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introvertguide · 3 years ago

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Weird Movies You Might Actually Enjoy

I am in my 40s now and have been watching and recommending movies for a quarter of a century. I have seen thousands of films and television shows over that time and one thing that I have often been asked is "what is the weirdest movie you have ever seen?" What is weird to one person might not be so odd to another, but I admit there have been a lot of films that I have watched that I liked due to it being so strange. The weirdness is the appeal. With the current film under review being 2001: A Space Odyssey (which has a very odd beginning and ending), I thought I would share some movies that I have seen that are both weird and very enjoyable to the point I would recommend them to others who might not be into weird films. SPOILER ALERT is in effect, so, in no particular order....

(Note: I am going to try and avoid art house and horror films because they are unsettling in a more graphic way and the weirdness is not really meant to be enjoyable but to terrify or assault your senses. If that is what you want, then check out the works of Alejandro Jodorowsky or Dario Argento)

Being John Malkovich (1999)

Directed by Spike Jonze and written by Charlie Kaufman, this was bound to be a weird one. It is the story of a former puppeteer who takes an office job filing with his amazing dexterity. The position is on a half-sized floor in a giant building where everything is scaled down. If that wasn't strange enough, he finds that there is a door in his new office that leads into the mind of Jon Malkovich. One can take over the actor's brain for a short period of time before they are unceremoniously kicked out and land on a highway outside of New Jersey. At some point during the film, Jon Malkovich finds out and takes a turn going into his own conscious. The film is kind of amazing, utilizing the acting talents of John Cusack, Katherine Keener, Cameron Diaz, and (of course) John Malkovich. The film earned three Oscar nominations including Best Screenplay and Best Director. The movie carries a 94% Rotten Tomato score and a 90 Metacritic score, showing that the film is really a crowd pleaser. The perfect film to dip your toe into the world of weird media.

Brazil (1985)

A British dystopian black comedy, this film was created and directed by one of the minds behind Monty Python. The story is of a bureaucrat who looks into an incident in which a citizen is taken away and executed because of an administrative error. This government representative is promoted for covering up the mistake but is hounded by a freedom fighter who lived near the man who was killed. He goes through an existential crisis about doing the right thing and accepting his placement and accidently becomes part of the freedom movement. Or does he? There is a lot of ambiguity throughout the film about what comes of the main character, but it doesn't really matter because the visuals and the soundtrack are amazing. Lots of weird dream sequences make the film hard to comprehend at times, but really very enjoyable in my opinion.

The City of Lost Children (1995)

This was my first experience with work by director Jean-Pierre Jeunet and it definitely was not my last. This is a French language film so I thought the subtitles would bother me, but the story is so engaging that you soon forget that you are reading. The acclaimed director went on to make the beloved film Amelie in 2001, and is, in my humble opinion, one of the best world building directors of all time. This is the story of a strong man in a circus and a little orphan girl who traverse a world where a mad scientist is stealing children to help him find a way to get to sleep without nightmares. Most of the characters are along the lines of circus side-show performers (little people, quadruplets, conjoined twins, strong men) and make a fascinating story. The movie includes Ron Perlman speaking the French language which makes some things kind of funny in an unintentional manner. There are also some cross language jokes that are surprising and make you feel smart for getting it. I will admit that I have shared this with a couple of people who absolutely hated it due to the subtitles and theme of stealing and harming children, but I still think it is fantastic and worth a watch.

Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind (2004)

Combine the writing style of Charlie Kaufman and the acting of Jim Carrey in his prime and you have a very strange movie. This film tells the story of a man who wants to forget his ex-girlfriend, so a team of scientists go into his mind while he is sleeping and erase any memories that involve his ex. This is problematic because the patient decides he doesn't want to forget her mid operation and tries to fight the process in his mind. The patient jumps around in his own memories with his visualization of his ex, trying hard not lose his memory. Charlie Kaufman does a lot of writing about people being trapped in their own brain and this mental state is apparent in his screen plays. This film won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay and absolutely deserved it. Following a character through their lifetime of memories is fascinating and the film is very cinematic and extremely well-acted. High recommendation on this one.

Dune (1984)

Yes, David Lynch directed a version of Dune back in the 80s and it was crazy. I have never experienced a film that had so much ADR narration because the movie was too complicated and needed to be explained. I don't think there is any way that a viewer would understand this film without some kind of knowledge of the source material. The costumes are crazy, the characters are out of a nightmare, Sting plays a villain, Patrick Stewart is a warrior, and people control weapons with their voice. Pretty weird. Even more strange is David Lynch's description of a sci-fi world. The new version that came out is pretty strange and is cut into at least two parts. This is a rather strange director trying to pack the entire story in a little over two hours. The visuals are amazing, especially if you are familiar with the Frank Herbert novel, and the music is fantastic, so there is plenty to experience. Just don't expect to really understand everything.

Swiss Army Man (2016)

This is a fine film starring Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe about a man who is stranded on a deserted island and finds a dead body that washes to shore. The body can speak slightly when air is pumped into it, unfortunately it then passes that air out through flatulence. The stranded man uses the properties of the dead body (stiffness, bloating, posability) to live in the wild and eventually the two become friends. There is some question as to whether the stranded man is fantasizing the whole thing, if the body is a zombie, or if this is just a strange situation where the body wasn't fully dead and is useful for getting off the island. The film is pretty funny if you just buy into the full premise but will not be fun if you try and point out plot inconsistencies. A strong suspension of disbelief is needed to really enjoy this fun film.

Lars and the Real Girl (2007)

There is something very Canadian about this film which stars Ryan Gosling and a full-sized sex doll. This is a modern adaptation of Pygmalion in which a socially incapable man is traumatized and only begins to address his issues with a fake woman. Lars lives in a very small, isolated town in Wisconsin and the town population realizes that the doll (named Bianca) might be helpful, so everybody just plays along. This film has some of the most awkward scenes of any movie I know, especially when Lars is first introducing the doll to people. The doll starts out as a house guest but eventually travels with him on errands and even accompanies him to church. There are some really funny parts, and I don't want to spoil things, but Ryan Gosling really shows off his acting talents. Really highly recommendation.

Enemy (2013)

Another interesting Candian film, this time directed by Denis Villeneuve and starring Jake Gyllenhaal, about doppelgangers who run into each other. One of the physical twins is a married actor and the other is a history professor. The professor becomes obsessed with the actor and starts to stalk him. The two finally meet and trade places in which things go pretty poorly. The weirdest thing about this is the constant reference to tarantulas and the very ending sees one of the two walk into a room expecting his significant other and instead finds a room sized spider. He sighs in resignation and the movie ends. This actually became a little bit of a meme because it doesn't really make much sense. This is another well-acted film that is set in a world that is just slightly different from reality, making it creepy. I really like it.

The Lobster (2015)

I don't even know where to begin with this one. This is a British film that was nominated for Best Screenplay at the Oscars and at the BAFTAs. The acting is purposefully kind of bland, but the story premise and setting is just absurd. The film takes place in a dystopian world in which everyone has to have a partner once they turn 18 or they are sent out to farms in which they are given 45 days to find a partner, or they are turned into animals. The lead is played by Colin Farrell, and he is sent to one of these farms when his wife leaves him. He understands the severity because his brother was turned into a dog and follows him around. He tries to bond with different women but finally runs away into the forest in desperation and meets a group that live unpartnered out in the woods. He does not like either condition and ends up stuck between two worlds, all the while trying not to be caught and turned into a lobster. It is exceptionally weird and fascinating. I did not really like it the first time through because it was too much, but I have grown to really enjoy this film.

There are a lot of other weird films that are exceptionally gory or artistic to the point that they are incomprehensible, but the films listed about really struck me and I would be glad to watch any of them again. Give one of them a try if you are looking for something weird.

#long article #movie list #weird stuff #introvert #movies

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natsukitakama · 4 years ago

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Being in relationship with Porco would include

Author note : Hi there ! How are you ? I wrote most of it while I couldn’t sleep I hope it’ll be fine ♡ please let me know if you like it

just look at him please it should be illegal to look that good

Warning : slight mention of nsfw / some spoilers if you haven’t seen the new season of Attack on titans

I do not own that gif credit to the owner

Masterlist

Him being cocky asf I swear he was born cocky. I don’t know if he is super confident or if he is just natural but he lives to tease the hell out of you

At first he might act as if he was not interest on you. But no one believed him, not when he constantly got his eyes on you. Alway looking for you even when you were surrounded by people because of a festivities or anything else.

Sometimes you’re just walking pass him and unfortunately you didn’t notice him but he did he always did. If you were more focused you would noticed how his eyes last on you.

When he flirts he flirts. He is super bold about it and won’t be afraid to be straight to you. Like one day you were working and didn’t notice him at first but he started to flirt with you with his stupid grin telling you how gorgeous you look today, how your cloth Underline your natural beauty.

I think he is kinda clingy, not in a wrong way. But sometimes when you two are chatting with each other he would brush his hands against yours just to have the pleasure of seeing goosebump on your body.

Or sometimes he will just bend slightly just enough so he could whisper in your ear, you would feel his breath on your neck wishing he could kiss your neck

He will just give him time

He might be at first being clingy in public or even showing you off, being an endian (even if he is a Titan) means he can’t do everything he wants to especially because he is afraid someone might try to take you away from him. It doesn’t matter if you’re a mahr or an eldian (though he might be even more anxious being close to you if you’re a mahr because he knows both of you would be in trouble but at the same time he got excited by the thought of you wanted him despite him being an endian) he would still be cautious while being with you in Public

When you two are in more private place though : he is clingy, he just can’t control his hands, they have to be on you (holding your hand, grabbing your ass, stroking your hips or your thigh).

He is not really into hug he prefers more sensual act of love like kissing, but if you’re running into him or just hug him when he goes home and you just hug him, his heart would melt. Don’t do it in front of Reiner he doesn’t want to be seen vulnerable : but I promise you he will blush like a tomato, even more if you’re kissing his cheeks.

Speaking of Reiner, be careful cause I can picture him to be jealous, like a lot, he is possessive man I can feel it. So everytime he will see you two chitchatting, Porco can’t help but need to mark his territory meaning he will put his arm around your shoulder, or even try to make you blush just to reminds Reiner that you’re his.

He tends to do it to every man he might feel uncomfortable (because they’re stronger, smarter or wealthier than him) especially if you’re mahr

He is always acting like he is super confident, but he remains a little brother : he can’t forgive himself for not discovering his big brother’s plan or for not being strong enough so the military won’t change his position for Reiner. Even if he has his own titans he is still jealous and bitter against Reiner

Sometimes he feels guilty for loving you : after all he only has couple of years to live while you would have an eternity without him. Even if he’ll probably tell you to live your life and find someone else, he can’t forgive himself. But he is very selfish, as soon as he falls in love with you he wanted to keep you all for himself.

Another angry baby (say hello Eren), even if he is pretty rough, you tend to not fight that much. Most of the time you can avoid argument because you’re calm enough to understand his point and to make a compromise so you two aren’t angry at each other.

But sometimes argument can’t be avoiding, so instead of yelling at you or be condescending most of the time he chooses to leave you for couple of hours just to relax. When he is calm enough he would go back to see you with a bouquet of flower to apologize for being an asshole

At the beginning of your relationship, you thought that you’re two were sexfriends cause honestly he always managed to have you under him or sometimes on his laps.

It didn’t help that he spent most of his time with Pieck, during a lot of time you believed he was into Pieck but couldn’t have her so he chooses you instead. It broke your heart and when you confront him well he didn’t react the way you thought he would. He just look at you deep in the eyes, he looked quite confuses : why would he date Pieck ? Why would he want to spend time with her while he could have quality time with you ?

The only thing he said that day was « are you blind ? »

His sex drive are pretty huge, maybe it’s because he is a beast and so he felt some animal instinct or because he just loves to hear you moaning his names, but it’s like he can’t never get enough of you.

You see it coming but he bites you a lot, he just loves that sometimes it’s the sight of his love marks on your body that turn him on for another round. You’ll be warned.

Don’t wear black lacy lingerie or you won’t leave your bedroom or with sore legs

Do not talk that much about his friends, but talks shit about Reiner I just can see him giving you 99999 reasons to not talk to him.

But with time he’ll talk a lot with you he just needs a little time especially about his brother : he is still bitter about it.

Do not expect him to dance with you

Kidding, he will if your giving him puppy eyes

You can get whatever you want with it

I mean everything

Even if he noticed how you’re manipulating him, he can’t help but melt when you’re looking at him with those eyes of yours, even worse if you give him a pout.

Sometimes he dreams about his brother and can’t help but cry while sleeping, he won’t say it, but please hug him and stroke his hair during time like this he needs to feel loved.

Just realize that eren and Porco are angry boys and both would be jealous if they saw their S/O with Reiner. Stop being handsome Reiner it doesn’t help at all.

I don’t believe he is the type to spoil you but in way you’ll be spoil. For exemple if he saw you looking at something for a long time or if he noticed that you’re talking a lot about something and are actually working to buy it. Don’t say much Porco Is here, what’s the point of having money if he can’t buy something for you ?

He doesn’t know how to react when you are buying him something, internally he is so happy he feels so love but he doesn’t know how to react so he will hug you or kiss you on the cheeks thanking you for this (that’s me I can’t receive a gift properly so lame)

Also he teases a lot but you can expect behavior like this judging by how cocky he is, it’s even worse when he started to court you. My gosh the man never stop to praise himself, he really thought that you’ll become interest on him but he started quickly when you tease him telling him how great it could be to be in relationship with itself. After that he tried to be more humble

It never worked, he still shows off but you find it quite cute as if you two remain into the flirt part of your relationship. Especially because he is always giving you compliment.

And during sex man, he can’t help but smirk ALL the fucking time. He is just so proud, even when he is on his back letting you have your way with him he’ll tease you, he’ll force you to go at his pace. He loves being in control.

The man is not afraid to tell you when you’re hot, gorgeous, pretty, cute he looks his time to look at you up and down then whistle and would say something like « damn babe you look fine in those pants should wear it before »

Oh if you’re asking he is an ass/thigh man but that’s for another headcanon

Even after a long time being in relationship with him, he still has difficulty to tell you when something is wrong. He is so proud, he can’t admit when he fails something or just when he feels down. You’ll have to confront him, or even better acting not bothering to ask him what’s wrong and instead starting to help him.

When you’re doing things like that god, he wish he could spend the eternity with you

oh and by the way, yes he knows he looks good in suit and will always tease for looking at for too long.

#porco galliard #snk porco #porco x reader #porco galliard x reader #attack on titan #attack on titans #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot porco #snk porco galliard

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barbers-glimmerin-darlin · 4 years ago

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Golden

Charlie Barber x (female) Reader

Summary: Charlie gets you a gift for doing well at work. Fluffy AF

Warnings: Sugar daddy themes, mentions of food, brief mention of alcohol, nickname ‘princess’

Word count: 1.6k

***

You breathed a sigh of relief as you finally stepped through the door to your apartment, closing it behind you with a decisive thud. You kicked your shoes off in record time, placing your laptop bag down by the little side table, and finally placed your coat on the last available coat hook. Damn, it was good to be home.

The smell of garlic, tomatoes, and assorted herbs greeted you as you stepped further into the welcoming air of your home, and you felt your stomach rumble in anticipation of the delicious meal you could smell. It brought a soft smile to your face to think about the ‘chef’ in question.

“Honey, I’m home.” You singsonged in a teasing way, making your way to the kitchen where you could hear the sound of pots and pans being used. Before you got the chance to make it to the threshold, Charlie’s head and shoulders popped around the doorframe, checking to see if he’d actually heard you over the din of his cooking. His face broke into a charming smile when he saw his ears hadn’t deceived him.

“Hey sweetheart.” He greeted you, moving out of the kitchen to meet you halfway across the living room. He looked effortlessly put together in his sharp black slacks and pale blue shirt, unbuttoned enough to show his clavicle, sleeved rolled up to just underneath his elbows.

He leant down to press his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, broad shoulders bowing slightly as he descended to your level. His plump lips and warm tongue tasted faintly of expensive red wine, and you imagined him pouring himself a glass to enjoy while he cooked, maybe he even added a little in with the food.

“I didn’t expect you to be home already.” You told him, placing your hands on his strong shoulders and kneading them gently.

“Well, when you texted me earlier and told me how well your review had gone at work, I decided I wanted to have dinner ready for you by the time you came home, just as a little celebration.” He told you quietly, looking deeply into your eyes as he placed his large hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You couldn’t help the shy smile that rose up onto your lips.

“You didn’t have to do that Charlie! It was only a silly quarterly review!” You laughed, Charlie really took the tiniest opportunity to shower you with praise, it was ridiculous and heart-warming in equal measure.

“It’s not silly at all princess, I’m so proud of you. I even got you a little present.” He said, his voice lilting with a slight air of mischief. You gave him a mock-stern look, placing your hands flat to his chest.

“Charlie Barber you are an absolute menace with your gifts.” You said, though it was plainly evident that you were highly curious about what this gift was. It was true, Charlie would buy you a present for saying ‘bless you’ when he sneezed if he could. While it had been a shock to you at first, him buying obscenely expensive presents for seemingly no reason at all, a couple of things quickly became apparent to you.

Firstly, that these lavish gifts barely even made a dint in Charlie’s bank balance, this much was evident by the numerous designer watches he had collected, the quality of his clothes, and his gorgeous apartment. Charlie’s wonderful talent as a director had made him rich beyond belief, and while he didn’t brag about it, he certainly wasn’t ashamed of it either.

Secondly, over the time you had been together, almost three years now, it had become clear that giving you beautiful things was just one of the ways that Charlie liked to express his feelings for you. He wasn’t always the best at saying out loud, but when he returned home with an outrageously pricey lingerie set, or a custom made dress for date night at the most exclusive restaurant in the city, you knew it had more meaning to it than the promise of a long night of lovemaking, and some good food.

“You’ll like it, I promise.” He husked into your ear before releasing you from his hold and moving over to the dining table. You hadn’t noticed the small box lying atop it when you had entered, but you eyed it now as he brought it over to you. As soon as you saw the lustrous red hue of the box, you knew exactly where Charlie had got his purchase from. Cartier.

Sure enough, as he held the box in front of you, you took in the elegant gold calligraphy which proudly announced the name of the brand atop the shiny red box. Clearly he had been feeling extra proud when he went gift shopping today.

“Let it never be said that Charlie Barber does anything by half.” You teased him, he responded with a smirk as he deftly unlatched the box to present the contents to you.

Nestled securely in the black velvet was a glittering gold bracelet, incredibly simple in design, seemingly just one solid gold circle with no gaudy decoration to mar the quality of the metal. Upon closer inspection, the bracelet was inlaid in regular intervals with what looked to be… circle screwheads? Your confusion only grew as you examined the other item in the box, a tiny golden screwdriver, with a flat head that looked as though it would fit perfectly in the grooves of the screws placed in the bracelet.

“It’s absolutely beautiful honey, but what-” You began to question, unsure of what the intricacy of the piece was all about.

“It’s designed so that you can only put it on and take it off by unscrewing it, so that it’s secure.” He told you, drinking in the way your eyes were lit up with awe, he never doubted that you would like the gifts he picked for you but it never dulled the thrill of seeing your delight.

“Will you help me put it on?” You asked him, suddenly giddy to have this beautiful piece of artwork on you, so you could proudly display it. He chuckled lowly at your eagerness but ushered you to go and sit on the couch where he shortly joined you.

You couldn’t help but be mesmerised by the motions of his hands as they used the tiny screwdriver to release the opening of the bracelet. His hands were so big and strong, it was a wonder that he managed to operate them with such dexterity, but he’d proven on many occasions that his hands were highly skilled at many tasks.

He slipped the bracelet onto your left wrist, and you took a moment to focus on the coolness of the gold on your skin, the subtle weight of it letting you know that it was a genuine article, not that you expected anything less from Charlie. You couldn’t keep the smile off of your lips as you watched him use the screwdriver once again to tighten the screw back into place, securing the bangle on your wrist, though he ensured that it wasn’t too tight, and that it could still move slightly.

He caught your wrist gently in his hand when he finished, admiring the way the light glinted of the precious metal he had just affixed to your lovely arm, he smiled warmly at how beautiful you made such a simple piece of jewelry look. He flipped the screwdriver in his hand and offered the handle to you, gesturing for you to take it. His brow furrowed when you shook your head at him.

“I want you to keep it.” You told him, turning the hand that he held in his to lace your fingers through his much larger ones. You wanted him to keep the screwdriver, it felt right in every way. This bracelet was such a clear symbol of Charlie’s feelings for you, his love for you, that it only seemed right that he should be the one with the means to remove it.

Charlie’s beautiful brown eyes searched yours for a fleeting moment, and you saw his Adam's apple bob slightly, as if he’d just swallowed a wave of emotion. It wasn’t long before a handsome smile broke out across his face, warming your insides instantly. He let go of your hand and placed his on the side of your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb, holding the screwdriver tighter in his other hand.

“It’s safe with me princess, I promise.” He assured you before leaning in to catch your lips with another tingling kiss. You knew what he meant, it was safe with him. Not only did he trust you with his heart, he was humbled that you allowed him to leave that little piece of him on you at all times. He wanted you to be the home to his feelings for as long as you would have him. He trusted you with his love, and in return you trusted him with yours.

“I love it.” You told him when you had pulled your lips away from him, resting your forehead against his, carding your fingers through his soft, thick hair. Your bracelet sparkled in the lamplight as your wrist moved, and it ignited a pleasant warmth in your tummy. That very same tummy chose that moment to emit a loud rumble, seemingly disgruntled that dinner had been momentarily forgotten about.

The pair of you both laughed at the interruption, and Charlie made haste in standing up, pulling you up with him.

“Luckily for you, dinner’s ready. Will you set the table for me?”

(This is the bracelet in question, it’s called the Cartier Love bracelet and I am literally obsessed with them. They retail for just under £4,000 which is why I have self indulgently imagined Charlie gifting us one for absolutely no reason at all. JUST COS HE LOVES US. OKAY?!)

#Charlie Barber #Charlie Barber x Reader #let this be the start of my #Sugar daddy!Charlie #adventure #Marriage Story #golden #Adam Driver #ADCU

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atinybitofau · 5 years ago

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[PART 3] S A N ⇲ royal series AU

RECAP: san is king of eden, you’re queen of elos under one nation with 7 other lone kings. still on a forced bonding retreat with king san, you arrive to the kingdom of aurora under mingi and seonghwa’s advisement. Though that advisement becomes a little moreso...

• series masterlist •

⇩ PART THREE ⇩ click me to read part two.

“Welcome to Aurora!”

You’ve been here countless times and sometimes you forget how far away each Kingdom is from one another. Though Mingi and you are close, you only ever see each other on days that allow.

You’re escorted out of the carriage and greet Aurora’s people kindly. King San was known for his nobility and close riches to Mingi’s kingdom so people do diligence to pay their respects. It wasn’t show stopping either that they seemed happy to both your visits.

The three of you enter the castle grounds of which Mingi stayed, his hand maid handing him a scroll of tasks.

“First things first.” The taller man clapped his hands. “Let’s get changed for cropping. Rice— a team building exercise Seonghwa has recommended for the both of you.”

“I own no land in my kingdom to mill rice, Mingi.” You rubbed at your temples. “This is unnecessary.”

“Au contraire mademoiselle,” he speaks to you in French for no apparent reason. “It’s important to keep humble and learn trades of other kingdoms. And see? King San has no objections and you should follow in his footsteps.”

“He’s walking to the bathroom.”

“Not literally!”

You chuckle. “Fine. But if I break a nail milling rice today in your territory, Song Mingi, so help me god I will rip you up.”

“You have my word, your highness.”

Upon changing for the task at hand, you tie up your perm in a messy bun and hold a basket to your hip with the milling tools required. Milling rice couldn’t be that hard. And corsets and silk may be a little constricting working with dirt and plants. You liked to keep modesty in your standards though you hold high social class. And your soldiers saw nothing of it, used to you in particular choice of silk. The other kingdoms men seemed wary by your choice of scrap clothes and whisper empty gossips to each other while Mingi gawks.

“People may get the wrong idea, Queen y/n.” He hurries to your side as you prance around his garden unscathed. “Your highness, maybe you should—“

“Let them whisper about, Mingi.” You wave him off picking tomatoes and eggplants off their stems for supper later. “It’s meaningless words anyway. They mean no harm. It’s important to keep.. humble.”

The red blushes at your mimicry. “Y-yes but don’t you think—“

“I think nothing of it.” You shrug him off looking to a young woman behind him. “Take these to the kitchen and cook up a marvelous soup for us tonight. Make enough for plenty, please.”

The maiden that follows Mingi smiles in a curt bow before taking what you requested not even waiting for the dismissal of her King. Mingi groans in response attempting at it again.

“People may assume you are too humble, your highness.”

“Well husking rice would ruin satin.” You breeze him off as a just-as-humble looking San joined you in a matching brown weaved outfit. “And it seems that I’m not the only one to think so.”

San, in the middle of tying his pants, bows hastily at the both of us. “I hope I didn’t keep you both waiting too long.”

Mingi face palms at that. “Let’s just begin. Before anyone else starts thinking I’m the one not humble enough.”

The lot of you started husking, it coming fairly easily to you though San seemed to be having trouble keeping the rice separate from the husks, lots of bits and pieces falling out. Mingi left to do his bidding being at his own Kingdom, leaving two foreign nobles in the watchful eye of his subordinate. San picked up good things and had enough individuality to adapt well. Although keeping gentle hands was not something he was good at being a King who also lead his soldiers in battle.

You sigh dusting off your dress, rushing over behind San. “With those hands, you’ll lose all your kernels of rice.”

You lace your fingers in his, his body tensing underneath you. “Never been embraced by a woman before?”

“Not from behind.”

Cheeks flaming at his sexual taunt, you help him ease his fingers nonetheless, tossing the basket lightly in your intertwined hands.

“It takes a delicate touch to separate the bad and the good.” You mumble behind him.

While slowly loosening your fingers around his, you find that he was doing it on his own. More attent on your help than anything else.

“Do you always help men like this or is this just going to be an us thing?”

Finally standing from your spot to cock a hand to your hip. A position you found natural around his attitude. “No, I don’t do this with other men. And no, this is not going to be an us thing.”

“Am I interrupting?”

A throat cleared from behind you and a guilty feeling boils as if you were just caught doing something bad. While Mingi’s glaring holes at San, you definitely can’t help the guilty feeling at all.

“I was only helping him.” You defend walking towards Mingi’s strong stance.

“Yeah by caressing my—“

“Is there something you should be telling me, Queen y/n?” Mingi whispers leaning down to you with fury blatant in his eyes. “First you wander off to search for San in an empty field. You two clearly past wanting to be well acquainted, now I’m finding you arms around him like a Shakespearean play with no script.”

You sigh. “Nothing is going on between San and I.”

“Well it sure looks like it!”

Mingi looks back at the King behind you who still seemed out of touch, talking mindlessly with the mentor before you’re being dragged out by none other than Song Mingi himself. You find yourself trudging in hesitation shocked by his sudden abrasiveness.

You look at him in horror before he holds you steady behind a tall pillar. “I don’t like seeing you holding him in such high regard, y/n, I’m worried.”

Y/n?

“Mingi, what is going on with you? Are you mad? How can I possibly hold him in a strong regard after what happened to my father?”

He seemed to have thought through his sudden apprehending anger and simmered down. Still unsatisfied, he trembles with a clenched jaw avoiding your eyes.

“Oh god, don’t tell me you’re jealous Mingi.”

He snaps his eyes at you porcelain skin going pink. You can’t help the endless butterflies from his surprising reaction to your joke, your hands going up to cup his face. You run your thumbs against his bloated pout and mimicked it in empathy.

“You have no reason to envy San’s relationship with me. It’s pure discouragement. Believe me.” You insist, the King of Aurora going weak under your touch.

“I don’t like watching you embrace another man.” He shudders holding at your hands. “Needless to say, and maybe the other kings have the same thought as I, it bothers me to see our princess in someone’s arms other than ours.”

“Well when I’m wed, you may not have the choice.”

“Though I hope it’s soon,” He sighs reluctantly sending you a kind smile. “I’d want it to be with someone I’d prefer.”

“Please don’t observe us like something we’re not.” You mutter about San as you two walk in return to your post. “He’s a King I’m reading for our benefit. You said so yourself to befriend the enemy. I’m just doing what’s considered right.”

“Following your heart was never hard for you, Queen y/n.”

You stop at that smiling broadly at his change of honorific. “Speaking of Queen, you called me y/n for the first time without honorifics.”

He stutters his next words. “I-I was startled by my own emotions. I—“

“Don’t brush it off.” You link your arms with his, feeling somewhat fit by his side. “You know I’ve always hated being addressed formally. Especially with you.”

“It’s my honor and duty to due respect.”

“Though I hold you in the highest regard I don’t find that necessary.”

“Regardless.”

You hum leaning against his arm only to be met with his Baron and San present with no emotion.

“Well don’t you two look quaint.” A look of loathe appeared and smeared the smile of King San when he glanced at the space between you and Mingi. “I’m sure you both caught up with your disagreements and settled them so.”

@atinybitofau

p.s rough edit lol.

a/n: I’m gonna take a quick hiatus from my oneshots cause I gotta recuperate ideas lmao. but I’ll make this pretty priority so ya’ll will see this series pop out a lot. just a quick fyi. love ya guys!

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aphrodites-law · 5 years ago

Text

A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (5/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction.

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4]

If there was someone or something overseeing their lives, pulling the strings of their destiny and purposefully nudging them toward specific paths, then Clarke wanted a fucking word with them.

It was a surprise, if not a shock, when she saw Lexa stroll into the shop with her laptop bag slung over her shoulder. It was barely a week after Clarke had resolved not to think about her anymore, a plan that hadn't always been successful. Lexa walked toward the counter with a proud chin, as if nothing had changed.

"Good morning," she said.

Clarke could have thrown a mini Bundt cake at her if Wells hadn't nearly burnt his apron making them.

"It was," she answered, deciding that professionalism was not in the cards today.

“I’ll have some pie, please."

“Humble?”

Lexa set her jaw. “And what would that taste like?”

Clarke smiled sardonically. “Bitter.”

Lexa held her stare before looking at the display. "I think I'll try the mini Bundt."

"For here or to go?" Clarke asked as she rang it up.

Lexa seemed disappointed to see that her usual seat by the weeping fig was occupied.

"Looks like it's busy."

"Faithful clientele," Clarke retorted, and then, "for the most part."

Lexa exhaled sharply before pulling out her wallet to pay in cash. "No problem, I'll have it to go."

Clarke put the mini Bundt in a paper bag. "No coffee?" she asked, though she didn't care much for the answer.

"Not today."

"I'm sorry we're fresh out of kale juice." It was a snippy comment that Clarke knew she was above making, but Lexa's sudden reappearance had touched a nerve.

Whatever Lexa wanted to say, she visibly stopped herself. She grabbed her mini Bundt and then pulled out a sheet of paper from her bag.

"Would you mind if I put this up? It's the ad for interviews."

"I offered, didn't I?"

"Offers change."

"I don't go back on my word," Clarke answered stubbornly.

Lexa challenged her stare before nodding and walking toward the board. She scanned over each flyer, seemingly trying to figure out which one she could put hers next to. Finally she pinned it near the middle right. It was a sober flyer; no bold colors or giant fonts, but eye-catching in its minimalism compared to the busier ads surrounding it. As always, Lexa stuck to the basics.

Carrying her mini Bundt, she gave Clarke one last look before leaving. Clarke noticed the tip she'd left and hung her head before going back to her doodles. It was going to be a slow, rainy day.

* * *

It was a slow, rainy week. The wind came first; strong gusts that swept up old leaves and knocked down hats. A downpour followed on Wednesday, unrelenting and miserable. Customers came into the shop drenched, sticking their umbrellas in the already full rack by the entrance before rubbing their cold hands together.

Clarke liked watching their faces; the expressions of relief at finally finding some shelter and comfort from the brutal rain. It was gloomy outside but the café was everyone's home for a little while, the colors still warm and the plants still thriving. She couldn't help but enjoy these moments regardless of the cold, remembering this feeling was exactly why she'd gotten into this business in the first place.

Still, Clarke was human. An hour before closing time she was already fantasizing about hot tomato soup and the comfort of her bed. She'd finished chatting with a regular when Wells came in looking like he'd run a mile to get here. He usually left much earlier than she did, but sometimes swung back to check on things before driving to meet Raven at the theater.

"You want to read this," he told her with barely contained excitement, clutching his phone against his soaked raincoat.

He rounded the counter and showed her the screen. It was an article from the Costial Gazette with a damning title:

Finn's Coffee & Bagels: Neither Fresh nor Clean

"What is this?" Clarke asked, skimming the article. There were mentions of false advertising, misleading business practices, trouble brewing with the Federal Trade Commission, mentions of artificial preservatives despite claims of the contrary, and, to top off the proverbial shit cake, an anonymous employee detailing horrid management. It was a scalding report - one Clarke had dreamed of writing herself.

Understandably, Wells couldn't stop grinning. "This is good, right? Especially the FTC stuff. Bad for him, good for us."

Clarke was about to answer when a thought struck her. She quickly scrolled back up: By Echo Blake and Lexa Woods.

Clarke shut her eyes closed. So maybe she'd jumped to conclusions when she'd seen Lexa at his shop. Maybe she'd made it personal. Who wouldn't? Lexa was still… Lexa. Impossible to read and impossible to understand.

"Titus will drop him for sure," Wells mused aloud. "How the hell did Finn get the old man to carry his brand anyway?"

"Money. Connections. Empty promises." Clarke had no doubt about that. "That's mostly how Finn gets what he wants."

Wells was still smiling from ear to ear when he texted Raven a link to the article. "Looks like it finally bit him in the ass. We should send the Gazette a Thank You cake."

Clarke leaned her elbows on the counter and let out a noncommittal grunt.

"What's wrong?" Wells asked. "I thought you'd be happy about this."

"Oh I'm happy. Just thinking about the humble pie I'm gonna have to eat myself."

* * *

Naturally, Clarke had to wait another week before Lexa dared show up again. She'd noticed that her ad had attracted some attention - curious customers reading it and then pocketing a tear-off tab - and was anticipating Lexa would come in to either replace it or take it down.

When she did, it was during the usual afternoon lull and Clarke felt nervous. Now that she knew her anger had stemmed from… well, a combination of things but also an overreaction, she was embarrassed by the way she'd previously spoken to Lexa.

When Lexa walked in, Clarke was cleaning one of the coffee machines. It was her distorted reflection that she saw in the nozzle; her discreet gait as she walked toward the board and unpinned her ad. Clarke figured she would leave immediately, but Lexa approached the counter. Her eyes scanned over the display glass.

"Can I get you anything?" Clarke tentatively asked.

Lexa looked up and readjusted the strap of her satchel. "Are there any baby Bundts left?"

Clarke shook her head. "All out. It's pecan tartlet week. But Wells liked making them, burnt apron aside - we could put them back in the rotation this month."

Lexa seemed surprised Clarke even suggested something that would please her. "That's alright; I'll just wait."

"Regular coffee?" Clarke asked.

Lexa nodded while looking away. "Sure."

As Clarke poured Lexa's regular in a paper cup, she couldn't help but feel like this was their first conversation all over again. Odd and stilted but also one that she didn't want to end so soon. Clarke capped the coffee and turned to her.

"I read your article on FC&B. It's really good." She gave her the cup. "Personal bias aside."

A small smile graced Lexa's face and Clarke felt a thrill. "My co-writer did most of the investigative work."

"But you did some too," Clarke remembered, knowing Lexa would also recollect the time Clarke had spotted her in Finn's shop. "Tried their juice and everything."

Lexa's nose scrunched subtly. "If that's what you want to call it. But still, Echo deserves the credit for the piece. It was her story from the beginning; I was mostly a sounding board."

Something about Lexa dismissing her own work bothered Clarke. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"I've read your stuff before; I know there was some of you in that article. Just take the compliment, Lexa."

There was that fierce light in Lexa's eyes again. "It's not fully mine to take."

"I guess they just put your name on there to fill space?"

Lexa pressed her lips together, unimpressed with the sarcasm.

Clarke huffed. "Why are you so-" She couldn't even finish her question, unsure where to start. Why couldn't they communicate normally? Why did every sentence feel like a mountain to climb? And how on earth did Lexa push her buttons without even lifting a finger?

"You're frustrated," Lexa pointed out.

"I am."

"With me?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"No. I've been told I can be frustrating before."

She said it with such a jaded expression that Clarke couldn't help but laugh. "God, how could I ever think…"

"Think what?" Lexa asked without skipping a beat.

Clarke shook her head and walked to the end of the counter. "Nothing."

Lexa followed. "You know, I'm not the only one who sidesteps questions."

There was something unnerving about her tone, like she was challenging her, and Clarke wasn't known to be a graceful loser.

"You don't want the answers."

"Try me. You might be surprised."

Clarke scoffed, then decided she wouldn't back away any longer. "What do you really want to ask, Lexa?" It was the same turn of phrase Lexa had used on her at the bar; the frustration of unspoken truths reaching a boiling point.

"What did you see?" Lexa inquired, never once looking away from her.

Clarke hesitated. They couldn't do this here, now… could they?

"Clarke," Lexa said, almost like a plea.

Clarke wasn't sure she'd ever heard her name said that way. She waited a beat. "Fine. I saw you."

Lexa visibly swallowed. "What about me?"

"You're a journalist. Guess."

"Good journalists don't guess. I would need some information to first form a hypothesis and then-"

"You kissed me," Clarke interjected, fed up with logic.

Lexa's mouth clamped shut, so Clarke continued:

"And I mean you kissed me everywhere. Is that enough to form a hypothesis?"

Lexa processed for a moment, her cheeks a shade darker. "It explains… things."

"Why?" Clarke paused, thinking it through. "Did you have…"

"Yes."

"The same?"

"Not exactly."

"Well? Spit it out."

Lexa looked around them, but no one paid them any attention. "I was making coffee. In my underwear.”

Clarke frowned, unsure she'd heard her correctly. "You're kidding, right? I make coffee every day, how is that so embarrassing you couldn't tell me?"

"No, you don't understand," Lexa weakly said. "I don't… like… coffee. Hate it. Any hot beverage actually."

"You hate coffee," Clarke repeated incredulously, eyes going to the very cup Lexa was holding.

"But I was making it," Lexa reiterated. "In an apartment that wasn't mine. With doodles framed everywhere. After recognizing the style, I figured… I was making it for you."

Clarke stepped back, bewildered. She had never once thought that Lexa might've seen the same thing she had, or something close, or even seen her. She wasn't even sure what that meant, if anything at all.

"Oh."

"Yes."

It was like everything had shifted in the span of a few seconds, the before and after she had revealed what she'd seen. It was different now. Lexa knew, and she knew, and everything that had brought them here took on a different meaning. Lexa starting a dialogue; Lexa inviting her to a play; Lexa catching her eyes from across a room. She had been trying to solve a puzzle too; trying to understand what she might've missed before.

But.

Something between them never quite… locked. For the first time, Clarke realized that Lexa was just as wildly out of her depth as she was. Even in her anger she'd put Lexa on a pedestal; seen her as the diligent journalist with the clever words and the impenetrable stare. Now she saw Lexa as someone looking for answers just as she was. They'd both been trying to form a connection based on a vision - maybe that was the problem.

"Well, that kind of takes the surprise out of it," she said, finally exhaling.

Lexa opened and shut her mouth, unsure where to go from there. She settled on a mute nod while Clarke fiddled with her hands, glancing toward the front door and praying for someone to walk in. No such miracle happened quickly enough.

"Thank you for telling me." Lexa had gone quieter; introspective in the way Clarke was used to.

"Yep." Clarke rubbed the back of her neck. "It's probably for the best that- I mean, it's a relief actually."

"It is. I'm sorry if I acted strangely," Lexa said. "I was confused."

"Right. Because we barely knew each other."

"Exactly."

"And I mean… we were both clearly trying to see if there was something… there, and, I don't know that-"

Lexa's eyes flashed to hers. "No, of course not. I'm just a customer."

Clarke frowned. "I didn't say that."

"But it's true. We were drawn to each other because of something out of our control. It's something I've heard a lot in recent interviews. A guy walking up to a woman after he had a vision of her dress. A wife divorcing her husband because she had a vision of herself accepting a drink from a stranger."

Lexa seemed to have gone back into business mode and Clarke didn't know if it was some sort of deflecting mechanism. Regardless, Clarke had never felt this awkward in her life. Like she might trip on her own feet if she even moved.

"So the visions push us to act a certain way," she tried to catch on.

Lexa nodded. "I'm exploring the theory that they're just one thread among hundreds of others. No one is forced to pull that one specifically. Nothing is ever inevitable."

Clarke didn't know what else she could do but nod in acknowledgment. That was it? People got life-altering information from their visions but she got a theory from the woman she shared the supposedly most exciting event of her life with?

"I'm glad we could clear the air."

"Absolutely," Lexa agreed.

Silence stretched for what felt like a minute before Lexa looked at her watch. "Speaking of interviews, I have a phone call soon."

"Great. Hope it's helpful."

"I'm sure it will be."

When Lexa started to leave, Clarke suddenly remembered something. "Wait!"

Lexa looked at her with wide eyes, practically in disbelief Clarke would want to prolong the excruciating moment.

"One more thing," Clarke said.

"Yes?"

Clarke took a deep breath. "Was it a date?"

Lexa frowned. "What?"

"When you offered me a ticket to Lincoln's play. When you mentioned the after party. Were you asking me out?"

"You'd mentioned wanting to see a play," Lexa stammered. "I had the spare ticket."

"Did you want to pull the thread, Lexa?" Clarke asked, feeling a surge of confidence. Now that the secret was out, she needed to know everything. She needed their bizarre back-and-forths to have an explanation.

Lexa froze. "I'm a journalist; I investigate. You were my only lead."

It affected her more than it should have, considering Clarke had promised herself she wouldn't let Lexa Woods get to her again.

Lexa must've noticed. "I didn't mean - you're obviously not just-"

"It's fine. I get it. I wanted to be sure too." Clarke turned to grab a towel for the counter. "It's like you said: nothing is inevitable. I'm glad we got it squared away."

Lexa nodded weakly. "So everything can go back to the way it used to be."

"Sure."

"I look forward to tomorrow's new batch," Lexa told her politely before leaving.

Clarke dropped her towel and sat on the stool they kept behind the counter. Lexa was back in her life, but somehow it felt worse to return to normal. Somehow all Clarke could think about was that Lexa wanted to pull their damn thread but something was keeping her from it.

And maybe it was time to admit she might’ve hoped Lexa and her were inevitable.

[part six]

#clexa #clarke x lexa #clexa fic #f: a bit of clarity #w

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adamgeorgiou · 4 years ago

Text

Arthur, My Cousin and Me

I don’t know how to detangle Arthur from myself enough to write dispassionately or accurately. Instead, what follows is something like half him, half me. It’s more journal entry than elegy. To a general audience, that might make this less interesting than it otherwise could be, but it’s what I’ve got. Remember this if and when you get to the end.

Anyway…

I feel like I knew Arthur. Then I heard what others had to say and saw what others had to feel. Following his death, I still feel like I know him. In certain ways better than most or all. But there’s a part of me that’s often strained to believe that I was in more of his inner circle than I actually was, and his death exposed the truth of my position.

It’s a practical observation, not a dramatic one. I’m not saying he had a dominating and hidden alter ego or that he pitied me. It’s simpler: his death revealed my confidence in our bond as an illusion innocuously leftover from being kids together, from back when we actually spent serious time together. I want him back now like I’ve continuously wanted back what we lost long ago, but now it’s double-permanent and legible. Before it was remediable and blissfully hidden — embarrassing in hindsight, like most nostalgia.

But he also had that same nostalgia and held onto it, too, which makes me feel better. That mutual thread to our shared past was strong for both of us. It gave us a lot to lean on, but we leaned on it a little too heavily. Without that crutch, our adult lives were mostly opaque to one another, but also we were getting close again, involving each other again. Building anew. The left hook following the right. It’s a shame we weren’t closer than we were, when he died. It’s a shame our getting closer was cut short.

I guess it makes sense, generally: as adults, we’re all doing niche things, and niches are small and excluding, so everything else trends towards becomes small talk. (And that’s fine and right, because focus is necessary for growth. Just try and stay loyal, which Arthur did and my cousins do.)

Maybe it wasn’t so much that I was uniquely outside of Arthur’s confidence, but more that we had both (or all) grown a bit into our own isolation. In any case, I mourn the loss and its new finality.

So that’s him and I as adults, apart. Who was he, though? What can I tell you?

Well, I’ll briefly start with me, for context. Who I am is still him, the result of his influence, for sure. Of growing with, then adjacent to him, then apart, then converging again (more on the converging, later). If you distilled me down and got rid of all the litter and trivia, the rare and potent stuff remaining would be similar to what I knew of Arthur. We had the same essence, as I saw it. So I can show you that reflection, and you can tell me if it’s accurate (See: first paragraph’s disclaimer). (Also, note my calling out our similarity is carefully placed right before I go on to flatter him best I can — tactics, baby — but don’t read my ego into this. What follows is all my cousin.)

Arthur and confidence. Old saying: the pro fails more often than the amateur tries.

The subtleties of his personality were sophisticated and complicated. He could spar at an exceptional level from an early age. But he started out lazy and overthrowing a lot of his punches, gassing out quickly.

As a kid, he was autistically independent, preoccupied and hyper focused, but without any of the social hangups. He could talk to anyone and impressed everyone. He was adored, and rightfully so, but he also marched to the beat of his own nunchucks, exclusively. You couldn’t bullshit him, and you couldn’t placate him unless he was genuinely fascinated with what you offered. This is how kids should be, insatiably curious and wild. It was my favorite era of his, and where we spent the most time together. I was such an asshole to him, and he still always hung out with me. And we followed each other into a lot of similar interests.

Then he got his first hit of testosterone, and followed a phase where he literally held a fist up in every photo taken of him. Ha. Puberty’s a bitch. That didn’t last long. Reality checked and he stabilized. The important thing is that he knew he wasn’t going to watch, he was going to play. I loved him here, jealously and from a further distance. I couldn’t hang.

Then maturity: The firm handshake, the direct eye contact, the bright teeth, the smiling cheeks. Approachable, but not daffy. If anything his charisma was a prank and shrewd tactic; a car salesman during the first act, a playful subversion before the intellect and wit made their debut; or, worse for you, they didn’t. You’d start talking to Arthur and think you were walking in on a frat-boy breakfast table, then he’d go on to tell you why your problem was really because of what Robert Moses did back in ‘56, or he’d ask if you thought the The States were in a similar stage of decadence as Rome before its fall.

To him, your reason was more important than your choice, which is an axiom of all good conversation, one that most people are afraid to admit because doing so requires the ability to tread water. It’s easier to talk about the weather or watch sports. But Arthur wasn’t afraid of going deeper, and he had the tact to know when it was the right thing to do.

He was a man of appetite. A true traveling gourmand. He could scoff at you from within a seersucker, but he never compared oysters. If a menu offered Seattle’s or Rhode Island’s, he’d reply, “keep ‘em coming” and demand littlenecks or (and) crawfish to follow. He was less interested in varieties of wine, more in varieties of tomato and whether you had a good coarse salt.

He was spoiled rotten — as we all were, and mostly by the same sources — but he lacked pretension, except for that deliberately wielded for ironic effect. Underneath all his developed and developing taste was a lot of comical stoicism — laughing at gross injustice and absurdity, but also doing something about it, literally. His principles were conjured up from experience with the trappings of pleasure, with readings of history, with a variety of surprisingly worldly stories. I always wondered where and how he got it all. The guy had seen things, but not that many things. How was he always so versed? I don’t know, but if you’ve ever watched him eat a box of clementines straight up, wide-eyed in a wrinkled rugby shirt, then you would also know he was more pensive than pleasure seeking.

Entertainment was a defense, one he was growing out of as he realized it interfered with his goals and their requirements. A defense against what? I don’t know for sure, but I suspect the typical. On one hand, a lack of patience and a petulant refusal to be bored. On the other, the existential and solipsistic. A defense against the subconscious shame and pain of cynicism. Was love real? Was wealth worth anything? Was the world bogus? Was anyone authentic? Ethical? Himself? Others?

Look, I’m not saying he was overwhelmed with this gooey crap. He was a thinker, not a navel gazer. I don’t know if he even said any of this stuff out loud, but anyone with a brain is going to ask some questions about the life they’re living and the society they’re in, and most of us don’t like the first obvious answers we come up with. Then we do something about not liking those answers. We put fingers in our ears some of the time, we do what’s easy some of the time, and we do what’s difficult some of the time. And also, anyone with any talent is going to find themselves bored among the average, and falling short of their own standards. These were Arthur’s struggles, I think. At least, they’re kind of my struggles, and Arthur seemed to harmonize with me when we’d commiserate. Or maybe we were both pompous assholes, wannabe aristocrats from the suburbs. Or maybe that was just me. Ha.

To some, it might seem appropriate to haunt him here in this postscript, as if to justify his death as the terminal approach of a depression into cessation. Let me be clear: this was totally not the case, from my vantage. Instead, the above attitudes are more like the required cost-of-entry to a great show. If the unexamined life isn’t worth living, it does not mean the examined one is easy to live. The alternative is Judge Judy and a monogrammed armchair. Not for Arthur. Caulfield eventually quits his bitching, but he has to eat a lot of shit first. Siddhartha finally leaves the brothel, but he had to walk in that door in order to walk out of it later. Hard times are the prerequisite to epiphany. Painful and confusing; but hopeful, not despairing.

And you could tell Arthur was among this company because the personas he employed became increasingly sophisticated, useful, attractive, and comfortable. From the brawling, pack-leading, indulgent, jokester/show-off into the relaxed, independent, luxurious, conversationalist who wasn’t as afraid to let his guard down, who was increasingly responsible. He was cultivated. He had a tamed self-consciousness (as we all aspire). It was impressive to watch him pull his own strings, to compare that with your own attempts and be humbled.

And thus, as I see it, the irony, hard to swallow, is that Arthur was finding answers to life’s hard questions in fistfuls. Love was possible. Work was worth it. Viktor Frankl was right. And he was learning patience and conviction, already better at their practice than most (e.g. me). As Dan put it, he was just taking off. He jumped and then a hand reached up from the almost escaped gravity and cut him by the heel.

A complete, but simple tragedy.

Complete, because the good guy lost.

Simple, because Arthur’s life was not some melodramatic airport novel. His death was a lightning strike, a deus ex machina in reverse. A two sentence accident, not an assassination. Not much more to be read from it. Mortality is hard, right? (See: Genesis).

And for all my elaboration, I don’t even think Arthur was all that noxiously introspective or exceptionally self destructive either. The guy knew how to love and be loved. How to let his hair down, appropriately. How to shift gears and drive forward. How to resist temptation. How to find and be good company. How to stare at a fish tank. How to sit and read. How to eat fruit in the sun. He was typically bright, with a lot of flair and personality. I know he was grateful.

Or I’m wrong. Maybe I’m inventing a story to make sense of something more concealed or of pure chaos. I don’t know. I don’t think so.

In any case, it’s a tragedy. And regardless of what is true, I’m still glad I got to hear his story and be part of some of it. He was and remains a good influence to me, a fellow bright eyed boy attempting to sustain himself in the body of a straight-backed man. He’ll live on for a long, long time. And I keep talking to him.

That’s some of what I knew of him. And given this is my catharsis, forgive me further, but more about me:

Sadness, gratitude, and disappointment.

I’m sad. Still? Yes. Always? Probably not. The inevitability of death hits a certain emotional bedrock after enough love is lost. I’m probably not there yet, still more distance to fall, but things are tapering off, in the aggregate. Maybe I’m just cold.

Sadness is the least interesting. I am separated from someone I love, and that sucks. We all have people we’ve loved, and we are all damned to lose them. But yes, I get those black bile clutches to the chest as I’m reminded that Arthur (et al.) is gone. And I wanna hold your hand, if you’re feeling it too.

It’s a curse that requires gratitude. Time keeps on slipping, and the portion of time that one spends with good people is shorter still. I’m thankful for Arthur’s good company. From childhood to peerdom. This is what I’ll try and focus on. It’s the mantra I’ll repeat. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Then there’s the sulking disappointment. My head slowly shaking, my eyes unfocused contemplating the loss of the unpredictable conversations, the refreshingly interesting trivia, the uniqueness, the independence, the honed never impersonated taste, the great breadth of knowledge, the artful ball busting, the avoidance of cliches, the shared recommendations, the belly laughs. Obnoxious mutual indulgence — food and talk — during Thanksgiving at Stacy’s table, the shared past at Everit Ave, the just started planning. The feeling of a just missed answer to the question of how to get it back, continuously nagging.

More on that: I’m dealing with a huge mess of unanswerable questions and impotence. There’s so much broken by his leaving, least of all in me, and I can’t fix any of it. No way to organize it. I can’t even help others fix it. Acknowledging the impossibility of the situation seems better than ignoring it, so I will (…acknowledge that death breaks the world and makes inconsistent a lot taken as granted). Arthur’s death is an oily surreal void in the middle of the road. A portal to nowhere. And sure, life will go on. We will preserve. Time heals all wounds. That’s all true. But any schmuck can offer a platitude. I want to be responsible for what he’s left behind, in precise detail. I want to pick up the slack, fill in the blank. But what was his remains his, locked up behind whatever door his soul is now shut. It’s maddening.

I went so far as to tell Olivia that I was her brother, too, and that I would be there for her. Idiot. I love her, she knows I love her, I know she loves me. Yada, yada. I need no pity for my vomiting on the rug. My point is: I can’t be Arthur. I can’t even be close to Arthur. Adam — while still pretty good — isn’t a substitute for Arthur. I apologized for being so naive and sloppy, but the moment taught me what I was trying to say above: that I am ignorant of so much of Arthur’s life, and in ways that can’t be remedied by interviewing his friends or reading his book or wearing his shoes, sort of speak. A lot of it isn’t just unknown, it’s unknowable.

This requires more thought. Surely something can be done. Entropy can’t be rewound, but duct tape can keep a plane in the air. So here’s something I’m going to try: I’m going to be more vulnerable. I’m going to expose myself the way a brother or a son might, and see what happens. It won’t transform me into a replacement, and I’ll probably make a clown of myself. But it’s worth a shot. To build different connections, instead of replicas. I can already see that the cousins have been hammered stronger by this. Now it’s time to be deliberate, and keep that train going, if possible. And yea, I’ll do the practical stuff. You can’t call Barb, enough. And I’ll call Liv, too, but with finesse, without overdoing it. And the rest of our family, as well, because we all lost something. For some a spleen; for others, more vital organs.

Moving on.

It’s further maddening to have Arthur’s death aligned and intertwined with so much of my pleasure. I’m a week into marriage. I’m ecstatic and overwhelmed by the potential of my future. I’m also newly terrified of losing a child not yet even conceived. That’s a fun one. Probably a lot more neurosis to come. But, yea… it’s a violent set of waves to endure and ride. It’s exhilarating and crushing, and guiltily I’ll admit, more of the former. I’m pronoid.

The guilt compounds as I realize that I’m only comparing the conflict between my pleasure and pain, when the actual accounting includes my pleasure, my pain, and all the pain of all the others he left behind, those we both loved. What about Alexandra? Barb? Liv? Dan? A dominating, trailing factor; ego-hidden and selfishly deprioritized. What would Jesus do? Not have a wedding during shiva, although I appreciate all the encouragement and insistence from the also mourning invitees.

Back to Arthur and I having grown apart and then, more recently, back together:

There exists a line separating most relationships. On one side of the line you have people who have a reasonably complete model of you in their head. (See: Theory of Mind.) On the other side of the line are people who have a functional model; they know what they need to know to get the job done, but they don’t know, perhaps have never seen, the whole thing. For ex., a spouse vs a colleague (most of the time).

The line is called intimacy, and relationships on both sides of the line can be valuable, but the intimate ones have more potential in both directions, fat tails; the intimate ones can yield fortunes and bankruptcies. Acquaintances are tepid.

I described it above, how Arthur’s and my relationship moved from the intimate to the distant. I’ll skip further detailing that transition, and just get to the thing that hurts now: we were getting markedly closer, again. I could see the trajectory of our friendship and would bet on our returning to intimacy and confidence.

If the isolation of vocation and growth drives most bourgeois adults apart and into impersonal silos, then eventual mastery and plateau allows room for a focus on humanity, again. And humanity is universal and objective. People can stand on it, together, and get to know each other (again). That’s where I felt Arthur and I were.

I felt like Arthur and I had taken two separate tracks at a fork 15 years ago, and just recently those two roads started to merge back into the same path. We had stories to tell each other, of our time in the wild. It was the basis for a new bond, perhaps stronger than the old one.

Unsolicited phone calls. Talks of marriage, health, wealth. Suggestions of books and podcasts that were actually followed through with, instead of disappearing into the void like most cocktail party prescriptions. We’d follow back. Not rushing each other past awkward silence. Being patiently invested in one another. Showing up. Talking about vulnerable topics, like fears and aspirations for careers, and relationships, and family. And then, right during the peak of this rekindling, this jubilee, he died. And I doubt that I was the only one whose newfound growth and compatibility were cut short. You’re not alone.

So I hurt for the spent love, yes, like that of most grief. But I hurt more for the lost potential. I had so many fresh dreams that included him. It’s disappointing and sad.

To be clear, I’m disappointed in what’s lost, not disappointment in him. I blame him for nothing, even if maybe I should or others do. But any of his mistakes could have easily been mine, and so I sympathize. I’m not angry. Ambition implies risk. Vice is vice is inevitable. Growth means growth from something. Different contexts, need not apply.

Anyway, what else? The thing I linger on now is a weird faith. I have little faith or rather I have difficulty finding faith. I scrutinize faith until it’s demoralized. And yet, the discontinuity introduced by Arthur’s absence gives me faith, illogically but compellingly. I don’t strive for it, it’s simply there, point blank. I can’t explain it, but I can describe it.

Arthur is gone forever, and Arthur is part of my future. Both irrevocably true, yet incompatible. What to do about it? Apparently, not much. My mind absolutely and happily refuses to budge. The feeling that Arthur is part of my future supersedes the knowledge that he’s not. Knowing he’s gone does nothing to my belief that my future includes him. So it continues to. Sue me, I can’t help it.

See you in the funnies, Arthur. (More trivia: I never called him Artie or Art or Archo. He was always Arthur to me.)

Lastly, some good, more recent memories (skipping some that have already been shared):

The last thing I spoke to Arthur about was extensive advice, over the phone, on how to structure a prenup. “Don’t put anything about kids in there, because the courts won’t accept that you understood what you were agreeing to, prior to actually having the kids.” Smart. “Everyone should get one! The courts encourage it! Helps ungunk the works.” Ha. Kelly and I never got a prenup, but the candid advice on such a touchy subject makes me laugh.

Eating a whole pig at a communal table, biergarten style, at Saxon and Parole, in New York. Arthur talking the whole table’s ear off about everything, and then after discussing eating brains, we asked the chef to bring the pig’s over, and he did. Afterwards, walking to our trains, jolly, drunk.

Visiting Arthur in Scotland. Going out to some Uni warehouse party, and me getting lost with some bird. I didn’t have a working European phone, and so when I got home at dawn, seeing him and his big bravado looking like a worried mother goose made me laugh and proud, like a big brother again. Him cooking the two of us mussels and linguine with three whole heads of garlic. Delicious. Steak in Edinburgh, and him showing me the castles like he was himself a duke, personal friends of Hume and Smith.

I wished we went on more walks together.

Us planning on going to Joe Beef, in Montreal, with Alexandra and Kelly.

Him calling me to tell me Anthony Bourdain had died, and subsequently talking about it. “If he can’t make it, who can?” There’s that cynicism again. But it was a candid moment. And we ended that talk, more or less, believing we could make it, even if Bourdain couldn’t.

Discussing whether we were fated to end up like our parents.

Him shooting the .38 up in Gilboa.

Legos, spanky, ice box bedroom, V8-turbo toilet, the pool, the trampoline, the screen porch and its green furniture, endless chicken rolls followed by cold pizza, karate in the basement (no shoes on the mats), rolling on the carpet (i.e. roll mosh), forts, the Barbie game on the gateway computer in Izzy’s room, Snood, army men in the mud ripping up sod by the square foot unit, jealousy listening to Timberlake camp stories, the suburban with 100 blankets in the third row and Don McLean on the radio, toxic farts, the Pokemon store, the Pokemon cards I’d steal from him after going to the Pokemon store, a million cups of Lipton at Barb’s table, Rage Against the Machine in Dan’s car, lanyards, fishing in the Hewlett Bay, Harry Potter, him never sleeping over my house and getting rides home at 2am after attempting to (me pissed), hiding in that lone pine tree in the front yard, making window art out glitter glue, salamanders, watching him attempt to ride a bike in the driveway.

A menial history, but ours. Anyway…

Arthur, you were great. It’s not for me to say that you’re now resting in peace, because I think you were pretty zen while you were alive, in your own pastel-colored kimono kind of way. So instead, I hope you’re as satisfied there as you were interested here. I’ll see you soon, and until then, I’ll try and hold the line for you. Love ya’.

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emest3697tur · 4 years ago

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Potato Peeler

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deliciouschickenjuice · 5 years ago

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The Challenging Depths Of Man

I am, you may say, a "fish pervert".

As a scuba diver I am not unique in this regard. In fact, it is a poorly-kept secret that the vast majority of scuba divers are fish perverts. I mean, what other possible reason could we have for risking the kinds of death most men only dream of in the kind of steaming nightmares that come when the nights are humid and inescapable? What do you think we occupy our minds with in the diving bell eternities while we keep the bends at arm's length if not the undulating, shivering forms of fins and flippers?

No, we are humble fish fanciers and we do not care for, nor about, your judgement. You should not be surprised that we shirk society's expectations when we look death in its suboceanic rod-rich retinas every day of our damned lives. Within the first week of training a fellow diver, a fine boy from my own hometown by the name of Felix Trunkopolis, was crushed by a dropped anchor which had been customised to look like a gigantic pair of buttocks in tight-fitting lycra. Such tragedies are commonplace. His diving partner, Chudwick, having not warned him of the obvious danger (distracted as he was by a particularly alluring Pterois Lunulata), inherited the entirety of Felix's considerable debt and the burden of the nine monstrous Trunkopolis children. Chudwick accepted this burden magnanimously. Any of us would have accepted it likewise, because Diving Law states that it must be so.

We all know of the danger, and of the cost of inattention. Diver Law exists to keep us together, and to keep us alive, and is simple: if your diving partner perishes, you inherit their life's responsibilities. It is simple, clear, and extremely legally binding.

It is thus that we divers are bonded as brother and sister. Bonded in responsibility, in fraternity, and in fish pervertery. It is thus that we remain strong.

I, Phil Glanschirp, am a scuba diver. Or at least I was before James Cameron ruined my life.

Depending on who you ask in the diving community, James Cameron was either a missed opportunity, a charlatan, or an aberration. He was a missed opportunity because, despite his interest in oceanography and the power that he wields culturally, he did not include a single shot in Titanic of caviar being massaged out of a beluga sturgeonfish's asshole. He was a charlatan because, like so many other rich men with expensive hobbies, he expected to swoop in and solve all of our problems despite an almost total lack of experience. He was an aberration because he did not once express a desire to fuck a fish.

There are technical and logistical factors underpinning the incident, of course, but it is my sincere belief that James Cameron was turned into compressed bonechum at the bottom of the ocean that day because he did not develop the deep bonds shared by the diving community. The rest of us have spent person-years together drinking in semi-abandoned dive bars (pun unavoidable) where the marine air rusts the emptying beer kegs hungrily. We have been bored, together, alone, in steel bedrooms with a view of the infinite waterline, passing well-thumbed copies of Fishy Rendezvous Monthly amongst ourselves samizdatically despite the fact such material is not just allowed but encouraged. As we pull our hands to our chest ready to slip backwards from the deck into Andaman, deep green waters, we hold Diver Law to our hearts, each of us an oath-bound Hippocrates.

I must admit that, on a cosmological level, much of the blame for the misfortune I now find myself in must fall upon my own shoulders. My excellence in the field led me to deeper and more dangerous dives, which usually means being led deeper into the cold and lightless parts of the ocean. Those who dive past a certain depth -- the depth at which life loses its form and changes to vague, sexless creatures like urchins or sea cucumbers, also known as the "Pillusker Attraction Depth", i.e. the depth at which 1940s diver Proust Pillusker stopped feeling horny -- are viewed with utter suspicion.

Yet I allowed myself to lured by the usual siren songs of fame, money, and recognition when I joined the team of the Deepsea Challenger 2. Although the Deepsea Challenger mission had already reached the bottom of the Mariana Trench, James wanted to do another go-around as an excuse to delay his fifth divorce. And I was to be his wingman, travelling in a second ship to look out for any art deco bullshit that may have once belonged on the Titanic. He beckoned, and I came, and we dove toward the centre of the Earth.

And so it was that, on 7:42pm on the 21st of March, 2020, my submersible's video feed showed a crack appear along the glass of James' submersible all at once, as if smited. In that moment I knew there was nothing that could be done. Not even a second later the submersible was crushed, altered to an impossible miniature form as if it were a can of tomatoes under the heel of an industrial press, a jet of James sent firing out of a breach and into the water like a silly string of vicsera.

In that moment I knew there was nothing that could be done.

By Diver Law, I was bonded to James Cameron's earthly responsibilities.

I would have to write and direct the next four Avatar sequels.

III

I should be fine with being out of my depth. Christ. And yet I find myself floundering (stop -- you don't have time to be horny), this responsibility tied to me like lead weights around my ankles. I'm not any kind of director, let alone one who should be responsible for a multi-billion-dollar franchise. The lawyers have found no way around it and no way out. There must be four Avatar sequels, the money must be spent, and I must be the one to make it happen. But I cannot possibly do the thing that is asked of me. I cannot do what I need to do.

Am I not a creative being? Do I not ache and burst with the same pain and failure and urges as Melville, or Hemingway, or del Toro? I am large, I contain multitudes! Creation should not be rationed to only those qualified! Have I not something to say about this most human condition? The more I think of this burden of mine, the more it swells from itch to pleasure. I feel like my pipes will burst if I do not turn this tap, and fill to the brim these Avatars with myself!

I must do what I need to do. I will prove I am not just the man who had to make Avatar 2, 3, and 4 because I am legally bound to, and along the way if some of myself makes its way into the movies, would that be so bad? It is time for me to show the world who Phil Glanschirp really is.

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onetwothreeopalau · 5 years ago

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Gem Glow (part one)

It was nearing late afternoon, and Steven was sitting in the back of his dad’s van, a cookie cat in his hand and his legs swinging. “The sky is so blue today,” he said looking up at the cloudless sky, “And it’s a really nice day. Can we have a picnic for dinner?”

“That does sound like a great idea, but it might just have to be sandwiches and maybe a donut for dessert,” Greg said, ruffling Steven’s curly hair and trying to mentally make an inventory of the food in his van. He didn’t have very much at the moment, his cupboards were practically bare except for that old can of tomato soup he’d been saving for dinner. He’d been meaning to go to the grocery store today, but when Steven asked if they could hang out he couldn’t say no to his son.

“What about fry bits from the fry shack?”

Greg put his hand on his chin, pretending to have to think deeply about it “I think we can swing that.”

“And…” Steven grinned, looking excited, “We should invite the Gems!”

Greg’s smile faded slightly. “I dunno, Steven, they might be too busy to come to our humble little picnic.”

“They’d love to come, I’m sure,” Steven insisted, “I’ll run and ask them. Stay right here!” He jumped down and ran off to the house leaving Greg bemused.

He opened the door, and was about to call out to the gems, but Garnet was already standing there as if she was expecting him. Garnet was tall and strong looking, with mysterious looking glasses and bouncy looking hair. She reminded Steven of one of his action figures sometimes and she was just as cool as one.

“Do you guys wanna come to a picnic me and dad are having?�� Steven asked, “It’s gonna be on the beach!”

“I will, but Opal won’t.”

“Opal won’t, what?” asked the second gem, appearing suddenly from the temple and looking uncertain. “Did I forget something?” Opal was even taller than Garnet and a pale purple colour. Her hair was also bouncy, but it was pulled back in a ponytail that swayed when she moved. She stood on the tips of her toes, even when she was relaxed and she had four arms.

“No Opal you’re fine, don’t worry.” Steven reassured her, “Garnet just said you wouldn’t want to come for a picnic with me, her and Dad.”

“I can speak for myself.” said Opal. She tried to say it lightly but there was a slight bite to her words that Steven tried not to notice. “But, yes. I don’t want to.” She patted Steven on the head. Her hand was bigger than his entire face. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right.” Steven felt slightly disappointed, but sadly not too surprised. “I’ll go tell dad that you're coming Garnet! He’s gonna be thrilled!”

He ran back to the van to tell Greg the good news. “Garnet is coming but Opal isn’t, on the grounds of the fact that she doesn’t want to.”

Greg smiled awkwardly. “That sounds like Opal,” he said, and then scratched his head, “I mean, I think it does. We haven’t really talked much lately,” he scratched his head again. “Or ever, really I guess.” He fell silent, not really knowing what to say.

Steven jumped into the van, and began to look for the picnic blanket, eventually finding it packed under Greg’s extensive CD collection. He began to shake the blanket free of any sand, oblivious to Greg’s cries of ‘Not in the van!’ He gave his dad a sheepish look but Greg, after rubbing his temples just smiled. “Don’t worry Schtu-ball,the van was looking a little too clean anyway.”

Steven looked apologetic anyway and jumped out the van to finish the job. “Oops sorry.. Can we go get the bits now?” Greg had already made sandwiches for the two (maybe three, you never knew with Garnet,) to share so he carried those whilst Steven carried the picnic blanket, looking comically large in his small arms.

By the time they got to the boardwalk, the sun was already starting to set, although the air was still warm. They managed to get to the Fry shack before it shut, and Steven ordered his bits from a despairing looking Mr Fryman (Steven has lost count of the times Mr Fryman had begged him to ‘please for the love of all is holy order fries!’) Greg got himself a portion of fries and felt almost bad at the relief in Mr Fryman’s eyes. He considered getting some for Garnet too, but he didn’t even know if she liked fries, so in the end he didn’t.

After that, they stopped off at The Big Donut, and this time they did get something for Garnet. Steven picked the raspberry and blueberry one for her. For himself, he picked the strawberry and vanilla combination that tasted a bit like cookie cats. Greg picked plain strawberry for himself, and he paid Sadie, one of the workers.

Steven waved goodbye to both her and the other teen, Lars but whilst Sadie waved back, Lars just crossed his arms and half-heartedly glared. Greg was almost reminded of someone, although HER glares were never half-hearted.

The three of them sat on the blanket and just watched the waves in silence. Greg had been a little nervous but he needn’t have worried. Garnet was almost always pleasant to be around. Steven had finished his fry bits and sandwich, placing the bits inside the bread: claiming it tasted better that way, and he just had his donut to go. He lay his head in Garnet’s lap and she stroked his hair softly.

He picked his donut up and took a bite, closing his eyes in pure happiness. It felt like a perfect moment. He had almost all his family with him, and he was eating a delicious donut. What could be better?

“Greg! Go and get Opal.” He was jolted out of his relaxed state by Garnet’s loud command. He looked around the beach in confusion before finally looking down and seeing the pink gem in his belly glowing.

“What do I do?”

“Stay calm Steven. Greg’s gone to get Opal so she’ll be here too in a moment. Don’t force anything. It’s going to be fine. You’re going to be fine.” Garnet kept her voice calm and comforting. If Steven freaked out then even she couldn’t say when this would happen again.

Meanwhile, Greg was tearing up the beach, breathing heavily and cursing how unfit he was. He got to the house and quickly prayed that Opal was in the main home area, and not somewhere in the temple. He opened the door and luckily Opal was sitting on the couch, staring at the blank screen of the television like she was watching something engrossing.

“Opal!” He panted, hoping that she couldn’t tell how out of breath he was, but knowing that she could. “Come down to the beach, there’s a situation with Steven’s gem.”

Quicker than he could perceive, Opal was on her feet. She picked him up easily in one hand and hoisted him over her shoulder like you would a small child. Greg spluttered in discontent but she was already sprinting down to where he, Garnet and Steven had been sat.

Once they were there, she dropped Greg on the ground and grabbed a now non-glowing Steven tenderly, who started babbling to her excitedly.

“My gem lit up and started glowing, and then Garnet told dad to get you and we waited to see if anything would happen, but then it stopped glowing! What does it all mean?”

Although two of her arms still cradled Steven, another two went up to her mouth, in shock, though her eyes were excited and gleaming. Next to her, Garnet stood also looking proud. Greg began to feel slightly uncomfortable, like an imposter, but he stayed anyway. Steven needed to know his human half just as much as his gem half he reasoned. He had every right to be there.

“Do you think next time it glows, I’ll be able to summon a weapon?” Steven continued excitedly, clearly oblivious to the mixed feelings Greg had.

“Well,” said Garnet, regaining calmness, “It’s late tonight, but tomorrow, Opal and I will show you how we summon our weapons and see if you can find out how you’ll personally do it.”

“Okay,” said Steven, trying to calm down. He wanted to do something now, or ask more questions, but he also wanted to spend time with his family. “Opal, do you want to stay and join the picnic?”

Opal looked at Greg, clear annoyance in her eyes, but then she looked at Steven and they softened and she sat down with Steven still on her lap.

For a moment it looked like it would go back to the calm of before but then Opal stood up suddenly, looking panicked. “I’ve left the stove on!” She said flustered, running half way up the beach before turning back. “False alarm!” She corrected a little too brightly, her cheeks turning dark purple, “That was five years ago.”

———————————————————————————————————-

Steven wriggled excitedly. Opal had volunteered to show him her method first and true to their words, she had taken him up to her tree first thing. Steven had been so excited last night, he could barely sleep and he tried to subtly yawn before refocusing his full attention back on Opal.

“When a petal falls,” she began, standing in front of the tree and looking at it. “It goes with the flow, and the wind. You can’t force it to fall, but you can’t stop it either. Imagine you are the tree and your gem is the peta- wait that doesn’t sound right...” She looked at Steven confused, but he just shrugged at her.

“Well,” she began again, “maybe you are the petal and you have to create your own dance.” she stopped again, thought about it and smiled. “Yes that sounds right.”

Two of her hands reached for her gems and she fluidly pulled out a whip and a spear before effortly combining them. In a flash, she had her bow, at least 2.5 Steven’s tall and majestic, beautiful patterns on the back of it, and a strong but flexible string.

She shot an arrow and she and Steven watched as it sailed through the air. She winced as it hit metal in the distance, but as there was no screaming afterwards, she assumed it didn’t hit anything important.

Steven picked up a bunch of petals and threw them in the air and tried to imagine he was one as he begged his gem to activate. Nothing happened. He tried not to look as dejected as he felt, but from Opal’s sympathetic smile he was clearly not too convincing.

They made their way back home, to see Garnet waiting for him. “My turn now.” she said and Steven smiled. Maybe this lesson from Garnet would be the key to mastering the use of his weapon!

It was not the key. Garnet did not help at all, and instead his confusion only grew.

“Our answers,” said Garnet once they were back home and he was sitting on the couch, squished between Garnet and Opal. “Are not your answers. A gem’s weapon is personal to each and every gem, and so it makes sense that the methods used are also personal.”

“And,” Opal added, trying to be cheery, “Even if you can’t find your weapon and your gem is useless we’ll love you anyway.” She quickly realised that this wasn’t the right thing to say and shut herself up.

Steven stood up so he could flop back onto the couch. It felt like a flopping moment.

“Opal is right,” said Garnet. “Not about your gem being useless, because it’s not, and you are not useless. But about the fact we’ll always love you.”

Steven smiled and relaxed for a minute before his stomach let out a growl. For a second his heart leapt, thinking it was his gem, but he was just hungry. Really hungry.

“I’m going to The Big Donut to grab breakfast,” he announced, “Do you guys want anything?”

“I’ll take another one of those blueberry and raspberry ones I had last night. It was good.” said Garnet. He turned to Opal but she just shook her head.

Outside The Big Donut was a dumpster. with a suspiciously familiar arrow sticking out of it. Steven gulped but luckily no one but he had noticed yet, so he quickly yanked it out, and at a loss of what to do, threw it in the edge. The dumpster now had a hole in it, but that couldn’t be fixed so Steven just walked inside. No one would notice.. right?

As per usual, Lars and Sadie were standing at the counter and Steven said good morning to them before studying the selection intensely, trying to decide what his best breakfast option would be.

“I will take one of your best strawberry and vanilla combos,” he decided, “Oh! And also a blueberry and raspberry one please.”

He handed Sadie the money and waved goodbye. Lars didn’t wave back, but he didn’t look too annoyed this time, so Steven knew Lars loved him really.

He skipped back home with the bags in his hands and found Opal and Garnet talking in the kitchen. He walked up to them, and they instantly stopped. Steven would have been suspicious, but he felt too hungry. He crammed almost half of his donut in his mouth but paused for a second to take in the donutty bliss.

He felt his stomach warming up and he looked in shock to see his gem glowing yet again, Opal started clapping her hands together excitedly and this time he tried even harder to bring his weapon out.

Suddenly there was a feeling he could only describe as a release and out of nowhere he was holding a large pink shield. He looked at it, shocked and awed, and when he turned to the gems for reassurance, he saw his own emotions plastered across his face.

“It’s Rose’s shield,” said Opal in a hushed tone. She tried to be discrete but he watched as a tear fell out of her eye and rolled down her cheek. Overwhelmed, Steven let go of his shield and the gems all watched as it bounced around the room, hitting into things and knocking them over, before finally smashing into the tv and imbedding itself in the cracked screen before disappearing in a flash of light.

“Oops, my bad, sorry!”

—————————————————————————

So I’ve split the first episode into two parts, because it was getting a little long. Updates should be every 4 days, but it may be changed to every 3 or 5 depending on how long it takes me to write Season Two (I want to be about one season ahead if possible)

It currently comes to about 23 chapters, but I may add up ending more. My main tumblr is Nonbinarypearl and there I post (mainly SU) memes and complain about insignificant things in my life. This is also cross posted onto ao3 and fanfiction.net

My main challenge writing this was trying to keep it having somewhat of a SU feel whilst making it clear that it is my own thing and it’s the longest thing I’ve ever written by far, so I hope y’all enjoy.

#opal au #opal #alternative universe #steven universe #fanfiction #steven universe au

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bentonpena · 5 years ago

Text

Tofu Freaking Rules

Tofu Freaking Rules https://bit.ly/350TvUV

We need to talk about tofu. As Beyond Meat and Impossible Burger mania sweeps the globe, the OG vegan protein is getting left behind—and I, for one, hate to see it. If you’re serious about reducing your reliance on animal products, tofu has the potential to change your diet—and life—for the better.

To some extent, I get why so many people, particularly American meat-eaters, are resistant to the entire concept of tofu. Western culture has ruthlessly (and racist-ly) slandered the humble soy-based protein for as long as we’ve known about it, so a lot of us were basically programmed from birth to think it’s garbage.

I’m begging you to reconsider. When correctly prepared, tofu is a textural marvel, running the gamut from delicate and custardy to deep-fried and crunchy. Its unmatched flavor-absorbing powers make it a total chameleon; it truly can be anything you want it to be. I’ve loved tofu my whole meat-eating life, and I’m here to convert the naysayers. Welcome to my Tofu Manifesto.

You’re probably thinking about tofu all wrong

The biggest, wrongest tofu misconception is that it’s strictly a meat substitute. Sure, it can be that if it needs to—but tofu’s closest animal protein analog is actually the egg. On their own, eggs are bland; it’s their ability to morph into a staggering array of forms and textures that makes them so special. However you like your eggs—fried crisp with lacy edges, scrambled soft with lots of butter, or cooked into a puffy, tender frittata—I’m willing to bet your preferences come down to texture rather than flavor.

The same is true for tofu, which is why I’m skeptical when people insist they don’t like how it tastes. Soft and silken tofu has a more noticeable soy milk vibe than the firm stuff, but for the most part, it adds no flavor whatsoever to a dish. Tofu only tastes as good as the sauce it’s served in—texture is basically the whole point.

It’s embarrassingly easy to make tofu taste amazing

Contrary to popular assumption, delicious tofu takes barely any work at all. In fact, all the usual hacks try way too hard: Pressing takes forever (and freezing even longer); marinating often yields profoundly mediocre results; a cornstarch dredge too easily sogs out. None of these techniques work particularly well on medium-to-soft tofu, and with the exception of marinating, they also offer absolutely nothing in the way of seasoning.

For all of these reasons and more, the salt water trick is the only tofu hack worth knowing. Hot, salty water is a tofu prep triple threat: It dehydrates firm tofu so it crisps up quickly, sets super-fragile soft tofu so it doesn’t fall apart, and seasons everything through and through. It also adds as much work to your dinner prep as boiling pasta. I’ll get into the specific techniques in a bit; for now, just know that the salt water hack promoted tofu from something I’d buy occasionally to a legit, can’t-live-without-it staple.

If you remain unmoved, I’ve collected my favorite tofu products and preparations in one place, starting with the most hater-friendly ones. This isn’t a recipe post—it’s all about the technique. (Where applicable, I’ll link to specific recipes that I used and explain how I adjusted them to work with tofu, with the hope that you’ll soon be doing the same.)

Even hardline skeptics love fried tofu puffs

Tofu puffs are cheap, delicious, deep-fried flavor sponges that need zero prep; in other words, they’re easy to love. You can toss them whole into curries and stews for a fun textural element, but I strongly recommend taking 30 seconds to slice them in half. With their honeycomb-like interiors exposed, these puffy little nuggets soak up sauce like nobody’s business—without compromising their crispiness.

To show them off, I made my favorite Maangchi recipe—cheese buldak, or fire chicken with cheese—with halved tofu puffs instead of chicken breast.

Those two ingredients are obviously nothing alike, but the swap totally works thanks to the insanely powerful sauce. Red-hot both in color and spice level, surprisingly sweet, and with enough fresh ginger and garlic to put hair on your chest, it more than picks up the slack for something as bland as chicken breast or unseasoned tofu. Having made this dish with chicken dozens of times, I have to say—I prefer the puffs. Even when saturated with sauce, they stay light and puffy, which is the perfect contrast to the ultra-chewy texture of sliced rice cakes and melted mozzarella.

Pressed tofu does (most of) the prep work for you

As the name implies, pressed tofu has already been pressed to remove most of its moisture, resulting in a pleasantly toothsome texture. You can buy it pre-seasoned with soy sauce and five spice powder, but I like it plain so I can season it however I like.

Here, I whipped up a vaguely Spam-inspired mixture of roughly 2 tablespoons each of soy sauce and sugar, plus a teaspoon of garlic powder and a few shakes of smoky hot sauce (El Yucateco Black Label Reserve for life). I added some cubed pressed tofu and let everyone hang out about 20 minutes, flipping them around halfway through. You don’t need much marinade; a shallow layer is plenty.

I then used it to bulk up a super basic batch of fried rice with ginger, garlic, carrots, and frozen peas. The cubes got nicely crispy and charred on the edges, and were just what I needed to add some substance to a huge bowl of fried carbs.

Unseasoned pressed tofu also makes great vegan “paneer:” Cube it up and marinate in lemon juice with a few pinches of salt for 30 minutes, or longer if you have the time. As with regular paneer, you can pan-fry the tofu or leave it alone; either way, you’ll be surprised at how closely the marinated tofu mimics the texture and flavor of the real thing.

Medium-to-firm tofu needs a little TLC

This range of the tofu spectrum is the most recognizable and the least immediately appealing. I mean, just look at this:

In my experience, the variations between medium, firm, and extra-firm tofu are pretty meaningless, and I use them all interchangeably. Left uncooked, they all have a texture best described as “rubbery,” with no discernible flavor at all. Their highest calling is getting crispy in a hot skillet and doused in a flavorful sauce.

All you need to make crunchy pan-fried tofu is salt water, a good nonstick pan, and all of 20-30 minutes. That’s it. Here’s my usual procedure for a standard 1-pound block.

Before I do any other ingredient prep, I bring 2-3 cups of salted water and 2 teaspoons of table salt to a strong boil in a saucepan. Then I cut the heat, slide in my tofu, and let it sit while I prepare the rest of the recipe. After 15-20 minutes, I drain off the water and either pat the tofu dry on clean towels or leave it in the colander until I need it.

To get that crispy surface going, I coat my big cast-iron skillet with a thin layer of neutral oil and heat it over medium-high. I then add the tofu, spread it into an even layer, and leave it completely alone for at least 5 minutes.

Once the edges start to brown, I flip it over and do the same on the other side.

Boom. Done. Obviously, I used crumbled tofu here—it’s my favorite—but this works just as well with cubes, slabs, triangles, or any other shape you can dream up.

Don’t sleep on crumbled tofu

I know I said that tofu isn’t a meat substitute, but crispy tofu crumbles get really fucking close. In many cases, I prefer them to meat because they hold their shape—and a surprising amount of crunch—even when simmered for a long time. Sure, they don’t give you the specific richness you get with ground pork or beef, but with the right recipe you won’t miss it at all.

Speaking of the right recipe, Bon Appétit Test Kitchen director Chris Morocco’s spicy sweet sambal pork noodles are flawless—but, despite the name, I’ve actually never made them with meat. I only had tofu the first time I made them, and they turned out so well that I’m fine with never learning how they taste with pork.

I make the recipe exactly as written, except—obviously—I leave the pork out. Instead, I fry up soaked, crumbled firm tofu in a separate skillet while the sauce simmers, then dump ‘em in and toss everything together with cooked noodles. This cuts at least 30 minutes off the cook time without compromising on anything except porkiness, which I promise won’t even register.

You can also use tofu crumbles like ground beef. I usually throw in some minced onion and garlic in once the tofu is nice and crispy, then cook it down with a little tomato paste, taco seasoning, and cheap beer if I’ve got it.

It’s not beefy, exactly, but it tastes incredible in its own right—and makes a killer vegan-friendly crunchwrap filling.

You can roast tofu, too

Maybe you’d rather not spray your stovetop with oil in the name of crispy tofu. In that case, roasted tofu is for you. The results are directly comparable to pan-frying—they just take a little longer to get there.

Start with soaked, drained tofu, preferably cut into triangles or flat slabs so they’re easy to flip. Arrange on a clean towel and let them dry out while your oven preheats to 450ºF.

If you like, cut a vegetable of your choice into similarly-sized pieces and toss them with a tablespoon or two of neutral oil; I’m using kabocha squash here.

Place a sheet pan on the lowest oven rack. After about 3 minutes, add 2-3 tablespoons of neutral oil to the pan, put it back in the oven, and heat for another minute or two. Carefully transfer the tofu and vegetables to the hot oiled pan, return to the bottom rack, and roast for at least 20 minutes. Flip everything over and roast for another 15-20 minutes, until the tofu is super crispy on both sides and the vegetables are browned and soft.

You can eat the whole shebang straight off the pan—perhaps drizzled with spicy peanut sauce or chili oil—but I added mine to a quick curry made with Maesri panang curry paste, palm sugar, and coconut milk. (Maesri is the only brand I’ve found that doesn’t use shrimp paste or fish sauce; if you usually avoid prepared curry paste for allergy or vegan reasons, give it a try.)

To be completely honest, the kabocha was a miss—the flesh was too dry, and the skin was super tough. The crispy roasted tofu, however, slapped. They can’t all be bangers; such is the nature of experimentation.

When you feel ready, silken tofu is there for you

The next stop on our tour de tofu is the most controversial, misunderstood one yet: Soft or silken tofu. Yes, it’s bland. Unseasoned coagulated soy milk isn’t going to blow your mind with super-concentrated umami or whatever. But when prepared correctly, soft tofu is more than just delicious—it’s absolutely sublime. I will go to bat for it all day long, and I would love to tell you why.

The dish that changed my mind about silken tofu came from Biwa, a now-closed izakaya-style bar in Portland. It was deceptively simple: A whole block of chilled silken tofu drizzled with sweet soy sauce and topped with bias-cut scallions, fistfuls of toasted sesame seeds, and paper-thin bonito shavings. I ordered it every time, and my friends would always be like—“Cold tofu? Why?” But if I could convince them to take a bite, they’d understand. It was like eating a deeply savory panna cotta.

Unfortunately, my dearly departed Tofu Slab is no more—and my attempts to recreate it have been so unsuccessful that I’m forced to settle for the next best thing: Salt water-soaked silken tofu mounded on hot white rice and drowned in chili oil, soy sauce, and black vinegar.

I’m not complaining. The salt water, once again, is key: It turns a cold, slimy block of tofu into a piping-hot savory custard, which is the perfect canvas for condiments. Sure, there’s not much in the way of textural contrast, but the softness is so comforting and nice that I think a crunchy element would actually defeat the purpose. It’s a delicious, balanced, reasonably nutritious meal you can throw together in the time it takes to cook a pot of rice.

Putting it all together: All-tofu mapo tofu

Neglecting to mention mapo tofu in an article about tofu is basically journalistic malpractice. The iconic Sichuanese tofu dish is rich, meaty, spicy, funky, sour, and savory all at once—and slicked with lip-numbing Sichuan peppercorn oil for good measure. It’s a top 3 dish for me; I make it all the time, usually using Maggie Zhu’s recipe from the Omnivore’s Cookbook.

Being a big vegetable fan, I’ve experimented with using minced veg—eggplant, mushrooms, and even carrots—in place of the traditional ground meat. But this time, I decided to follow my vision and make a variant I’m calling “Oops! All Tofu.” I approached this recipe just like the sambal noodles, swapping crispy tofu crumbles in for the ground pork—but this time, I also soaked some cubed soft tofu in a fresh pot of salt water while the sauce simmered away.

This was one of the most delicious things I’ve ever made. The nubbins of soft tofu were literally melt-in-your-mouth tender, while the crispy crumbles turned downright meaty as they soaked up the spicy, salty, rich sauce. It made me even more certain of all of the (correct) tofu opinions I just laid out before you and, if you’ll let it, it has the power to convert you too.

Internet via Lifehacker https://bit.ly/2VwWgKq April 24, 2020 at 12:01PM

#IFTTT #Feedly

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facepalming-since-chernobyl · 5 years ago

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I wish you would write a fic where sOMETHING BEAUTIFUL HAPPENS TO KARA AND MON, LITERALLY EVERYTHING, I JUST WANT HAPPINESS!

TICKLISH

In which, on a Sunday morning Kara wakes up and muses about tickling, cold feet, green tea and someone’s glorious backside.

Edited by my one and only @yeratimelordkatniss

Avaiable on AO3—-> (x)

***

Waking up to a smell of coffee, made by her unexpected-but-welcome-as-hell-hot-boyfriend, was her favorite way of waking up on Sundays.

You could have asked, why was it not waking up to the smell of pancakes or bacon, but Kara had an answer to that: the smell of pancakes and bacon meant the breakfast was already prepared.

And Kara was a simple girl and she loved watching her boyfriend making food. Yep, totally only that.

J’onn, if he had been able to read Krypotrnian’s minds, would have coughed awkwardly and said something about her little obsession about watching someone’s backside.

Uhm, where was she…?

Kara loved watching the WHOLE Mon-El, wearing his yellow “Kiss the cook” apron she’d bought for him some time ago.

The way he was giving his full attention to the ingredients that were always organized on saucers and containers like a little army, ready to be thrown into a pot. Focusing with furrowed brows on the vegetables, cutting identical slices and dices, like he’s been using a ruler. His natural, gracious moves around the kitchen, when, without even looking, grabbed cookware, seasoning or coconut oil. His quiet, happy hummings of Daxamite songs, if the dishes he was preparing looked perfectly, like on pics from food and cooking blogs. The way he exposed his back and swayed his hips while stirring in the pot - she was almost sure he was smirking while doing it, totally aware that she was drooling on the table.

(Did you hear that? That was J’onn coughing in the distance).

Mon-El from Daxam absolutely owned her kitchen in his calm, not invasive and relaxed way, like he was born to become a chef and she was incredibly grateful for that.

Sometimes, she wondered what kind of a man he would have become, if he had been born on a different planet, in a different family.

But did it really matter?

No, this Mon-El was the man for her, the one that Rao has sent to Kara Zor El, like a Space Sleeping Beauty (and hey!, she had a cape and she could totally fit the Prince Charming’s shoes!). Kara wanted him, no one else. Her intimidating, happy go lucky, funny, incredibly skilled in a kitchen and in a bed boyfriend…

Uhm, where was she…?

Lying on her side, Kara slowly opened her eyes.

He was sitting beside her, resting his (glorious) back on the wall, with Lord of The Rings on his lap and a mug in his hand (with a cute labrador puppy printed on it - another gift from her, did she mention that she loved buying him stuff? No?) filled with (Kara sniffed the air) green tea.

Yuck.

Kara grimaced, remembering that one dreadful morning, when he showed his mug into her sleepy hand and cheerfully informed her it was something much, much better than coffee.

Without thinking she took a sip, expecting hot chocolate. When the horrible, bitter green poison hit her taste buds she spat it right back into his mug.

That was the first time in their short but very active relationship, when Mon-El was not amused by her actions. Not. At. All.

But well, for sure it woken her up better than coffee…

The second time when he became fully offended, was during their first cooking-dates. Right after she threw a tomato at him.

The red vegetable splashed on his shirt (oops, the super strength). Mon-El blinked, looked at the stain, slowly raised his head and pierced her with a very disappointed and offended gaze. And then he explained with a cold voice that she wasted a perfectly ripped certified organic tomato from the best plantation in California. And explained in detail how wasting food and natural resources was bad for the environment and as a Krypotnian - she should have known that.

Kara felt like being lectured by a biology professor from her high school. In the end she humbly promised she was not going to waste more food in the future. And she really meant it.

Too bad they BOTH wasted some food during another date when-

Uhm, where was she…?

“How’re the hobbits?” she rubbed her eyes and yawned loudly.

“When I think about it, they remind me of you.” He said seriously.

Kara stopped yawning in the middle and looked at him with furrowed brows.

“You mean I have hairy, smelly big feet and I’m a glutton?” She felt her brows slowly rising and almost meeting her hairline.

“What?” he blinked and looked at her confusedly. “No! Like them, you appreciate good meal! Your feet are perfect! And-” he started frantically praising her body parts and Kara just had to smile.

She leaned into Mon-El and kissed him slowly and sweetly.

The tea in his mug swayed dangerously.

“Oops, we don’t want to kill the mood and waste the tea, hmm?” she mumbled, took the mug from his hand and placed it on a bedside table.

“Mhmmm?” he asked totally dazed, chasing her lips.

With a Kryptonian satisfaction she proudly noticed a small hill that appeared near the area of his covered with blanket hips.

Ha! She, Kara Zor El the prudish Kryptonian, did this!

“Mhmmm?” again, Mon-El mumbled very intelligently.

“Remember the pizza?” she said and smirked when his eyes widened.

Yep. The pizza.

The other time when they decided to combine a date with preparing homemade food. The problem was, that they were both a little more interested in each other than in the most famous Italian dish. Somehow, they managed to put it into the oven and then, rather quickly, they moved to the bedroom.

And when Kara was so, SO close to uhm, you know exactly to what, suddenly Mon-El lifted his head from between her legs, sniffed the air, his eyes widening like saucers as he squeeked, “PIZZA!” and ran to the kitchen with superspeed, almost tripping on his pants that were lying tangled on the floor.

Leaving behind a sweaty Kara, with slightly raised hips and her mouth wide open.

Did she feel offended? As hell! But then he started panicking rather loudly in the kitchen:

“Oh, my fucking Rao! Kara, cheese almost got burnt and it’s crispy! And nooooooo, tomatoes! My precious Californian tomatoes! GRIFE!”

Kara had started laughing so hard that she finally fell from the bed.

Uhm, where was she…?

“But we are not preparing food?” he said lowly, with that special Mon-Elish glint in his gray eyes that promised her something amazing.

Her stomach has had some different plans, tho.

They both blinked when it grumbled rather loudly.

“Are you sure you don’t have a lion there?” Mon-El asked seriously, looking at her stomach, hidden under one of his t-shirts she loved to wear to sleep.

“Yes, and it’s hungry for pancakes,” she said sweetly. “You better feed it or…”

“Or what?”

“Or it will make you sleep on the couch?”

“Sometimes, I think you keep me here only because I cook for you,” he pouted.

“And for sex. Let’s not forget about sex,” she smiled but froze when a shadow clouded over his gaze for a second.

Like he really believed what she’d said.

They really needed to talk about his self-esteem super soon, because on moments like this one, she was almost sure he thought he was not good enough for her.

What was absolutely ridiculous.

But before she could have apologized, he sneaked his hands under Kara’s shirt (well, technically his) and it was her time to squeak.

Kryptonians on Earth were immune to punches, kicks, bullets, hell!, even to rockets. But for some reason they were not immune to Daxamites’ hands tickling them mercilessly.

The first time, when Mon-El had done it, she almost died from laughter. How many years she has spent on Earth, not really feeling the touches humans were giving her?

And then, the former Prince(ss) of Daxam who fell from the sky, gave her something no one else could - an overwhelming feeling of normality.

Too bad Daxamites were immune to Kryptonian tickling. But well, cold Kryptonian feet, sneaked under the covers and laid flat on naked Daxamites’ chests (or asses) worked almost as good as tickling. Few of Kara’s neighbours, woken in the middle of the night by an extraordinary Daxamite scream, could confirm that.

They were lying on the bed, limbs tangled, Mon-El on top of Kara, who was panting and giggling almost hystercially.

And then her stomach grumbled again.

Mon-El sighed heavily and hid his face in the crook of her neck.

“Pancakes?” he moaned with a defeated voice.

“Yes, please,” Kara hiccuped and laughed again.

“Want to join me?”

“In a minute,” she kissed the tip of his nose and watched him leave.

Then she chuckled and spread her limbs on the bed, feeling incredibly happy and fulfilled.

Caresing softly a still warm side of his bed, she decided that she didn’t want to wake up in an empty bed ever again.

And then she smiled broadly when she heard him humming hakuna matata, while cracking eggs and mixing them with flour and milk.

Kara slowly got up and went to the kitchen with a strong resolution to allow him to make the pancakes.

While looking at his glorious ass, of course.

THE END

First of all, feel free to kill me. BUT, I’m dealing with fuckingly massive writer’s block and this one shot, submitted to me by an anon on tumblr, may be a light in the end of the tunnel (let’s hope it’s not a fucking train). I’m in the middle(ish) of writing the third part of The Jolly Disaster (the second is going to appear in few minutes) and then I will finish Accidentally in Love. Cross your salty fingers, guys.

Also, writing it was super fun, so if you have prompts for SHORT ONE SHOTS - send me a pigeon.

Thanks for reading :)

#anons #karamel #fics

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thepuckishrogue · 6 years ago

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The Batboys in: “I’m late.” Take one.

A/n: Y’all ready for some cliches? No? Well too fucking bad because that’s what you’re getting lmao. This time around I’ve only got fills for Jaybird and Timmy-boy, but fear not--Dick and Older!Dami’s will be up sometime this week. For right now except these humble offerings, crafted in the thick of my sleep derivation... [This has since edited to match the AO3 version--my apologies to all who read that first, hella rough draft. Also! Part 2 is done now!]

Taglist [if you want in on some of this sweet, sweet tagging action just hit me up in an ask]: @aspiratinganxiety

Prompt: “I’m late.”

Presented For your consideration/entertainment:

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

Just because you weren’t ready didn’t mean that you didn’t want it...

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

When you see an opportunity you take it. That’s one of the things he loves about you the most.

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

As you stare down at the single pink line on the tiny display your feelings are mixed.

On the one hand you’re hardly ready to raise a child, not when you still feel like a kid yourself most days, and that’s saying nothing of Jay’s chosen profession. Vigilantism is hardly conducive to home and hearth, after all. But despite knowing all of this you still feel… oddly crushed?

In the hours since your shaky murmur of “I’m late” was breathed into the crook of his neck, visions of little girls with inky ringlets and toddling boys with irises the color of a Caribbean tide had embedded themselves in your mind’s eye. With each minute that passed you allowed yourself to dream up a whole new life with Jason, one full of tiny giggles and toothless smiles and scabby knees. You saw your son seated aloft his broad shoulders, content and happy; your daughter on his knee as he read her his favorite Doctor Seuss book; you saw a future filled to bursting with things you’d never knew you wanted, knew you needed until that moment.

Hours to build up that new life in your head, and only two minutes to see it collapse around you.

“Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed?”

You finally tear your eyes away from the line, but you still can’t bring yourself to face the man that hovers behind you. “No,” you start after a few long seconds. “But it’s for the best… Right?”

You don’t know what Jay sees in your eyes when you finally meet his in the bathroom’s mirror, but you do know what you see in his—that same future that had shone so brief, but brilliant.

There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a fragility that leaves you choking on a sob. Before the first tears even fully form you’re being spun around and gathered up into his arms. Jason’s hands trail the length of your spine in long, lulling strokes even as you dig your nails into the muscles of his back and pull yourself flush against him. Your grip is firm bordering on bruising, but if it hurts him he doesn’t show it. He whispers words of comfort that echo in his chest, and reverberate through you. The feeling registers more than his voice, and while it’s calming in a way it still not enough.

“This is so stupid. Why am I crying? I’m not pregnant so I can’t even blame my hormones!” The sentences come between heaving breaths and gasping sobs.

“It’s not stupid,” he assures you, hands still working at soothing your quaking frame. “If you want a family with me honey, you say the word and I’ll give you one. But it’ll be on our terms, and not the result of a bad batch of birth control or a faulty Trojan.”

You laugh a bit at that, sniff loudly, then look up at him. You know you must be a sight—eyes and nose red and wet, face splotchy and puffy—but he still looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. Your answering smile is a small thing that trembles a bit with the last dregs of your breakdown, but it’s there and it’s real and it’s hopeful. You don’t know when the pair of you will be ready for a family, if ever, but just knowing that the option is there enough for now.

Jay returns your smile as he wipes away the wetness on you cheeks with soft motions and gentle hands. In the face of such tenderness and care there’s only one thing to be said—“I love you.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no cockiness behind the words, only confidence in what the two of you share. “And I love you too.”

“That’s good to hear, especially after what I just did to your shirt.”

“What? You mean the scratching? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a hell of a grip babe, but it’s not nearly enough to do any real damage.”

“No, not that—but also sorry for that.”

“No harm, no foul, doll. Hey, that rhymed! Aww, come on now! Don’t roll your eyes baby—respect my flow.”

“Whatever,” you say around a laugh as you push away from him. “Go get some real bars and change your shirt.”

“Pssh. Please woman, my bars and my shirt are both tight as hell.” He pulls at the compression material then and releases it; how he manages to avoid pinching himself in the process is a mystery, but the audible pop of it snapping back in place leaves you with the impression that the action has the potential to be just as painful.

“Tight or not, I’m pretty sure that the Absorbent Tip TM was pressing into your back for a while there sooo... yeah. You might want to take care of that.”

It takes a second for him to realize what that means, but once he does…The look of mild disgust that flashes across his face leaves you snickering even as you apologize.

“You could at least pretend to feel bad about this, you know,” he says with a shake of his head. “But hell babe, if you wanted me to lose the shirt all you had to do was ask.”

The laughter dies on your lips as he reaches behind himself to grab a handful of the black tee; a tug and what has to be an unnecessary amount of flexing sees the clingy scrap of material removed and tossed away. Your eyes narrow as you take in your stupid, sexy, smirking, cocky cock of a boyfriend, but there’s no denying the wicked gleam in his gaze or the way it affects you.

You might not be ready to make a baby right at this very moment, but there’s nothing wrong with a little practice…

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

Your home smells amazing right now.

The warm, hardy scent of fresh baked bread is cut through by the tang of herbs simmering in a tomato-based sauce. The meatballs—recipe compliments of Alfred—adds a richness to it all, while the lemon rinds that’re left over from the vinaigrette you’d whipped up earlier adds a nice, citrus-y note that, while not readily identifiable, does help to lighten the dense canopy of the more cloying aromas.

Though it smells divine, the spread is far from elaborate. Spaghetti and meatballs, breadsticks, and salad—hardly the meal one would expect the wife of the heir to the Wayne Enterprises throne to prepare for dinner, but then again one would hardly expect you to cook for yourself at all.

Driven by paranoia and practicality in mostly equal measure, both you and Tim decided against hiring someone to help around the house. Paranoia because, even if the dangers of his night job could be ignored, there's still a certain amount of caution to be exercised just from bearing the family name; practicality because, despite the square footage, your high rise apartment's easily maintained by the two of you. Keeping yourselves fed is a bit trickier given your schedules, but between Alfred occasionally dropping off pre-made meals (with heating instructions simple enough that even your husband in his base, half-sleep state can follow) and honing the magical skill that is meal prepping (this too is a gift imparted by the aging man, bless him) you have a solid, home-cooked meal at least four days out of the week.

Your phone chirps an alarm that tells you it’s time to pull the pasta from the heat; after a quick drain it’s tossed with the red sauce and meatballs before being transferred to a serving dish. The whole of the meal is then moved to the dining table and then you’re hurrying off to the other end of the flat to change (because while eau de marinara might work for spaghetti it does very little for you).

As with the meal, there’s nothing fancy to be found in your chosen attire. The sweater you slip on was actually Tim’s once upon a time—though after finding you puttering around his kitchen in nothing but the over-sized garment he had decided that it looked much better on you…

“Keep it.”

You’d grown used to his ability to move about in virtual silence, but knowing what Tim was capable of didn’t leave you any better equipped to deal with it. Breathing in sharply, you whipped your head towards the man hard and fast enough that whiplash was a legitimate concern. You had fully intended to threaten him with a bell collar yet again, but the smile he gave you was so dopey, so damn lovesick that all the fight bled right out of you. Suddenly shy in the face his unabashed adoration, you quickly turned your attention back to the omelet you’d been assembling. A few seconds passed before you remembered the words that had startled you in the first place.

“Keep what?”

“The sweater,” he said, voice sounding from far nearer as he made his way towards you. A few long strides saw strong arms wrapping around your middle and lips at your ear. “Looks good on you.” The sentence was little more than a whisper, a breath of a thing that would’ve went unheard had he not been so close. His nose followed the curve of your ear upwards until he was able to press a lingering kiss to your temple.

Your breath caught and the rose dust that stained you cheeks deepened. The sweater. You’d honestly forgotten that you were wearing it.

You hadn’t felt like wresting yourself back into the restricting clothing you’d worn the night before, but walking around completely naked wasn’t an option you were willing to entertain either. Silly, given that he’d already seen you in naught but your skin, but still—‘leave something to the imagination’ and all that jazz. The thing was big and warm, almost too warm in the heated apartment, and still smelled like him. The V of the neckline and the sleeves both hung down far lower than what was necessary for your purposes; there was nothing to be done about the former, but the latter was quickly remedied with several cuffing rolls. Over the course of you washing, chopping, and whisking the various ingredients those cuffs had slowly loosened—more so on your dominate arm; annoying but expected—and the collar had drifted off to the left leaving the shoulder there on display. Having to constantly shrug the thing back into some semblance of order was annoying, but when a pair of warm lips pressed against the once again exposed skin.

Well.

Tim might’ve thought the sweater looked better on you, but you both agreed that it was at its best left in a careless heap on the floor.

The memory is an old one, but it’s just as warm and vivid now as it was when you made it. It was the first time you had spent the night at his place, and though neither of you actively acknowledged it then, that was the day that you both knew you’d found the ever elusive one. Moments like that could never fall prey to the dulling touch of time.

The sleeves, so used to being cuffed after years of the action, roll into place effortlessly. Joggers are exchanged for a pair of jeans and then you’re swapping out your fuzzy socks for ones not covered in rogue marinara drips. You don’t bother with makeup though you do spare a few minutes to sort out your hair from the messy style you’d thrown it into before cooking. Satisfied with your appearance, you go to your purse and pull out the paper that confirmed what you already knew.

An absentee period combined with the three EPTs you’d taken yesterday was enough to convince you that your body did indeed have a new tenant, but much like your husband you liked redundancy so off to the clinic you went. Two samples later and Doctor Thomas was sending you on your way with a promise to put a rush on the blood analysis, and she’d kept her word. An hour after Tim had left this morning you were getting a fax full of medical jargon about hormone levels and percentages.

You still can’t make heads or tails of most of it, but the gist is clear—you’re going to be a mother. And Tim—your sweet, precious, adoring husband—is going to be a father.

Any trepidation you may have felt over the matter is instantly quelled by just the thought of him alone. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne is the most loving, caring, reliable man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and cliché though it might be, you know that there’s nothing that you can’t face so long as you’re together.

You fold the paper over and tuck it into your back pocket, all the while smiling so hard that your cheeks actually begin to ache. A mom. I’m going to be a mom. The thought leaves you full of a joy that can’t be contained. It manifests itself in the bounce of your walk and the childlike swing of your arms as you head back to the dining room to ready the plates.

You want Tim as relaxed as possible when you give him the big news, not out of fear, but rather so he’ll have the mental clarity to properly process it. Though he does his best to shake it off during his commute, work has a tendency to follow him home; sometimes in the form of actual tasks that still need to be seen to, while others its complaints about the Board and their “–total lack of insight as to how the world actually works.” You have no problem with letting him blow off some steam, welcome it even, as it’s better than him falling back on his old habit of bottling everything up. You’re his sounding board, his anchor, a tether that will always pull him back to calmer waters. To this end you have many methods at your disposal, and at least several of them involve food.

Feeling kind of fancy, you decide to try to plate the pasta using that neat little trick that Alfred had showed you with the tongs and the spoon; it takes a few tries, but eventually you end up with two perfect mounds of spaghetti. Unfortunately this leaves no place for the meatballs except for around said mounds. You place them as artistically as you can, but it still ends up looking like something that could potentially summon the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Eh well, I married a nerd; if anyone can appreciate it, it’d be him. The musing pulls a giggle from already smiling lips.

The salad takes a lot less effort, though you do make a mental note to thank Jay again for linking you to those vinaigrette recipes. Habit has you reaching for wine glasses and a nice vintage, but then you remember the little bean growing inside of you and stop. You’ve heard it said that one glass of wine a day is actually acceptable, but you’re not so sure.

Better safe than sorry, you reason as you fill them with water instead. Though it is something to look up. A fair bit of research is definitely in your future—well, Tim’s more so than yours. The man never braves any new territory without first arming himself to the teeth with every scrap of intel available to him, and you know that your pregnancy will be no different.

With the table now fully set there’s nothing left to do but wait, and so you grab your phone and slump down in your seat. A quick time check tells you that Tim should be home any minute, but you’re too restless to sit idle. Needing something, anything, to save you from yourself you pull up a game on your phone and start swiping. The first few levels you tackle are defeated easily enough thanks to the power-ups you’ve been hording like some techno-centric millennial dragon, but once you run out you essentially hit a wall. A courtesy hour of unlimited lives means you get lost to the menial task, so much so that you don’t even realize Tim’s home until he shuffles into the room.

“Hey sweets,” he says as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “I’m late, I know, I’m sorry.”

“Ten minutes is hardly ‘late’, love.”

“Yeah, but still…”

The exchange is as familiar as anything else in your relationship. Early on in your platonic days you had learned that Tim offering up his time to you was among the most significant displays of affection in his arsenal. Hardly surprising given that between the day job that is his necessity and the night gig that is his passion, there’s not much of it to be had that isn’t already accounted for. Free time was more often than not a concept for the man, not a reality, but he had made it more than clear that what little he had was yours if you’d have it.

The moment his forehead leans heavy against yours you know you’re going to have to abandon your initial plan; he’s clearly world-weary and in need of some good news ASAP. Besides, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself if you allow a setup as prime as the one he just handed you to pass by. When you retell this story to your future child years from now—hell when you tell it to your family and friends over the next few days—this one-liner will be a distinct a point of quipping pride.

Really, you owe it to you all.

Your lips curl upwards in anticipation of the sentence that will leave people both within and without the Wayne clan face-palming for years to come—

“It’s okay, babe—I’m late too.”

For his part Tim just blinks a few times in confusion, clearly ignorant of the excellence he’d just bore witness to. With his brows draw inwards and a slight pout on his lips he’s pretty much the human equivalent of a puppy; the curiosity that tints the sapphires that search your face for clarity does nothing to dissuade the image. The wide smile you give him is returned in kind, though the arching of a brow is a silent call for an explanation; when all the reply he gets is the folded sheet the second rises to join the first. He gives you an expectant look then, but you just grin and a nod towards the paper in his hand. His gaze is probing as he pulls the thing back to size without breaking eye contact, but there’s nothing of substance to be found in the mirth that dances in your eyes.

“Okay then,” he says on a laughter laced sigh. “I guess I’ll actually have to read this—wait. What is all this? Lab workups… Results…” His mumbles become near silent as he works his way down the page. “Human chorionic gonadotropin levels—hCG, hCG… That’s the pregnancy hormone. And at 7,480 units per milliliter…”

He looks up at you, eyes suddenly glassy as he breathes out your name. “Baby, sweetheart—are you– I mean you have to be… Right?”

You nod hard, not trusting your voice not to crack under the weight of your emotions. Faster than you can process the motion you’re being gathered up and squeezed tight. A flurry of Oh my god’s and declarations of love pour out of him as readily as his tears and your replies ring out in kind. You stay wrapped around each other for several long minutes before Tim finally pulls away enough to look at you. That same dopey, lovesick smile that had brought you to this place in your lives is back as he leans his forehead against yours again.

“We’re going to be parents.” His voice is awestruck in that way that says he can’t believe he’s managed to land on the right side of luck yet again.

“Correction: we’re going awesome parents. Way better than all those scrubs that let their kids run around terrorizing the general populace.”

He laughs even as he shudders. “That’s for damn sure. God, there’s so much to do. How many weeks along are you? For that matter how long have you known? Are you feeling okay? I’m pretty sure you haven’t been experiencing morning sickness, unless you’ve been hiding it from me—you haven’t right? We’re in this together, sweetheart, so–”

You pull him in for a proper kiss then, knowing it’s the only way to stop the deluge of worries and words. He’s resistant at first, still trying to speak even with your lips smushed together, but kneading fingers at his nape sees that nonsense meeting a quick end. It takes a few long moments, but under your expert touch the tension has no choice but to drain away.

“We got this babe. Yeah?” It comes out as a question, but your expression says that you won’t accept any answer other than a solid yes.

“Yeah. We do,” he agrees, nod resolute and voice steady. “So Missus Wayne, what now?”

“Now, we eat, Mister Wayne. Spaghetti Monster summoning charms wait for no man, or expecting mother for that matter.”

#Jason Todd x Reader #Jason ToddxReader #Jason Todd Imagine #Tim Drake x Reader #Tim DrakexReader #Tim Drake Imagine #Batboys Imagine #A little angst #A lot of fluff #It's all good #Nobody asked for this but idc #aspiratinganxiety #((Immy does fan fiction: the Batboys))#This post has been edited for quality assurance.

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thepictoblr · 6 years ago

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My humble queer opinion on bohemian rhaspody: i loved it so much, and if you see the ratings it has a solid 93% from actual audience members, rotten tomatos is just incorrect as they always are because they litterally have nothing to compare this film to, its a really unique way of displaying Freddy Mercury's life and it's so much more intimate and loving to him and his whole life than any other documentary or film about him that I've seen. It's respectful and really understands the importance of making sure they showed his personal life because for a long ass time the news and press did such a rotten job at preserving the humanity of Freddy and painted him as this antagonistic diva because he was queer. And as a queer person? This whole film was just beautiful and refreshing. It shows Freddy as a human and not just this lead singer of a big band with no heart or feelings of his own.

And I will say there will be a different experience depending on who watches. Younger folk will have a different feeling compaired to people who loved through the 70s and 80s and saw Queen's development from an audience perspective- and doubley so for queer people of that era. I'm young, sure my parents brought me up on music from their young adulthoods but I wasn't there, I'm only 18. My experience and my feelings towards the film were strong, but I would imagine someone who grew up through the 70's and 80's and remembers Queen and Freddy's immediate fame would have stronger emotions again.

Tl;dr: fuck rotten tomatoes, fuck stuck up critics with no heart, go watch the damn film.

And PS: dont be afraid to sing along to the absolute bangers in this film, the cinema audience understands.

#bohemian rhapsody #queen

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recentanimenews · 5 years ago

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Meet the Fathers: Eleven Classic Anime Dads and Where to Find Them

Fatherhood is a tricky business, and the responsibilities of raising a child are even thornier when the child in question has superhuman strength, magical abilities, or the need to pilot a giant robot for the sake of all humanity. Come rain or shine, these papas persevere, and we here at Crunchyroll think it's time to recognize that fact with a look at how a handful of fathers approach their duties (or shirk them) in various old-school anime.

Some of these dads are rad. Some of these dads are mad. Some of these dads are bad and dangerous to know. But all of them are indubitably dads, and on this Father's Day, we celebrate the trials and tribulations of parenthood with a brief look at eleven classic anime dads in their natural habitats.

In no particular order, meet the fathers:

Ataru's Dad

Origin: Urusei Yatsura

Threat Level: Salaryman

Profile: A humble, middle-management working adult who just happens to be the father of one of the most accursed teenagers in the universe, Ataru's Dad merely wants to read his newspaper, pay the mortgage on time, and maybe watch the occasional pro-wrestling match. With aliens constantly blowing up the house, though, this is easier said than done.

Where You Can Find Him: AnimEigo's DVDs are out-of-print, but you can catch Ataru's Dad in the Viz Signature editions of the Urusei Yatsura manga.

Mr. Invader

Origin: Urusei Yatsura

Threat Level: Oni

Profile: An intergalactic conqueror by trade and the father of perennial anime "best girl" Lum, Mr. Invader is a rough, gruff, simple sort of fellow with a large appetite for life. A straight shooter who tells it like it is, Mr. Invader fears no man...although he does fear his wife, who is a terror with an electrically-charged broom.

Where You Can Find Him: (See Ataru's Dad.)

Maximillian Jenius

Origin: Super Dimension Fortress Macross

Threat Level: Valkyrie

Profile: You may think you're smooth, but are you smooth enough to get your mortal enemy to marry you immediately after you a.) clobber them at the video arcade and b.) they try to stab you? I didn't think so. Max is the quintessential MacDaddy, although his parenting skills need some polish and his marital troubles inform the plot of Macross 7. It's probably a good thing that his eldest daughter, Komilia, has a strong skeleton.

Where You Can Find Him: The previous DVD releases of Super Dimension Fortress Macross by ADV and AnimEigo are out-of-print, but you can catch the entire original series streaming on Amazon Prime Video.

Senbei Norimaki

Origin: Dr. Slump

Threat Level: Mad Scientist

Profile: The only thing that prevents Senbei Norimaki from being crushed beneath the weight of his own ineptitude—or pulverized by the tiny metal fists of his robot daughter, Arale—is the fact that he's the father-figure in a gag manga, and thus he has “plot armor” that is seventeen inches thick. Senbei is ultimately able to marry Midori Yamabuki, the woman of his dreams, so he must be doing something right...

Where You Can Find Him: Although the Dr. Slump TV anime have never been officially released in the United States, Discotek Media has a DVD set featuring five Dr. Slump films, and the entire run of the original Dr. Slump manga is available in English from Viz Media, and you can check out Senbei's misadventures there.

Daisuke Ido

Origin: Battle Angel Alita

Threat Level: Hunter-Warrior

Profile: When he's not out bounty-hunting for spine-stealing freaks, Daisuke Ido runs a cyber-surgery practice and acts as a surrogate father for his adopted daughter, the Martian cyborg super-soldier, Alita, who happens to be hundreds of years older than him. Parenthood is strange.

Where You Can Find Him: ADV's DVD release of the Battle Angel anime OAVs is out-of-print, but the Battle Angel Alita manga and its sequels and spin-offs are available in English from Kodansha Comics. You can also catch Christoph Waltz as Ido in the live-action Alita: Battle Angel film.

Hikaru Daitokuji

Origin: Project A-ko 2: Plot of the Daitokuji Financial Group

Threat Level: Billionaire Playboy

Profile: The head of the mega-corporate Daitokuji Financial Group and the father of genius inventor B-ko Daitokuji, Hikaru spends most of his time stealing his daughter's mecha designs and passing them off as his own for fun and profit. He's also not above borrowing B-ko's personal set of form-fitting powered armor if the situation calls for it, although later films in the Project A-ko series show Hikaru taking a more civic-minded approach.

Where You Can Find Him: All four of the Project A-ko films are currently available on DVD from Discotek Media, and Hikaru Daitokuji makes an appearance in at least three of them.

Prince Philionel El Di Seyruun

Origin: Slayers

Threat Level: PACIFIST CRUSH!

Profile: Heavy is the head that wears the crown, especially when your wife is deceased and both of your daughters spend most of their time adventuring rather than helping to run the kingdom. Despite his rough and tumble appearance, Prince Philionel El Di Seyruun (“Phil” to his friends) is a benevolent ruler with a gentle heart who believes in pacifism, kindness to all creatures, and the occasional spinning lariat delivered with just the right amount of loving violence.

Where You Can Find Him: Funimation releases the Slayers TV anime on home video in the United States. The Slayers movies and OAVs were at one time published by ADV, but Phil isn't in those releases, which are also out-of-print.

Chiyo's Dad

Origin: Azumanga Daioh

Threat Level: Norio Wakamoto

Profile: A creature of myth and enigma, Chiyo's Dad is not actually a cat. He can fly at Mach 100 and deflect bullets. He's paid by the government. He may or may not be Santa Claus. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. Eat your tomatoes.

Where You Can Find Him: In dreams, Chiyo's Dad is everywhere. In real life, the ADV and Sentai Filmworks DVD releases of Azumanga Daioh are now out-of-print, but the original Azumanga Daioh manga is available in English from Yen Press.

Genma Saotome

Origin: Ranma 1/2

Threat Level: Panda

Profile: It's possible that deep down, Genma Saotome cares about the well-being of his son, Ranma, more than he cares about martial arts or training. If this is the case, then Genma has a really poor way of showing it. Genma's ceaseless training regime has afflicted both father and son with shape-changing curses, and Genma's poor planning has inflicted traumatizing ailurophobia on Ranma, and that's not even counting the dire consequences that Genma's promises to Ranma's mother entail...

Where You Can Find Him: When not playing with a tire or chewing on bamboo, Genma Saotome can be found in the Ranma 1/2 manga and anime, which are both released in the United States by Viz Media.

Taki Renzaburo

Origin: Wicked City

Threat Level: FALCON PUNCH!

Profile: A member of the Black Guard that protects the boundaries between the human world and the Demon Realm, Taki Renzaburo is pretty new to this whole fatherhood thing, since his first child isn't born yet when the Wicked City film concludes. With a James Bond libido, a pistol that can shoot through walls, and a right hook that can crush faces, Taki is more of the “who's your daddy?” type.

Where You Can Find Him: Wicked City is available on DVD from Eastern Star, but we warned, even though this is Father's Day, this film is not kids' stuff.

Yujiro Hanma

Origin: Grappler Baki

Threat Level: Ogre

Profile: Some would say that Gendo Ikari of Neon Genesis Evangelion is the worst dad in anime, but I'd argue that even Gendo levels of shitty parenthood pale in comparison to the walking natural disaster that is Yujiro Hanma, the father of underground fighters Baki and Jack Hanma. Yujiro's bloodlust is all encompassing, and Baki's friends and family often pay for it with their lives. Yujiro's bad dad deeds are too numerous to count and must be seen to be believed.

Where You Can Find Him: Funimation's DVD release of the 2001 Grappler Baki TV anime is out-of-print, but the most recent Baki anime is currently streaming on Netflix, and Akita Shoten Comics publishes the New Grappler Baki manga on Comixology.

And that's our look at some classic anime daddies, but this sampling is by no means meant to be an exhaustive list. Anime has a long and rich history, the full spectrum of fatherhood in all its beautiful and messy permutations would take a lifetime to explore. Who are your favorite classic anime dads? Which honorable (or dishonorable) mentions do you think should make the list?

And from everyone here at Crunchyroll, we wish you a very happy Father's Day!

-----

Paul Chapman is the host of The Greatest Movie EVER! Podcast and GME! Anime Fun Time.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

By: [email protected]

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

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