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peculiarpatches · 4 years ago

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𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 - 𝘫𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘹 𝑓𝑒𝑚 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

I’m republishing this since it hardly got notes the last time and I’m ~ crazy ~ and need validation that my stories are good. Out of all the Twilight ones I’ve been working on, this still is one of my favorite’s because it’s the first one I’ve ever written. It’s the first one that got me inspired to write for the other characters, too. So, as much as I love this one, I hope you love it, too.

A/N: This story includes smut. If this makes you uncomfortable, don’t read. Simple as that.

There’s not much other than oral and dirty talk, however. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

Centuries — that's how long Alice and Jasper have been together for. The two were simply inseparable; Stuck to each other like glue. It'd take millions of weapons and hundreds of people to try and tear them apart, no matter what happened or what went on in their crazy, immortal lives, it didn't matter, no, because they lived for each other.

Their lives were better, happier, because of that other person.

And nothing - nor, nobody - was ever going to change the fact. Jasper wasn't one to express his feelings (though, he could control other people's emotions, ironically enough) but that small grin you see every now and then across his face was all thanks to Alice.

The smile belonged to her because she was the one that brought peace, happiness, and love back into his life, even when he swore he'd never find it. Hell, he swore he'd never find any of those listed off again, if he was being honest here. But... she somehow did it. She brought all of those into his life along with hope and faith. (Alice told him that very saying too upon their first encounter together - the moment she took his hand with her own, she felt hope. And she hadn't felt that in centuries. He never met the gal before, not having a single clue as to who she was. Here he was, sitting in a diner in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, trying to figure out where he planned to go afterwards, where his next stop would be within the states when an attractive woman walked up to him, letting a happy, relieved sigh fall from her lips. "It's about time." She announced, the grin growing across her face as she slid in the opposite side of the booth, guiding her hand out to take Jasper's hand within her much smaller one. She gave his fingers a squeeze and explained the situation, the happiness on her face only growing wider and brighter as she continued to talk. Jasper was confused, to say the very least; But her emotions overwhelmed him so much, in his gut and in his heart, he felt as if he could trust her, right then and there.

Even if they have only have met that day, she spoke about the future and to others, they would have laughed and called her crazy. But the way she spoke, so open, so generous, loving and kind, all these feelings directed towards him, he felt it, too - love. Love at first sight, if you will. And Jasper had ever only felt that once and it lasted briefly. But this time, as he continued to listen to her speak, a tiny grin found it's way across his lips. In-love, he was. As absurd, and as crazy as it may sound, he could feel it. They belonged together. And the gal - Alice - was exactly like him, too. Of course, she would be, having a power like that and all. Alice saw them in the future, had seen Jasper plenty of times in her mind but didn't know exactly when she'd be meeting him. She admitted today, however, she knew. Jasper even said he felt something today, too. He just didn't exactly know what it was. But he felt it. The emotions were difficult to ignore. He laughed and leaned close, whispering to Alice he assumed these feelings he felt within him were nothing but hunger. "You won't have to worry about that, either." She told him. "I know a way of keeping not only you safe but me, as well. To keep your hunger satisfied without harming or needing to hunt humans." Alice continued. Jasper cocks his head to the side, confusion written across his facial features, as he wondered what she meant by this. Instead of asking, as he figured he'd understand more of the situation later, he chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze which she happily returned. "Well, now you have me and I promise you, I won't ever let a pretty gal like you go, either." He said, making the smile on her face somewhat bigger than what it was before. "I wouldn't let you lose me, anyways." She responded. "Besides, I see the future here, don't I? None of that will be happening. You're stuck with me, Jasper." Jasper laughed gently, "I'm more than perfectly fine w'tha, darlin'." He commented, his accent drawing out as he spoke.) (Love - Jasper never wanted to look for it. Never sat down and thought about having a significant other. He assumed he'd be alone, forever. And as dull and as depressing as that may be, he was content with it. Who could love someone as broken and as damaged as he? His past was fucked up. Surely, his future was going to remain the exact same, too. So, to Jasper, he figured it'd be best to be alone. He didn't want to put his baggage onto another person for them to carry and haul out. He'd do it himself, without a doubt or without a care in the world; he'd drag his own baggage behind him.

Not once, did he ever think or want to allow people to see what secrets he held within the case, within himself. But, life is amusing and love has a funny way of revealing itself. Though, so secretive and mysterious, hardly ever speaking a word to strangers, let alone any other vampires, a girl who saw the future and saw him in it, already knew all the secrets he kept hidden away from the world.

Alice knew what Jasper's past was like. And she still accepted him. Still loved him. "If you're broken, you don't have to stay broken." She said, that same very night. "I won't let you be, neither. We'll fix each other's broken, shattered pieces, we'll place them right back together. Fit the two of them together like puzzle pieces. 'Cause, I believe that's what you are to me. You are the piece of the puzzle I've been searching to find. Been waiting centuries to come across. And now that I finally found you, I have hope and faith once more - that everything is okay. And I hope that you believe me, too, when I say these words but; I love you, Jasper.. and again," she joked, a goofy grin playing out on her cheeks, "I see the future and therefore, I know you believe me, too. I also know you love me as well."

And Jasper said nothing. He only chuckled deeply and nodded. He met her then and there, not once meeting her elsewhere before but he loved her, too. And he didn't need to say those three words out loud because she already knew how much she meant to him.) (His future was brighter, better, because of Alice. And he couldn't thank her enough for showing him that life was better when you found that special someone by your side. He found both - happiness and hope - within not only her but the Cullen family. Alice along with a man named Carlisle, even helped Jasper with his hunger and taught him how to remain strong and fight his urges.

As Alice mentioned beforehand, back at the diner, she was going to help him. And she did. Not once did she ever break her promise to him.) However, that's when everything falls back onto him. When everything starts breaking. Decades. Centuries. Years and years together. It was bound to happen, eventually, right? Boredom. Falling out of love. Finding someone better to fulfill her needs and satisfy her. You get the idea. Jasper was afraid that Alice would announce she no longer loved Jasper, for whatever reason that may be, he didn't know. But he was going to find out today. *~* Even if he hadn't been watching Alice, it wouldn't and didn't matter because he could feel her emotions with as much as a second glance and a look in her direction, an overwhelming sensation would flood over him instantly. So, even if he wasn't watching her, he could feel everything she was attempting (but failing) to hide. The typical, loving and affectionate gaze she would always give him was no longer there. If it was, it lasted a millisecond before she'd drop her head, strands of hair falling in front of her face and a frown would replace the look. Of course, this was not only concerning but worrisome for Jasper. Had he done something wrong?

If so, what did he do? What could he do to fix it? He didn't want to sound like Edward before he met Bella — dull and depressing and nothing but those but it's exactly how he felt and he hated every aspect of that.

He and the rest of the Cullen’s made fun of Edward for being so gloom and grey but now, alas, here Jasper was, feeling that exact way.

Oh, how the tables have turned. Even Edward, the petty little shit he always was and will forever be, even made a joke about it. Luckily, he had Bella beside him so Jasper couldn't abuse Edward's emotions and make him feel what he was feeling because she could put up a shield and block it out, protecting Edward. "Just go and talk to her." Edward said once he saw the look on Jasper's face.

"Trust me, I'm the mind reader out of all of us here. I know what I'm talking about and I know what's going on. And no, before you ask, I will not give you the answer as to what exactly is going on. You just have to go and find out yourself." He said, tilting his head back as laughter left his lips.

Bella scoffed and gave a playful hit to her husband's shoulders before giving Jasper an apologetic smile. The two then had left, going to go and find their daughter, leaving Jasper all alone with his thoughts and worse of all - his feelings. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Jasper decides it's now or never. He creeps up the stairs, and the closer he gets to his and Alice's room, he hears her angelic laughter and can practically see her, smiling from ear to ear as the giggles erupted her and hung into the air. Jasper loved her laughter, loved seeing her smile even more.

He just hated the fact he wasn't the one who was the meaning behind it. If not him, who was? "Darlin'?" He walks in front of the bedroom door, giving a gentle tap across the frame of it. He rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet as he anxiously waited for an answer. The loud laughter he once heard died down quickly which makes him feel even more anxious.

Biting his lip, he shuffles and rocks his body back and forth as he still continued to wait until the door was to be answered, not wanting to walk in and upset Alice more by invading her privacy.

The laughter is replaced now, however, with faint giggles and muffled, hushed whispers. He hears some shuffling and the bed squeaking before finally, Alice is pulling the door open. She stands there, giving Jasper a sheepish, yet shy smile. "Hi, baby." She cooed, leaning up on her tippy toes as she plants a gentle yet adoring kiss on Jasper's cheek. This took him by surprise because not only did she call him 'baby' but she kissed him and it felt like she hadn't kissed him in years. So, this being said, it brought a smile to his lips.

Her upcoming sentence brought the sides of his lips upward even more, the grin growing and his nerves and anxiety, slowly, dying out. "You know, I've been expecting you. Wondered when you'd come up here." She said as her feet came back to touch the floor. Alice reaches over, taking Jasper's hand within her own and walks into their bedroom, closing the door behind them as Jasper walks in. There, on the bed, was another female. She glanced up and smiled shyly, the same way Alice did when Jasper knocked at the door and she saw him behind the frame of it.

"Jasper, you remember (Y/N), right?" She asked, dropping his hand as she makes way to the queen sized mattress and makes herself comfortable on the bed, next to (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N). They've only met a few times and even then, it seemed so long ago, Jasper had to rethink of when and where they met at. The graduation party they held and then Bella and Edward's wedding.

Of course, he remembers now. Jasper and Alice both would even bump into her while taking a stroll into town every once in awhile and in high school, they shared a few classes together. ("You two enjoy walks in the rain too?" She had gushed, laughing as she held the umbrella above her head, trying her best to ignore and dodge the rain that fell from the sky above them. Alice and Jasper looked at each other and Alice giggled and nodded.

"Yes. It's our favorite thing to do. One of our favorite things to do... Would you like to walk with us?" She asked. (Y/N)'s face bled a crimson red and she shook her head before mumbling about how sadly, she couldn't, though she wishes she could. She had to go back to work. She was only walking to grab a quick bite to eat, one that wasn't at the place she worked at.

"Next time then." Alice said, the smile never dropping from her face. "Of course." (Y/N) replied before waving goodbye to the both of them and walking in the opposite direction.) Now, coming face to face with her, after a few years of not seeing her, he wouldn't deny the obvious fact; (Y/N) was as beautiful as Alice. Alice, though, she wasn't the jealous type, he'd never admit that or say it. Jasper preferred to keep that thought to himself. (Y/N) was human. Jasper remembered. His smile was quick to fall down into a frown as he looked at Alice, wondering why she brought a human into their home.

She, so easily, could expose our secret too! He thought, the frown only increasing and getting deeper as he furrowed his eyebrows together, trying to come up with an answer as to why she could be here. And right as that thought popped into his head, Alice gave a nervous giggle and shook her head from side to side. "I'm no mind reader like Edward is but I know what you're thinking, Jas. Come, sit down with us. We've got to talk." And as confused as he may be, - especially with what she just said in front of a human, no less - Jasper obliges and sits in the middle of them both, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. "What's going on?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest as a mixture of emotions paint itself across his face. Alice, taking a long and deep breath, begins to speak. "Jasper," She began, "It's obvious I haven't been myself lately. I know you've been noticing it. Everybody has, I'm sure." "Yes," He replied, chuckling lowly as he chewed on his bottom lip, still not piecing two and two together. "I'm very aware of that, doll." "Well, I don't know how else to tell you this but that reason is because of (Y/N)." Once the sentence leaves her, Alice reached over and grabbed (Y/N)'s hand, squeezing it tightly. Jasper blinked. Once, twice. He didn't understand. Alice and (Y/N) both looked at each other once they took notice of his expression and they erupted into a storm of giggles.

Almost as soon as it started, however, they stopped and their expressions were quick to change. They went from laughing to a deadpanned glare, both girls wearing masks of seriousness. "I've been having visions. Of this exquisite, gorgeous and oh, so wonderful girl. And, well, Jasper, some of us don't just have one love but we have two. Maybe even more... but in this situation, in this scenario, it's you two." She explained. Jasper went from watching his girlfriend to giving a quick glance to (Y/N)'s direction.

She sat there, silent, but her cheeks spoke another story. One of which, Jasper easily could read and make out. Her cheeks, like the day they bumped into each other in town, were as red as a rose and she was biting her lower lip as she fumbled with her hands, twisting and twiddling with them as Alice continued to speak. "I know you feel the same way about her as well. Don't even try to lie or deny it. I've been seeing the visuals everywhere, they play out like scenes in a movie. The feelings for her are the same you have for me. You gained them at the party we had a few months back, the same way I did." And Jasper sat there, feeling dumbfounded but more importantly, he felt foolish too. Of course, he couldn't get away with his thoughts or actions. Alice could see everything. Even before it happened. "That's why I've been distancing myself." Alice continued. "I didn't mean to, my love. It has nothing to do with you, either. You're as perfect as you were when I first met you. So, do not fret and think you have done something wrong because you haven't. However, I had to have you come to me before I could tell you what was going on and why I was acting the way I was. Or... well, come to us, I should say... So, we could show you how this all would work. Us, three, together." Alice's tongue darted out of her mouth as she wets her lips, a look of seduction rising behind her eyes. "Besides, isn't it every man's fantasy to have two, beautiful women beside him?" "Or, perhaps underneath him?" And that was the first thing (Y/N) had said during this entire conversation. Jasper would be a liar if he said both women's words didn't go straight to his cock, causing it to twitch against the zipper of the pants he wore. "Come on, Jasper. Admit it. Don't lie to yourself. You've been wanting her for some time, yes? Wanting - no, craving for this for awhile. Now, is your chance. Today and every day, you can have us." Alice purred. She leaned upward, standing up on the tips of her toes as she had done earlier and her tongue comes within contact of Jasper's neck, setting soft but wet and seductive kisses over the smooth, cold surface. Jasper grunts in reply, eyes fluttering shut as he gives a weak, timid nod. "Hm," He mumbles. "Today and everyday?" He asked, a smirk finding its way on his lips. "I can live with that, darlin'." "Heyyy." (Y/N) mewled, her bottom lip jutting out into a pout. "If she's darlin', what's going to be my pet name?" She asks, the pout only growing bigger yet both Alice and Jasper knew she wasn't truly upset by it. "Considering you just mewled like a kitten, that's what you will be. Now, kitten, why don't you and darlin' both come here and show me a good time, hm? After all, I have been wanting this for some time." Alice tssked, slapping Jasper's chest playfully as he - finally - admitted those words. (Y/N) said nothing but watched the two with love and fond written across her face. How did she get so lucky to be involved in this relationship? She'd never know. Maybe, some things are better unanswered, (Y/N) thought. She's quick to snap out of her thoughts and standing to her feet, her eyes never leave her now boyfriend and girlfriend's gazes. (Y/N) strips down to nothing but a matching pair of panties and bra. She watches how Alice and Jasper lazily yet hungrily kiss one another. Jasper's hands were on Alice's waist while Alice's hands were tangled in between his golden curls, tugging it every now and then as the session grew hotter and as the two grew more sexually frustrated with each other.

(Y/N) didn't know what to do, truth be told, she didn't think this would have ever happened. Luckily for her, Alice pulled away and shot her a lovingly glance before their own make out session could get any hotter (and before (Y/N) could get wetter, untouched).

"C'mere, beautiful. You're part of this, too, silly." She giggled as she taps Jasper's shoulder, telling him to get off of her with a movement of her finger. Jasper chuckled lowly as he rolls over, undoing the belt of his jeans and zips them down as he shimmies out of both that and his shirt. "Who would you like to pleasure and please first, lovely?" Alice asked once (Y/N) sat down on the bed. Her face was still the same exact shade of red, it never seemed to vanish or go elsewhere. It seemed to be permanently there, only growing deeper and darker by the second. Both Alice and Jasper loved it. Loved having this kind of power and effect on her. It was a turn on to both vampires. "Personally, I think you should pleasure Jasper first." Alice turns to face Jasper who lay beside her wearing his birthday suit, stroking his cock, eyes fluttered shut as complete bliss and satisfaction takes over. "For me, however, I am enjoying myself. I would very much rather see you two, touching." He said, opening his eyes as he glanced over at Alice and (Y/N). "I'm happy with that." Alice giggled as she's quick to lay upon the mountain of pillows behind her, stripping her shirt over her head and allowing it to fall down the floor. Oh, she's so filthy.... such an eager slut. She truly has been wanting this for some time. God only knows how long... He says this - well, thinks it, anyhow - because the woman didn't wear a bra underneath her shirt and the moment she slides out of her skirt, Jasper notices she wasn't wearing panties either. "Touch me, please, (Y/N)." Alice moaned. She lay back against the cushions as she spread her legs out in a starfish position, her hand resting at Jasper's thigh, fingers sneaking up and curling at his genitals, softly brushing her fingertips across his groin. Her pussy was slick with juices, (Y/N) and Jasper noticed. She was already so drenched, as was (Y/N). Jasper's cock twitched, knowing both women were as hot and as bothered as he. "Go on, kitten. Don't be scared. I give you permission. We both do. From this moment on, you can touch us and hold us and whatever you please-" "Cause you're ours, as we are yours." Alice finished, shooting Jasper a smile before returning said smile to (Y/N). (Y/N) chewed on her bottom lip, fluttering her lashes and lids shut, she bends forward and presses her mouth on Alice's core, earning a quiet, low whine proceeding to fall from Alice's lips above. "Oh, (Y/N).... please." Alice whimpers, bucking her hips against (Y/N)'s touch. (Y/N) craved nothing more than to please both Alice and Jasper. As of this moment, however, her main focus was pleasuring Alice. All the girl wanted to do was get Alice to cum, no matter which way it was. (Y/N) could use her fingers, her tongue or Hell, even both, she (nor Alice) didn't care as long as the short haired gal came with a cry of her name and soaked her fingers as she reached her orgasm. That is all (Y/N) wanted. She wanted to be good - be a good girl, for both significant others. Realizing both vampires were hers to love, to hold and to cherish, really just everything in between, it sent a chill throughout her entire body and caused her cunt to tingle at the realization. The air in the room was bitter and both Alice and Jasper were cold, too. So, really, that could play a huge part together as well. But (Y/N) knew her cunt was throbbing because of knowing they were hers, as she was theirs. Not because of their icy touches or the harsh, bitter air but because of them. They, all three of them, were together and happy. And just like when Alice found Jasper and him, finding her, (Y/N) really didn't know what happiness was until she met these two. "(Y/N), babygirl, please..." Alice's frustrated voice brings the girl back into reality, allowing her to leave her thoughts. She giggled, sending little waves of vibrations to shake against Alice's clit. She pulled back, much to Alice's disappointment. "Sorry, I got lost in my head. 'M just happy is all. Can't believe this is happening." She admitted. But before Alice or Jasper could answer, (Y/N) is bending back forward, letting her head fall down and her lips capturing Alice's clit once more. She gave Alice a few kitten licks, gentle, soft and sweet ones before slipping her tongue in between Alice's folds, licking away as if this was her last thing she was to do on Earth. And really - if they were to die in their sleep or some random meteor hit, (Y/N) would much prefer dying while she's buried between Alice's legs and her mouth would be full of Alice's pussy, her mouth full of her juices as Alice rode her high out on her face. It sounds like a perfect way to go, if she were being honest. Well, that was one option. The other idea and preference was with Alice riding her face, shifting her weight back and forth, grinding her pussy against (Y/N)'s tongue and lips while (Y/N) laid back against the bed, her legs spread in a "V" shape as Jasper slid his cock back and forth, deep inside her pussy, hitting her spot over and over again. All three of them, moaning in perfect harmony. Alice would cum over and over again, nearly drowning (Y/N)'s face (which, (Y/N) wouldn't be upset at) with her juices as Jasper shot his load deep within her walls, filling her up with his cum. That was also a fantastic way to die. Alice, above, giggled and squirmed as (Y/N) ate her out. "Don't worry." She murmured, hand coming down to intertwine with (Y/N)'s hair as she pulled her girlfriend closer to her womanhood. "You'll have a piece of Jasper, right here, right now. Isn't that right, baby? You want to be a dear and go up behind (Y/N) as she's eating me out and fuck her tight, little, pink pussy? I can tell she needs it. Can feel her, leaving a puddle by my feet. Think - ah, fuck... (Y/N) - think she needs it. I wanna see it, too. Want to see you, fucking her as her face is full of my cunt." Jasper groaned as he fisted his cock, listening to his girlfriend speak while watching his other girl, eating his other lover out. He could have came right then and there. He was quick to get up and walk up behind (Y/N). (Y/N) was, in fact, soaked. Which was a given. It was obvious, even someone without vision could see that just by the high pitched, muffled noises she was making in the back of her throat. You could tell the poor thing needed a cock stuffed deep inside her hole, stretching her out and all. "Jasper, please, just... fuck me already!" She cried. "More than happy to." He replied. Being the fact she was so wet and aroused, the head of his cock pushed inside her, slipping in easily and comfortably. Even though, Jasper isn't (Y/N)'s first, the girl still needed to adjust to his size and the stretch that was his large and thick cock. Out of all the men she has been with (which wasn't a lot, neither. Only four or five.) Jasper was the widest and fullest. Jasper pauses, letting her adjust for a moment or two and it’s only when he hears a faint, "Go ahead, move... You can move," does Jasper push deeper, his cock sliding deeper within her walls, her juices already sticking to his cock as he slowly rocks his hips back and forth against the human. go ahead from you that he pushes deeper. You do open remarkably well for him, and although he takes his time, he’s awed by the fact that it isn’t unbearably long for either of you. You wonder if maybe it’s the fact that it’s him and you’ve done this before that makes it less stressful for you and lets you relax enough and so relatively quickly, too. While Jasper is behind, (Y/N) is stuffing her face full of Alice's pussy, and not a second later, the human girl buries her index and forefinger into her awaiting cunt. "Oh, fuck! Yes! Oh, yes. Oh." Alice chanted, her voice growing higher and higher as her hands curled at the comforter, nails digging into the fabric. "Oh, (Y/N), fuck me just like that! Fuck me, (Y/N)! Fuck me with your fingers, oh, yes. Oh, yesyesyesyes!!!" Alice squeals in delight, eyes closed as she gets closer to her orgasm. "Look at that," Jasper purred, his accent thick as he spoke. He only got like that when he, himself, was close to an orgasm.

"My girls. My two beautiful girls. You both going to cum? You want to cum for each other and for me, don't you? Go on then. Be my good girls and cum. I'll cum with you." And just like that, both (Y/N) and Alice moaned loudly, Alice shouting her girlfriend and boyfriend's name in a pattern-like style as Jasper growled, fucking into (Y/N) so roughly the frame of the bed smacked against the wall so harshly, all three knew it was going to leave a dent in the walls. But they couldn't care less. They were enjoying themselves way too much. (Y/N)'s moans were muffled, as she was being drowned by Alice's cum and like the good girl she, oh so badly, wanted to be - she happily swallowed every last drop that Alice squirted at her. (Y/N wanted to make her cum, sure, but didn't even think about the possibility she could make her squirt.)

"Oh, fuck~ I'm cumming. Oh, fuck....!" And right as she was done, licking up every drop of Alice's pussy juices, her own pussy is being filled up by Jasper. This causes (Y/N) to moan again, an ear piercing scream more than a moan, actually. Which, truth be told, she was embarrassed by it - knowing other people were in the house but she tried not to think about it. All she could actually focus on was Alice and Jasper. That, and her coming down from her peak. Slowly, with a hiss leaving his lips, Jasper pulls out and plops down onto the bed, next to both of his lovely women. "That was fun." Alice said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Jasper's cheek. "So, you aren't mad at me?" She asked, pulling back as she reached over to pull (Y/N) into her arms.

"Not at all, darlin'. I love you. You know that. Nothing in the world could ever replace or erase my feelings towards you, Alice. It was... unexpected, sure, but I'm happy." Jasper looked over at Alice and (Y/N). "I'm happy with the both of you. And, (Y/N)? I love you, too. I promise, I didn't forget about ya." He said with a low laugh. He kisses Alice first before bending forward and kissing (Y/N) sweetly. "I only have one question left... how does she know about us? About what we are?" "It's kind of obvious." (Y/N) replied, looking up from playing with Alice's fingers and shot Jasper a sheepish smile. "Like Bella did beforehand, I put everything together and it made a lot of sense the more and more I looked at it. That and Emmett told me. Well, I take that back... he didn't exactly tell me but I knew something was odd when I saw you lot at the cafeteria and saw him, carrying a random plastic baggie of eggs. It isn't the most human thing in the world to eat like that.

Especially with them, being spoiled and rotten, which they were, by the way. You all tried to be secretive and hide who you were but.. you didn't do it exactly well. And again, I did what Bella did. I straight up asked her too if you guys were what I thought you were. And having known Bella since we were kids, I could tell when she was telling the truth and when she was lying." (Y/N) took a deep breath before continuing. "Plus, I knew things were, uh... supernatural, I guess is the right word here.... anyways, it was when Bella drastically changed. Not only in personality but in everything else. So, I just... kind of figured it out and placed everything together. And like I said, Emmett and Bella practically told me." "Edward truly married a girl who made an oath to keep us and what we are a secret yet easily announced what we are to an old and dear friend... No offense, (Y/N)." "None taken." "I still say I should've snapped her neck at her birthday party then." "Jasper!" "Wait, you tried to do what?" "Anyways, all that matters is we have each other and there isn't any secrets between us." He said, quick to change the subject. "I love you, gals." Speechless and flabbergasted, (Y/N) says she loved him too, Alice following along. Sure, they were vampires and they could easily kill her at any given moment but (Y/N) trusted them. Not only them but the Cullen's as well. (Although, Jasper and Alice, of course, were her favorites out of the bunch.) (Y/N) was now happily part of the Cullen's and was dating the two most wonderful people in the world and she couldn't want it any other way. (Of course... she did want to be like them. But that's a conversation for another day.) (Little did (Y/N) know, however, Alice already had seen the both of them - her and Jasper - taking turns and turning her into one of them. For obvious reasons, she never brought this up, though. Alice was just happy to know in the end, they'd all be together, forever.)

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universallywriting · 4 years ago

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Hey, I started reading Connie’s little universe when you posted about having written wedding Connverse, and then I got to your Spinel chapter and it fascinated me. I’d already read you say you’re not crazy about Spinel, but once again you channel Diogenes (I’m not that anon but they were spot on, holy shit) and make a really inspired take on her. Care to talk a bit about why you see her so childlike? She may be innately playful, silly, and immature, but most see her as an “adult” or “teen”. 1/2

Brace yourself for a long post! (1600 words)

I’ll start off with saying that I think Spinel is a really well written character. I really like her place in the movie, I love her design, and Sarah Stiles is phenomenal. She’s not a character who is relatable to me. Personally, the character I’ve always felt the most similar to is Steven, with Connie as a close second. Understandably, I was just as exhausted towards Spinel as Steven was throughout the movie, lol.

Why I Don’t See Spinel as a Teenager Forgive me, I’m not actively involved in Spinel discourse here, so I’m a bit blind towards people’s arguments as to why they think of Spinel as a teenager or an adult. I may be missing things or have gaps, but I would like to start with the fact that I in no way intend to argue that other interpretations of Spinel are invalid, or that I’m right.

I think my biggest argument hinges on one huge point, and it’s something I rarely see talked about outside of jokes. It’s Word of God and implied in the show that only Pearls can be bound to follow orders. This means that when Spinel was ordered to stay in the garden, she chooses to stay. I don’t say that to mitigate Pink’s cruelty, nor to call Spinel stupid or to blame her for what happened. I say it only because I think it’s a crucial part of her character. Without this piece, I feel like you ignore so much of what makes Spinel, well… Spinel.

Spinel is dependent on other people to a ridiculous degree. She defines herself by other people. Without them, she is nothing. She is unquestioningly obedient in the hopes of her affections being returned, no matter how absurd it becomes to follow those orders. At any point, Spinel could have stepped onto that teleport pad and tried to find somewhere in the universe to call home. This is not what she does. She waits. At a certain point, she must know that Pink is not coming back, but she waits. She hopes. This, to me, is not characteristic of teenagers. It’s characteristic of children.

Continuing here: She has control over her emotions. She has no barriers to them. Her default state is high energy, obsessed with joy and merriment and entertainment. When Spinel is reset, the trauma that has set in makes her emotions volatile, easily triggered and aggressive over the idea that she might not be the center of attention. While these are traits teenagers might have, I don’t think of them as teenager traits. I think of these as childish traits. When teenagers are this clingy, this cutesy, this bubbly, this emotionally unstable, I do not think “Ah, I typical teen”. I think “You need to grow up. You should be learning to be better than this.”

This does get a bit more complicated if you factor in trauma or other mental health issues, but despite people being very insistent about this idea, Spinel is in no way meant to reflect someone who is neuroatypical. You may read her as such, but to say that was authorial intent or to state that she objectively is a representation of BPD, or severe autism, just isn’t true. But, again, please feel free to headcanon her that way and have interesting discussions.

Pre-Abandonment Spinel is a Baby Pre-Abandonment Spinel appears to be a child in literally every way to me, and I really don’t see how you can see her as anything else. We see Spinel and Pink interacting in the garden during the song montage. Spinel plays hide and seek and juggles, she bounces around and clings to Pink. Pink’s behavior goes from amused to rapidly exhausted of her antics. The faces Pink makes, the way she interacts with Spinel, is very much an adult attempting to humor a child. And, in a way, this is one of the things Spinel intentionally represents. Spinel is a children’s show watching her audience move on. Quote from Rebecca: “[Spinel] is also about that pain of making cartoons, understanding that your audience might move on and leave you behind, and how ridiculous that can make you feel.”

I mean, as cruel as it is, people seem to miss exactly how Pink’s abandonment works here. She’s playing the quiet game with Spinel! “Let’s see who can be quiet the longest!” It’s an attempt from an adult or an older teenager to get a child to behave, incentivizing them through a game. This is absolutely something you do to a child, and Spinel responds in a childlike way by playing the game. I cannot see Spinel as anything other than a child pre-abandonment.

I also think it’s important to note that Spinel is given as a child’s toy, created to be a best friend in the same way you give a toddler a plastic steering wheel. This is an act of pure condescension of the other Diamonds towards Pink, a way to say “You do not want responsibility or respect or independence. You’re simply bored. You tricycle is just as good as car keys.” Spinel is intended to be a way to shut Pink up about her own colony. A child’s toy for a child who outgrows her nearly instantly.

Reset Spinel is a Baby Reset Spinel’s ideas of play are simple and childish. She wants to play tag and make silly faces and wrap Steven up in big hugs. Spinel talks to Steven the way Dora the Explorer talks to her audience. “Maybe, if we put the pieces together, we can solve this puzzle!” She’s silly, and wacky. She’s an outdated children’s cartoon, which makes her feel like a child.

I would argue this is the reason why Steven is so frustrated with Spinel and why Spinel is a villain for timeskip Steven specifically. Little baby feral gremlin S1 Steven would adore Spinel. What child wouldn’t like her? A best friend who plays silly games with whacky smiles who wants to put all her attention on you? Reset Spinel is a dream come true for a little kid.

Big Boy Neck Steven, however, becomes her babysitter throughout. Spinel is playing, joking, dancing around. I’ve seen some people argue that it wasn’t ever a game for Spinel, and I honestly don’t see it. Spinel before she was abandoned, and reset Spinel, are absolutely playing around nonstop. That’s what they’re made for. Just like Pearl exists to serve, and Ruby exists to guard, Spinel exists to play. Steven has to tend to her, has to be amused by her, lest he upset her. Steven is a teenager babysitting a child.

Eyeliner Spinel is a Child’s Tantrum So, here’s where I feel the biggest divergence will come from different people. I feel like people think of Spinel as an adult, or a teenager, because Spinel possesses power and speaks as an adult. She’s voiced by an adult who makes no effort to sound younger. But even here, even at what feels like her most adult moments, I truly cannot think of her as mature in the slightest.

When Spinel gets her memories back, she still expects Steven to be her emotional labor. She can’t control her emotions. She can’t control her actions. Steven must always be on guard to never upset her. This is, again, something I see as extremely childish - and that’s being charitable. If it’s not childish, this is abusive. This is toxic. A child can be excused from not being able to understand and lashing out at the people around them, because they are young and need to learn to behave better. As an adult, this is simply unacceptable.

It is not mature or adult to demand that others be perpetually on guard at risk of offending you. It is not normal for a teenager to try to physically harm others because they are feeling upset. It is not the behavior of anything but a child to demand that people become your friend, that they devote their time and energy to taking care of your emotional needs, that you become the center of their world.

Spinel may have power, and a cute accent, and the vocabulary and accent of a character out of Popeye, but there is not a single action she takes that I can read as anything other than childish, assuming that this is a character who is not dealing with a mental health disorder.

Spinel needs to be tended to. She needs to be coddled. She needs affirmation and help to become a better person. Help is not bending over backwards to her every desire. Help is not giving in to her tantrums. Help is not allowing her to cling to people like a useless sack of potatoes. Help is slowly guiding her away from her dependencies, to be more self-reliant and to care for herself so she does not demand all the emotional energy and attention of those around her.

I think she’s a child who needs to grow up. The chapter of CLU has Connie gently guiding Spinel’s attention away from the people she clings to, and she does so through the same childish games Spinel loves more than anything else in the world. That’s why I wrote it that way, and that’s how I see Spinel as she appears in the movie.

However, I love everyone’s different interpretations of her! So, you know, write and draw what you love! Multiple interpretations can and should exist!

#steven universe #steven universe future #suf #spinel su #su spinel #meta #Anonymous

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doc-pickles · 4 years ago

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i won’t hesitate (for you) ch. 9

Jo is happy, at least she feels like she is. When someone from her past shows up, will her and her daughter’s world ever go back to normal? Or will things change for good?

Me? Updating? It's more likely than you think apparently. I struggled, s t r u g g l e d. through this chapter but I think the rest will come a bit easier. S/O to Ren for proofing the first half of this and to Nat for demanding the second half hahaha. Also I know that the plot for this whole child support thing is totally out of left field, but I'm going with the Grey's motto of "enough logic to be believable but probably not real world" so there's that. Anyways enjoy! PS: In the interest of me not sending myself to an early grave, there's no flashback in the beginning of this chapter!

“Can’t believe we have to go to court, this is a waste of my time and my good suit,” Alex grumbled as he tightened this tie. “I had to pull it out of the boxes and then get it dry cleaned, I should freaking bill her for this.”

“This’ll be over with in a few days and we can go back to our normal lives, well as normal as living in a loft overrun with cardboard boxes is,” Jo exited the bathroom and navigated around a stack of boxes before finally making it over to Alex, moving his hands and helping with his tie. “You look so handsome, if we didn’t have somewhere to be I would drag you back to bed.”

“Well our bed isn’t even here for you to drag me to,” Alex moved his lips to kiss along Jo’s neck, a soft giggle coming from her as he did so. “Movers are coming in 45 minutes and we have to be out the door in 15.”

“That’s enough time for a quickie in the bathroom,” Jo’s proposition caused Alex to pull back and look her up and down with an amused expression. “What? I’m seriously horny all the time and you look good in a suit. I can’t help all the hormones running through my body. In fact! It’s your fault for getting me pregnant!”

Alex rolled his eyes, pressing one last kiss to Jo’s lips before pulling back from her.

“If I remember correctly, there were two of us in that elevator,” grabbing his keys and coat, Alex held his hand out for Jo to grab. “And I wasn’t the one gasping and moaning and practically begging the whole time.”

“If you keep using verbs like that you’re gonna make us late,” Jo swatted at Alex’s ass before grabbing his outstretched hand, following him out of the loft.

As they locked the doors and headed downstairs, Alex let his hands fall to Jo’s growing bump, showcased by her form fitting black dress. At almost 18 weeks pregnant now, Jo couldn’t attempt to hide her bump anymore. She’d been nervous that her pregnancy would impact the court case one way or another, but Alex had reassured her that he just wanted her there with him, consequence be damned. Things had moved quickly though, and in the end, Jo had been called to testify as a character witness so her protests didn’t matter.

The speed of the case making it to court probably had something to do with the fact that Izzie hadn’t bothered to fly back home to file a claim, instead calling the first paternity lawyer she could find on google and starting up the legal process in Washington. While it was a minor relief that Alex wouldn’t have to split time between Seattle and Kansas, both he and Jo were worried about how seriously Izzie had taken things.

Getting into the car and pulling on her seatbelt, Jo begins to ramble nervously. “How’s this going to work? I mean… they’re not yours, right? How is Izzie even allowed to do this?”

A loud groan left Alex as he settled into the driver's seat of his car. He’d wondered the same thing, but he knew that him signing all those papers when he moved to Kansas three years ago had definitely helped Izzie’s case. Even back then, he’d thought in the back of his mind that he should have asked more questions, demanded a paternity test, but he hadn’t. All he could focus on were these two perfect children standing in front of him, children that he now knew weren’t even his. Alex’s blood began to boil with anger at the thought of Izzie lying to him for so long, but he let out a deep breath and began to drive towards the courthouse instead.

“I don’t know, but I saw those blood test results myself and there’s no damn way those kids are mine,” Jo’s fingers rubbed against Alex’s arm, calming him slightly. He looked to her briefly before speaking again. “I’m sorry you had to get dragged into this, I wish I could protect you from it all.”

He could feel Jo’s gaze on him as his eyes stayed on the road. Alex could almost hear her thinking of how much she wanted to make Izzie pay for what she’d done to him. He was almost certain that pregnant or not, she’d fight Izzie if she came at her again. As if reading his mind Jo let out a chuckle and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“I’m a big girl, I can stand up to bullies on the playground,” Jo squeezed Alex’s arm once more before bringing her hand to rest on her growing bump. “Let’s just get through today, this isn’t going to go longer than a day once they figure out you’re not those kids dad.”

But it did end up lasting longer… Once they got to the courthouse, Alex realized with a sense of horror that Izzie wasn’t messing around. She had two lawyers and was wearing a dress that looked like it cost more than his paycheck. And she wasn’t holding back anything, her lawyers showed that loud and clear.

“My client went through multiple rounds of chemotherapy, there’s no possible way that she could conceive without the help of artificial insemination and the sample that Doctor Karev provided,” Izzie’s lawyer was a short, pudgy man whose voice echoed through the courtroom unforgivingly. “We’re asking for Doctor Karev to back pay child support for the three years he knew about and took parental responsibility for both children as well as therapy for the children in the wake of his sudden departure.”

“Your Honor, these claims are absurd! Doctors Karev and Stevens performed a blood test that showed that one of the children has a genetic disorder that neither of them have, meaning that if Doctor Stevens did indeed give birth to both children, that Doctor Karev could not be their biological father,” Alex’s lawyer fought back, eyeing Izzie and her lawyers as she spoke. “All we’re asking for is Doctor Karev to be released of all parental responsibility for both children and for Doctor Stevens to repay him the legal fees for these proceedings, as well as cover any other expenses he’s incurred while being involved in this trial.”

A quick and calculated silence followed the statement, Alex’s eyes flitting nervously from Izzie to her lawyer to Jo, who sat behind him with her hands nervously running over her bump. He’d seen Izzie watching her with a venomous expression earlier, Alex’s grip around her waist tightening as they’d shuffled into the courtroom.

“Your Honor, we’d like to call Doctor Josephine Brooke Karev to the stand before we proceed,” Izzie’s other lawyer, a tall woman named Eleanor Krause, stood and gestured towards the witness stand. She wore an almost permanent scowl on her thin face, her dark eyes staring menacingly around the courtroom. “I have a few questions for the other Doctor Karev.”

Jo rose and quietly made her way towards the stand, eyes meeting Alex’s briefly before swearing in and turning to face Miss Krause.

“Doctor Karev, are you and Doctor Alexander Michael Karev still married?”

“No we are currently divorced,” Jo’s voice was clear and stoic as she answered, staring directly at the lawyer questioning her. “We’ve been divorced for almost three years now.”

“And the dissolution of your marriage occurred when separated he moved to Kansas to be with Doctor Stevens?”

“Correct…,” then quickly adding, “after learning of their existence, Alex determined he needed to sever all ties with Seattle to be there completely for his children. At least who he thought were his children.”

Krause’s eyes lit up suddenly, a wicked smile appearing on her face as she stared down Jo. Alex could feel his stomach drop, knowing that whatever the woman was going to say next would not be friendly or civil.

“And you also have a child fathered by Doctor Alexander Michael Karev, is that right?”

“Yes, my daughter Harper Josephine Karev, who is two, and the child I’m carrying now are both Alex’s,” Jo’s brow furrowed, hand settling onto her abdomen as she watched the woman take a step closer to her. “I don’t see what that has to do with the case at hand though.”

“I just want to know if the other Doctor Karev paid you child support during your first pregnancy and the two years of your daughter’s life that he wasn’t present,” Krause’s voice was practically dripping with malice as she stared Jo down. “I mean, we are here to make sure that he’s doing his duty as a father, whether he’s in the same state as his children or not, right? So, has he been paying child support to you, Doctor Karev?”

Jo’s eyes flitted to Alex nervously, his own telling her that it was okay to tell the truth. To be honest, he was scared what Jo’s answer would affect in the case, but he knew that at the end of the day he wouldn’t have to pay a dime to Izzie because her kids were not his.

“No he hasn’t, but he didn’t know he had a daughter until four months ago,” Jo argued, turning momentarily to the judge. “He’s been a present and wonderful father since he’s known about Harper.”

“Doctor Karev, are you sure beyond a reasonable doubt that both of your children are indeed Alex’s children? Did you not have your daughter shortly after your now ex husband left you?”

“What’s the relevance here,” Alex’s lawyer finally stood and challenged the woman accosting Jo. “Doctor Josephine Karev’s children shouldn’t have any effect on her ex husband's child support case! It’s cruel and malicious to be questioning her like this on the stand.”

Alex turned to glare at Izzie, angered that she wore the same expression as her shifty lawyer. She knew about what Krause was plotting, he would put money on the fact that she’d planted the seed of whatever cruel idea it was in her head.

“I’m just questioning Doctor Alexander Karev’s intentions when it comes to his children, however many that may be,” Krause shrugged, eyes narrowing in Jo’s direction. “You’ve filed papers to move forward with adding Alexander to your daughter’s legal paperwork, is that correct?”

That all too familiar feeling of horror flooded Alex’s senses again, overtaking everything as he watched Jo answer affirmatively, her eyes moving to him again. There were tears welling up in them now, the fear he felt in the room spreading to her as well. His breathing hitched as he listened to Izzie’s lawyer prattle on once more, her biting voice breaking through his mental fog.

“I’d like to request a hold on any formal paternity proclamations concerning Doctor Alexander Michael Karev’s alleged children until their paternity can be confirmed via DNA testing,” Krause moved her line of sight to Jo once more, a sharp note ringing through the courtroom as she delivered her final, jarring blow. “I’d like to request that all four of Doctor Karev’s alleged children are tested, I believe that Josephine here is still well within the window to have an amniocentesis performed.”

“No, hell no!” Alex stood from his chair, eyes blazing as he stared down Krause. “I am not letting you poke and prod my wife just for a damn child support case, especially one she’s not directly involved in.”

Both Alex and his lawyer turned pleadingly towards the judge, who was eyeing both Izzie and Alex warily. He was never one to feel anxious, but he couldn’t help the worry mounting in his chest. Finally, the judge spoke, his words directed towards Izzie’s lawyers.

“How long would this process take?”

“If we proceeded with the amniocentesis, we’d have results in as soon as three weeks,” Krause’s eyes moved to Alex, a sick look of delight glowing in them. “If you’re uncomfortable with that though, we can draw this case out until the baby is born.”

“I’ll do it,” Jo’s voice rang out before anyone else could answer, making all eyes in the courtroom turn to her. Alex felt his heart constrict as he watched her speak. “I’ll do the amnio, I don’t mind.”

“With Doctor Josephine Karev’s confirmation, I’m adjourning this case until the DNA results for Alexis Isobel Stevens, Eli George Stevens, Harper Josephine Karev, and Doctor Josephine Karev’s unborn child come back. Court adjourned, you may leave now,” the judge rose and left the courtroom quickly, not bothering to witness the pure mayhem that descended upon the room.

“You did this on purpose,” Alex was up and out of his seat before anyone could stop him, feet heading towards Izzie who wore a smug expression as she looked him over. “You disgust me, you’ve weaponized your own children against me and now you’re trying to jeopardize the health of my unborn child and wife?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Alex,” Izzie batted her eyelashes in Alex’s direction, her self satisfied smirk growing as she watched him become more angry. “Looking forward to seeing you again!”

Before he could respond to Izzie, a gentle hand pressed into Alex’s back and ushered him towards the exit. Jo’s presence, even if he hadn’t looked into her eyes yet, was an instant calming effect over him.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Jo and Alex were in each other’s embrace, steadying breaths matching the others as they tried to come to terms with what had just happened. Her face pressed against his chest, Alex could feel the slow shuddering breaths that left Jo as he held her. He knew the questions Izzie's lawyer had posed were ones that were a sore spot for Jo, ones she’d begged him not to believe as she’d cried into his arms just a few weeks earlier.

“Just one punch,” Jo mumbled the words against Alex’s chest, looking up to make sure he heard her. “Please? I just wanna punch her one time.”

Alex chuckled, looking down at Jo with a glint in his eye, “You know I can’t let you do that, even though it would make me happier than I care to admit.”

“You kept calling me your wife in there,” Jo pressed her hands against the lapels of Alex’s suit, avoiding his stare as she fixed her gaze on her hands. “I don’t hate hearing you say that again.”

The words made Alex’s heart stutter under Jo’s gentle touch, his mind racing as he took in fully what she was saying. Did she really want to be his wife again? After years of him being away, of her raising their daughter on her own? After he had all but abandoned her and told her via letter?

Watching Jo for another moment, Alex brought his fingers under her chin and met her eyes, “You wanna marry me again? After all the shit we’ve been through?”

“For some reason I do, you make me better,” Jo finally lifted her gaze back to Alex’s face, eyes welling with tears as she spoke. “You’ve given me the best things in my life, you’ve made me a better person. And if we can get through some of the things that have been thrown at us, then I truly think we can get through everything. I love you Alex, more than I can ever say to you. I know you think you’ve fucked up, but through the past few months you’ve shown me how much you’ve grown.”

Not knowing what to say, Alex leaned down and captured Jo’s lips with his own. If there was one thing that was almost always blaringly clear for him, it was that he didn’t deserve the woman in his arms. He couldn’t begin to fathom how much it had taken to forgive him, to even trust him again after what he’d done. But just as she’d always done, Jo saw him for who he really was underneath all of his layers of bullshit.

“We can go right now, we are in the courthouse,” Alex joked, prompting Jo to roll her eyes and gently slap his chest before walking towards the exit. “What? Not a funny joke? We had fun last time and the SUV has a bigger backseat than the Audi did.” “Mmm yeah, you know we made a baby that night, right?,” Jo raised her eyebrows, a mischievous grin lighting up her face as she took in Alex’s shocked expression. “You have really good luck, you know? You made one baby in the backseat of a car and another on the floor of an elevator.”

A peel of laughter escaped Jo as she tried to unsuccessfully move away from Alex’s grip on her hips, instead falling back into his arms as his lips grazed her neck.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” Alex whispered the words as he turned Jo around in his arms. “Weren’t you just trying to jump me in the bathroom a few hours ago? Is the car not up to your standards?”

“No, I’m just thinking that Link is keeping Harper overnight and our bed probably got to the new house already,” Jo smirked in satisfaction at the dark look that fell over Alex’s eyes at her suggestion. “Now's as good a time as any to start christening the place. Unless you can’t keep up with a younger woman?”

“Josephine Karev, you know I can keep up with you any day of the week,” Alex’s lips ghosted Jo’s ear as he lowered his voice, pressing her closer to him and making his aroused state perfectly clear for her. “Let’s go, before we have no choice but to finish things up in the car.”

Twenty four hours after leaving the courthouse, Alex and Jo find themselves in an exam room on the OB floor. With the amniocentesis being court ordered and both of them wanting to get things over as quickly as possible, they’d booked the first appointment that was available.

“How are you not nervous,” Alex sat beside Jo, her hand in his as Carina ran an ultrasound wand over Jo’s stomach. “I mean I’m not trying to make you nervous, but you know what happens here!”

“Can’t be any worse than a 15 hour unmedicated labor that ended with a 9 pound baby making its way out of your vagina,” Jo shrugged, Carina chuckling quietly next to her. “I came up with some very interesting curse words that day.”

Alex and Jo both watched the ultrasound screen intently, their baby reaching one leg up to kick at the probe. Carina furrowed her brow, watching the baby move languidly on the screen, “You’re going to have to get them to calm down, I cannot go in while they’re kicking all around like that.”

“Talk to them, they always calm down when you talk to them,” Jo turned to Alex and raised her eyebrows. “Go on! I don’t have all day to lay here Alex.” Alex looked between Jo and Carina before leaning down and speaking in the same mellow tone that Jo had become so used to hearing while they laid in bed at night, “Hey kiddo, you gotta slow down in there. Your mom and I are tangled up in this stupid ass thing-”

“Alex!”

“And we’d really appreciate it if you cooperated so we could get this done,” Alex glanced to the ultrasound screen, noticing that the erratic movements had lessened and the baby had calmed. “See, that’s more like it. You know your sister is very excited to meet you, she keeps running around talking about how she’s gonna be a ‘big shitser’ which is super adorable if not the most inappropriate thing to come out of a two year olds mouth.

“She wants to name you Elsa or Hei Hei, those are the options I was presented with a few nights ago anyways. I don’t think she really gets it, but she’s gonna be great,” Jo��s eyes closed quickly as Carina pulled out the needle, her hand squeezing Alex’s. “Okay you gotta be super still now, mom’s got a big needle in her-”

“You are not helping me, Alex.” “And she’s all done! Look at that, easy peasy,” Alex pressed a kiss to Jo’s forehead, following the once again active baby on the screen. “Hey look at that, baby’s flashing us!”

Jo sat up quickly, eyes scanning the screen as well with a laugh, “Well that’s one way to do a gender reveal.”

Alex leaned up to kiss Jo, laughter bubbling from both of them as they let the realization sink in. They had a house, they had two healthy kids, they had the promise of a great big future ahead of them. Court case be damned, they were happy and things were going right between them for once.

#jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #jo x alex #jolex fanfic #greys anatomy fanfic #nina writes #hesitate

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fieryanmitsu · 5 years ago

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Since I saw that you like ikemen series as well I was wondering 👉🏻👈🏻 who do you think from the ikemen series would get along with each other? Like Sirius and Tsumugi tending to a garden together :3

Hi there Nonnie~ Oh man, that’s not something I’ve ever thought about, but now that you mention it… My mind is now on overdrive, HAHA! I was just going to throw around some thoughts off the top of my head, but before I knew it… it kinda blew up into a super long and full blown headcanon about what would happen if Mankai Company got transported to Cradle?!?!

I’m sorry, you were just asking me such a general question about the Ikemen series in general, but I ended up going on a huge IkeRev ramble. Anyway, here’s my long and convoluted headcanon of who I think would get along with each other between the main cast of A3! and Ikemen Revolution!

This got so out of hand and is ridiculously long, haha. Feel free to just skim for the bolded headings, which state who I think would be paired well together. But if you want, you can read the rest of my nonsense! Hope you enjoy this train wreck, haha!

MANKAI COMPANY IN CRADLE! (an A3! x Ikemen Revolution crossover headcanon)

CHARACTERS: All Troupes from A3! (plus Izumi) and all suitors from Ikemen Revolution (plus Alice)

My fanfic masterpost: Here

Prologue

On the night of the full moon, (another) mysterious door opens up at Mankai Company. Matsukawa discovers the room first. When he finds out that the door opens into a into a giant gaping hole, he freaks out and calls Izumi over to examine it.

When Izumi goes to check it out, all of the actors get curious as well and follow. However, when Izumi leans over to try and look down into the hole, Matsukawa accidentally knocks her into the hole and she falls in.

Masumi and Sakyo are the first to try and jump in after her, but they end up struggling with each other to see who should go first. Omi and Tsuzuru try to break them up, but all four of them end up falling in during the scuffle.

As he falls, Tsuzuru reflexively reaches out and grabs the closest thing to him, which happens to be a quaking Tenma, and the Summer Troupe leader gets dragged down with him.

The rest of the Autumn Troupe don’t hesitate to jump in after their oldest members to try and help them out.

Itaru and Sakuya are concerned, but much more cautious about whether they should just blindly jump down the hole. Itaru thinks they should call the fire department instead.

Citron says that they have to find a way to save their friends, but that, in such a drastic situation, it would be better to “jump first and think later.” Itaru says: “I think you mean to say ‘look before you leap’.” Citron’s response is: “No no no! I mean exactly what I said.” And then Citron, without any remorse, shoves both Itaru and Sakuya into the hole and dives right in behind them.

Misumi thinks they’re playing a game after seeing Citron dive right in. Thinking that there might be triangles in the hole, he shakes Hisoka awake (since Hisoka is good at jumping, so he should come with him). Hisoka miraculously wakes up long enough to be dragged into the hole with Misumi (and still has no idea what’s going on even as he falls).

Homare tries to save Hisoka, but ends up tumbling in after him.

Muku and Tsumugi are in a panic as they see their fellow troupe members falling into the hole. They’re beside themselves with what to do and somehow settle on: “We need to go after them!” They scrunch up their eyes and leap before they can think better of it.

Tasuku and Yuki yell to stop them, but it’s too late. They can’t believe what’s happening – has everyone lost the last of their brain cells?!

Azuma laughs at the absurdity of the situation, and claps both Tasuku and Yuki on the shoulder. He smiles at them serenely and just says: “Well, this kind of thing doesn’t happen every day, we may as well join the fun, right?”

“NO, THAT’S A TERRIBLE IDEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!”

Kazunari is the last one left, but only because he’s been filming it all on his smartphone so that he can upload it to his Instablam later. He gives the camera a victory sign before he steps off backwards into the hole and screams as he falls (but that red light keeps blinking away).

Matsukawa faints from the shock.

The whole Mankai Company arrives safe and sound in Cradle, somehow, but they happen to crash land into a joint Red and Black Army tea party being held at the Civic Centre to celebrate the recent peace treaty.

It is absolute chaos considering a group of 21 people suddenly fell from the sky, but with Blanc’s help they sort out the situation.

Blanc informs them that there’s some kind of bizarre once-in-a-hundred-years astrological phenomenon that has made the boundaries between Cradle and the Land of Reason even more unstable than usual, and that’s how the portal between the worlds had opened so suddenly. Luckily, according to his almanac, the portal will open again at midnight (rather than one month later) and the Mankai Company actors and director will be able to get back safely at that time.

Until then, the Red and Black Army decide to graciously host their guests for the day until the portal opens.

[THE REST UNDER THE CUT]

Alice and Izumi

It might be because they’re both “main characters”, but Alice and Izumi get along right away. Alice is the first to strike up a conversation since it’s been a while since she’s met another young woman close to her age.

Izumi feels more relieved after talking with Alice and learning that she is also from the Land of Reason.

The two young women end up finding out that they have a lot in common – especially when it came to their appetite. When Alice finds out that Izumi loves curry, she offers to take her to one of the local curry restaurants in Central Quarter (which serves a curry quite similar to the ones in London).

Izumi is full speed ahead and they’re gone before the Mankai boys can even notice she’s missing.

Ray and Sakuya

Sakuya and Ray hit it off right away. Sakuya tells Ray all about Mankai Company and how they are actors. Ray’s love of reading and books extends to plays as well and the two start chatting about the different plays that each world has.

Ray offers to show Sakuya some of the plays in his library collection and the two end up going back to the Black Army headquarters.

Sakuya happens to have their latest script in his pocket (since he had just been reading it before the whole incident happened) and lets Ray read it. Ray is captivated by Tsuzuru’s script and devours it.

In Ray’s room, Sakuya meets Belle and is instantly in love. He adores cats and has the time of his life reading through plays and exchanging thoughts with Ray as Belle purrs away in his lap.

Fenrir, Kazunari and Taichi

Fenrir’s friendly demeanor immediately catches Kazunari’s attention and the two mesh instantly. Kazunari is excited about everything, and Fenrir is completely raring to show off his amazing home to the newcomers.

Taichi feels a bit overwhelmed by everything that’s happening around him and doesn’t quite know where to turn first. Fenrir, used to looking out for the newest recruits, catches on to this instantly and puts a hand on Taichi’s shoulder and introduces himself. He immediately asks if he wants to come along with him and Kazu to check out the town.

The youngest Autumn Troupe member instantly brightens at this thought and agrees enthusiastically. For some reason, Taichi reminds Fenrir of Shu Shu, and Fenrir takes an immediate liking to the younger boy.

The three of them set out on the town and Fenrir takes them to his favourite haunts all around Central Quarter. While out in town, they even find an interesting toy that’s similar to a yo-yo and Taichi shows off his skills. Fenrir turns it into a competition. Kazunari becomes an impromptu emcee and narrates the entire competition to the amusement of nearby citizens.

Kazunari also shows Fenrir his phone and shows him how to take selfies. Fenrir doesn’t quite understand the technology behind it, but seeing his image show up immediately on the screen amuses him to no end and the three of them end up snapping photos all around the Central Quarter.

Seth and Yuki

Seth immediately takes notice of Yuki because of his cute looks and fashionable outfit. The 10 of Spades compliments Yuki, but Yuki isn’t impressed – of course he’s cute, that was a given.

Yuki only gives Seth the time of day when Seth adds: “You put even girls to shame!” It wasn’t often that someone picked up that he was a boy right away.

Seeing Yuki open up, Seth immediately invites Yuki to go shopping with him. Seth hasn’t had the urge to dress someone up this badly since Alice came into their lives and he just knows that Yuki would look absolutely adorable in Cradle’s latest fashion.

Intrigued by the notion of seeing this foreign country’s clothes, Yuki agrees to go with him. They spend the entire day going from store to store admiring and trying on different outfits.

Seth ends up buying Yuki a huge bag of cute outfits and fabrics for him to take home as a gift (paid out of Sirius’ wallet – but he didn’t know that yet).

Luka, Muku and Omi

Muku is too shy and intimidated to talk to anyone, so he just hangs out along the sidelines. But, the poor boy hadn’t eaten lunch yet when the incident happened and soon his stomach grumbles so loudly that Luka, also standing quietly nearby, hears it.

Never one to leave someone hungry, Luka grabs a plate of some of the dainties leftover from the tea party and offers it to Muku.

The pink-haired boy is flustered at first, but his hunger overrides his embarrassment. As soon as he takes the first bite of a scone, he’s amazed at the taste. It was just as good as Omi’s – maybe even better!

In fact, Omi happened to be within eyesight, and Muku immediately calls him over and has him try some as well.

Omi is very impressed and wonders if he could somehow talk to the chef who made this, because he’d love to exchange recipes and ideas.

At this point, Luka is blushing because the two actors have turned their attention to him for a response. He quietly admits that he was the one who had baked for the tea party that day.

Before he knows it, he’s somehow taken Omi and Muku back to the Black Army’s headquarters and they spend the rest of the day exchanging recipes and cooking a gigantic dinner feast (with Muku as their cute assistant) for everyone to eat.

Sirius, Tsumugi and Sakyo

Sirius ends up talking to Sakyo after seeing Sakyo yelling at Banri and Juza to stop fighting. He offers his condolences to Sakyo and says that he sympathizes with him – he’s got his own crew of rowdy children to look after, too.

They end up venting to each other about all the trouble they have to deal with and find kindred spirits in each other. Of course, they also end up bragging about their “kids” too, but they would never admit that.

Nearby, Tsumugi is automatically attracted to the flowers in the Civic Centre gardens and can’t help admiring them. He is practically falling into the bushes, he’s so excited.

From where he’s standing with Sakyo, Sirius sees this and asks Tsumugi if he’s interested in the flowers. Tsumugi replies enthusiastically that he is and Sirius, happy to see someone so interested in gardening, offers to show both him and Sakyo around the gardens more.

Sirius ends up taking them around to his family’s flower shop as well once they finish their tour of the Civic Centre garden. Tsumugi is asking him questions at a mile a minute while Sirius’ siblings pester Sakyo with questions about the Land of Reason.

Eventually they return to the Black Army headquarters and all pitch in to help Luka and Omi finish making dinner and set the tables.

Jonah and Juza

Juza doesn’t really understand too much of what’s going on, but he’s immediately attracted to all of the leftover desserts from the tea party. When he thinks no one is looking, he sneaks a plate and shoves the dessert into his mouth. The sweets are one of the best he’s ever had and he can’t stop eating them.

Jonah spots him sneaking the desserts and confronts him when he realizes that all of the leftovers are gone. He’s furious because he had wanted to eat some, too.

Juza blanches when he turns around and comes face to face with Jonah. He knows that this man is important, and ends up looking at the ground and apologizing for eating all of the desserts, but that he couldn’t help it because the best desserts were the best he’s ever had.

Jonah had meant to scold him, but the second he hears Juza’s compliments about Luka’s baking, he immediately goes into a tirade: “Of course they are the best desserts, my dearest Luka made them after all.”

Jonah determines that Juza is clearly someone who has good taste and it really would be a waste to let him go home without trying more of Cradle’s sweet delicacies. Also, Jonah still hasn’t satisfied his sweet tooth.

He orders Juza to follow him and ends up taking him around to all of his favourite dessert shops in the Central Quarter. The Queen of Hearts is quite pleased with his company, since Juza listens quietly to everything he says and always nods in agreement. He supposes that he could adopt him as another little brother for the day and buys him many boxes of desserts to bring home as a souvenir.

Kyle and Azuma

When the formalities end, Kyle immediately yells out that he wants to go for a drink. He tries to ask Blanc and Oliver to go with him to Oasis, but they’re both occupied with talking to the newcomers and he’s ignored.

Kyle is about to resign himself to drinking alone when a soft voice interrupts him and asks: “Did you say you were looking for a drinking companion?”

Kyle isn’t picky and is ecstatic to find a new friend to drink with. He immediately leads Azuma to Dum’s bar and grabs them seats at his usual table. Kyle orders his beer and Azuma starts off with a bottle of red wine.

The wine in Cradle tastes completely different from the wine he’s had before, and Azuma soon orders glass after glass of different wines. Kyle’s just happy to have such an enthusiastic drinking buddy and offers to pay for it all (since Azuma didn’t have any money he could pay with anyway).

It doesn’t take long for Kyle to get completely sloshed, but Azuma finds him to be a very cute drunk. The actor enjoys listening to Kyle’s drunken rambling since it made for boisterous and cheerful company.

At one point in the evening, Azuma is surprised to see that Banri is suddenly the one serving him his wine, but the Autumn Troupe leader just shrugs and saunters off to serve another table.

It was hours later when Fenrir, Kazunari and Taichi stumble upon them and they all head back to the Black Army’s headquarters together. Kyle has to be carried on Fenrir’s back the entire way.

Edgar and Itaru

Even though his phone has no signal, Itaru wasn’t bothered for once, because being transported to another world was the epitome of every nerd’s highest fantasy. He can’t help himself from examining everything around him – you never know if there’s a hidden item somewhere, after all.

Edgar finds Itaru’s behaviour to be curious and keeps an eye on the other man who is scrutinizing everything in detail. Eventually, he sneaks up behind him and asks: “Are you looking for something?”

Itaru jumps, but quickly covers up his surprise and gives Edgar one of his classic disarming smiles and just says that he’s fascinated because they’re in a different world.

Edgar is impressed by Itaru’s composure. He’s a bit suspicious of him, because he was obviously hiding something beneath a very well-made mask, but decides that this makes him very interesting. Since he was bored, he decides that chatting with Itaru will be quite fun.

Edgar soon finds out that Itaru is hungry and takes him over to the food table, but they find that there’s nothing left (which is odd, since he remembered there being a lot of leftovers). He catches Itaru sigh and mutter under his breath: “Man, even a bag of chips right now would be good.” Hearing a familiar word, Edgar asks: “Chips? Do you mean fish and chips?” Itaru looks at him with wide eyes and says: “Huh? Fish and chips? I guess we must be in an AU England.”

Edgar has no idea what half of those words mean, but the two soon find out that they both share a love of junk food and the Jack of Hearts takes Itaru to sample various junk food around the Central Quarter.

Itaru also greatly enjoys just walking around the town and admiring every aspect. Edgar often catches him muttering incomprehensible words under his breath, but shrugs it away.

Eventually they return to the Red Army’s base and run into Zero and Masumi. It’s at this point that they discover something else they have in common: they both enjoy mercilessly teasing their colleagues.

Lancelot and Citron

Citron immediately picks up on Lancelot’s regal aura and can’t help but scrutinize him silently. He wonders what kind of king he is, especially with such a stoic face.

Lancelot awkwardly tries to ignore the strange man staring a hole into his head and eventually turns to look at Citron and asks him if he can help him with anything.

Citron is surprised because he didn’t expect the other man to talk to him. Caught off guard, Citron spins an elaborate story about how, in his country, calling out to another person in public is a rude greeting and, instead, one must communicate your intentions through headwaves by staring at the other person until they sense your presence.

Lancelot, gullible as he is, immediately believes Citron and apologizes for not understanding his culture and asks if Citron can tell him more. Citron doesn’t miss the curious glimmer in the other man’s eyes and, soon has Lancelot hanging onto his every (unbelievable) word – though Lancelot sometimes has problems understanding exactly what he’s saying.

At one point Citron speaks about how he has a pet leopard, to which Lancelot replies: “Ah, I understand. I have a pet lion.”

Citron is immediately captivated and instantly demands to meet Shine. Lancelot ends up taking him back to the Red Army’s base and they spend the next few hours playing with Shine.

Zero and Masumi

After losing sight of Izumi, Masumi loses interest in everything and ends up being dragged along with Citron back to the Red Army base.

Zero follows his King and returns with them as well. Once they get back, Zero resumes his afternoon training drills with his soldiers.

Masumi, with nothing else to do, ends up taking a seat in the garden and watches Zero’s training. As he watches, he realizes that Zero’s stances and fighting look really good and he tries to memorize his movements in the hopes that he can use it to improve his stage fighting skills. After all, if he gets even better, then Izumi will give him more compliments and maybe she’ll even reward him with a date.

As soon as Zero dismisses his men, Masumi goes up to him and demands that he train him too.

Zero is surprised at the sudden request, but seeing Masumi’s determined face, he decides to go along with it.

The two of them spend the next several hours training with practice swords and Zero is impressed with how quickly Masumi picks up on his instruction. He thinks that Masumi is a bit odd, but very earnest and can appreciate how much effort he is putting in.

Though he hadn’t intended to, Masumi ends up enjoying himself more than he expects. Zero is a patient teacher and he finds the exercise invigorating.

The fun ends, though, when Edgar and Itaru return and start messing with them. Edgar remarks that they could be twins considering the identical scathing expressions on their faces.

Blanc and Tsuzuru

Somehow or another, the Red and Black Army officers had all trickled out of the Civic Centre along with several Mankai Company members.

Tsuzuru, Tenma, Misumi, Tasuku and Homare realize that they are the only Mankai Company members left behind. Even their director was gone.

Blanc notices that they are unsure of what to do and graciously invites them over to his home for a rest and some tea.

With no other option left to them, the remaining Mankai Company members follow Blanc and Oliver back to their home.

As they walk through the Central Quarter, Blanc informs them that he is the record keeper of Cradle. This immediately catches Tsuzuru’s attention. Once he realizes that this means that Blanc observes and records the events of all that happens, he immediately starts bombarding the white-haired man with questions about his writing techniques.

When they get to Blanc’s home, Tsuzuru ends up spending his day poring over Blanc’s records, devouring ideas and writing styles. Blanc happily answers his questions as he pours the scriptwriter tea and cuts him carrot cake.

Blanc and Tsuzuru are too distracted to realize that, on the way to Blanc’s home, they had actually somehow lost every other member of their party except for Oliver and Tasuku.

Oliver and Tasuku

While walking back to Blanc and Oliver’s house, Tasuku can’t help but scrutinize the technology and machinery around them. He immediately picks up that there is no electricity and that the lamps are not powered with the usual means he’s seen in the Land of Reason.

He unconsciously remarks on this out loud and Oliver is impressed, as he hadn’t expected any of them to notice this. Seeing Tasuku’s curiosity, Oliver explains to him how Cradle’s technology primarily runs on magic crystals.

Tasuku’s love of machines immediately takes over and he and Oliver are soon deep in discussion as the taller man asks question after question.

Oliver finds Tasuku to be forthcoming and intelligent, which was a pleasant change from his usual air-headed company. When they arrive at Blanc and Oliver’s home, Oliver takes Tasuku to his workshop and shows him the various gadgets he’s been working on.

Tasuku is absorbed right away and even helps Oliver with some of his repairs, picking up quickly on the unfamiliar technology.

It’s not until the sun begins to set that he realizes he hasn’t even bothered to eat or drink. It’s also at this point that Tasuku realizes that it’s been much too quiet and that this is because they are missing many (noisy) members of their party.

Dean and Homare

Homare follows the others as they head to Blanc’s house, but as they walk through the Central Quarter, he becomes quite taken by his surroundings. Everything is so different and beautiful, and suddenly he is hit by inspiration.

He stops walking and recites a poem, quickly jotting it down in a notebook before he forgets his genius. However, when he looks up, everyone is gone and he’s alone.

Not one to let the situation get him down, he follows his instincts and wanders about the Central Quarter until he finds a bookstore. He walks in and is captivated by all of the new books that he has never seen before.

At one point he reaches out for a poetry book and bumps into someone who was reaching for the same book and comes face to face with Dean.

The professor had been looking for new books for his lesson planning. He hadn’t expected someone else to be in this bookstore, which was off the beaten path.

Dean strikes up a conversation with Homare out of curiosity. What he thought would be passing casual conversation turns into an hours-long poetry seminar courtesy of Homare.

Dean somehow can’t find the willpower to get away – Homare’s poetry was bizarre and morbidly fascinating.

Eventually he finds out that Homare is lost and leads him to Blanc’s house, where they arrive just in time to see the others preparing to come out to look for them.

Loki and Misumi

As soon as they had exited the Civic Centre, Misumi was immediately distracted by all the things – after all, there must be tons of new triangles to find in this new place. Before anyone can stop him (and Banri tries), he shoots off into the crowds and leaves everyone in his dust.

It isn’t long before he catches his first triangle: “Gotcha, triangle kitty~”

It turns out that the triangles were the ones attached to the top of Loki’s hood.

Loki is alarmed that someone has managed to sneak up on him as he was playing with his cat friends. Intrigued by this stranger, he asks Misumi where he’s from and Misumi explains, while playing with the cats around them, that he and his friends fell out of a giant hole in the sky.

Before Loki can ask any more questions, Misumi declares that he’s going to go hunt for triangles and that the Triangle Kitty should come too, because he’s sure that he’d be great at it.

Loki doesn’t understand what a triangle hunt is supposed to be, but decides that since his cat friends trusted Misumi, then he can’t be that bad of a person. Not to mention, he was bored anyway since Alice was occupied with that stupid boring tea party and Misumi looked like he could be a great source of entertainment.

They end up running around all of Central Quarter and eventually end up in the Forbidden Forest. There they run into Harr, along with someone else that Harr had bumped into, and they all head back to Blanc’s house together.

Dum and Banri

Banri tries to chase after Misumi when the other boy suddenly broke off from the group. However, he soon loses him and finds that he has also lost the main group.

Grumbling to himself about his bad luck, Banri accidentally wanders into a back alley and gets cornered by a couple of thugs who try to rob him.

Banri wants to beat them up, but notices that they’re carrying knives. Instead, he tosses a nearby flowerpot at them before he books it down the alley.

They cause quite a ruckus as they dash through the side streets, and Banri quickly ducks into an open doorway and hopes that he can hide until he’s sure he’s lost the thugs.

Turns out he had dashed through the back door of a kitchen and comes face to face with Dum, who is not amused by some street rat running onto his turf.

He’s about to kick Banri out, but Banri begs to let him stay for a bit since he’s trying to lose the thugs (he can hear them yelling outside). Dum reluctantly lets him stay, but tells him he needs to work for it.

At first, he tells Banri to peel some potatoes, but Banri negotiates with him to let him help out at the front of the house instead (since peeling potatoes was boring).

Dum finds Banri’s sassy attitude to be amusing – and also picks up quite quickly that he’s from the Land of Reason. He gives Banri a chance and the actor soon charms all of the customers into buying extra food and drinks. At the end of the night he just gives Dum a cocky “I told you so” grin.

When Fenrir and company arrive to tell them about the dinner feast plans, Banri tells Dum that he should come along as thanks for helping him out. Since it was a weeknight anyway, Dum decides to take him up on the offer – this boy was proving to be very amusing and it wasn’t every day that he was presented with such an interesting opportunity.

Harr and Tenma

Tenma panics when Misumi, Banri and Homare get separated from them. But, the streets are crowded and he realizes it’s no use to try and find them when he didn’t know where he was going. Instead, he focuses his attention on following Blanc, Oliver, Tsuzuru and Tasuku.

However, as they pass through a busy market, the crown jostles him away from the others and he soon loses them in the crowd.

He tries to remain calm as he makes his way through the street and even asks for directions to find Blanc’s house – the old ladies at the stalls were especially nice about helping him.

However, even though he’s sure he followed their directions properly, he soon finds himself walking through a forest and it’s dark and eerie and – did he just hear something?!

Tenma screams when he feels someone clap a hand on his shoulder. He spins around and sees a strange face with a mask and, thinking he is seeing some kind of ghost or monster, he runs away deeper into the forest. He bursts into a clearing, but trips and ends up falling straight into the lake.

Harr had been taking a walk through the woods when he had seen the young man, looking clearly lost. Seeing him fall into the lake, he quickly runs over and pulls him out of the water.

Tenma is shaking like a rain-soaked kitten, so Harr leads Tenma back to his home to dry him off.

At first, Tenma is too scared to say anything and only manages to start talking when Harr offers him a lollipop. Tenma scoffs that he isn’t a child, but he takes the lollipop anyway and puts it in his mouth.

Harr smiles – he’s reminded of how Loki was when they first met. It seems he’s good at picking up stray cats.

Eventually, Harr figures out the situation and offers to lead Tenma back to Blanc’s house. Tenma clings to the back of Harr’s coat the entire way, looking around furtively and jumping at every shadow.

On their way, they run into Loki and Misumi. They arrive at Blanc’s just in time to see the record keeper receiving a message from a Black Army messenger.

Mousse and Hisoka

Taking advantage of the hubbub, Mousse sneaks off to sleep under a tree in the garden (making sure that Jonah didn’t spot him).

With no marshmallows in sight, Hisoka felt his eyes beginning to close. Before he completely lost consciousness, he saw a figure sprawled out under a tree. He thinks that this must mean that it was a designated napping spot – why else would there be someone sleeping there?

Thankful for this discovery, Hisoka stumbles his way over over to Mousse and curls up on the soft gross. The tree provides the perfect amount of shade and the flowers there smelled just as nice as whatever Azuma used to scent his room. It didn’t take long for Hisoka to drift off.

He doesn’t wake up until Homare and Tasuku (along with the white-haired bunny man) come to find him.

The man next to him also wakes up at that time. He non-chalantly turns towards Hisoka and says: “This is a great spot for a nap, isn’t it?” Hisoka responds with a nod.

Epilogue

Ray had sent messengers to the Red Army and Blanc to inform them that they had prepared a feast at the Black Army’s headquarters for their guests, so everyone eventually trickles into the Black Army’s base by the time dinner starts.

Some unexpected guests also pop by, but no one particularly minded.

Everyone enjoys the feast prepared by Omi and Luka. Even those who had been eating beforehand found their appetites returning at the sight and smell of the delicious food in front of them.

After the meal, everyone says their goodbyes to the new friends they made. Even though their time together had been short, everyone would treasure the memories of their experiences that day.

Blanc, Alice and the two Kings lead the Mankai Company back to the Civic Centre’s rooftop garden. As predicted by Blanc, there was indeed a giant hole in the ground.

Bidding their farewells one last time, the Mankai Company jumped through the hole, and after what felt like minutes of falling, they finally saw a blinding light rushing up to meet them.

Moments later, they all tumbled out onto soft green grass in a giant pile-up.

After an exciting and unbelievable day, they were finally back home.

FIN

To anyone who stuck around through this entire thing, thank you for reading, haha! I hope you enjoyed this random bit of nonsense! I still have three routes to play, so hopefully I didn’t mess up anyone’s personalities (especially with the new characters as I don’t have much knowledge of them yet)!

I think that there could be a lot of other character combinations that would get along with each other, but I wanted to make sure that each main character from A3! and IkeRev were featured, so these were the combinations that I ended up with without having to compromise too much!

Thanks for dropping such a fun topic into my inbox, Anon!! Hope to see you around again!

-Anmitsu

#a3!#a3! game #a3! act! addict! actors!#ikerev #ikemen revolution #a3! x ikemen revolution crossover #crossover #anmitsu writes #anmitsu chats

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bothsandneithers · 4 years ago

Text

Day 3327

I need to hurry up and write this, because I am forgetting how miserable I was. This is not part of an effort to ensure that I don't repeat this process over again (perhaps as some may be tempted to do after childbirth). Instead, this exercise is consistent with my tendency to ask my friends to describe the most uncomfortable and unfortunate parts of their vacations. Who wants to hear a story that could more succinctly be conveyed within the narrow pages of a travel brochure? To adapt this question to the present situation: Who wants to hear a series of events that could be more adequately summarized by a few pages in a student handbook?

I’m sure that someone could have a field day by drawing parallels between giving birth to a child and writing a dissertation. While this is not my story to tell, I have described my experience by drawing upon the image of a mother who harnesses supernatural strength to lift a car off of her child. The listener is then immediately confused, and I then have to clarify that, in this metaphor, I am both the mother and the child, and that the dangerous, debilitating, threat of the car, is my dissertation.

It may be more effective if I am more direct: I want everyone to know that I (as the small child) was quite miserable, and I (as the mother) accomplished something that I thought was more than I could handle.

I imagine that if a car did end up on a small child, then the entire situation would invoke so much stress on the mother that she may not ever be able to recount exactly what happened during those subsequent moments. In a different way, of course, and for reasons I am still trying to understand, I too remember very little from the summer and early fall leading up to my defense.

In the place of memories, I find myself relying on artifacts to represent months and events that I cannot recall. One such set of artifacts are the six or so issues of The Atlantic magazine that have been set aside into a small pile; each one received a small verbal promise that I would open the pages after my defense. Now, as I review the covers, I imagine that they may never be read. Below are some of the stress-inducing cover stories of these abandoned issues:

How to destroy a government: The president is winning his war on American institutions.

How QAnon is warping reality and discrediting science.

The election that could break American.

How did it come to this? Why the virus won.

In the early days of lockdown, when the virus was beginning to take hold of its victory, I read this explanation for why most of us are not thriving right now: In order to flourish, one must be able to play several different human roles over the course of the day -- something that is arguably impossible when we rarely leave our dwellings.1

After reading this explanation, I starting clinging to the argument that the overwhelming reason why completing my dissertation had become so difficult was because of an absence of variability in my human roles. Even though none of my other typically played human roles were terribly interesting (commuter, friend, peer, coffee shop customer, gym patron), each one offered me respite from the singular human role that I was stuck with: The neurotic graduate student.

The neurotic graduate student human role was difficult to be around, because she was always worried about so many things: that her arguments weren't good enough, that there were errors in her code, that she should be able to understand certain concepts that were still evading her, that more time-intensive analyses were still required, and that overturning new stones would reveal that previous analyses or assumptions were wrong or incomplete. More simply, the neurotic graduate student human role was always worried that she was not good enough.

This persona can be debilitating, and I found that the act of writing a dissertation included a lot of time not actually writing, but rather, a substantial amount of time was devoted to sitting in paralyzing anxiety, not able to do anything.

Even though many of the weeks leading up to my due date were a blur, I do recall choosing this time to watch One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Perhaps I did this because misery loves company. I decided to view this odd movie choice in a particular odd format, whereby I watched the movie in 15 minute intervals, across several nights, as if savoring a segmented Toblerone.

I watched the first few segments in stoic sympathy with the characters, but I eventually found myself amused when Jack Nicholson realizes that almost all the residents are “voluntary”:

You can go home any time you want? You're bullshittin' me. He's bullshittin' me right? Cheswick, you're voluntary? Scanlon? Billy, for chrissakes you must be committed, right? I mean, you're just a young kid, what're you doin' here? … I mean, you guys do nothing but complain about how you can't stand it in this place here and then you haven't got the guts just to walk out?

I remember smiling for a few moments at this scene; it was a gentle reminder that I invited this stress into my life, and that I could, indeed, bring it all to an end if I really wanted to. The smile was fleeting, and felt similar to when you are crying, and your friend says something that is true and funny to try and make you feel better, and you laugh and it feels really good but it also reminds you of how bad you feel, and how far away you are from feeling like yourself.

Yet again, someone else might have a field day drawing parallels between today’s academic environment and a fictional mental institution from the 1970s. I can't do this, in part because, aside from that one scene, I don’t actually remember what happens in the movie.

I did, however, voluntarily lock myself in a hotel room to write, because the suffocating familiarity of my home was preventing me from generating any new sentences. A sticker had been placed between the room's door and its frame, denoting that the room had been thoroughly cleaned. Surely this was only intended to be a symbolic seal to provide some peace of mind that it was safe and acceptable to be outside of one's house.

Once inside the room (that seemed no cleaner than in the absence of a pandemic), I did not immediately initalize my plan to write incessantly. Instead, I desultorily found myself on a support group on reddit that was dedicated to "PhD stress." Feeling compelled to write anything that was not my dissertation, I made a post targeted at those who were also writing their dissertations during a pandemic:

What you are doing right now is really, really hard.

Under "normal" conditions, you would be facing a sheer amount of uncertainty with your work (e.g., not knowing how analyses will turn out, not knowing what your advisor will think of your progress, etc). Under these new conditions, you are dealing with the uncertainty of the state of the world (pandemic), the government (upcoming election -- if in the US), as well as your dissertation! These are absurd conditions, whereby any one of these things would undoubtedly have negative impacts on your well being.

For many, you went from having an entire support group of peers, to sitting in your bedroom, day in and day out, trying to come up with novel ideas and effective ways to communicate these ideas.

As such, I urge you to take care of yourself. I urge you to give yourself permission to ignore unwanted criticism that, while in other circumstances you may work hard to address. Now, in this current context, just don't. Give yourself permission to stop perpetuating the idea that your work and your psyche should not be impacted by the fact that nothing is the same right now.

Defend your ideas, yes. And do good work (-- nah, do good enough work). But know that you are defending your work under surreal circumstances. Account for this when you wake up tomorrow, move four feet from your bed to your desk, and try to do the same thing over again.

Overnight, this became the most popular post in the subreddit’s history. Admittedly, there aren’t a lot of members in this particular community (it should also be noted that this post was recently surpassed in popularity by a post entitled, “PhD has destroyed my mental health”). Still, several users responded with something along the lines of, “Thank you. I needed to hear this.”

I needed to hear those words too -- that is one reason why I wrote them. But I was also desperate to play another human role; one who ambiguously could have already made it to the other side of the dissertation defense, and was able to offer encouragement to those close to the finish line.

Soon after my hotel stay, where I eventually did find motivation to write, I was set to defend my dissertation. This was met with the opportunity to transform into another human role: someone who was nearing the end of her graduate student career, and had no choice but believe that her work was good enough.

The dissertation defense took place via video conferencing. I sat at my desk in my make-shift office in my bedroom.

Five kind and smart professors asked me kind questions that made me feel smart.

And that was it.

After the defense, the stress began to fade away. I recalled the wise words that my therapist once said, “It’s remarkable how, after the defense, people just won’t need anything from you anymore.” I made edits to my dissertation and submitted my final version. I dismantled my “home office” and replaced it with a reading chair and a plant. A new issue of The Atlantic arrived in the mail, and now with time, cognitive space, and optimism that this issue would not be as depressing as the others, I started to read.

I opened to an article about a historian who predicts that the United States is about to experience a terrible decade. He blames this on the overproduction of elites. ("There are still only 100 Senate seats, but more people than ever have enough money or degrees to think they should be running the country.") These elites find alternative ways to disrupt the status quo to influence people; the elite overproduction "creates counter-elites, and counter-elites look for allies among the commoners.”2

Although the article was compelling, it did not feel like appropriate material, as one does not work tirelessly through graduate school to then be compared to Steve Bannon.

I continued to the next article which was about young adults (or old children) who post things to a social media platform I’ve never used (TikTok). Not only do they create short videos that are viewed by millions of viewers, but there is an entire industry of these individuals, and they curate their content together in the mansions that they cohabitate (I am yet to grasp the monetization of this endeavor).3

I settled into my chair. Finding myself enjoying my new human role as a casual observer to an unknown world, I thought: What an absolutely absurd life pursuit.

xx,

Amy, PhD

https://nplusonemag.com/issue-37/the-intellectual-situation/epilogue-for-a-way-of-life/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/can-history-predict-future/616993/ ↩︎

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/12/charli-damelio-tiktok-teens/616929/ ↩︎

#phd

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mikaa-mina · 4 years ago

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At Garden’s Edge- Chapter 5: In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company

This is a very sweet and silly chapter, and also my longest chapter for this fic yet clocking in at just over 5k!

A small content warning, there are some descriptions of depression/feeling down and apathetic in this chapter. They are primarily right at the beginning and I promise there's a bunch of silly fun in this chapter and it ends on a happy note. (No seriously, these characters can be so silly sometimes!)

Nevertheless! Even though there is nothing heavy in this chapter, if you for any reason feel uncomfortable reading a chapter (any chapter in this fic) please don't hesitate to reach out to me. I will try to summarize the chapter without going into whatever the subject is that is an issue. <3

As always, this was beta'd by the lovely lovely Tarek_giverofcookies who has helped me multiple times when I was banging my head against writer's block.

At Garden’s Edge

Chapter 5- In which bad days are had, assumptions are made, and sweets always taste better with good company.

It had been a bad day. In fact, there had been rather more than seven of them so far. He hadn’t opened the shop in three of them and couldn’t honestly recall the last time he’d stepped out of the building at all. Living above the shop, or rather more in the antique armchair in the back room of the shop, tended to have it’s own perks and disadvantages. The perks being that he didn’t really have to leave home to work, was constantly surrounded by books, and he never had to leave the building unless he was out acquiring new books. Unfortunately, these same perks were also the disadvantages.

It made the days when the fog grew thick and oppressive that much more harder. It was difficult to convince oneself to leave the building when instead he could just stay in working on commissions. And what if he missed a customer while out and about?

When his head felt full of cotton, and fatigue lingered in all his limbs, the quiet thoughts would slip inside. What harm would it really do to close the shop early? For the day? Why move from this armchair at all, he deserved a day off. He’s in the middle of a chapter and it’s raining out, no sensible fool would bring an old antique book to be authenticated or repaired in the pouring rain.

Three days into this he realized he couldn’t recall what the last book he just finished reading had even been about at all. It was as if he was eating food and yet tasting none of it. Stale and unappealing. The horror that books had become that for him.

It was temporary, he knew. He had figured out with help how to help manage this, but knowing how to do so didn’t make the actual doing of it any easier. It took another day of bargaining with himself before he managed to call up a friend. Unfortunately she was out of town, but talking to her still helped. She stayed on the phone as long as she could and before ending the call she gently suggested taking a walk through town, just to be around other people without having to talk to anyone if he wasn’t up to that just yet.

“Or maybe dearie, you should go see that florist friend of yours,” Madame Tracey suggested with what was surely a twinkle in her eye.

Aziraphale himself didn’t really feel one way or the other about it, instead of insisting Crowley was just his florist and not his friend he just hummed non-noncommittally. (Who would want to be friends with a stuffy boring older man like him? He knew what he was like and was content with it but others hardly liked it.)

Failing to get the reaction she was hoping for made her stress again him getting out. Maybe visit that bakery he liked so much.

Instead he found himself wandering the city, and not too unsurprisingly, wandering into the flower shop and plant nursery, Garden’s Edge.

There was some sort of bee-bop playing in the shop, quietly at first and then increasing in volume as he wandered towards the back.

And then he heard it. Someone… singing. Not particularly badly but not especially well either. Though that may have been helped by the fact that the song they were singing to seemed to be more of a spoken song than the newer bee-bop Aziraphale’d heard in the shops downtown.

It got louder as he followed it all the way to the very back of the shop. When he reached the check out counter he could see the door to the back propped open as someone sang about… French novels and the absurd?

Aziraphale glanced around, but no one else was in the shop, so slowly he edged around the corner of the door to peek into the back room because surely the only person it could be was Crowley. As far as he was aware, Crowley was the only person who worked here. So it had to be him. But singing?

A quick glance in and all he saw was a flash of black and red. A pity he didn’t carry any mirrors on his person any more.

Steadying his breathing again he looked around the corner again through the door way. He had meant it to be a quick glance again but he found himself stopping at the sight he had caught. It was indeed Crowley. Crowley in his black leather jacket and absurd snake skin boots, eyes closed as he sang into the end of the broom in his hand. His hips were… doing something? Moving in some way, perhaps this was a new fangled form of dancing, and his arms were gesturing grandly as he sang and moved about the room.

“-And some kinds of love The possibilities are endless And for me to miss one Would seem to be groundle-EH?! Ah-AZIRAPHALE?!?”

Aziraphale startled, nearly fell from his precariously balanced position, but Crowley was worse, his eyes having opened as he turned about the back room mid spin, he faltered, eyes landing on Aziraphale and broom flinging from his hand. It crashed into a large iron shelving unit that rattled dangerously and sent Crowley lunging in that direction to catch some of the pots that had rattled right off the edge.

“Oh dear,” he rushed forward to give Crowley a hand, “terribly sorry to frighten you. What can I do to help?”

“Wah-gah- huh??”

Aziraphale bit back a smile, he was rather adorable when flustered. His face was turning red, his eyebrows high on his face in confusion and disbelief, his arms fluttering around in nervousness and nearly dropping the pots he had managed to catch.

“Here,” he dipped down and picked up some of the pots scattered on the ground. Thankfully most of the ones that fell seemed to be the cheaper plastic ones. Temporary pots for young plants or plastic pots made to look like stone.

Straightening back up, arms full of (thankfully clean) pots (just think of what would have happened to his coat) he smiled at Crowley. It was a bit more customer service polite smile than the genuine one he’d felt earlier as the fog settled back in, but he didn’t want Crowley to feel as if it was his fault. “Where shall I put them?”

After a string of unintelligible sounds, Crowley gestured towards a table slightly helplessly. He croaked out a thanks, plopped his own load down and stared at the table for a moment.

Just as Aziraphale was starting to sink back into that state where he felt rather detached from everything Crowley’s head snapped towards his.

“Uh… how.. how much of that did you hear?”

“I couldn’t really make it out until I got to the back somewhere around something to do with filthy french novels and the absurd?”

Crowley’s blush renewed itself, darkening in color and then spreading down his chest and up to his ears. It was adorable.

“Y-you can’t tell anyone!”

Aziraphale cocked a brow, slightly amused but mostly confused. Perhaps that was the fog again- maybe it had obscured something that would make this make sense.

“About what dear? You singing?”

“No! I mean yes, that too, but no the-uh...” Crowley gestured in an extremely un-illuminating way.

“...I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

The strange half starts to words and sentences falling apart in Crowley’s throat sounded off again before he finally settled from his wild gesticulating to stare rather firmly at something on the other side of the room from him. “Can’t tell anyone I like that kind of stuff.”

Aziraphale was hopelessly lost. “...Singing?”

Crowley’s mouth twisted. “No-yes, well, I don’t care so much about that. It’s the...”

“...the?”

“thesingingaboutlovegunk.”

He blinked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“…. it’s the, whole, uh...” every word seemed to take effort, though for what reason Aziaphale had no idea, “it’s the love thing, okay?! I just- it doesn’t fit my image and people don’t need to know that I- that- people don’t need to know that!”

Oh.

A smile twitched at the edges of his lips again, not enough to force the smile through the fog, but enough to make him feel a bit warmer. He took in Crowley’s defensive posture, the hot blush upon his face and chest, his burning ears, and the steadfast way he wouldn’t look at Aziraphale.

A bit softer and sweeter than Aziraphale had originally pegged him as.

He turned the smile begging at his lips from something too soft and fond into something more benignly friendly. “Of course.”

A beat of silence and then Crowley finally turned his head back towards Aziraphale’s, shoulders hunched up by his red ears. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

There was a beat of silence before Aziraphale found his mouth speaking quite without his permission. “So. A secret romantic then?”

Crowley just groaned in dismay.

“Did you come here just to mock me?”

The smile slid off his face. He’d meant to reply with something funny, or a bit teasing, but now that he was reminded of the real reason he’d stumbled across this scene, things didn’t seem as funny as they were a moment ago. Still, he knew wallowing in it wouldn’t help matters, so he tried to marshal himself back up to that trusty customer service smile and said, “oh, I was just out.”

He didn’t even realize he was avoiding eye contact with Crowley until the man side stepped back into his vision, leaning down a bit to try and catch his eyes.

Crowley hummed, rocked back on his heels, bit his lip, seemed to cast around for some words and finally offered up a, “wanna talk about it or not talk about it?”

Aziraphale’s eyes rose to meet his. He hesitated.

Crowley gave him a wry sort of smile, dusted his hands on his jeans, then clapped them together to make a loud sound that startled Aziraphale. “Right! Let’s go then.”

Aziraphale blinked, watching Crowley sway right out the door and into the main shop. Following him a bit bewilderingly he echoed, “go?”

“Yup. Going!”

Crowley stopped by the front door, pulled Aziraphale’s still wet umbrella out of the stand, handed it to him, then fished out another umbrella from the stand for himself. It was still raining outside.

Crowley opened the door with a flourish, keys jangling from his pinky finger as he popped open the umbrella with his free hand and gestured to outside. “Out.”

Well. Alight then. ‘Out’ it was.

Aziraphale slid open his umbrella, stepped out, and watched in a sort of detached curiosity as Crowley flipped the sign to closed and locked up the shop. Then he turned with a grin and said, “not too far.”

Well. That explained one thing and nothing else. Still. Aziraphale followed him, noting distractedly that Crowley’s umbrella seemed to have ducks faintly patterned on it. The slick shine of rain highlighting the faded ink as the textures ran different than the rest of the unmarked umbrella.

A few blocks, some turns down some alleys, and they arrived at the shop front of a lovely little cafe bakery. Aziraphale stared at it before Crowley marched right up, ducks swimming in the rain above his head, and opened the door. He made a dramatic sweeping ‘after you’ gesture and Aziraphale was surprised by his own quiet snort of laughter.

Walking in, the air hit warm and dry against his face, and the light was brighter than outside’s overcast weather, but dimmer than some of the more mainstream restaurants liked to have. He shook off his umbrella and left it in the umbrella stand by the door and took his first good look around the place.

The best way to describe it was that it was charming.

It had the standard bakery wide windows in the front of the establishment but instead of just slatted blinds, there were also soft gauzy curtains pulled to the sides and secured with a soft tasseled rope. Aziraphale’s eyes gravitated to the back corner of the cafe where there were two bookcases set against each other creating a corner, filled with mismatched books, and sat in front of it was a squishy looking couch, armchair set, and low coffee table.

The shop had a few other tables set with soft seating of the like, while the rest scattered about the shop were the more standard fair cafe chairs and tables. There was music playing quietly in the background, the colors of the cafe were soft and easy on his eyes, and there was the biggest set of two bakery display cases he’d ever seen in a shop so small. He could hear Crowley’s quiet chuckle as he gravitated towards the counter.

How he’d missed this place he’d never know. (Spoiler: it’s because he never leaves his shop unless it’s to go to Crowley’s shop or to go buy new books)

He was looking down at the most scrumptious looking assortment of pastries when a young woman popped up from behind a strange chrome contraption that Aziraphale could only assume was used to make fancy coffees.

“Oh! Hi, welcome to Knead to Know, how can I- Oh AJ!”

Her eyes flickered between the two of them before a smile began to spread across her face wide enough to cause some alarm to Aziraphale. She propped an elbow up on the counter, set her chin in her hand, and grinned properly at Crowley. She had pink bangs.

“I assume you’re not here for your usual? Or are you and you just brought him with you today?”

Crowley, completely oblivious it seemed to the teasing just shook his head and said, “Nah, I’ll come tomorrow for the usual. Today’s different.”

“I’ll say,” she agreed, raised her eyebrows and flicked her eyes towards Aziraphale who was finally starting to feel a bit of nervousness or embarrassment filter through the fog. It was hard to tell which was which.

“Yup,” Completely Clueless said, “so I just want my usual drink but get whatever he wants.” He gestured to Aziraphale with a tilt of his head before turning to look at him proper. “From what I’ve heard, the Brittney things are good and anything chocolate’s pretty popular.”

Behind Crowley’s head the young cashier rolled her eyes dramatically, mouthed ‘totally clueless’, winked at Aziraphale and then said, “chocolate’s only the most popular because of who you bring them to.” She faced Aziraphale again, smiled, and said “The Cheese Brittney is good, and our baker has recently got on a kick of sponge cakes so personally I’d recommend the Tres Leche Cake.”

She pointed to each in turn. Both looked scrumptious but which would taste better right now? The moistness of the Tres Leche might be what he needed to chase his dry and crumbly feelings away but at the same time a Cheese Brittney with it’s flakey and crunchy pillow might be just the soft landing place he needs.

As he debated internally, he tried to shove away any distressing thoughts of if it would be as bland as his books have been, while Crowley chatted with the barista.

“Find anything your heart settled on? Or your taste-buds?”

At the barista’s question Aziraphale startled, he’d lost track of time while dawdling and had probably spent far too long trying to decide. “Oh! I, well, you see they both seem so scrumptious that it’s just so difficult to choose.”

Crowley hummed for a second then tipped his head to the side and asked, “why don’t you just get them both then?”

“Oh, oh wouldn’t that be too much?” Too greedy, too gluttonous, too excessive. How often had he been taught that pleasure had to be earned? What had he done to earn either of them, let alone two pastries? He’s only been stuck in his head, shop not even open, for days and-

Crowley shrugged, completely unbothered, and said “eh, one of life’s pleasures, issn’t?”

Aziraphale stared at him, derailed from his negative self-talk suddenly and jarred by it.

Crowley must have mistook it as an objection to what he had said because then he defended it with a “Wut? Don’t give me that look. Life’s about living for the good stuff, yeah? So get ‘em both. Enjoy them.”

A moment to process that and then Aziraphale gave a quiet acquiesce, “alright.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale mustered a small smile in return for Crowley’s crooked grin, “yes.” Turning to the barista, who suspiciously looked like she was trying to smother a too wide grin, he said “I’ll take them both, please.”

She let the grin out in full force, “yes sir, right away sir!”

“Ah... thank you. Er, how much will they be?”

“Oh, AJ already covered it,” she winked at him but he was too busy turning to Crowley and protesting to see it.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and gave a sort of shrug with his shoulders, “eh, we’re friends, ‘s what friends do.”

There was a growing warmness in Aziraphale’s chest heating up, something fond and soft, starting to glow like a lighthouse in the sea fog. Friends. “Oh.”

Crowley flashed a small smile, a smile unlike the flashy smirks and cocky grins, before turning away towards the back of the shop. “C’mon, I know that book nook’s practically singing your name you big ol’ bookie.” And then he sauntered off, ears a bit pink at the vulnerability maybe, and Aziraphale was left, for just a moment, alone with that warm feeling. At being announced a friend where anyone could hear. Proudly, unashamed.

The warm feeling tentatively spread.

“I’ll bring y’all’s food and drinks in moment, go ahead and sit down.”

He startled a little, glanced at the barista to find her smiling and said, “thank you dear girl.”

She grinned a little then teased, “go on, he’s an impatient man if I’ve ever seen one though he doesn’t seem to mind waiting on you.”

Not quite sure what to make of that he made his way over to the table where Crowley seemed to have made lounging an art form. He was spilled all over the arm chair head turned to frown at the books on the shelves to his left.

Normally Aziraphale would be all over those books. Carefully going through the titles, trying to see what the people here liked. You could tell a lot about a person from the books they chose to keep. Though the rules tended to vary when it came to shops, you weren’t catering to just one person’s taste after all, but many. But even then, he found it an enjoyable little game to see if there were any hidden gems in restaurants like this. Sometimes places you didn’t expect to, would have a valuable or rare book without even realizing it. Even rarer still, they might have a book Aziraphale wanted to get his hands on.

But his stomach rolled a little when he glanced at the books, remembering the morning and his apathy for reading. He did not want to try again so soon. He didn’t want to pick up a book, expecting to enjoy it, or even hoping to enjoy it, and find it as bland and unenjoyable as before. No, it was simply best to wait. He didn’t want to be turned off of books for any longer than he probably already was going to be.

So he sat in the surprisingly comfy armchair, looked up at Crowley, and realized he had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, Crowley seemed quite reluctant to let an uncomfortable silence descend and instead jerked his head towards the bookcase and said, “would’ve thought you’d be all over these.”

Well. Not the conversation he wanted but, beggars and all that.

“Ah, perhaps later.” A thought hit him, “do you have a favorite?” even if he couldn’t get enjoyment from reading right now, perhaps he could still get some enjoyment from talking book tastes and just getting to learn more about Crowley. Crowley who abruptly closed up shop without warning in the middle of the work day and brought him here.

“Oh dear, was it really alright to close up shop? I hadn’t realized earlier...”

“Yeah. ‘S fine. Wanted to take you here.”

“But...”

“Eh, it’s raining. Had only one customer all day, so who cares if I take a long lunch break? Hell I could probably take the rest of the day off what with the downpour scheduled for all day. Was only cleaning when you came by.”

The warm feeling spread a bit. Heated up a bit more.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s quite true, dear.”

“What? No, you saw-”

A small smile bloomed on his lips, “I saw you dancing and-”

“Nrk- nuh, yuh- you said you wouldn’t!-”

Aziraphale chuckled lightly, feeling a bit lighter, a bit less bogged down, “and I shan’t. Alright, tell me about what you like to read.”

The barista came by, delivering a tall drink to Crowley, the pastries and a plastic cup of water to Aziraphale. She bid them a good meal and left, turning to reveal a pony tail that ended with pink tips to match her bangs.

Crowley took a long sip of his drink, leaned back, and announced, “don’t read.”

Aziraphale, about to take a bite of the Tres Leche Cake paused, fork hovering mid-air, and stared horrified at Crowley.

“Pardon, can you repeat that?”

“I don’t read.”

“Wh-How- How can you not read? No, that’s not true- I’ve seen you read the labels of the plants and soil bags!”

Crowley’s head tipped back with a loud guffaw.

“Crowley! Don’t laugh at me, you were the one trying to pass off that you’re illiterate.”

A grin spread like wildfire across Crowley’s face as he tilted it back towards Aziraphale. He shifted in the chair, flinging one leg over the arm of it in a truly improper way, and dangling the other off the side. Honestly it was like the man couldn’t sit proper in any chair. “Saying I don’t read doesn’t mean I’m illiterate Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Well, you sure took great pleasure in making me jump to that conclusion.”

“Naaah, honestly didn’t think you’d jump there. Just wanted to see what you’d do when I said I don’t read. And I don’t. Read, that is. I listen to audiobooks though.”

“Audiobooks?”

“Yeah. Letters can’t jump in front of each other in audiobooks.”

Ah. “Well, that’s still reading.”

“Is it? Could never tell. Everyone’s got a different answer.”

“Well, I consider it still reading. What’s your favorite book?”

Without hesitation, “the James Bond series.”

Aziraphale blinked, then a soft chuckle bloomed. “Yes, I can see that. Rather does fit you, doesn’t it? Flash, action packed, crafty, and full of gadgets.”

Crowley flashed him a grin, “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, not at all.”

“Alright. Your turn. What’s your favorite book?”

“Oh... Well... Hm...”

A few moments of thinking apparently gave Crowley his answer.

“Too many to choose from?”

“Rather. It’s like trying to pick a favorite food.” Aziraphale left enough time for Crowley to interrupt before saying, “I admit, I was expecting you to jump right in and announce your favorite food just to contradict me.”

A hand wave and a sip of his drink, “ehh, not so much a food person, me.”

“No?”

“Nah. Do you have a favorite?”

“Oh dear, well, if we’re talking desserts then it’s... hm, well, no, if we’re talking pastries then it’s- but wait, no... drat. Is it still considered a favorite if you have five favorites?”

Crowley chuckled. “Same problem as with your books.”

Aziraphale hummed an agreement, finally biting into his nearly forgotten Tres Leche Cake. The cake was as moist as he had hoped, melting almost against his tongue, softly sweet.

He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until Crowley inquired about how it was.

“It’s good. Very good.”

And Crowley had smiled at that.

They talked quietly for a while after that. About light things, small things, interests and hobbies. Aziraphale found that Crowley liked to play online games with a friend called Anathema, that he enjoyed star gazing late at night (“gotta be out of the city though- too much light pollution here.”), and that as fond as he was of cats, that he was allergic to them.

“Been thinkin’ about getting a snake though.” He’d added as if that wasn’t one of the most unusual pet choices Aziraphale had ever heard of.

“A snake?”

“Yeah. They’re great animals really. Strong, elegant, some of them have the most brilliant color patterns too. I dunno, there’s just something about them that I really like.”

And after some thought on it, Aziraphale had smiled. “I think I might be able to see that. Perhaps if you do get one, you can introduce me.”

Crowley blinked at him, surprised as if he wasn’t expecting that and as if, maybe, he was a bit flattered and flustered by it. “Uh- okay.”

They talked about Aziraphale’s favorite plays, how he collects the playbills from them as his own sort of scrapbooking (“When I go back later and look at them, I can recall the play better, remember how it made me feel, reminisce... I’m sorry, that must sound terribly boring.” “No, not at all.”), and how he’s been searching to find another hobby to enjoy other than reading.

“Not that I’ll give it up at all! It’s just, I’d like another enjoyable activity to participate in, I think.”

“Makes sense to me. I’ve got plants and star gazing and video games.”

“It’s just, I haven’t been able to find one. I’ve tried pottery, which was far more messy than I anticipated, cooking, knitting, and bowling.”

“Bowling, really?”

At Crowley’s surprise he admitted, “a friend talked me into it. I wasn’t bad at it, it just wasn’t as... enjoyable as I had hoped. I’d have rather sat at home reading than gone bowling.”

“How long did you do it for?”

It was strange in a way, having someone be as curious about him and his hobbies as Crowley was. It was strange having what seemed to be a genuine friend. One who cared and was interested in him, one that had silly conversations over plays and quiet conversations in the back of a cafe over everything and anything.

“A season. She’d signed me up for the team and neglected to tell me until the first match. I didn’t want to leave them a person short so I finished the season with them while making sure they knew to find a replacement for the following season.”

Crowley tilted his head back with a thoughtful hum, the man was reclined the wrong way across the armchair. Head falling off of one arm, both his legs thrown over the other, cup held at a precarious angle.

“Maybe you could teach me some tricks for it.”

“For bowling?”

“Yeah.” Crowley scowled up at the ceiling, “don’t tell anyone but just about every damn time I go I land on my arse at least once.”

And now Aziraphale couldn’t help but picture it. And he was probably picturing it perfectly. Crowley was so tall and gangly and he didn’t seem to know how to use his hips or legs like everyone else so he could only see him going up to the line, trying to throw the ball while sweeping one leg behind the other like you always see the professionals or people in films do. And sweet Crowley with his swaying hips and long limbs, would probably overshoot and go sliding.

Aziraphale rose a hand to cover his grin. Yes, he could see how he’d go down.

“Oi. I can hear that.”

“Hear what dear boy? I haven’t said a word.”

“I can hear you grinning. Stoppit.”

Aziraphale nearly laughed. “You’re staring at the ceiling, and how would you ‘hear’ a grin anyhow?”

Crowley turned his head towards Aziraphale’s and brandished a bright grin. “Y’learn.”

The barista chose that moment to return with a refill for Aziraphale’s water and to ask if they needed anything else. After they declined she turned to go before stopping and turning back to Crowley.

“Are you still coming to pick up your order tomorrow?”

“It’s the 3rd Monday, ain’t it?”

“Just checking.”

Crowley pursed his lips, suspicious but unsure of why, “sure.”

After she had bounced off Aziraphale turned back to him and, because he was ever so lovely when flustered, teased “coming back tomorrow without me?”

Crowley blinked at him before spluttering, incoherent for a few moments before Aziraphale gave a small chuckle. “Relax, I’m just teasing.”

“Nuh-no, it’s- uh, guh...” He raked a hand through his hair, which was apparently a bad idea because he got it stuck in a knot halfway through and he started quietly cursing while trying to free his hand. Hand free and cheeks pink he crossed his arms with a huff and, not looking at Aziraphale, asked, “you doing anything tomorrow?”

Probably not. The fog was receding but he wasn’t sure he was up to customers just yet. “No, I don’t think so, why?”

“Uh, it’s, hm, easier to show you? Would you meet me here at 11 tomorrow?”

“Sure, but are we eating here for lunch or-”

“No. I mean, not that I’d say no to having lunch with you- just that- that’s not the purpose. Of tomorrow I mean. I- I get an order from here and take it to somewhere else.”

“Alright. And this somewhere else is...?”

Crowley had his head hanging off one arm of the chair and both legs slung over the other but just for this he twisted himself up, bracing his weight on one forearm planted in the seat to look straight at Aziraphale from behind those dark shades. And then he exaggerated the most dramatic wink Aziraphale had ever seen so that it was obvious even behind those dark sunglasses that he was winking. “It’s a secret.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “you wily thing. Alright, have it your way. We’ll meet here tomorrow at 11.”

Crowley smiled back. “Great.”

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toonstarterz · 5 years ago

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BECAUSE I’M NOT POPULAR, I’LL READ WATAMOTE: CHAPTER #166

Baseball season is in the air! Thankfully, you don’t need to be a fan of the sport to like this chapter. So long as you enjoy the stupid antics of a bunch of socially awkward teenage girls, there’ll be plenty of fun to be had. And of course, it wouldn’t be Watamote if they didn’t include a bunch of expertly intricated plot threads and natural character development as well. With all of Nico Tanigawa’s passions coming together once again, I can say that this chapter is definitely in top form.

So without further ado, let’s play ball!

Chapter 166: Because I’m Not Popular, I’ll Go Cheer

Tomoko getting flabbergasted just by Katou existing never gets old.

You know, I always had the impression that Tomoko wording things in the most perverted way was just a gut reaction due to her mind being perpetually in the gutter. But now, I feel like her answer here is just too on the nose to be anything but deliberate. IdiotPerv!Tomoko is hilarious, but TrollPerv!Tomoko is too powerful.

Consequently, Tomoko can’t say shit without it biting her in the ass.

Okada with the save. Sure, she probably didn’t want to look like a slacker from Katou either, but still. If Katou’s the mom friend, then Pineapple-chan’s the exasperated, but supportive onee-san friend.

I just realized that this is a standard routine with these two: Yuri will say something tactless and Mako will call her name out in admonishment. If this has been going on since they first met, then Mako has boundless patience and/or is the absolute best friend that no person should ever take for granted. Not that

Yuri does...mostly.

Y'all can tell that baseball fan Ikko had a blast drawing the backgrounds in this chapter.

Speaking of which, I’m 212% certain that Komiyama’s role in this chapter is to be the mouthpiece for Nico Tanigawa’s baseball fanatism. Given that it’s technically in-character (for who is basically their self-insert), and baseball chapters can only feasibly happen every hundred chapters or so, I’m fine with the mangakas taking these little indulgences.

Hey, let the girl live a little! Komi’s gotta cram ten chapters worth of dialogue she won’t get into one.

Pardon me, Tomoko, but you seem to have left your self-awareness by the entrance to the stadium.

Naturally, Tomoko hates that Komiyama isn’t making a fool of herself in front of her mom-crush. It’s easy to forget that so long as you don’t set off her berserk buttons, Komiyama is actually quite...normal. Like, being amicable with others and casually humble-bragging is her default state.

Nico Tanigawa’s artistic habit of putting nicknames under faces always amuses me.

There’s being upset, and then there’s being petty. We all know that Tomoko is aware that Itou is in the band, and any other day, she wouldn’t hold that against the girl. But because she’s salty over Komiyama acting cool, her sensibilities revert back to Year-1 Tomoko logic.

Now, if I were a more crass person, I could make the assumption that the majority of those underclassmen were a combination of girls admiring Fuuka’s “cool beauty” status and boys wanting to check out an attractive senior girl in a cheerleading outfit, discrepancies notwithstanding.

But I won’t.

Oh yeah, Miho. Based on the above cheers, she seems like your average popular girl, but if you recall, she got a kick out of Katou’s “offers” to Tomoko. That said, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had a bit of a mean streak in her.

Btw...armpits? Okay, then...

You’d think that by now, Tomoko would learn some subtlety before pulling shit like this.

Normally, I’d call Tomoko out for shenanigans since I thought she was mostly over the whole “slut-shaming” thing. But given how she wasn’t thinking this when the girls in her class wore cheerleading outfits during last year’s sports festival (that we know of), I can only assume that this is more of Tomoko’s jealousy due to Fuuka’s friendship with Katou.

Either that, or Tomoko just doesn’t want to admit she finds her hot.

I think we’re all in agreement that Ucchi’s gonna lose massive points for this.

On the other hand, the image of Emoji Girl screaming about Tomoko’s crimes through a megaphone is peak absurdity, and I’ve been laughing my ass off for twelve minutes.

In all seriousness, I’m kind of glad that Tomoko is finally getting her way overdue karma for all her skirt-peeping. Sure, it’s all been played for comedy, but that doesn’t change the fact that its sexual harassment, or the fact that she’s more than likely gotten away with it for being female.

It’s all fun and games until your stalker calls you out on it.

LIES.

You know...maybe it is Tomoko’s fetish. She’s done it so frequently, and it’s always been portrayed as just another one of Tomoko’s “quirks”. But given the context of all those occurrences, having a skirt-peeping fetish actually sounds very plausible. Thank you, Yuri, for that insight.

Looking at Katou’s expression, it might be her fetish, too...

Seeing Tomoko get more and more mortified as everyone keeps dogpiling on her shame makes for quite the cathartic reading.

Add on to the fact that Komiyama, the biggest perv of all, is the most dignified at this moment just makes this whole chapter an absolute treat.

Considering that Tomoko basically just got outed as a pervert in the middle of a crowd of spectators, she’s taking this quite well. First-year Tomoko could’ve had a legit panic attack if that had happened, but now, she actually has enough nerve to retaliate. Sure, Tomoko had some decent ammo with the Tanabata wish, so she likely had more guts than she would’ve been, but it’s still impressive nonetheless.

Sasaki Fuuka–putting a new spin on the term “victim-blaming”.

Komiyama can be the reasonable one while Tomoko is the crazy pervert, or Tomoko can be the reasonable one while Komiyama is the crazy pervert.

But the universe just can’t have both be reasonable or perverted at the same time.

As someone who knows jacksh*t about sports, I have to admit that this is an interesting fun fact if it can be applied to the popularity of real-life sports teams and cheer squads.

I could totally see this becoming a meme in the Watamote fandom. Anyone?

These moments of zero dialogue, sometimes a whole page’s worth, excel at immersing the reader into the story. Suddenly, you’re not just reading about characters in a story. You’re now experiencing first hand what’s like to be at a baseball game, with a few familiar faces from the band and cheer teams making it feel a lot more lively.

If it weren’t for all the wonderful peeps on Reddit, I never would’ve caught that this is the same baseball manager we’re seen periodically since the beginning of the series. You know, the one Tomoko did that fake dub for?

Perhaps I’ll call her...Beta!Nemo.

A PSA to all you non-sports fans: You can now pretend to be interested in your favorite high-school teams just by tuning into your local service provider.

Go, Harajuku Makuhari!

You know, I think I mentioned before that I wasn’t sure what Komiyama’s career prospects were.

Now I’ve got a clue.

Yo, I could feel that pain from my screen.

For a second, I thought this was Reina, given we can’t see her eyes and that she’s manspreading (sounds like something she would do). But then I pictured her actually signing up for cheerleading and...yeah, no.

Not to sound all pretentious if you already know, but cheerleading really is one of the most difficult, dangerous, and underappreciated sports there is. In addition to all the physical risks, you have to maintain an endlessly cheery disposition, even when it’s hard. That’s why I call it the “customer service job” of the sports industry.

The go-to method to keep your in-story sports team at peak realism:

Unwavering mediocrity.

As opposed to them hurrying up and win? Quite the pessimist you are, Tomoko...

not.

As startling as it is to hear these words come out of Tomoko’s mouth, it’s not entirely unfounded. For all her negative worldviews, crude behavior, and general apathy, the one thing that has always been constant about Tomoko is that she knows things can be better and she wants things to be better. She never got the chance to really strive for it back then when she had nothing to latch onto. But now that she’s got friends, Tomoko realizes that she can feasibly make some of those ideals a reality.

Their unbridled admiration is sweeter than diabetes.

Insert long-winded discussion of a related social phenomenon that probably exists, but the author is too lazy to research here.

She...didn’t deny it.

Character development...I guess?

I was wondering where Tomoko would draw the line on her slut-shaming towards Fuuka. Granted, it’s probably easier to feel empathy when you can see that shit happening from other people rather than yourself.

But seriously, Katou? Pimping out your friend? You terrify me more and more with each passing chapter.

See what I’ve been getting at? Tomoko knows that realistically speaking, her summer is probably not going to be anything extraordinary. Inconveniences will occur, moments of boredom will arise, and missed opportunities will transpire. But as I’ve reiterated time and again, even those “plain” experiences can become delightful memories when shared with those you care about.

That’s going to be a crucial feeling from this point on, it looks like. ‘Cause based on Yuri’s expression, she may have the most difficulty resonating with that kind of emotion. Let's see just how Yuri handles an expanding social circle–Tomoko included–that’s a little more bright-eyed than she is.

We’re in the seventh inning stretch of Tomoko’s third year, and time will only tell if it ends in a victory.

#watamote #watamote review #chapter 166 #no matter how i look at it it's you guys' fault i'm not popular!#tomoko kuroki #asuka katou #akane okada #yuri tamura #mako tanaka #kotomi komiyama #hikari itou #hina nemoto #sakaki fuuka #emiri uchi #review

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panda-noosh · 6 years ago

Text

One and the Same {Klaus x Reader}

Words: 5.6k

Summary: Klaus Hargreeves goes back to rehab.

Genre: angst

Warning: mentions of murder - mentions of drug abuse - mentions of withdrawal - mentions of injections

Notes: klaaaaaaaaaus.

tagging: @purplemetahuman

---

Reginald Hargreeves was dead.

The news arrived early in the morning, your trembling body startling itself awake at the crack of dawn, as it did almost every day. With your teeth chattering and your arms aching, legs barely lifting from the floor, you trotted downstairs to the living area, switched on the TV, and that was when his face appeared in front of you.

You had never met the man. In fact, you had actively avoided him for the entirety of your existence. In some ways, his death should have been a relief for you, a chance for you to finally live the life you wanted without the fear of him lingering behind you.

But that relief wasn't there.

Maybe it was because you had spent so long just looking at him; part of you felt like you were experiencing a death in the family, even though claiming Reginald Hargreeves as a member of your family was the last thing you would ever want to do; he was a criminal at best, deserving of his untimely end at worst.

But still. There was that tight ache in your chest, not so much grief as it was a sense of disbelief. A man you had never met, a man who barely even knew you existed – and yet there you sat, gawking at the TV with your teeth chattering and your muscles heavy, barely able to believe what it was you were hearing.

Klaus arrived at the rehab centre not a few weeks after the news had broke, and seeing him there was enough to make your head spin even worse than it did on a daily basis. He walked through the doors with that happy smile on his face, waving and complimenting the shocked expressions that greeted him when he walked in the door, because he wasn't exactly an expected sight; everybody knew of him, especially now that Reginald was dead.

“That's him from the Umbrella Academy,” they would whisper every time he walked past. “Don't mess with him.”

You rolled your eyes and turned away.

It could have been you. That petty, childish mindset was all you could focus on when you saw him, because the truth was there – it could have been you. You could have been the one getting praised, the one that was feared, the one that was unbothered by anybody or anything because you knew you could take them on if you wanted, and they knew it too.

Because despite what the news liked to portray, it wasn't just the seven Hargreeves children who had been born on that day in 1989 – there had been 43 of them, and you were unlucky enough to be included in that count.

---

The day Klaus Hargreeves arrived at the rehab centre, you ignored him entirely.

It wasn't out of pettiness, wasn't out of fear – it was purely to keep yourself safe, and your identity hidden from him for as long as possible. Quite frankly, you saw absolutely no reason as to why you should introduce yourself to him, but word got around. Word always got around. Names were shared, and people spoke about you even when you didn't want them to – eventually, Klaus was aware of who you were, and he didn't keep his curiosity a secret when it came to wanting to meet you.

He was always bold, and you knew that. You had seen the news coverage on him, the little clips of him and his siblings stopping a bank robbery or saving some terrified hostages; he was always the one who was throwing himself about, doing the most to keep the attention on him.

Clearly, things hadn't changed as he grew older. In fact, looking at him from across the room now, you concluded that things had gotten worse long before they had gotten better.

“Where's this Y/N character you were talking to me about?” he asked, parading into the living room with good old Sebastian at his side; Sebastian was a recovering drug addict, and spent his down-time talking about everyone he could think about.

He pointed at you, and you quickly ducked your head down when Klaus turned to follow the direction he was indicating; it was much too late, however, as Klaus had already seen you. It wasn't difficult, considering you were sat on your own in the corner. There was nobody else to decipher from.

His footsteps were loud and clumsy. You didn't even look up, simply biting down on your bottom lip, rubbing the injection scars that trailed along your veins. Klaus waited patiently before realising you weren't going to give him the time of day unless he started the conversation.

“You must be Y/N. I've heard an awful lot about you.”

You glanced up. “Is that right? Good things?”

“Decent things,” he said, before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Also some absurd things that I'm quite curious about.”

You couldn't disguise the wince, hands tensing on the cover of the book you were trying to read. “Is that right?”

“Is that your catchphrase? I heard superheroes always had catchphrases, but I don't think I ever caught on to that trend.”

“I'm not a superhero.”

He lowered himself to the ground in front of you, crossing his legs before idly playing with the Velcro on your shoes. “So you're one of the lucky bastards who got away from Mr Reginald Hargreeves back in 1989. You must think me and my siblings are total idiots for letting ourselves get whisked away by him.”

“You were children.”

Klaus raised a brow. His dilated eyes widened a little bit. “You're not denying the first part of my statement, which-” He clapped his hands excitedly. “-totally confirms my suspicions!”

“Could you keep your mouth shut?” you hissed, grabbing his shoulders and shoving him back. He laughed, throwing his head back wildly as he caught himself. His elbows bent in on themselves, giving you a good view of the injection scars that littered his own flesh – self consciously, you rubbed a finger over your own, trying not to let your brain retreat back into the disaster you had been trying to wrestle it from for the past three weeks.

“This is incredible!” he exclaimed, looking back up at you. He was grinning much too widely for someone currently locked within a rehabilitation centre. The expression looked odd against the light blue walls. “I've never met anyone else like me – I was pretty sure the others killed themselves.” He shook his head, still grinning. “And by the looks of things, you weren't far off doing the same thing.”

You gaped. “You have some nerve.”

“I still don't know what your abilities are, so I don't know what you want me to be afraid of.” He leaned forward, perched his chin on his hand and stared up at you like a child might stare up at their teacher reading a story. “Why don't you give me a quick demonstration so I can-”

You were working before he had even finished his sentence; the anger was uncontrollable, and with the state you had been in these past couple of weeks, your abilities were near enough uncontrollable, too. They flared up, a pain dancing behind your eyes that transcended from your skull and fought its way over to Klaus.

His own eyes popped open, a cry escaping him before he fell onto his back, gripping his stomach.

You stopped before things could get too far, but didn't let yourself regret what had just happened. Instead, you stood up, folded your arms over your chest and said, “There. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Klaus started to laugh, still gripping his stomach as his breath came back to him. He looked up at you, amusement still glinting in his brown eyes. “That was exactly what I wanted to know.”

---

“I don't like talking about it. I'm not like you – I didn't have to flaunt it because my dad told me to. I had the choice.”

Klaus scoffed. “I don't know whether to take that as an insult or not.”

You shrugged, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your trousers. The sun was out today, shining against the still water of the tiny lake that the psychiatrists and the doctors tried to make you look at at least once a day – apparently nature helped with 'mental balance' though it had been three weeks and you were yet to see any results.

Klaus was by your side. You weren't entirely sure why. He had done nothing but torment you from the moment you had met, and yet you found his company oddly reassuring. There was something about talking to someone who understood that opened up a whole new world of possibilities, a whole new range of colour that life let you choose from.

Klaus may not have the brightest colours, but they were a change you were willing to embrace.

“I'm sorry about your loss, by the way,” you said.

“Loss?” Klaus popped out his bottom lip, feigning ignorance. “I haven't suffered a loss. Not unless you count the MDMA they took off me at the door.”

“Your father. He died, didn't he?”

Klaus clicked as if only just now remembering the death of the man who had raised him. “Oh yeah, that! No, I wouldn't worry too much about that. Quite frankly, I think the ground is too good for him.”

You cringed; you should have expected that response, and yet it still sent a shiver down your spine. You loved your father. Had loved your father, once upon a time. Before things went bad, before your control slipped, followed shortly by your mental stability.

You pushed the thought from your mind, turned to Klaus and inspected his own expression. It was more a way of getting yourself grounded again; the curve of his jaw, the goatee he was sporting, the rough waves of his hair that looked like they hadn't been touched in years. There was still dabs of sweat adorning the side of his head, but you knew for a fact that that was just a staple characteristic of someone who had done drugs.

“No,” Klaus said, a little quieter this time. “You definitely shouldn't feel sorry for me. Him dying is . . . Well, I don't want to say a good thing, because that's a bit cynical, isn't it? And I'm clearly not celebrating, considering I came all the way here for his funeral, but . . . . No. Being sorry for me definitely isn't right.”

“It's weird though, isn't it?” You picked up a rock and awkwardly lobbed it into the lake, ignoring the startled quack from the duck you nearly hit. “Even if you hated him, you have to admit that losing a parent isn't . . . it isn't right. It feels weird.”

Klaus pursed his lips. He was yet to look at you, his eyes trained firmly on the lake in front of him. You saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his cheekbones sucked in before he released them and shrugged heavily. “I think I was a bit too high to really feel anything at all when I got the news, and the shock has passed at this point.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I get that.”

“I noticed.” Klaus finally looked down, nodding towards your exposed arms. It was instinct to fold them over your chest, hiding the scars that adorned your wrist from years of hateful injections. “Are those from drugs or from other people's experiments?”

You shivered. “Both.”

“Did they ever find anything out?”

“Most of them just called me a monster and sent me on my merry way. Others, I'm still waiting on the results.”

A ghost of a smile played upon Klaus's lips. He looked back at you and shrugged as if to say that's just the way of life, isn't it? and you could only shrug back. It was a silent agreement between you both, though you couldn't quite pinpoint what you were agreeing on – the fact that life was a bitch? The fact that it sometimes felt as if nothing was ever going to change? For Klaus, it had to have been ten times worse. He was in the public eye throughout the entirety of his childhood, was one of the biggest names around at one point. At least you had been given the choice to hide it, despite the few odd souls who had found out about your abilities and used them to their advantage.

Used you to their advantage.

“Have you spoken to your siblings since all of it happened?” you asked, needing something to fill the silence. Silence led to thinking, and that was the last thing you needed right now. It was the last thing you needed all the time.

“I have,” Klaus replied. “Just the usual arguments and insults and accusations – nothing I missed, to be honest. Although my brother Luther is built like a brick house now, which surprised me.”

“Luther. He's got the strength, hasn't he?”

“And the muscle to prove it, apparently.” Klaus shook his head, looking back down at his own arms. “God, I could go for a drink right now.”

“I don't think they'll let you do that.”

Klaus pouted. “That's where this whole thing is unfair. I had a drug problem, not a drinking problem – the least they could do is let me have a whiskey to calm my nerves.”

“Do you actually know how rehab works?”

Klaus snorted, glancing up at you. “Did you really just ask that?” As if to exaggerate his point, he unfolded his arms and showed you his scarring. “I really know how rehab works.”

You pushed his arms away. “Alright, you made your point.”

“Good.” He sighed, leaned back on the grass and ducked his head back to look up at the passing clouds. “It stopped the voices.”

You started, head snapping round to look at him. “What?”

“Drugs. Alcohol. Men. Women.” He shrugged, rolling his head to look back at you. “It made it all a bit easier, you know. It was the only thing that stopped me from losing it.” He scowled. “Although some people would argue that they didn't exactly do their job.”

“I don't think you're crazy. I think you're the same as me.”

“Very bold of you, Y/N. Maybe we're both crazy.”

You hummed low in your throat, slowly looking back out towards the lake. “Maybe.” ---

Some days were a lot worse than others.

The bad days you tried to avoid for obvious reasons, despite the advice of your psychiatrist. She always told you that it was better to let the bad days come, to welcome them with open arms because somehow, they could balance it all out. They were a confirmation that you could still feel things.

She didn't listen whenever you told her that you didn't want to feel things.

A bad day was detrimental. You locked yourself in your room, curled up in a corner until people got the memo – you didn't want to talk, didn't want to socialise, didn't want to do anything, and if they tried to get in the way of that, you would have absolutely no qualms about putting them in their place.

You leaned your head back against the window now, inhaling deeply as the trembles overtook your body. You had taken your first drug purely to rid yourself of feeling, of emotions. After your father had died, things hadn't been easy, and the only thing that shed light on the end of the tunnel was the drugs you would gather in your veins.

You wanted them now, needed them now as the voices echoed in your skull and the dull throb of withdrawal and your abilities thumped through your body. You clenched your teeth, squeezed your eyes closed, resisted the urge to scream-

“You can't get away from me that easily, Y/N L/N. I have eyes on the back of my head. They might not be my own, but they're there.”

Your own eyes snapped open, a weak cry of surprise slipping from your dried lips. Klaus, of course, was stood over you with his skinny arms folded over his chest and his hair slicked back in a half-up half-down style. He was grinning from ear to ear, despite the tremble of his own hands that had not turned off since he arrived.

“Go away,” you groaned, curling in on yourself and turning away from him. “I don't have the brain power to listen to you today.”

Klaus did the exact opposite, instead sitting beside you with his legs crossed. “Care to explain what's going on in that sweet little brain of yours?”

“Sorry. It's confidential.”

“Like most of your thoughts, it seems.”

“Not all of us are willing to be open books, Klaus.”

“Not all of you were forced to be open books,” he shot back, and you immediately closed your mouth and looked away – he had a point. You had the luxury of choosing who knew your business, whereas Klaus had long since passed that option considering his entire childhood had been broadcast for the world to gouge as they pleased.

“So,” he continued, leaning forward. “Are you gonna talk?”

You didn't even know where to start. Klaus reached forward and started playing with your shoes again, waiting patiently for you to start talking.

“I'm thinking of my dad again,” you said at last. Klaus did not respond to such a simple statement, and so you pushed on. “I used to . . . Whenever I thought of my dad, I used to shoot up so my brain would go all fuzzy and the thoughts would go away, but I obviously can't do that now. Whenever I think of my dad, I think about drugs, and whenever I think about drugs...”

“You get sick again,” Klaus finished.

“It's fine. It'll pass eventually.”

“Is your dad dead?”

The question startled you, made your stomach curl in on itself with the reality thrown behind the words. You looked up and met his eyes – he was staring right back at you, and despite the heaviness of the conversation, he still had that tiny little glint of amusement that overpowered every other expression he could have worn in that moment.

“Yeah,” you croaked out. “Yeah, he is.”

“How did he die?”

“Why do you care?”

He shrugged, letting go of your shoes and leaning back. “Maybe talking about him will help a little bit.”

Help. As if anyone could help you.

Nonetheless, you settled back against the corner you were propped up against and spoke the three words that still managed to make bile rise in your throat. “I killed him.”

Klaus was silent for only a second before he swallowed and said, “I wasn't expecting that.”

“Nobody ever is,” you replied. “It's a long story.”

“Good thing we're in rehab and have all the time in the world to waste.” You pursed your lips. “You know what my abilities are. I can hurt people without even touching them. I can control it better now because I understand it, and I know my body well enough to know when it's about to erupt. But back then, I didn't have a clue how to work it. It was so overwhelming, and every time someone got on my nerves, I would just – I would nearly kill them. My dad was the only one who ever knew how to stop me from losing control.

“But then it was him I was getting angry at. My mother had left because she couldn't handle me – she still never saw me as her kid, because she didn't know where I had come from. She wasn't-”

“Wasn't pregnant the day you were born,” Klaus hummed, nodding. “It was the same for me.”

You nodded slowly. “She just saw me as a burden, so she left. She lasted a good ten years, I'll give her that, but it got too much for her and she left me with my dad – her boyfriend. He took care of me. He calmed me down until things started getting difficult again.

“I started overthinking my mothers departure, and I got so angry at everyone and everything. My dad tried to calm me down one day whenever I had trashed the living room, and I just turned on him and snapped. He didn't even have time to scream before his pulse went stiff and he fell to the floor.”

You winced, biting down on your lower lip, raking your nails up and down your arms in any attempt to get the memory out of your head.

You expected Klaus to say something. Anybody else would have. They always had something to say, some disgusted noise to make and some unwelcome opinion to share; some people called you a monster, whilst others made the usual comment of, “And this is what happens when someone has power they can't tame.”

But Klaus said nothing along those lines. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his goatee-covered chin on top of them, looking at the ground with his lower lip protruded. He looked almost casual, as if the story you had just told him was some pleasant fairytale made to lull children to sleep.

You nudged him with your foot. “Say something.”

He shrugged heavily. “I don't know what you want me to say. Well done?”

“What?”

“How long ago did all of that happen?”

“I was . . . . I was ten, I think. Around ten.” In truth, you knew exactly how old you had been. Ten and eleven months. You remembered because your father had been planning your birthday party a month in advance, insisting that you get a decent party in comparison to the previous year – he had been working and had been unable to wish you a decent happy birthday.

“Let's see here,” Klaus said. “When I was ten, I had already become numb to the sight of dead bodies, I was being locked in a cellar with a bunch of corpses every weekend, and I had already killed too many people to keep track of.” He looked at you, raising a brow. “I don't have any judgement to pass, I'm afraid. Sorry to disappoint.”

You gawked at him, heart thundering in your chest. It wasn't because of any particular reason – not one you were willing to admit, but Klaus always managed to make you feel like that. Having spent the majority of your life being so different, being labelled the freak just because of where you came from and what you could do, it would never fail to shock you into silence whenever Klaus reminded you that he was just like you.

You swallowed thickly and looked away, unsure of how to respond.

“I didn't mean to put a damper on the mood,” he said. “I just wanted you to know that I understand. What you did obviously wasn't alright-” You winced. Klaus quickly reached over, placing his large hands over your own. “-but I understand.”

Maybe one day those words would be enough. Maybe the knowledge of somebody understanding would settle your brain one day. It was good that Klaus had got the ball rolling.

---

“Just know that you can say no to this at any moment if you feel like it's getting too much.”

You looked up, one eyebrow raised; as per usual, Klaus had pushed aside a casual greeting and had instead opted for stampeding into your room uttering absolute nonsense.

“What have you done now?” you asked, setting your book beside you and pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “Also, lower your voice. You're not allowed in my room, remember?”

Klaus rolled his eyes but kicked the door closed anyway. It slammed with a loud bang that rattled the windows, but you refrained from saying anything – when it came to Klaus, sometimes it was just better to let him do what he wanted.

He waltzed over to your bed and set himself down, folding one leg over the other before turning to you with a pair of pursed lips and curious eyes. You had seen this expression on his face plenty of times before in the last few months – he was plotting something, and that usually wasn't a very good thing.

“Klaus....,” you drawled. “What have you done?”

“I haven't done anything. Yet.” He grinned. “Nothing except get sober, which is kind of the building blocks for this little plan.”

“Little plan?”

“I want to let you talk to your dad.”

You opened your mouth to respond, something casual and sarcastic, because that was just how you and Klaus always spoke to each other. However, the words died in your throat as soon as you managed to register exactly what it was he had just said.

Your head snapped round to face him, jaw falling open, panic crawling into your throat even though nothing had even been confirmed yet. Klaus noticed your widening eyes and your sudden lurch in breath and reached forward, cupping your face before the panic could get out of control.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at me, alright? Look at me.”

You did so. You had to.

He tilted his head forward, clunking his forehead against your own. “Don't you go panicking on me, alright? I promise it's not a risky procedure. I've done it plenty of times before, and nothing is going to happen.”

“You're going to speak to my dad. The man I killed.”

“The man you killed accidentally,” Klaus corrected, pulling away. “I know I said you could say no at any point, but the voices are already coming through, so if you want to just sit back and listen-”

You grabbed his arm. “Klaus, what are you-”

But it was too late. It happened too fast. Klaus may have had good practice with his abilities, but you had to remember that he had been off his head on drugs since he was a young boy – the control he once had couldn't have been in it's prime, whether he was sober now or not. Judging by the tangled look on his face, he couldn't fight the voices off as well as he would have liked to.

You watched him closely. He closed his eyes, bit his bottom lip to suppress an obvious smile before his eyes burst open and he was staring straight ahead. Almost immediately his expression softened, his grin going from manic to kind in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, Mr L/N, you are a handsome bloke!”

Your heart stopped. “Klaus...”

He laid a hand on your own, giving your fingers a gentle squeeze. “I know, Y/N is looking well. The rehab has really helped fixed some things. Oh, come on, sir. Please don't start crying, or else I'll start getting teary-eyed and that's the last thing I want.”

You slapped his arm. “Tell me what he's saying.”

“Oh right, right,” said Klaus. “He was just telling me how well you're looking. He's been looking over you since you were young, and he was devastated when you started taking drugs.” Klaus raised a brow. “Bit of an insult there towards me, but I'll let it slide.”

“Stop getting distracted,” you hissed. You hadn't realised it, but you were gripping onto Klaus's arm for dear life.

“He's just happy that you're healthy again,” Klaus continued. “Do you have anything you want to say to him?”

You had so much you wanted to say to him, so much you needed to say to him, or else how would he ever understand? But being confronted with the question had you falling short; your throat closed over, tears springing to the surface. Klaus shot you a curious glance, curled his fingers around your own as you dug crescent moons into his skin with how tight you were gripping onto him.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded slowly. “Just tell him I'm sorry.”

“You can say it yourself, you know. He can hear you, even if you can't hear him.”

“Dad,” you croaked out, the word feeling odd and heavy on your tongue because it had been so long since you allowed yourself to say such a thing. “Dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I know it won't be enough, it can never be enough, but I'm trying so hard to make myself into a better person for you. I want to be a person you can be proud of, whether you're there to see it or not.”

Klaus paused for a moment. “He said he's always going to be there to see it. He's been there since you were eleven years old.”

You closed your eyes, the words smacking into you like a ton of bricks. Klaus sighed heavily, reached round and tugged you into his side. You would usually pull away from him. His jacket would forever smell like weed, and his goatee was rough against the side of your face, but the warmth his comfort brought was enough to have you sinking into his side and burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“He says he doesn't like seeing you cry,” Klaus mumbled. “Listen, old man, they're a bit upset at the minute, alright? Cut the kid some slack.”

“He never liked me crying,” you sniffed, trying desperately to wipe the tears off your face. “Fuck, he probably thinks I'm a right wimp.”

“He may have said that once or twice already.” Klaus hissed, shooting upright and turning to the wall. “And apparently he's got a swing on him!”

You grabbed Klaus's arm, letting out a shaky laugh for the first time in what felt like years. Klaus looked back down at you, smiling softly at the sound of laughter – he was forever laughing, and you never understood how he did it, considering the circumstances he was in.

“I love you, Dad,” you said, finally. It seemed like the right thing to say, no matter how unfamiliar the words were after so long of not saying them.

Klaus paused, waiting for your dads response, but he didn't really need to say anything. You noticed the way his shoulders slackened, the way he looked away and smiled to nothing in particular – your father had responded nicely, and that was enough to have you grinning from ear to ear, despite the tear tracks staining your cheeks.

“He's gone,” Klaus said at last, turning to look at you. “He was a nice fella.”

You nodded. “Thank you for doing that, Klaus. You didn't have to.”

“It was the least I could do.”

You raised a brow. “What?”

“Well, you're the only one keeping me sane in this hell hole,” he replied. “The least I could do was give you some closure. And also, I needed to get in your dads good books before I tried anything. Gentleman etiquette and all that.”

You paused, staring at Klaus as if he had two heads. He looked back down at you, his grin only growing more and more the longer you stared at him.

He didn't elaborate. He didn't really need to – not with words. Not whenever your fingers were gripping his upper arm like your life depended on it, like you would truly fall through the centre of the earth if you let go.

You quickly detached your fingers, only just then realising how tightly you had been holding onto him. You made to draw back, but Klaus grabbed your wrists and tugged your hands back into his chest before you could get very far.

You swallowed. “Klaus...”

“You always say my name like that,” he said, shaking his head. “I never know what I've done wrong.”

“What are you doing?”

“Whatever you'll let me do.”

And in that moment, with your heart beating at a million miles per hour and that goofy smile playing on his lips, you would have let him do anything. That's why you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his own, only for a minute because human contact was scary and it was something you weren't used to, but you were willing to put those fears aside for the man who had just risked everything to let you speak to the man you missed most in the whole world.

Klaus responded immediately, his lips moulding against your own as if multiple practice rounds had been made beforehand. He let go of your wrists, cupped your jaw instead as your own arms wound around your waist and settled on his back belt loops.

The kiss was short lived, but it was enough. He clunked his forehead against your own, his hands falling from your face and dipping down to play with your shoes in that way he always did when you and him were talking.

“Klaus....,” you whispered.

He chuckled breathily, opened his mouth to reply-

A yelp escaped his throat. His head snapped round, his eyes narrowing before he span back around and stared at you in disbelief.

“What? What happened?” you demanded.

“Your dad's just thrown his fucking shoe at me!”

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thyandrawrites · 6 years ago

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so i know you hate endwhore & i agree that he is a douche but what about mitsuki? i think that her way of parenting is abuse but i dont think she realises that, otherwise she wouldnt have hit katsuki when they were getting permission for the dorms. it did cause katsuki to have a flawed view of whats strong & whats weak and i do think they both need therapy so they can realise that way of parenting isnt normal but i dont think she was trying to be a bad parent. sorry this isnt villain related

I’m pretty sure that Horikoshi himself doesn’t know that Mitsuki’s parenting constitutes a form of abuse, even though it’s not nearly as explicit (or intentional on his part) as Endvore’s.

Given the way it’s framed, how it’s played for laughs, in Hori’s intent it was probably supposed to be read as lighthearted slapstick comedy. Japanese anime are full of that kind of humour.

So you have characters like Iwaizumi from Haikyuu who literally spikes volleyballs at the back of Oikawa’s head and everyone finds it funny, or Kise who gets beaten black and blue on screen and it’s always framed as a funny thing.

The thing about those abovementioned examples, though, is that those dynamics are those of peers. Those shows of gratuitous violence cannot be read as abusive, and are indeed good examples of slapstick comedy, because there is no inherent power imbalance between the people involved. The violence isn’t used from someone who has the upper hand to make someone else submit to their authority. Those examples just show two friends roughhousing and letting things go a bit too far.

Mitsuki’s case reads a bit differently, and imho it’s just another proof that Horikoshi skipped his research on abuse, and most importantly, how to portray this sort sensitive topic in a respectful manner.

Mitsuki is a parent, not a peer. When she slaps Katsuki, she does so to “put him in his place” and/or make him behave. It’s an example of corporal punishment used as discipline.

Now, I’ve seen fans before claim that this kind of “discipline” cannot be read as inherently abusive because it’s a common way of raising kids, in Japan as well as in other countries. Well, mine is one of those countries. As someone who grew up with temperamental parents, and with the constant threat of them beating the shit out of me if I misbehaved when I was a child, let me point out to you that just because a behaviour is normalized, it doesn’t mean it’s not harmful. Kids don’t have a way of defending themselves from an adult who looms over them with a wooden spoon. It’s a form of abuse. It shouldn’t be used as comedic fodder. Or as a way to raise children, because all it does is make violence pass as an acceptable tool to gain obedience in the eyes of the people who endure it.

Now, I want to reiterate that imho Horikoshi just intended to write Mitsuki as having the same short fuse as her son. He wanted to show that Katsuki had taken after his mother’s hotheadedness, and not just her looks. For the laughs. This shows through the recent omakes:

Notice how the emphasis is on the absurdity of the situation, rather than on the psychological effects or whatever. As I said, it’s played for laughs, and the reader is expected to find it amusing.

But these are omakes. Let’s talk about the manga. Horikoshi even went as far as stating in canon that there is a clear difference in Todoroki and Bakugou’s upbringings:

This is where I’m conflicted. I partly agree and partly disagree with this assessment. Taking a watsonian approach for a second here, rather than the doylist one I’ve been using till now, I can see that Mitsuki is a flawed person that is trying her best. She’s temperamental, and has an even more temperamental son. He won’t listen to a word she says, and she gets exasperated easily. That results in her losing her temper on occasions. But she’s not written to be an irredeemably bad parent. As a matter of fact, she didn’t use to beat Katsuki at first. Quite the contrary in fact. She used to be a doting parent.

It’s stated in canon that the reason behind Katsuki’s over-inflated ego is the fact that he’s been smothered in praise a his life. This is clearly a result of the fact that their society has a bias towards strong quirk users and sort of puts them on pedestals like they hung the moon. Katsuki’s parents were no different. By Mitsuki’s own admission, they used to praise him so much that he became arrogant.

As a matter of fact, Katsuki was treated as a prodigy, as a natural born genius, so much that he developed a really inflated, really frail perception of self that didn’t allow him to have any weakness ever. He became highly averse to anything he wasn’t immediately good at (like compassion, a trait that he envied in Deku to the point of feeling threatened by him despite his quirklessness). There’s a really great meta by @linkspooky here that expands on how Katsuki based his entire sense of self on the (mistaken) belief that Deku was always gonna stay beneath him, and on how that explains his superiority / inferiority complexes to a t.

Adding on to this already big melting pot of toxic beliefs, Mitsuki seems to have the same mindset that most people in the bnha universe also share, the aforementioned individuality&strength associated with strong quirk users that I discussed in the meta linked above. (I highly advise reading that post if you haven’t yet, because the point I’m trying to make here will be a lot clearer if you do. Here’s another link).

So Katsuki had a strong power, explosive sweat, and good control since a very young age, so he was expected to be strong on his own. Because in their society, relying on others is for weaklings. People who aim at the top only ever work alone, because they don’t need anyone to assist them.

This is how we had Mitsuki offhandedly reprimanding her son for being “too weak as to let himself be kidnapped”. It almost reads as if she’s disappointed at him for inconveniencing the heroes who had to come to his rescue.

But she also does believe him to be strong enough to become a hero, and has been shown to be fully supportive of his dream. So that scene also reads to me as if she wasn’t really thinking of the impact of those words on her son. Because she’s as hotheaded as him. But we also know, from multiple occurrences in which Katsuki explosively refused to accept help, that he does share her mindset. Whether he got it from her specifically, or from exposure to a society that seems to normalize going solo and being strong enough to handle trauma on your own, it’s unclear.

Of course, that’s up for interpretation. Different people will feel differently about her, and I don’t blame those who feel uncomfortable with the way hori handled her character. People can see their own experiences reflected in the media they consume, and this is why Horikoshi as an author should’ve really paid more attention to the kind of message he wanted to represent whenever he portrayed violence in his work, imho

#ali replies #bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha meta #meta:bakugou #meta:mitsuki #my post #abuse tw #naive-blisss #please don't feel the need to reply to this post or to flood my askbox if you disagree #I honestly don't care what opinion people have of her

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sparda3g · 6 years ago

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Food Wars! Shokugeki no Soma Chapter 311 Review

Soma has shocked the judges with the special fried rice that will settle the feud for good. It has all five cultural cuisine mixed in and it’s perfectly balanced; as all things should be. But what does Mana think of Soma’s dish? She holds the key to choose the best one of the two. She apparently holds a bucket as well, in case if she vomits if the food isn’t that good. Say what you want about Erina in her dark days, but at least she doesn’t vomit to say, “Your dish is bad. You should feel bad.” It’s judging time.

Luckily for Soma, she doesn’t vomit, rather feel the explosive taste. Could you imagine if she did vomit? I would laugh hard, even if it does lead to his defeat. But really, it only makes me wish to eat that fried rice. If the last chapter wasn’t descriptive enough, this one not only goes even further, but explains what makes the rice stand out the most. Even Isekai Protagonist Asashi can’t deny the specialty. It’s all thanks to the French Oeuf Mayonnaise. Shinomiya would be so proud. In fact, Hijakata from Gintama would be flabbergasted. Best fried rice ever!

Speaking of flabbergasted, it took Mana to understand the recipe that makes it special, knowing how the judges were confused, only to literally pick up the glaze of a very slight coating. She’s the Book Master for a reason. Basically, the reason why this fried rice is special is because of the explosive surprise of flavor that overwhelms those who take a bite. That sounds delicious. What’s even more surprising is Soma’s dish’s name: Odorless Fried Rice. You would think he would call it something ridiculous and you can argue the name still is, but it’s simple and easy to understand. Incredible.

Before this chapter, I was thinking maybe Soma’s mother will be revealed next. Granted, I noticed someone jumped ahead and confirmed her appearance, but that’s before I read the reply to my last review. Then, someone else spoiled me, but that’s fine, really. That all said, if I wasn’t told, I would have thought, “Soma only said it but we have to wait longer to see her.” As you can guess, she does in fact appear here and I was pretty amused by her appearance and “passing down” traits.

It’s an interesting segue by stating that the fried rice is in fact done by his mother; however, it was deemed as an utter failure. Hell, she has many, many failed dishes. I always assumed that she was another great chef that can equal or keep up with Joichiro. Instead, we have a coin flip chef that either nails it or fails it. That’s funny in its own rights. The flashback doesn’t cover the time when she and Joichiro met, and fallen in love, though I do wonder if that will get covered. It is a crucial piece since the main theme is based on love. It’s best to wait and see. Regardless, the flashback is amusing to read.

It takes place ten years ago, so we know Soma’s mother was around when Soma was 8 years old. Her name is Tamako Yukihara, 28 years old, and I can definitely see where Soma inherit mostly, design wise. I got to say, I do like her design. Nothing against the current generation, but her body tone is “normal” and her hair is nice. I can’t say the same for her cooking though, which is rather hilarious. Joichiro may love to experiment crazy things, but it was her where the famous tentacle scene was born, and now, Soma inherits it. Well, fans can’t unseen an old man being victimized. Yuuna and The Haunted Hot Springs is to your left.

Soma inherits most of the attitude from Tamako, including her laid back nature. Her fried rice is a gamble; sometimes it’s delicious, sometimes it’s not. I’m willing to gamble on that, but I imagine myself getting bad luck. Sigh. Joichiro may love to invent new dishes, but not even he would try something absurd like completely burnt rice on the outside, delicious on the inside. So why this sticks out the most for Soma? It’s because it’s the first dish he was taught by his mother. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad; he loved watching his mother having fun in the kitchen. Mother’s Day exist for a reason, you know.

What I like is how you can tell where Soma inherits the traits from Tamako and Joichiro. I already pointed out Tamako’s, so with Joichiro, it’s the invention of endless possibilities. You can somehow tell how those two were well matched, though I would like to see the origin. Soma carries the best traits of the two, and that’s why he’s able to go beyond with the fried rice. It makes sense, knowing how Sarge was stunned to believe Soma created a solid dish, only to add more as it wasn’t “necessary.” It’s a fitting move on Soma’s behalf.

On top of that, Soma enlightens that failure is fine, because one will learn and develop the flaw into a pro. I forgot the phrase for it (saddened to be honest), but basically, failure is key to improve. I couldn’t agree more and it’s a fine lesson in real life and its theme. That’s Soma’s character, let alone the protagonist. Asashi can’t understand because he’s Mr. Perfect. That’s why Isekai Protagonist or just purely overpowered people can annoyed the audience. The cliffhanger is oddly interesting. Mana’s Gifting is in effect, but something about it is different. It’s a strange ending, but what can go further than stripping?

I thought this was a nice chapter, thanks to the flashback. However, I do like the message of a failure and how Soma’s character, including his loss against Asashi a while back, led to this point. That is if he does win; otherwise, well, that would be meaningless. The flashback was charming, nice to see Tamko for the first time. I didn’t expect her to be awful, but once in a blue moon, she’s amazing for that one dish. I’m not sure what to expect from Gifting evolution, if we assume that it has leveled up. Whatever it is, prepare for a new form of massacre.

#food wars #shokugeki no soma #shokugeki no souma #chapter 311 #review #spoilers

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chibivesicle · 6 years ago

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Ogata is all about the sass & sarcasm; how he hides behind his attitude.

I shall engage in some pontificating about how I interpret Ogata as a character who hides behind his sass and sarcastic remarks. I feel that he does this both to protect himself from others and to also either protect or show how he feels about others. I hope this won’t be too long a read but I’ll try to put most of my rambling behind a cut.

Throughout the series, one can observe that Ogata frequently only speaks when he has a purpose, and a lot of his dialogue is at times difficult to parse out with it not necessarily matching his body language. When Sugimoto clearly states he can’t be trusted he really lays it on reminded him that it was Sugimoto who broke his arm, hit him in the head, lead to him falling off the ledge and breaking his jaw in the process and he almost died of hypothermia. His hand towards/over his heart with his classic cheshire cat smile and the head movement seem overly dramatic for him; most of his emotions are incredibly subtle and he ends it with his statement that his remark hurt. I read this as an incredibly sarcastic remark since he’s hamming it up so to speak.

But, I’ll jump back to when he first appears with Tanigaki and has more dialogue.

Ogata has always known that Tanigaki is the “classic” nice guy with a big heart. We saw him in the background when he found his friend who he wanted to get revenge on reminding him that he couldn’t hear him anyways.

As he concluded the worst thing possible happened, e.g. Tanigaki murdered Tamai, Okada and Noma, he tries to intimidate him to determine what happened.

When he taps Tanigaki’s rifle bolt against his forehead, I feel that this scene is him at his maximum sass, he is calmly intimidating Tanigaki but in a very subtle manner, while leaving Nikaido to be much more blunt when they threatened Huci and Osoma.

He has completely out maneuvered Tanigaki and I find it interesting he doesn’t even make eye contact him when this happens.

His complete 180 when he then bounces back with his cheshire cat smile makes it even more awkward as he’s practically sparkling (as much as one can in a seinen manga) and he states he’s joking and he’ll leave him alone.

What is most interesting is that he again, doesn’t make eye contact with Tanigaki when he pats him on the shoulder. Is he averting eye contact b/c he has already decided he’ll snipe him or he wants to hide behind this distance before he literally gets in his face and stares him down? It does look like it is an attempt at a bit of a more honest smile to put Tanigaki at ease but dude it is super awkward.

His last sarcastic comment is one that Tanigaki definitely cannot hear so this must be for his own benefit. After shooting the bear that attacked Nikaido, and revealing his position, he is cocky enough to stand up and show himself to Tanigaki and states that he could only throw rocks at him. Even though Tanigaki doesn’t hear the comment, I read that this is still meant for him, that Ogata seems him as someone who he can speak this way to regardless of him knowing or not. Unless he is yelling really loudly? I take it that Tanigaki can’t hear him since his gunshot would have been a hell of a lot louder and revealed his position to begin with and that Tanigaki would have determined even before he stood up.

Anyhoo, we know what happens as a result of the Ogata-Tanigaki show down and we don’t get his ultimate sass until he finds Tanigaki again.

I love the attitude that he has after he fires the warning shot to break up the commotion with the Ainu who are chasing Tanigaki. He just exudes power in this situation and remember that he still is under the assumption that his comrades were murdered by Tanigaki.

The framing of the shot shows that he knows he’s in control and he’s going to use it to the full extent.

He’s got a mischievous look on his face and he’s got that soft smile of confidence in the situation. From here the full on sassing of Tanigaki commences. He knows full well Tanigaki is in danger and his life is threatened so his language for him to beg for his life furthers how he wants Tanigaki to validate him as the one to save him (again seeing that he thinks he murdered his close comrades). However, his plan doesn’t go how he’d like as Tanigaki strikes back that he’d only murder them instead.

And at that point his switch is flipped, he’s so bent on revenge that he can’t help but laugh and again point out that Tanigaki wants [needs] his help to get out the situation, since Tanigaki trying to talk things out obviously wasn’t working. I love how we only see his face from his nose down and his classic fake smile to hide his feelings. He only begins to think about himself when the random man points his gun at him that he outright threatens to kill him; I feel this is where is dialogue is a bit off with his body language, he’s holding his rifle at ready but it is down while the other man is already aiming at him. Hence he doesn’t get serious until he himself is threatened. As others and I have stated previously, he does make it a point to avoid targeting innocent people so he doesn’t get serious unless someone is serious toward him. This is most importantly an exchange between him and Tanigaki and the Ainu are simply between them in his eyes.

I find it interesting that after the Ainu elder orders them to stand down against Ogata, that he simply follows them all back to the village, he doesn’t actively interfere but does his best guard cat impression. Plus, the Ainu are okay with this weird sniper guy just hanging out . . . It appears that even at this point he is conflicted on his opinions about whether or not Tanigaki murdered the other men. So he’s watching over him either to get revenge or maybe part of him already knows he’s not the kind of guy to murder his comrades so he’s torn so he just stays close by to watch. I dunno, I’m sure others have their own theories on this. But I do find it odd that he just hangs out.

Once Sugimoto and company show up there is also the weird reaction to Sugimoto duking it out with the buff Ainu and results in Ogata amused? I never got him as one to enjoy the suffering of others seeing that he has suffered so much in the past. Is he impressed by the brute force of Sugimoto? Or the absurdity of the entire situation? Think about it, some dude is fornicating with animals and people are freaking out and want to find the man but don’t know what to do.

I could see this as one of those times where you just don’t know how to react.

Despite all of his attitude towards Tanigaki, we then get a serious of exchanges between Ogata, Asirpa and Sugimoto where his sarcasm comes out in full force. First, Asirpa asks him to protect Tanigaki and he refers to him as a “bear cub” thus assigning a cute nickname to the man he’s tried to kill. This could be his way of teasing an individual who he knows is a good/nice/somewhat innocent person.

He could also be using that term to deflect that he likely knows Tanigaki didn’t murder the others, as he reads people pretty well but he needs to maintain that attitude of toughness and deflecting his “soft” side. ‘cause bear cub is a pretty cute nickname for Tanigaki. To keep some power in this discussion he follows this up with “what is in it for me?”. He finally then puts his cards on the table and states that his comrades were killed my Tanigaki and that is why he is hesitant to help. He hides his feelings for his friends by first stating that Tanigaki is following Tsurumi’s orders though it is quite clear due to how he gets upset about this that he cared about his friends and he’s hurt.

Sugimoto states that a bear killed them but smartly keeps his part out of it. Ogata’s expression completely changes, you can tell he’s thinking about how what he is learning is changing his hypothesis. Asirpa’s more persuasive, tying in how Tanigaki is important to others just like his comrades were important to him.

Of course Sugimoto has to be a dick and goad him on, which likely doesn’t help the situation per se but instead it is the stare down with Asirpa that leads to his reply that he’s in a tough situation. As usual, he replies while not making eye contact with her, likely indicating he’s using his sass and sarcasm to hide his feelings but he likely cares enough about the situation to do something.

My absolute favorite example of his way of hiding his feelings through sarcasm is when he escapes with Tanigaki. Being the nice guy that he is, Tanigaki feels guilty for fleeing as he states it just makes him look more suspicious but Ogata’s reply is priceless. He states “well if you wanted your nose chopped off so badly, i’d be happy to help.” Tanigaki isn’t looking at him as he states this with an almost playful/friendly look. I just love it, here he is hiding the fact that he wants to help a nice guy but he’s got to maintain his distance so he doesn’t get hurt/protect himself.

Of course, he does protect Tanigaki and everything resolves nicely and the Ainu start calling him bear cub while they feast together. Yep, Ogata singlehandedly gave him a nickname that others are using.

He also gains Asirpa’s trust even further as illustrated by the famous hand sniffing scene. Again, he has to awkwardly reply and hide behind the lines that Tsurumi used to solidify the 7th that he rebelled against.

The pause in his reply followed by the very hidden face and just stating an easy memorized line can do the trick at this point for him to cover up his feelings about things. He has to put on airs and I find the fact that he can’t come up with something original means he just needed to say something to keep things going and move on to another subject or in this case, more hand sniffing.

The next time that Ogata really sasses Tanigaki is during the night sneak attack by the blind bandits. After he very successfully defends the group due to his neurotic love of keeping his rifle close, he really digs into Tanigaki. It feels like he is telling him, he’s too nice of a guy and that he should remove himself for this crazy gold chasing situation.

Tanigaki also told Kiroranke and Ikmarat that the shouldn’t tell Ogata about what he did or didn’t do indicating that he does care about Ogata’s opinion of him. I think Ogata is such a hardass on Tanigaki by this point b/c he thinks he’s a nice guy and he should tap out of the situation. In some ways Ogata is right, he should go back home to his family but he can’t say it in a nice way so he hides behind his snide remark instead. Tanigaki in some ways is like his brother, a good guy who cares about others so likely he’s uncomfortable with him and doesn’t know how to say it. We know he tried to keep his distance from his brother but didn’t say it. Maybe, he’s now saying things to make it clearer, an improvement from how he had been with his brother. Ogata is using words, b/c you know people can read your mind.

I will briefly turn to the Ogata-Sugimoto dynamic . . . where there is a lot of competition, sarcastic remarks and who can win the attention of Asirpa.

I’ll start off with when Sugimoto first accuses Ogata of being a future traitor due to his past actions.

Again, his body language and what he says seems over the top as though Ogata’s reply that it hurt and he’s wounded is almost melodramatic for a man who quietly sits and observes for the most part.

Sugimoto tries to get a rise out of Ogata and he simply parries back at him by upping the ante in their verbal exchange. I’ll skip the entire Ainu village arc for the sake of space and instead focus on their early interaction.

When Sugimoto first saves him from the 7th division solider who had him pinned down, they have their first verbal/non-verbal exchange. I wonder about this fight as Ogata had bayoneted him and pretty much given him a lethal wound and was trying to block the blows to his face while his former comrade beats the crap out of him. As others have pointed out ( #hundredogatas and #goldenkamuyhunting exchanges I may have left someone out - sorry ^^;; ) he’s smiling while being attacked, hypothesizing that perhaps he doesn’t mind/enjoys the fact his comrade is beating him up. I dunno what it exactly means or perhaps he doesn’t know how to betray former comrades up close and personal as a sniper who kills from a distance.

What is important is first Ogata’s reply of “.....” where he’s unsure what to say then followed by him egging on Sugimoto asking him if he wants a thank you. Sugimoto is quick to state he doesn’t like a two-timing bastard. Interestingly, Ogata maintains full eye contact the entire time before spitting the blood out of his mouth while staring Sugimoto down. Perhaps, he’s able to be more honest with Sugimoto since he’s a much more wounded/PTSD individual than someone like Tanigaki. Yes, Sugimoto is a nice guy but once his switch is flipped he’s brutal and up close and personal with enemies unlike Ogata’s distance.

When jumping to the Ainu village arc, we get the parallel of the above panel where Ogata smiles as he states that he didn’t like Sugimoto either as he saves him from being shot as he runs off to save Asirpa. I read this as Ogata caring for Asirpa and that by letting Sugimoto go, he knows Asirpa will be safe. But, this is too honest of a thing to admit so he only says it to himself and again with his usual sass.

This is stating that he saved Sugimoto b/c he likes/cares about protecting Asirpa and the only way he can deal with that is to mock Sugimoto.

One of the best exchanges between Sugimoto and Ogata in regards to their constant verbal sparring is when Ogata mocks Sugimoto’s poor rifle technique. He gives him hell for firing his wet rifle and questions if he was even awake when in his basic training.

Ah again, he gets away with the remark without making eye contact with his target, Sugimoto, has the little sigh cloud coming out of his mouth and his weird soft smile where he seems somewhat amused that he knows he’s gonna get a rise. Of course, Sugimoto immediately glares back which then leads to the Type 38 introduction.

Finally, Sugimoto realizes that Ogata swiped the rifle from him. I’m under the indication this happened when Asirpa and Shirashi were taking care of Sugimoto on the airship b/c he’s off in the corner with his really soft smile. He’s just there by himself checking out the new rifle thinking about how he’d make use of the increased distance etc. In the above panel he serves as the introduction to the Type 38 rifle for the reader and proceeds to put Sugimoto to shame stating that he deserves to use a rifle that Sugimoto doesn’t appreciate nor can use to its full abilities. Plus, that final panel shows how strong of a presence can put forth when he makes eye contact with someone and be up front about things. He’s being honest with Sugimoto, “hey dude, you kinda suck at shooting so leave that to me.” and again I’d say he’s doing his best to show that he does care about the team and he’d best serve them by being the one to use the Type 38.

Below is his cute drooling over what I believe is the Type 38 on the airship. That is such an genuine Ogata smile there . . .

I’ll briefly jump to a few other instances of how he uses his wit to hide his feelings or deal with situations where he’s unsure of how to react.

We know that Ogata has no love for Tsurumi so I can’t help but love his remark in regards to the taxidermist’s “Tsurumi”

His remark that he’s got pretty good taste is a nice stab at how he feels about Tsurumi, recognizing he has manipulated yet another young man to work for him and ultimately resulted in his death to aid Tsurumi’s cause.

I also love how after Sugimoto and Asirpa refuse to help Shirashi, he too decides he doesn’t want to get involved and deflects helping him out of his own selfish needs.

Man, that sass and the final statement of well . . . NO, just really hits home how he’d rather keep his distance but he’s likely concerned enough to make a joke out of it, but leaves Shirashi to be the victim to to speak.

As everyone cautiously moves toward the prison, his blunt remark is the best. He could just say things like “well everyone is on edge. . .” but no, he goes for the blunt statement that he’d rather not be killed in his sleep. Likely, he actually hit the nail on the head but no one else makes such statements so, he was the party member who could express this feeling.

I find it interesting that it then leads to Sugimoto making the over the top statement that he’d be willing to kill Kiro or Ikmarat and then really awkwardly laughs if off . . . sorry Sugimoto, leave the true sarcastic remarks to Ogata.

The last example I’ll touch on is when Hijikata questions his motives. it is hard to tell how much of this is sass, self deprecation as well as how he is uncomfortable with opening up to others. As I’ve stated elsewhere, I don’t think he has grand leadership ambitions, he’s an introvert but he does read others well. He’s the only person with the balls to ask if everyone else actually trusts each other. He betrayed Sugimoto with Kiro, but he likely knew Hijikata would betray them. Early on he called out Hijikata’s selfishness when he asked him way back about his plans and his subordinates. Which Hijikata never answers. I think Hijikata was trying to pull a bait and switch and get everyone else to focus on Ogata since he’s so hard to read to begin with and he likely sees Ogata as a threat to his own goals.

If anything, Ogata is making it clear to everyone that they all have unique motives and they should be aware that their objectives will come into conflict sooner or later. Just don’t link him with his terrible father, he doesn’t like that so much. Thus, he has an immediate reaction to snark back at everyone defensively but with truth in his statement.

So to summarize this long rambling bit of Ogata hypothesizing, I’d say he’s a character who does care about others but is uncomfortable connecting with others through normal social interactions with the exception of Asirpa. He’s never sassed or made sarcastic remarks to her, so perhaps his connection to her is more “pure” or “honest” or something.

I by no means did a full analysis of his interactions with Sugimoto but at this rate I’m sure someone could write a thesis on that. Let me know what you think, these are how I’ve read things but I’m always open to other interpretations! I do have to admit that I myself am an incredibly sarcastic person, so I connect with his dialogue based on my personal experience and situations that I’ve been so this impacts my read on him. I’ve done or said things similar to him so I’m using my own connection with the dialogue so others may read it differently!

#ogata hyakunosuke #golden kamuy #gk #overanalyzing #ogata is sass

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thereoncewereflwrs · 4 years ago

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in where my body is an anthology, and literature knows more about people then we do

Today I feel ugly, my facial features angular and put together in a way that makes me feel like someone cut pieces of faces from a magazine and placed them together to create me. My clothes feel confining, probably because I haven’t worn regular clothes since lockdown and probably because I’m fat and most of my clothes fit this way anyway. Today I crave a discipline my body and mind cannot give, and this desire makes me melancholy and agitated. I keep thinking about this boy - or man, because he’s over 25 and at this stage even if we don’t feel like adults we are still deemed thus by society - who sent me a link to a tumblr page at 4 in the morning last night. I had been asleep, going to bed as early as 6 or 7 these days with little energy spent, but had woken up to the link and a casual text forewarning of nudity. The post, titled “why chloe moretz eating spaghetti from wooden boxes? why everyone lookin in the camera?? WHY SOME DUDE SUCKIN DICK???” (linked) had several comments below the picture (which showed exactly what was titled - Chloe Moretz eating spaghetti, several people in the room looking directly at the camera, and two dudes in the back, with their pants down, glimpsing over their shoulders at the camera while one of them received oral stimulation by another man). The comments all posed questions about the absurdity of this picture, revealing pieces of it to be false or photoshopped, and finally presenting the “legitimate” picture of the two men receiving blow jobs, that culminated in a scene with a large black bear walking casually by as they did. I’m confused by this, and if I’m honest, I’m also disturbed. It’s not that I’m without a sense of humor. Most of the time I believe my humor to be flexible and sarcastic, as long as it’s not offensive or insensitive. But like most of the absurdities of men, I’m confounded as to where the humor of such a post lies. Is it the homosexual blow job itself? Is it the actress consuming a meal in public? Or the fact that someone decided to photoshop such random components together in an attempt towards the casualness of such absurdity? Clearly there is something humorous about this, otherwise it wouldn’t have received such attention (241,846 notes on tumblr), and I’m left thinking that maybe I’m more ordinary and less obscene in my character after all. But beyond that, I wonder why this man decided to send me this at the time that he did. How did he come upon the link? And why, at a time when you can presume a stranger to be asleep, did he think of me and decide to send it?

We had met only once before, and had been talking casually for the last couple of weeks. This mostly consisted of me listening to him talk about how tired, stressed and hopeless he was about the current state of his life and the world in general. It has not been an unusual connection; most of my intimate interactions with men have been like this - men needing to be heard and I playing the role of a vessel to be poured into. It’s only lately that I’ve found the act of “making space” rudimentarily extractive and imbalanced. And a lie to myself. There have been these small ways in which I’ve consented to this “extractive” practice, you see. Listening endlessly to men talk about their unloving fathers, their insecurities around mediocre sexual performance, their lack of careers or intelligence, any culmination of experiences that they deem traumatic, etc., This willingness towards extraction on my end has come about from a configuration of ideas I’ve put together in order to convince myself that this is the ultimate level of intimacy, and thus one I’ve been craving all along (to know what is not knowable to others, to know what hurts or is tender or needs healing).

In other ways I’ve not consented to what’s been extracted - my body, my emotional entanglements, my intelligence, my victimhood that comes along with the rage of my own vulnerability. Tumblr-man is not different or far from this pattern of giving and taking, of capturing both the spaces available and the spaces I wish to be beyond grasp. I considered a series of actions to acknowledge the text he sent me, to reduce awkwardness and thus affirm that he was not wrong in sending me adult porn unsolicited or without evidence of past history of such behavior being acceptable. I considered creating further space through question and curiosity, to let him know that while I might not have appreciated it, nothing was off limits when he deemed it actionable. But as of now I can only muster enough energy to think about my own psychological patterns. My contract with this phenomenon (the “rudimentary extractive” one) makes me want to dig deeper into the superficial agreement of our relationship, to a place where I reach farther then surface level grief or joy. I want to hear, and have heard, deeper sensory, sensational information that at once makes me feel as much as the person is feeling by telling me something they’ve never considered uttering to a stranger before. I know this is just my own lack of experience around me. I am bored and perhaps numb from the lackluster stimuli that is at my disposal, and thus I want to find it in others - in men - so that it can replace my sense of unworthiness in myself with a false, brief sense of importance to someone else.

I’ve lived in the South almost all my life. I’m more regionally Southern then most of my current peers, and yet, the culture of ‘Southern living’ did not meet me until I moved to rural Tennessee. Here we eat boiled peanuts (a practice I learned came from the dietary patterns of civil war soldiers) and biscuits with gravy and sometimes fried chicken. Here the tea is sweetened unbearably so, and moonshine is a thing, although never anywhere authentically anymore. More then anything my fat body despairs at these dietary rituals. I feel alienated from my own practices and find it hard to enjoy things. It’s really not that uncommon, however. As a millennial, feelings of alienation and displacement are common.

Tumblr-man (which previously I’d deemed LARPeg - since he both enjoys this strange phenomenon called live action role playing, and being pegged) tells me he is jealous of my ability to enjoy reading. He, in a bizarre series of events, is a Creative Writings major at an obscure liberal arts college in Asheville, NC (the same one, he informs me, that James Franco went to). He tells me that he really “likes the idea of dropping a big plot piece...” and that “writing a big, long, cheeky complaint with lots of pith is very attractive” to him. He recommends I read ‘Consider the Lobster’ by David Foster Wallace, and I do, mostly because I’ve read everything he’s sent my way thus far, and I wasn’t going to prove my own behavioral patterns wrong that day. He sends me memes about Dungeons and Dragons and LARPing that I assume I’m suppose to understand but I do not, although by his own admission, an immigrant like me is not meant to, and is hardly to blame for not understanding “cultural references.” I don’t get it, either LARPing or D&D, but I read both essay assignments he wrote for the semester around a fictional LARPing scenario. I do this because he’s a socialist, and half Venezuelan, and because I can’t help my own internal desire to show a man that I am fully engulfed in his own preferences and passions. I am not entirely foolish, I express my own passions and desires, and hardly authentically adopt theirs, but if he does not ask I do not say, because it’s always easier to listen and be seen listening, then to explain and feel the potential signs of disinterest and boredom. I am not boring. But men can be, and I do not wish to engage with bored men. Anyways, I read ‘Consider the Lobster’, the essay in the book titled the same, and it was, surprisingly, spectacular. How thrilling that something, anything, this particular man had suggested spoke to me in such a way. I preceded to read reviews and an excerpt from a New York Times article titled “How Should a Book Sound? And What About Footnotes?” in where DFW says “Most poetry is written to ride on the breath, and getting to hear the poet read it is kind of a revelation and makes the poetry more alive. But with certain literary narrative writers like me, we want the writing to sound like a brain voice, like the sound of the voice inside of the head, and the brain voice is faster, is absent any breath, and it holds together grammatically rather than sonically." I find this beyond interesting - it jolts me deep down where I safe keep my ideas around literature and its realities. I want to send it to Tumblr-man because it reminded me so specifically of what he had said right before recommending DFW: “I only recently have come to understand that the real sort of fingerprint of a writer can be where they place periods and commas. Because “She left, yesterday.” And “She left. Yesterday.” Sound similar if read aloud but read differently.” I wonder now if he, too, read this quote and had his sense of literature jolted in an inexplicable, but concrete way.

I’ve once again picked up ‘Normal People’ by Sally Rooney. Thus far, my favorite lines are as follows (of the first U.S edition by Hogarth publishing group):

“This “what?” Question seems to him to contain so much: not just the forensic attentiveness to his silence that allows her to ask in the first place, but a desire for real communication, a sense that anything unsaid is an unwelcome interruption between them” (pg 26);

“One night the library started closing just as he reached the passage in Emma when it seems like Mr. Knightley is going to marry Harriet, and he had to close the book and walk home in a state of strange emotional agitation. He’s amused at himself, getting wrapped up in the drama of novels like that. It feels intellectually unserious to concern himself with fictional people marrying one another. But there it is: literature moves him. One of his professors calls it “the pleasure of being touched by great art.” In those words it almost sounds sexual. And in a way, the feeling provoked in Connell when Mr. Knightley kisses Emma’s hand is not completely asexual, though its relation to sexuality is indirect. It suggests to Connell that the same imagination he uses as a reader is necessary to understand real people also, and to be intimate with them” (pg 72);

“Connell paused and took another drag on his cigarette. This was probably the most horrifying thing Eric could have said to him, not because it ended his life, but because it didn’t. He knew then that the secret for which he had sacrificed his own happiness and the happiness of another person had been trivial all along, and worthless” (pg 80);

“He kisses her closed eyelids. It’s not like this with other people, she says. Yea, he says. I know. She senses there are things he isn’t saying to her. She can’t tell whether he’s holding back a desire to pull away from her, or a desire to make himself more vulnerable somehow” (pg 96).

I am struck by the way the book’s composition demonstrates a realness unfamiliar to the readings I often take on. The book reads the way people speak, and cares very little about the grammatical composition of words/sentences. Instead, characters and their thoughts and the narrators own mind speak the way one speaks in ones mind, unfiltered, scattered with anxiety and directness, with an approach to ones own truth above all else. ‘Normal People’ reads almost opposite to the narrative guidelines David Foster Wallace deems necessary, and yet, it embodies his sentiment almost as if the two had been birthed from one another. I wish I and those around me were as brave and as vulnerable as the compilation of sentences in this book. And yet, we’d all fall apart doing so. I want to recommend ‘Normal People’ to Tumblr-man, along with a series of other writings I have not yet finished but have found impactful nonetheless. I know, ultimately, that I won’t, in the same way I won’t send the NYT’s article. Maybe this is an inability to be seen on my end, or a foolish willingness to be something for somebody else without being an actual something to that somebody. Or maybe it’s too much labor and I’m satisfied with thinking through these things on my own, knowing the depth of my own thoughts without needing them to be seen or understood. In the same way my ears strain and struggle to hear noise while wearing my noise canceling headphones while no music plays, my body strains and struggles, leaping for noise and yet feeling bound by the confines the lack of it creates.

I think about my own mortality often, and wonder whether this existence, this very moment even, I am dead or dying, with only a delusion of existence playing forth in my mind. These thoughts cause congruent sensations in me - anxiety, because of the potential of this reality that has not been proven incorrect or impossible in my mind, and strangely, a dissociation that elevates me beyond that anxiety. I think to myself, and know deep in my bones, that it is true, that it turns out I’ve been dead all along, and that my body has just been decomposing in motion this whole time, waiting for my bones to turn to ash.

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ohmama2012 · 5 years ago

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My Eulogy for Dad

This is the eulogy I read for my dad at his memorial service on April 28, 2019 at the Riverside Memorial Chapel in NYC. He passed away on April 2. I have revised a few things to correct typos and reflect what I actually said in the room, to the best of my recollection. I wrote this with a desire to let everyone in the room know who he was as a father, a side of him only I had the luck to know. It was my good friend Christopher Piatt, the only person I shared my draft with, who noticed the “stage manager” through line and advised me to add a few more theater anecdotes. I am indebted to him for the line about dad being a consummate stage manager at the center of our lives -- not just because it made a good line in the speech, but because it’s true and it helped me to see that. - Ali, 5/3/19

According to family legend, one of my father's earliest memories of me, and one of his latest memories of his father, was the look of abject horror on my grandfather's face as I tangoed around the living room as a toddler, singing “I’d be Surprisingly Good For You” from Evita. In the song, little Eva propositions Juan Peron with something more than just a “frantic tumble and a shy goodbye.”

I grew up with the theater. And not just because I'll always think of my dad singing “Bobby Bubby Bobby” as he pulled out Company album on vinyl to place on the turntable.

I should add that’s rare form -- my dad didn’t much like singing along to the many musicals he so adored. He did sing me “Doh a Dear” as a lullabye, and I sang it to him repeatedly in his final days, but by and large he would say: “Lyrics are your mother’s department."

They made such a good theater pair. He designed the shows, she remembered the names and dates, and they both equally treasured the adventures. Their love of musicals shone through in their parenting. My mother likes to say that if Patti LuPone had had better diction, a young Alison Weiss would have never picked up the Evita libretto and learned to read.

If I learned my ABC’s from Evita, I learned my LBJs, IRTs, and LSDs -- and several latin words -- from the other great musical that I forever associate with my father. He got his start on Broadway stage managing Hair. He was not a hippie, but he was a great enabler, calling cues in a haze of pre-show puffs and taking the show on the road through the USA amidst a backdrop of the Vietnam era. He taught me so much history through his stories about working on Hair.

But beyond the love of theater by association, my dad gave me the unique privilege of growing up as the child of a designer. As a baby, I crinkled canary paper at his drafting table. As a tot, I cut out collages from Rosco gel samples. As a kid, I made origami from extra Playbill inserts, hanging out in the box seats of a Broadway house during tech week.

He taught me a true love of New York. Once he sent me a postcard from LA, on which he wrote 3 words: “Sun & Sprouts!!!” He taught me that a city is the only place where you can just walk and run into people.

Once I ran into him on the street In New York, randomly, on 11th Avenue in midtown, on a summer day, as I walked south and he walked north. I was in my 20s and, naturally, upset about something. I saw him and hugged him and started to cry, and he took me out for lunch and told me everything I needed to know to feel better. He'd been coming from some theater-related errand or meeting. He used to walk everywhere. He would probably have walked all the way home to 83rd street had it not been for our meeting. And he walked FAST.

My dad liked to relax, but he had no patience for dilly-dallying. Always on a mission, he would run like lightening for a train that he could easily catch walking, leave 6 hours early for a flight, dash through the streets of a city on vacation rather than waste time strolling. Once, on the streets of Amsterdam on vacation, we repeatedly asked him to please slow down. There was no rush. The 75th time we nagged him with this request he snapped, "If I were walking any slower I'd be walking backwards on my hands!"

His dogged sense of time management was matched by his consistent desire to help. He was always reaching out to help with whatever I was doing, whether or not the help was needed. Often in response to this gesture I’d say: "Dad! I've got it!" But he never stopped trying to lift the box, carry the bag, hold the door, adjust the project, or move the stack of papers somewhere better where it wouldn't get lost.

Here is an incomplete list of things my dad taught me, in no particular order, either by example or by a lifetime of consistent reminders or some combination of the two.

Quack like a duck.

Thumb wrestle.

Properly hammer a nail. Use a level. Make pilot holes with an awl. Patch and sand walls.

See a need, fill a need.

The golden rule.

Warm tones make the colors around them look cool. Cool tones make the colors around them look warm.

Snakes are not smart.

You know rice is done when you see little craters appear on the top.

Never feign disinterest.

Never feign interest.

Put something on your feet.

You cannot be warm without a hat.

When driving on a curvy road at night, save time by changing lanes so as to stay on the inside of the curve. He called this: "Using Pi."

France had no problem letting Hitler take all the Jews.

You should be able to go all the way up Amsterdam Avenue without stopping if you just slow down and drive with the green lights.* There is nothing like a good stage manager.

This last one rings so true. He valued efficiency -- CALM efficiency, even in the midst of chaos and absurdity. (And I certainly gave him my share of chaos!)

He loved anybody who was good at their job, no matter the job. He valued confidence and imagination. He blended the science of getting things done well with the art of, well, the things he got done. He got art done. He made his living making art, and he worked his butt off and gave me a great life and I sometimes need to stop and smack myself to remember how brave that was.

My dad was brave, he did great things, and through it all it could be said that mother and I had in my father a consummate stage manager at the center of our world.

But back to quacking like a duck. This was his signature sound effect and it's what sealed his status as the family duck. I feel like it's my obligation to demonstrate his quack. [Quack] Fortunately for his grandchildren, when Aphasia took much of his speech, it never took his quack.

There was another sound effect I'm afraid I cannot replicate and that is his water drop. He tried to teach me. It's the perfectly-time combination of a swift blow out the mouth and a tap on the cheek. It made and echoing "bloop" sound that I can best describe off the top of my head as the VH1 pop-up video sound.

But back to his voice. My dad had a voice that smiled. "Hi Ali, it's your dad," began every voicemail. "Helllo!!!" began every visit. He delivered dry quips, delighted in awful puns, had the sickest sense of humor. He earned the silence of a room any time he paused to choose his next words. He spoke with the perfect grammar of a gentleman, and he greatly preferred storytelling to small talk. As someone who cherished long stretches of focus and reading without distraction, he often spoke in the hoarse, breathy tones of a person who, perhaps, had not spoken out loud in several hours.

One of his most oft-used adjectives later in life was fabulous. "Just fabulous," he'd say, of everything from Derek Jeter to Opera to something cute my kids did. It was this funny, slightly out-of-character word for his generation and it became his highest stamp of approval.

My dad also dropped F-bombs like the best of them. I admit to taking some glee in the fact that he lived to see my then 3-year-old son shout, in front of the entire family at Thanksgiving, "open-da-fucking-door!"

Everyone laughed. I looked at my dad. He looked at me. I said, "I will take the blame for this . . . but we all know where I got it." And Marc smiled sheepishly and nodded.

That look of recognition, of amusement, of understanding -- that sly, conspiratorial grin -- served as my lifelong homing beacon for all that is right and good. Even as his face began to take on the mask of what we can probably attribute to Parkinsonism, that glimmer of the old Marc would come through. He relished being a grandpa, and regaled the kids with quacks and faces and games even when his body was well past its airplane hoisting days, and his voice could no longer sell Sandra Boynton.

During the last birthday party for my kids he would attend, I subjected this frail man who enjoys peace and quiet to an afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese. I believe, at least, he enjoyed the cake. Frazzled at the end of the party, I stood at the ticket munching machines, which are, as you may know, these kiosks where you have to take your hundreds of loose strips of raffle-style tickets and feed them into a slot to redeem a voucher which you then take to a crowded counter to wait in line to buy plastic crap and candy. Dad likely had no idea about or interest in this nonsense system. At the time, I had asked someone to get him to the car and not worry about clean-up.

But as a big ball of loose Chuck E Cheese tickets fell from my hands to scatter all over the floor, and I stooped down to get them, there was dad's hand, from out of the crowd, with its tremor, struggling to pick up those tickets for me, because it was something he could do.

* * *

You never expect to stand in the ER watching through the window as they attempt to keep alive the center of your world. But as I watched the doctor who oversaw the action we could not see behind the curtain, the doctor who spoke so calmly yet so intently, saying things like "OK, we have a pulse" . . . "next time let's try this" . . . "remember, everyone, base-line state is non-verbal" . . . "can we bring down the noise level please" . . . "OK here's what I want to try on the next one" . . . "OK, does anybody have any ideas?" . . . as I stood watching this magician preside over what we would later learn was my father dying three times and being brought back to life, I turned to mother and said: "I hope Dad can hear this . . . because he would LOVE this guy."

I pictured my dad sitting at the table back home someday, fully-recovered, saying "that doctor who brought me back to life, he was JUST FABULOUS."

That doctor stage managed his final hours and gave him the gift of a peaceful and dignified goodbye. But it’s a brutally hard goodbye nonetheless.

I miss him exactly as he was in the end -- even had he not gotten "better," I would give anything to sit with him for years on end, to watch the glimmer in his eyes and the strength of his hand around mine stand in for the sound of his voice. But I also miss him as he was before the final years, and so did he.

"Dad, I miss you!" I said to him during one of our last phone calls. He said: "Oh, I miss me too." It wasn't self-pitying. It was witty and it was brave.

#fathersday

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gabbykaufman · 8 years ago

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Mike Huckabee knows people hate his Twitter jokes

Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee arriving at Trump Tower last November. (Photo: Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

Former Arkansas Gov. Mike Huckabee is well aware his Twitter witticisms elicit eye rolls and groans; he just doesn’t care.

The two-time presidential candidate’s 140-character comedy show frequently pops up in Twitter feeds of journalists and political operatives, inspiring professional critiques and even a Jimmy Kimmel skit, along with countless pleas to give his thumbs a rest.

His shtick consists of corny (and sometimes confusing) quips regarding various current events. Among other things, his freewheeling tweets have referred to Snoop Dogg as “Poop Dogg,” compared Senate Democrats to turkeys he’s hunted, and equated Comcast service, unfavorably, with the Obama administration.

Huckabee recently told Yahoo News that he embraces a genre he calls “groan humor,” and encourages his detractors to buzz off. “If it is absolutely causing you to be constipated, then for heaven’s sakes, get off my Twitter feed,” he said.

“I know there are people who will respond back with a smiley face, or an LOL, or some indication … they were at least slightly amused,” Huckabee said. “I find that pleasurable.”

A transcript of the interview, edited for clarity and length, is below.

Do you write all your own tweets?

Yes, I don’t want to implicate anyone else in my activities that would forever scar their reputations and future.

They don’t go through any of your staff members or anything like that?

Much to their regret, no. It used to. It used to. In fact, when I was a candidate and everybody was so nervous about everything I would say. You know, I didn’t even have my own Twitter password. They kept it from me.

Really?

Yeah, there were so many people that were nervous about what I would do and of course now they know that they were very wise in feeling that way. But after the campaign I said, “I want to be able to do what I want.” So, I do.

Do you read the responses to your tweets?

Occasionally. I read some of them. And the ones that are mean towards me, I don’t care. That’s part of the deal and some of them are funny. Quite frankly, some of the things people say back to me — that are intended to be mean — I find amusing. But when they attack members of my family, to me that’s, that’s hateful.

Tell me about your joke-writing process.

Well, I tell people, look, I write for my own amusement. I find Twitter amusing to me. And so I share it, and a lot of people — you know, most of my humor is what I call groan humor, groaning people, oh boy. Groaning, g-r-o-a-n. Intentionally, It’s just sort of the kind of stuff that causes people to just maybe smile but they’re in on the joke, they get it, that it’s intended, tongue-in-cheek.

I picked out a few standout tweets of yours to see if you could give me background information or walk me through how you came up with them, or just give me your reaction to them now that some time has passed:

[Laughing] Oh, no.

During Gorsuch’s confirmation hearing:

Breaking News! Jimmy Dean Sausage Co will be renamed GORSUCH SAUSAGE because he's grinding up some Democrat Senators into PURE PORK SAUSAGE!

— Gov. Mike Huckabee (@GovMikeHuckabee) March 21, 2017

I grew up with Jimmy Dean Sausage commercials, first of all. It’s a little bit of a play on the thought that — there’s the old saying: ‘Two things you should never see made are sausage and laws.’

And it’s also the fact that I thought that while there were many of the Democratic senators — who I’m convinced thought they were just gonna take Gorsuch down and make him totally look like a fool — he came across as a very reasonable, responsible, very thoughtful constitutional scholar. And I was frankly stunned at how little they could go after him and get anything on him. I mean, they just couldn’t seem to lay a glove on him. … And so, for me, it was just a matter of, he ground them up into sausage. I thought it was funny.

After Rachel Maddow revealed two pages of Trump’s 2005 tax return:

Rachel Maddow tonight reveals Amelia Earhart & Jimmy Hoffa are found; they married and had a child–Snoop Dog, who paid no taxes ever!

— Gov. Mike Huckabee (@GovMikeHuckabee) March 15, 2017

I was embarrassed for Rachel Maddow the night that she breathlessly teased for 23 minutes that she had something really remarkable. And what she found out was that Donald Trump was very, very rich, and he paid a whole lot of money in taxes. And I thought, “Boy, now there’s a revelation for us all. Stop the presses here. Tell the New York Times to hold the front page.” I mean, seriously, I was embarrassed for her. And this will surprise you: I actually like Rachel Maddow. I think she is who she is. She’s good at what she does. And I’ve been on her show in the past and frankly enjoyed it. She was very fair to me when I was on her show.

After now Attorney General Jeff Sessions admitted to meeting with the Russian ambassador:

Full disclosure:I have NOT met with Russian AMB, but did have Russian dressing on a salad last September. I'll recuse from salads for a week

— Gov. Mike Huckabee (@GovMikeHuckabee) March 3, 2017

Yeah. [Laughs] Well, I’ve been amazed at how this whole Russian theme has just dominated so much of the conversation about Donald Trump. As if, you know, Donald Trump is two-stepping down Fifth Avenue from Trump Tower to Central Park every morning and making a secret phone call to Putin. With no evidence. … And, you know, to keep pretending that they interfered in our elections, I’m thinking, well I’m sure if they did, they wish they hadn’t, because Trump is not exactly making them wanna give him the “Friend of Russia Award” right now.

During the Oscars:

Watch celebs spew ignorant political venom at Oscars?? Nah…think I'd rather have a colonoscopy. Both happen from same location.

— Gov. Mike Huckabee (@GovMikeHuckabee) February 26, 2017

[Laughs] Yeah. Yeah, that one got a lot more reaction than I thought it would. First of all, I’m a movie fan. I love film … but if I watch the art of a movie, I don’t really care what the actor’s politics are. That’s not why I’m watching. And I’m watching their art. And their politics is their business and that’s fine. When they try to impose it on me in the context of the Oscars and turn something that oughta be the celebration of their art into almost some self-immolation, setting themselves on fire about who got elected, I just wanna say, you’re ruining your own moment here. You know, just go up and take the award and thank the people that helped you get it and let us enjoy your craft and your brilliance at doing it.

Last month:

I Tweet for my amusement and your amazement. To haters trolls and humorless people-you really shouldn't follow me. It's way over your head!

— Gov. Mike Huckabee (@GovMikeHuckabee) March 21, 2017

[Laughs] Yeah, you know, one of the things that amazes me most is that everyday I probably have a hundred people tell me, “Delete your account,” “Why are you doing this?” “You’re not funny,” “You’re miserable.” And I’m thinking, “Last time I checked, there’s not a single law in any one of the 50 states that require you to follow me on Twitter.” So, if this is killing you, if it is absolutely causing you to be constipated, then for heaven sakes, get off my Twitter feed. Just go follow somebody that will let you go freely. But leave me alone! I mean, that’s what I don’t understand. … I find it absurd that people act like they have the right to shut down someone else’s speech. Now, it’s different if I’m holding them hostage, and if by law they had to read my tweets everyday. Sure, I’d get that they would be upset.

Your jokes are almost always current events, mostly political happenings. Is there any subject matter you consider off-limits?

You know, a lot of the comedians, like Jerry Seinfeld, won’t even play college campuses anymore because everybody gets offended by every joke. And I realize that comedy can be offensive. I think it’s one of the great aspects of free speech is that people should have some leeway in saying things, even offensive things. And if it’s truly offensive, and somebody can point out why it’s so offensive, then they can apologize for it. But I think a lot of the people’s hurts that they demand an apology for, it’s manufactured. They’re not really hurt. They’re not personally injured by it. Their feelings aren’t so shattered that they’re not gonna be able to have breakfast in the morning. And I just find it’s absurd and I want everybody to grow up and say, look, people say things all the time. My entire life, I had people say things that were intended to hurt me.

Have you ever tweeted something you later regretted or admit now wasn’t a good joke?

Oh, I’ve done a lot that, later on, I thought, That was really stupid. And my kids are usually the ones who are the first to either text me or call me or email and say, “Dad, are you serious? We’re gonna take the Twitter account away from you.” You know kids. Yeah, they’re my worst critics. [Laughs]

What’s the reaction like from your family, friends, and staff?

Normally, it’s, they roll their eyes and sometimes they just tell me, please, don’t do that again. But, you know, that’s OK. Occasionally they actually think something I did was funny.

You mentioned Jerry Seinfeld earlier. Do you have any favorite comedians?

Oh, there’s a lot. Seinfeld is great. I saw him in concert, he was just amazing. And … I like some of the old-school comedians. The days of Alan King, who was so funny back on the Ed Sullivan show when I was a kid and would watch stuff like that. Rita Rudner is to me one of the funniest people alive, because she’s so subtle and none of her humor is over-the-top. It’s not profane; it’s clean, but it’s hilarious. … I like it when people make me laugh because what they said is just so stinking funny. And, you know, to me, Seinfeld is that brand of comedian.

Finally, the president is an avid Twitter user. Do you have any tips for him?

[Laughs] You think he would listen if I gave him any? [Laughs] You know, I know a lot of people have been on him for it and, you know, sometimes he’ll tweet something and I’m thinking, “Uh-oh, that’s gonna leave a mark.”

But here’s my assessment of it: It’s been so rare that we’ve ever been able to kind of know what a president really thinks. Because they’re so scripted, they’re so controlled — they are so inside this very thick bubble and protected by so many people in the palace guard — that the president really is not a real person anymore. So, I find it incredibly refreshing that this president is allowing us, even when we kind of go, “Uh-oh,” and even recoil at what he might say, that we have a real clear picture. Hey, this is a real human being with passions and feelings, and he has reactions.

And I find it refreshing, because the American president was never intended to be royalty, removed from the people, but rather a servant of the people and a reflection of them. And so, rather than hope that he gives away his Twitter and never does another tweet again, I find it refreshing.

#_revsp:Yahoo! News #_uuid:3b068be0-9e7e-30b4-9be4-1c748c738df2 #_lmsid:a077000000CFoGyAAL #_author:Gabby Kaufman

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profgandalf · 7 years ago

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Can Humor Be Holy?

A few years ago I was disturbed by an idea presented in Milan Kundera’s Book of Laughter and Forgetting. "Laughter” he writes “belongs to the devil because laughter happens when the meaning of things is subverted." Now I, as a Christian, want to believe--in contrast to this--that laughter is firmly in the domain of Heaven because “all good things come from Him” (James 1: 17). (Also I love to laugh although my enjoyment of something is hardly a measure of its healthfulness. I love coffee but doubt it will be in Heaven.) Still. if you’ve read my article about “Hallowing Halloween,” you know that my central argument is that Halloween should be used by Christian to mock the claims of supernatural power claimed by Satan and his followers.

Kundera has a Point:

That all being said, I must admit Kundera’s point. Humor functions to undermine, to tear down, to prick someone’s bubble, to reveal the weakness of a position or stance. That’s what it does: it points to the absurd and holds it up for ridicule. “All comedy,” according to John Cleese, “is critical.” (For an excellent exposition on this see this short video in which he is featured.) This, however, may make many of us uncomfortable. First off we know that humor has been used to destroy or at least devalue what many of us thought of as being sacrosanct. Sexual purity, love of country, the role of the father within the family are all concepts which have been held up for ridicule in contemporary comic media. It should be noted that these ideas do not lose support because they are intrinsically weak but because there are so many who espoused them who were less than successful. Their foolishness gave the humor a recognition of truth. Ralph Kramden, Fred Flintstone or Peter Griffin when bellowing that he is the head of the house is all the more absurd since each represents a class of men who may claim that without fulfilling it. Furthermore in argument the rhetorical tool of mockery is recognized as profoundly effective even when there reason provides little to advance a cause.

”Senator, Your No Jack Kennedy”

Witness the famous line “"Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy." This put-down was a remark made during the 1988 United States vice-presidential debate by Democratic vice-presidential candidate Sen. Lloyd Bentsen to Republican vice-presidential candidate Sen. Dan Quayle. It was devastating and yet in no way met the actual observations Quayle was making.

Still as noted by Wikipedia “Bentsen's comment was played and replayed by the Democrats in their subsequent television ads as an announcer intoned: "Quayle: just a heartbeat away." It proved sure-laugh fodder for comedians, and more and more editorial cartoons depicted Quayle as a child (Saturday Night Live actually used a child actor to portray Quayle in several sketches.” (”Senator, Your No Jack Kennedy”)

Isn’t it Just Mean?

Many people of faith also wonder if tearing things down fits into the life-style consecrated to holiness a life-style supposedly epitomized by love, a goal that all serious believers are supposed to be aspiring towards. Isn’t laughter, they wonder “by its very critical nature mean?” The reader may recall Buzz Lightyear’s suspicious confusion in Toystory, when facing Woody’s laughter over him not realizing he’s not a Space Ranger, not living in a world where aliens exist. “Your mocking me aren’t you?” He doesn’t lie it and I for one felt a little bad for him.

(Side Note: My family finds this scene especially hysterical, pointing at me since apparently I periodically miss the ludicrousness I am revealing in my own behavior.)

“Clueless Buzz” as the creators of the Toystory series call him does have his world crash down upon him and it is traumatic. But the fact is that the befuddlement depicted is that of anyone who does not realize that he or she is being absurd. He is guilt of affectation not from hypocrisy but from ignorance.

Henry Fielding says that humor should be used to mock individuals out of affectation so that they will be better people. But that means that the motivation of the comic must be wholesome. What may be of some concern Buzz’s case is that the humor is not being used to improve him, but is instead being used by Woody to bring him down. Oh sure he’s delusional and one can argue that having a true understanding of one’s self is vital for effective living (“You ARE a toy!”) But what is the real final intent of the mockery? To put him in his place.

Keep in mind that in this scene Woody is using humor as a weapon against the toy who has replaced him in his high post in Andy’s affections as well as his room. So does Buzz deserves this treatment because of his arrogance and self delusion? It is interesting to note that in the film Woody finds himself cast out of Andy’s room because his own dark agenda is revealed. And this “weaponization” is perhaps the point.

Humor is a Weapon

Weapons are not always evil. As a gun owner I affirm this. But they are always weapons. If gun can be used to stop evil perhaps wholesome humor, exists because some ideas deserve to be shown to be the absurdities they are. As I said in my article of Halloween, Satan’s Rebellion is a doomed farce and he knows it. But the struggle against evil requires weapons. So, like it or not, humor is a weapon and perhaps a necessary one.

But when or how does one use a weapon? Potentially a consciousness comedian might be like a consciousness objector. The later asks “Can one use deadly force to do good?” The first should wonder “Is it suitable to hold up others or things up for scorn?” Humor, it must be remembered, is a kind of force, a potentially dangerous one. It has recognized as such since ancient times. However I affirm that it can be used in this way and still be Holy. Others may feel differently just as good people disagree with me about guns.

Weapons Must Be Used with Care

In the Stanford online Encyclopedia of Philosophy John Morreall in his article on the “Philosophy of Humor” reminds readers that while “Aristotle considered wit a valuable part of conversation (Nicomachean Ethics 4, 8), he [also] agreed with Plato that laughter expresses scorn.

Wit, he says in the Rhetoric (2, 12), is educated insolence. In the Nicomachean Ethics (4, 8) he warns that ‘Most people enjoy amusement and jesting more than they should … a jest is a kind of mockery, and lawgivers forbid some kinds of mockery—perhaps they ought to have forbidden some kinds of jesting.’ Morreall goes on to say “These objections to laughter and humor influenced early Christian thinkers, and through them later European culture” (”The Philosophy of Humor--Humor’s Bad Reputation.)

This may explain why a blogger when posting an analysis of the concept of the laughing Jesus completely admits that the whole concept of a laughing Jesus is actually a “newish” concept (Check out Happy Jesus, Part 1: ) He even goes on to quote G.K. Chesterton

“There was some one thing that was too great for God to show us when He walked upon our earth; and I have sometimes fancied that it was His mirth.” -G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (1908)

Did Jesus laugh as the above opening painting suggest? But at what? Would he find anyone falling on a banana peel funny or would his empathy always make him go “aww” when a disciple missteped on the rocky Roman roads of the Holy Land? Did he think that watching Peter bubbling in the water as he sank under his own doubt hysterical? I do, but did He? What about the look of incredulity of his disciples’ faces when he revealed himself as alive after stopping from the road to Emmaus? And do you find the images of a teethy Christ which I found when looking for this article’s main painting, a bit creepy? I confess I did.

This brings up another aspect of humor separate from the recognition of it as a powerful weapon.

Humor is Often at Odds with Cultural Norms and Culture Shapes How We See It

Part of our discomfort of Holy Humor (and Jesus finding us funny) is that laughter has very little to do with how we traditionally view Christ. Cultural expectations are powerful. And understanding culture is a vital when talking about humor.

The aforementioned Kundera, for example, started life under the repressive regime of Communist Czechoslovakia, a nation at the time ruled by a system in which the authorities claimed to be good but crushed any who apposed it. Any humorous criticism of the state would be branded as evil, a stance he personally embraced. Thus, he is by inclination wanting to side with the rebellious.

Orthodoxy maintenance never has a sense of humor. (In another novel, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Kundera presents a character named Sabina who admits to her distaste for parades, explains her feelings as being because in her Communist past children were forced to parade. This stands in contrast to her all her western friends who love parades both official and for causes.) In The Book of Laughter and Forgetting Kundera sees the forces of Heaven as not being specifically always supporting the good but as powers which are concerned with maintaining God’s creation. Thus, they are always by nature preserving never tearing down. Heaven keeps rules, Hell breaks them. The trouble for us here on Earth is that we know that there are some rules which need to be broken.This is not an especially new idea

Kundera, in some ways, is articulating the ideas of the 17th century British poet William Blake who saw the active, dynamic poet organically as being rebellious in contrast to those in culture who are submissive and sedative as being Godly. Specifically he was trying to explain why for many readers Milton in Paradise Lost is so compelling but somehow is less so in Paradise Regained:

The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels & God, and at liberty when of Devils & Hell, is because he was a true Poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it. (The Marriage of Heaven and Hell ca. 1790–93)

The trouble then comes down to the basic assumption that goodness is supposed to be non-aggressiveness, submissive, and un-confrontational, but does any of that actually describe Christ? The answer is a resounding no.

Humor a Weapon in A Holy War

I will concede that humor, like any weapon, can be misused. I have seen it done so. I will also admit that humor has been an effective tool to make me laugh at what I should not. Sexual promiscuity is destructive and making jokes about the break down of a family’s moral structure should not be funny. However none of that takes away from the profoundly healthful and important role holy humor has in our world. It is a weapon against darkness.

Henry Fielding began his ground-breaking work (today called “a novel”) on a belief in the moral value of humor. In his Preface to Joseph Andrews, part of his first great comic novel, Fielding argues for the moral importance of humor--tying it in to what he as a neo-Augustine would have considered the height of art, the classics, He describes his work as the “Comic Epic in Prose.” He makes it clear that for him there is only one worthy target for humor, that of human folly in affectation:

The only source of the true Ridiculous (as it appears to me) is affectation. But tho’ it arises from one spring only, when we consider the infinite streams into which this one branches, we shall presently cease to admire at the copious field it affords to an observer. Now affectation proceeds from one of these two causes; vanity, or hypocrisy: for as vanity puts us on affecting false characters, in order to purchase applause; so hypocrisy sets us on an endeavour to avoid censure by concealing our vices under an appearance of their opposite virtues. and tho’ these two causes are often confounded, (for they require some distinguishing;) yet, as they proceed from very different motives, so they are as clearly distinct in their operations: for indeed, the affectation which arises from vanity is nearer to truth than the other; as it hath not that violent repugnancy of nature to struggle with, which that of the hypocrite hath.

And so Fielding perhaps best calls the best of what Holy Humor is. It is a weapon that should be aimed at the folly we all carry within us. Cleese in the above cited video mentions what he calls the most inclusive of jokes; “How Does one make God laugh? Answer: Tell him your iron clad plans.” CS Lewis in his epistolary novel The Screwtape Letters (which Cleese actually performed in the audio book version of) indented his “book as a fairly humorous work, Lewis's goals included both reflections on the nature of evil and an effort to create a different portrayal of the Devil than the sort normally seen in pop culture. Screwtape has practically No Sense of Humor himself, and comes across as a sort of cranky cosmic killjoy” (TV Tropes “Screwtape letters”) Humor is a great weapon which is especially dramatized as Screwtape in a rage at being a source of entertainment to the patient’s love interest (the kind of woman who would find ME funny) turns himself into a worm.. In Christ’s hands and in ours humor should be used to laugh us out of our own folly and the diabolical forces who attempt to use it.

#holiness #humor

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