make conversation with you. 

He signed up for a political science class, realizing just how low the probability of him ending up in the same class as you was. One semester later, he remembers chanting God is good as you sit idly in the middle of the lecture room when he arrives. 

The seats around you are taken, and he regrets being late on the first day. At least he had 2 hours to admire you from a distance. 

Your friends had came to get you as soon as class ended, making him miss his opportunity again to talk to you. The week after, you showed up late to class. Satoru being Satoru, it was impossible for him to keep empty seats beside himself due to his popularity. He watched you climb the steps and sit all the way in the back, far behind him. You had stayed to talk with the professor after class as a result. And unfortunately, his entourage of women couldn’t be kept waiting. That week he cut them all off. It was getting too difficult to maintain so many relationships along with his multiple sexual partners.

 A part of him thought having multiple partners and women around just wasn’t worth it. He grew tired of having multiple personalities around him. One sexual partner would be the most convenient. He didn’t even care if people thought he was dating that one specific person- as long as people left him alone. To rid himself of his options when he hadn’t even found a new contender for himself yet is what leeched at his brain. He might of been a bit of a sex addict. But there was also a part of him that was sure you’d be into him. All he had to do was try.

The third week you were absent. He almost lost his shit. He never saw you around campus ever, and he didn’t even know your name. This was getting a bit ridiculous.

Then, seemingly God sent, did he happen upon you in the university’s local cafe. He hadn’t known how long you’d been there since he had been studying himself towards the back.

You had gotten up and had been staring out the glass at the rain. A golden opportunity, he thought.

He packed his things, tossing his bag over his shoulder and umbrella in hand. Smoothly, he stood in the same space by the window. You were dazed, in your own little world, barely noticing his presence. He heard you speak,

“I guess I should sit back down,” you muttered quietly. She’s really not paying me any mind, he thought.

“Man, you don’t have an umbrella? That sucks.” He finally spoke, earning a startled look from you. He continued to stare straightforward towards the window pane. 

“Yeah, I know.” You say, sighing to yourself. He could see the slight blush in your cheeks through the corner of his sunglasses. 

“It says the rain is going to stop within the hour on the weather app.” He said, scrolling and tapping away at his phone. “You goin’ to the train station?”

“Oh, yeah.” You say shyly. He watched you nervously tucked some hair behind your ears before he looked straight ahead at the rain.

He also noticed you couldn’t stop stealing glances at him through the corner of his eye.

“Like what you see?”

You blinked at him repeatedly, earning a cocky chuckle from his end.

“Wanna walk with me?” He asked, peering down at you. He assumed it was too forward because he couldn’t read the look on your face after that. Just a series of blinks and a continuous puzzled stare. 

“I don’t even know you.” You said bluntly, and he felt that you meant it disrespectfully.

“Not yet.” He said slyly. “But I’ve seen you around campus a lot.”

Though that wasn’t true, he couldn’t possible tell you that he had been secretly admiring you every Wednesday for almost three weeks now either.

He watched you put a finger towards your chin before speaking.

“Professor Edamura’s class right?”

“Bingo.” He grinned.

“There’s like 120 people in that lecture.” You only took a guess, considering that was your largest class. 

“Yeah. But I think you’re the cutest.” He could’ve been smoother about it. But he was anxious to make his introduction. Only seeing you on Wednesdays sucked. This way, he could make sure you’d be thinking of him for a little while until you saw him again. 

Whose the mysterious tall guy with the white hair, or at least that’s how he thought you’d be thinking of him in his head.

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing your arms around your book and pressing it towards your chest. 

“Oh look, the rain is stopping.” He says, leaning forward, nose nearly pressing against the glass.

“Well, see you Wednesday.” He smiled a cheeky smile, before walking off. He felt you watching him stride down the street, and that’s how he wanted it to be.

Days later, Satoru was sure to be on time to class. He finally got a chance to sit beside you, offering you a wink and a smile. He could feel how shy you were, choosing not to make much conversation with you during the two hours of lecture. 

Luck was on his side yet again, considering he got paired with you for a group project. He offered to meet at his house, fixing up a group chat for the five of you. The other girls in the group talked over you while you made project plans before class ended. He was highly aware that they were trying their hardest to flirt with him, completely unphased by your presence. He felt bad that he couldn’t even really get close to you without other women somehow ruining things yet again. At least he learned your name and got your phone number. 

The next day, and also the night before the meet up, he texted you privately outside the group chat. 

He remembers checking his phone a few minutes later, seeing you’d left him on read. He realized he probably shouldn’t have been so forward. He chuckled at himself before tossing his phone on the bed and going to sleep.

You arrived somewhat early to his apartment, greeting him quietly before he told you to make yourself comfortable. It didn’t take long for the other three to text the group chat explaining that something had coincidentally came up, leaving you all alone with him. There you sat on the floor of his living room, not looking all that pleased to be in his presence. 

“Guess it’s just the two of us,” he chuckled. 

“Don’t look so happy about it.” He watched you roll your eyes.

“I can’t help it,” he says, sitting across from you on a different floor pillow. “I won’t lie. I had been thinking of asking you on a date. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky.”

“And did you text the other girls in our group the same thing the night before?” You say, nonchalantly opening your book. You didn’t even look his way. Your response threw him off.  Why were you acting like you hated him?

“No, they’re incredibly annoying.” He sighed genuinely, hoping he could change your outlook on him even a little.

“You’re pretty cool though. Kind of bummed you didn’t text me back.” He addressed. It sort of ticked him off that you didn’t respond to him. 

“Because I know what you’re up to.” You say, scribbling away in your notes.

“And what might that be?” He takes off his shades, putting them on the glass coffee table. He loved to play with the girls like this; acting so oblivious to his obvious intentions. 

“I’m not going to fall in love with you. I don’t have time for that.” You firmly set your pencil down, looking at him. He was taken aback. He’s intrigued and wants to poke at you some more.

“I don’t exactly want you to.” He chuckled. You looked at him before speaking again.

“So what do you want from me?” You say, placing your palm in your hand and leaning forward a bit to look at him directly. He thought the way you furrowed your brows at him was precious. He was fully aware you were being serious but he thought you were too cute.

“I said I wanted to take you on a date.” He laughs. “Get to know you a bit, but ultimately take you to bed at the end of the night, if you don’t mind. You can decline, I just wanted to show you a good time.”

Satoru may have been a downright whore up until now, but one thing he did manage to do was not lie to any of the women he dealt with. He never made false promises, and he never ever told women he would eventually commit to them. He hated when people tried to hold him emotionally accountable for things. He was typically clear to everyone about what he wanted from the beginning. Anyone who got their heart broken afterwards couldn’t say shit to him. 

“Sure,” you say calmly, to his surprise. You shift yourself around the table, right beside his body.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” you took hold of his jaw, delicately planting a kiss. He had no idea you were so confident. It had been so long since someone had kissed him first so forwardly and so passionately. For the first time in a long time he was mesmerized, feeling the summer before senior year of high school all over again on his living room floor. Your lips were incredibly soft and pillowy. He was already hard, wondering just what your sex was like if you kissed him like this.

You shifted over his body, straddling him against the bottom of the sofa. You’d give him exactly what he wanted.

“You better be good at this, or don’t even bother looking at me after we finish this project.” You break from his lips. His eyes widened a bit, staring deeply into yours before speaking. 

“Oh princess, I don’t ever disappoint.” He smirked. He lifted both your bodies off the ground. He sucked in your lips, kissing you firmly as he brought you to his bedroom. 

That night, he gave you the best sex of your entire life. He wasn’t lying about not disappointing you.

Sex with you was more than a memorable experience to him. The both of you had formed this bond having had done it so many times in one semester. You never pried or asked him about his personal life. You never hinted at wanting more than what he was already giving you. He would notice when you were stressed and life would occasionally beat you up. He lent you his ear, hoping to ease you the best he could. This kept up for almost a year, and he genuinely thought you’d get tired of the agreement by now. But here you were still, being exactly what he wanted you to be. You never smothered him, and that made him want to spoil you. 

He didn’t know how to communicate that unless it was while he had sex with you. You told him not to buy you gifts. Maybe he could treat you to dinner but you were keen on keeping things minimal. 

The most intimate moment you both had was probably the night before you both had ended it all.

He hadn’t seen you all week, and took you to dinner before bringing you home to bed like he always did. He wanted nothing more than your skin against his own. The warmth you gave him was intoxicating yet somehow endearing. He couldn’t dare fall in love with you, but his sex told you otherwise.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Your entire head was hot from the whisper he made into your ear. He knew he shouldn’t have said it like that. The way your sweet and dazed eyes looked up at him- he knew it was starting to fuck with you. You let out a moan as he filled you up completely, grinding your sex towards him from underneath.

“It looks like you missed me too,” he chuckled. He could never forget the sounds your slimy cunt made every time he inserted himself into you. He knew you couldn’t lie to him even if you tried— your body wouldn’t let you.

He heard you moan back how much you missed him too, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close. This was getting bad and he knew that. But he never had someone hold him like that before- like they loved him. 

“I know baby,” he placed sweet kisses against your face and neck, “I know.”

This memory echoes in his brain as he watched Suguru play with your fingers at your table. He orders his drink, and the dame beside him is talking a thousand miles per minute but he doesn’t hear thing. He somehow tunes out the entire establishment, only focusing on you and the dark haired bastard right in front of you. 

She moves on quickly, he thought. He was thankful he had his signature dark shades on so he could stare at you as much as he wanted. 

Were you both just talking? Did Suguru establish the same friends with benefits situation with you? Or... was he your boyfriend? 

It felt like it was just yesterday you were telling him how much you missed him, how much you needed him. 

Satoru then remembered the bullshit speech you gave him once about how you didn’t have time to fall in love. 

So what the fuck was this?

He knew he could’ve handled the split so much better. But he was scared. He didn’t trust you. He didn’t want to find out if you were capable of hurting him. Were you that fickle? He knew he was one to talk, but he’d never forget the look you gave him that night- like you were in love with him.

But that was only two months ago. He watched the both of you get up, and pack your things. The nostalgic yet sick feeling from earlier grew tenfold in his stomach as he watched you and Suguru join hands. He watched him press a long sweet kiss against your forehead before tilting your chin up to his gaze. Suguru whispered something to you, obviously making you blush and stare at the floor. He presses another kiss to your forehead before leading you out of the cafe. 

Satoru’s chest felt tight, and he hadn’t felt this way in years. Such a green feeling, but mostly terrified that he might’ve been in love with you. 

Just how was he supposed to get you back?

✨part 3 here ✨

[milkacchan]

Request for anon: Can I have Present mic, Aizawa, and all might where they learn their young student is fatherless? Like... their father walked out/went to prison when they were young. I'm sorry if this is time consuming, but I can't stop sobbing over my father.

I'm the situation baby but remember it wasn't your fault

I changed it up a little bit with Mics- I hope you don't mind

Present Mic:

• from the getgo something was wrong

• The moment you walked into class he could tell

• You looked like shit

• Dark bags under your eyes, hair messily brushed, just to get it out if your face, and your eyes were a light red.

• You didn't look particularly happy to be there either

• something turns in his stomach, a gut feeling that something really had went down

• And he hated seeing his students upset

• but he was relatively close to you to begin with, his felt different

• He felt like he had to do something

• Everyone settled into their seats as the bull rung but his eyes remained on you

• You honestly didn't pay attention during the lesson

• He could tell as much

• class finishes and the bell rings but you sit still, and it's not until most of the students have trickled out of the room do you start packing up

• He walks over and kneels in front of the desk "You okay there? You don't look so good," he looks concerned and his heart drops when he sees your lip start to quiver

• It takes you 0.27 seconds to break and you're frantically wiping your eyes as sobs wrack your body

• He's got his arms wrapped around you in seconds and you're leaning into his shoulder.

• He isn't sure exactly how long you're crying for but eventually you calm down enough to get out a coherent sentence

• "My-My dad was arrested Friday night. He won't tell me why- he won't let anyone else tell me why and I don't know what else to do," you cry, "I miss him so much and its only been a few days- I don't- I don't have anyone else, Mr. Hazashi,"

• And you're crying again.

• He has you take the rest of the day off, in fact he takes the day with you

• He calls in a sub (you don't know what strings he had to pull for that but you don't ask, at this point you don't care) and you two dip

• He takes you to get food, real food, that'll make you feel better

• He knows that'll help a little

• and after that he takes you to get something sweet- that tends to help mood and blood pressure and anxiety

• So he does his best with you

• He nutures you the best way he knows how

• if you need anything and I mean ANYTHING this man has you covered

• He does his best to step up in any way he can

• first off he extends his assignment deadlines and cancels two tests. Who needs them anyway.

• And you eat lunch in his classroom because he can well tell you don't want to talk to anyone else right now

• He closes it off (seemingly) so in reality its just you and him

• He'll probably tell Aizawa too but on the downlow (just so he knows)

• When holidays roll around, the dorms close.

• In this case- he let's you stay with him. He has an extra bedroom. He doesn't want you to stay in an empty house.

• You also get his phone number (which you gladly use) for anything really

• Bored? He'll deliver some shitty puns.

• Confused about homework? Text him.

• having a mental breakdown? He's got you covered.

• You got memes? Please for the love of God send them to him.

• The dynamic eventually shifts to a VERY father daughter relationship.

• He knows he'll never replace your dad. He understands that wholeheartedly, but he wants you to have someone

• He actually gets a letter from your dad, thanking him for taking care of you

• but he really doesn't mind

Aizawa:

• He had a feeling that there was something going on at home. Or rather, a lack of something.

• He's dealt with it in the oast- with himself and with past students and current ones

• Shinsou

• I mean, aside from that fact whenever parents were mentioned, you'd either stiffen up or wrinkle your nose

• You didn't really like the subject of parents

• There was an essay prompt about parents (nothing too personal) nd you ended up writing it on the extinction of dinosaurs and why God fucked up instead

"It'd be absolutely stellar to see huge lizards roaming the earth and occasionally stepping on people, you know? Jurassic park was onto something."

• Man's couldn't even fail you on it because it was written v well

• Anyway, he doesn't pry too much. He just silently figures it out by process if elimination and pattern.

• He doesn't really care too much

• In the sense if it doesn't define you and he doesn't help you because he pities you

• he helps you because he seems potential

• He takes you under his wing with shinsou

• Yall spend a whole summer training

• And that's when it all came out

• It was an accident really.

• Shinsou was tired, exhausted really

• and when people get tired- that tired- sometimes they spout random shot they wouldn't usually say

• and thats what he did

• he went on about his home life

• and if he could, you could too right?? You could trust them.

• "My dad walked out when I was a kid. Little, like 3. I have a few pictures of him holding me, but I guess it wasn't enough. I don't have any desire to meet him. Not anymore. But it left me feeling like I did something wrong? I guess? Which I suppose is why I train. Because then I feel strong. Which is a good difference from how it usually feels."

• He knew it.

• He called it.

• He was right again.

• He reassures you that you are good enough, strong enough, and his decision to leave had nothing to do with you

• and when he saw you give him a soft smile, he warmed.

• I mean really, it only goes up from there

• he'll deny it, or grumble under his breath, but he seems you two as his own

• Like these aren't my kids but they are my kids

• When dorms close on holiday yall get to stay because that's where he lives too

• Like if you chose too

• he's not gonna force you to stay but if you don't want to go home, you don't have too

• He has that power

• He will buy you food

• all you gotta do is ask

• and he'll roll his eyes and grumble something he doesn't really mean, just secretly happy that you feel comfortable enough around him to ask for something

• lmao family group chat

S: 'Hey Mr. Aizawa I found this cat. Hold on lemme send a pic'

A: 'Dont need a pic. Bring him home'

Y: 'What if he's ugly??'

A: 'gremlin. Bring him home.'

Or

Y: 'Hey I saw this tweet that said 'kids be like watch this and do a half roundhouse spin kick clap and waste my fucking time' and it make me think of you.'

S: @ mr. Aizawa when he has to watch deku do sumn

Y: Lmaoooo like when he threw the baseball

S: LMAOO

A: Me watching you too try to figure out how to beat me in training

Y: Yikes bro

S: That was a rough one

• Does he regret giving you and shinsou his number??

• Maybe

• Not really

• Lmao super secret lunch movie days

• Every week on wendesday yall watch a movie. Usually it takes 2 or 3 days to watch the movie since lunch is only 70 minutes

• @ you accidently calling him dad one day and shinsou snickering but it stuck

• dadzawa lmaoo

Allmight:

• Man's has 2 underlings.

• You and Deku.

• Picked you up when he started teaching at UA

• Ion know let's say one day you popped off bc he said some dumb shit and you were like no sir that's clearly wrong

• schooled him in his own damn subject

• the other kids were like 😳

• what the fuck

• Anyway

• He see's you have potential

• And though he's not the best teacher, you seem to respond better to the way HE was taught

• So tbh its easier to teach you

• 'okay, now I want you to beat the shot out if that wall,'

'Okay lmao bet'

• Midoriya is like, hey mayhaps we should analyze the situation

• N ur like noe

• You just don't give a fuck

• about anything really

• other than moving up the ranks

• But even then- its not a super super big deal, you're just gonna do your best but you aren't gonna stress

• However he noticed a pattern w you (even before Midoryia brought it up to him)

• You don't let anyone in

• Midoryia knows a bit more than the other students but that's really only because he's always with you

• a good majority of the week he's w you

• but its not really a deep connection

• you don't rely on either of them

• You do your best to do things on your own.

• He knows midoryias life story

• he knows why he acts the way he does

• but he doesn't know why you do

• he has a gut feeling it could be the same as midoryia

• I mean he already had one kid who's dad dipped

• he'll surely be able to figure out you too??

• So he makes himself a promise that he'll figure it out and he'll become someone you trust

• And he does just that

• When you tell him about your nightmare of a family history he's like mm, makes sense

• but he's happy that you trust him!!!

• He's a BIG suckered for movie nights

• he's got popcorn, snacks, candy, chocolate, soda- he's prepared

• list of movies lined out all ready

• I lowkey feel like he'd be into lord of the rings or fast n furious

• fast n furious at LEAST

• He's really into American action movies

• and he has no problem sharing those movies with you

• he doesn't have a whole ton of money, like he's not rich, but if you or midoryia need something he's definitely there to get it for you

• even if ur like fam no you don't need too

• he'll buy yell food a lot

• a l o t

• and cards

• when you and midoryia get him a father's day card he thinks he's gonna cry

• You guys also have a group chat

• 'da faemilee'

• Y: "Hey dad do you have milk?"

A: "???? Do I have milk????"

Y: "ya I'm looking in your fridge n ion see any???"

A: "How'd you even get in????"

Y: "Izuku."

I: "lmaoo"

Or

Y: Izuku you dumb bitch I left for ONE day

Y: And you got into a fight with Bakugou

I: He wanted to throw hands. I just did what you would do.

A: He's got you there

Or

A: What do you guys want for dinner

I: Sushi

Y: Chicfila

Y: Izu square up

I: K

Or

Y: Izu is fighting kacchow again

A: Beat his ass young midoriya

Y: Lmaoooooo