#before dealing with this new job and the large upheaval at work

[teadrunktailor]

✅ Museum volunteer bowling night

✅ Bowl supremely well for once wtf

✅✅ Crush notices good bowling 🙌💪🤌🤌🤌

✅ Free adult beverages

✅ Talk to boss for an hour about a bunch of stuff

✅ Arrive home

✅ Discover 1/3 chicken wing has been stuck to face for majority of night

[delimeful]

the shapes in the silence (11)

new chapter at the behest of one of my patrons! hope you enjoy! >:)

warnings: terrible coping mechanisms, antagonistic but not "evil" deceit, semi-vivid panic attack, suicidal implications/thoughts, arguing, an antagonistic and also genuinely evil cliffhanger, take care for realsies

-

After a few days of solitude, Logan emerged from his room with a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

He dropped a comically large stack of paper onto the lounge table, interrupting their bi-monthly binge of Parks and Rec. Patton obligingly paused the television, smiling at the sight of the other Side.

Roman probably would have complained, except Virgil-- as Puff-- had been dozing on top of his head for the past twenty minutes, and one of his wings was draped over Roman’s face like a makeshift blindfold. So, he hadn’t really been watching anyways.  

“I’ve figured it out,” Logan said, gesturing to the meticulous lines of not-so-meticulous handwriting. “The shrinking.”

Everyone seemed to perk up in interest, and Virgil dropped onto Roman’s shoulder, kneading his claws lightly into the sash.

“You know why?” Patton prompted after another moment of Logan preening.

“Yeah, Specs, don’t leave us in suspense!” Roman demanded, valiantly restraining his gesturing for the sake of not accidentally unbalancing Virgil. The two of them had only had to learn that lesson once.

Logan nodded, adjusting his glasses briefly. “My current hypothesis is that our reduced states are the result of a sort of… mental lock. We shrink when the locking mechanism is triggered, and it takes a figurative key to restore our previous, normal stature.”

“A key?” Patton asked. “You figured out how to undo it?”

“Not for everyone. Think of it as customized locks. There’s a different key for each of us, and I’ve only discovered my own.”

Virgil tilted his head curiously at Logan’s words. The first bit was about what he’d figured, but a ‘key’ to change back? He used to think he only changed back in his room, but there had been a couple of occasions where he’d shifted forms unexpectedly. None of the others had had to be in their rooms to change back, either.

Roman was frowning in thought. “Wait, how in the name of Disney did you figure out your key?”

Logan looked delighted at the question. He moved to sit in his usual armchair, and then closed his eyes for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly and his mouth dropping into a frown.

In the next moment, he was doll-sized. “Extensive and rigorous experimentation,” he said, carefully getting to his feet on the plush chair fabric.

Roman and Patton immediately burst into excited chattering, each theorizing or commenting on Logan’s tiny stature, and Virgil quickly abandoned ship before Roman really did gesture him right into the air. He trotted along the back of the couch and kicked off of it, landing on the arm of Logan’s chair.

Logan looked up at him for a moment, before referring to a pile of tinier-than-normal flashcards pulled from his pocket. “Puff. I hope there’s no ‘hard feelings’ about my former hypothesis. It was nothing personal, I can assure you.”

It wasn’t like the theory had been too far fetched. Virgil hopped down to the seat of the chair and brushed against Logan’s side like a large, scaly cat. It seemed to do the job of convincing Logan that they were cool.

Logan looked back over at the other two. “Time to continue the lecture, I believe.”

With that, he clapped his hands together in a familiar pattern, one that had been used in countless classrooms in Thomas’s life. Two normal claps, and then three rapid ones.

Almost immediately, Patton and Roman clapped the returning pattern, paused as though registering what they’d done, and then turned to face Logan.

“Was… Did you just teacher-clap at us?” Roman asked, astounded.

Logan looked incredibly smug at his gambit working so perfectly, and Virgil barely had time to claw his way back up onto the armrest before the logical Side was back to normal.

“My key,” he said, “is being listened to.”

Then, as though he couldn’t resist, he added, “Who’s falling behind now, Roman?”  

Roman spluttered with exaggerated indignance, and Virgil was absolutely certain that Princey was going to spend the next several days rising to the challenge. He shook his wings out, the dragon equivalent of rolling his eyes.

Patton, on the other hand, clapped enthusiastically as though Logan had performed a magic trick. “Wow, way to grow!”

Logan sighed deeply. Patton grinned, and then paused.

“See, the only thing I’m wondering now is, why is this happening to us all of the sudden? It’s certainly not something we’ve had to deal with before.”

There was a terse silence.  

“I’m still working on theories in that regard,” Logan finally responded, mouth pinched slightly. “There have been many periods in the past where certain upheavals in Thomas’s life have led to our surroundings or our very selves changing. It’s entirely possible that this… ‘shrinking’ effect is a similar case. That brings me to my next point: we need to speak with Thomas.”

Virgil noticed Roman grimace for a moment. “Does he really need to know about all… this?”

“We certainly can’t keep it from him!” Patton replied as he walked closer to the rest of them and held out his arm. Virgil scaled it with ease, clambering up to perch on Pat’s shoulder like a parrot. For once, he agreed with Roman. He wasn’t sure this would end well, but... it wasn’t his job to bring up doubts right now. “He’s going to have to learn about it eventually, whether now or whenever he calls us up to talk about whatever is bothering him.”

“Precisely,” Logan agreed. “The more information we gather on this matter, the better.”

“I guess…,” Roman crossed his arms, but conceded. Patton gave him an encouraging hug.

“Plus,” he added as he pulled away, “if we go now, we can have Thomathy meet Puff!”

A beat late, Virgil realized just what that meant, and a flood of panic washed out the peaceful haze in his mind. They couldn’t take him to see Thomas! What if his host recognized him?

… What if he didn’t?

“It’s fine with me,” Logan added. “He does seem to be a rather permanent fixture in the Mindscape, though I’m not sure what that says about Thomas.”

“It says that he’s simply the coolest,” Roman shot back, his spirits seemingly lifted by the idea. He reached over and lifted Virgil off Patton’s shoulders, holding him in the air and spinning in a dizzying circle. “You’ll love Thomas, Puff, just you wait.”  

“Why wait?” Patton chimed in with an excited smile. “I’ll go let the kiddo know we’re coming!”

He sank out, and Logan spent a short moment making sure his tie was properly aligned before following. Roman tilted his head slightly as though listening to an invisible sound before smiling widely. “There’s our cue!”

Before Virgil could do more than feel a sense of impending doom, the world was blurring and shifting around them, and he was dragged up along with Roman.

The dizziness as he entered the real world was so heady that he nearly blacked out, his head spinning. When his vision cleared, he realized he was being held up like an infant Simba.

Right in front of his host’s face. He froze like a deer in the headlights, mind screaming wordlessly.

“Ta-da!” Roman announced. “The newest, cutest denizen of your mind! Aside from me, of course.”  

Thomas leaned in slightly, no trace of disgust or fear on his face. It made him look younger. “Woah. Hey there, little guy. Puff, right?”

He held his hand out carefully, and almost magnetically, Virgil placed a tiny, clawed hand on it. An encouraging smile was all it took, and then he was abandoning all caution and climbing right into the arms of the one who was supposed to fear him the most.

Thomas just shifted obligingly to create a better platform, and ran a thumb over his spine scales. Virgil craned his head up to look, and saw only quiet astonishment and awe on his host’s face.

There was no question. He didn’t recognize him.

Virgil had no idea what the emotion in the pit of his stomach was-- an amalgam of relief, disappointment, terror, sadness, so dense it was physically painful-- but after a moment, he let himself go lax. He could deal with it later. He could deal with everything later.

For now, his host was holding him close like he was something treasured, something precious. It was more than he’d ever hoped for and all he could ever need.

Whenever Thomas spoke, he could feel the words vibrating in his host’s chest. It was almost like a hug. He stayed there, content to listen only vaguely as the others explained what was going on and tried to work out the reason why.

After a while of circular discussion, Thomas went a little tense, catching Virgil’s attention. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“We’re trying to figure out what’s going wrong to cause this… inner turmoil, right? Why don’t we get Anxiety in on this? If there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s coming up with worst-case scenarios.”

Virgil went still and frozen, and Roman’s gaze darted down to him for a moment before his expression firmed into a frown. “Absolutely not. That villain won’t have anything helpful to contribute.”

“On the contrary, I believe Thomas has a point. Anxiety could have a side to this story that we haven’t heard yet, but if we were just to ask him,” Logan countered, “he may share.”

“Kind of strange that he hasn’t popped up already,” Patton added with a concerned frown. “The kiddo doesn’t generally like it when people talk about him without him there.”

“Let’s at least give it a shot,” Thomas decided, lifting a hand. “Anxiety!”

No, no no no. This wasn’t how he wanted it to go. Virgil braced for the irresistible tug on his core, the breaking apart of his fragile peace--

It didn’t come.

There was no pull. Why wasn’t he feeling the pull? He couldn’t detect even the slightest call, which was impossible, unless--

Perfectly on cue, a dark figure appeared from thin air on the staircase, jumpscaring Thomas and offering a mocking smirk.

“You called?”

It… was him. It was Anxiety, dark hoodie and darker eyeliner, sneer and all. Virgil felt the strangest disconnect from his own identity for a moment before things snapped back into place. No summons, his own desire for secrecy, a perfect doppelganger.

Deceit.

A low, rumbling growl started up in his chest, and his hackles rose instantly at the sight of that liar daring to wear his face.

Thomas’s hands jerked away in surprise, and Patton reached over to soothe him. “Easy, Puff. He won’t do anything to you, promise.”

“That’s right,” Roman agreed in a completely different tone, stepping forwards to put himself between the fake Anxiety and the others, as though Virgil was pathetic enough to be worried about himself and not whatever bullshit Deceit-As-Anxiety was about to feed the others. His growl lowered in volume, but refused to taper off.

“Like I care about your newest pet project,” Fake-Anxiety said, rolling his eyes in disdain. “I’m just here to do what I do best: tell you how you messed up.”

Logan frowned at him. “You believe our current situation is the result of Thomas erring in some way?”

“Not just some way. All the ways. It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Fake-Anxiety said, gesturing widely to Thomas with one hand. “Something’s wrong with you. You’re broken.”

“That’s not true,” Patton said firmly, frowning in disapproval. “Anxiety, I expected better from you.”

Virgil felt his throat close up, even though he wasn’t really the one Patton was speaking to. It wasn’t like Patton knew that. How was he ever going to look anyone in the eye after this?

“Wait, what? How am I broken?” Thomas asked, not as indignantly as Virgil would have preferred. He gently butted his head against Thomas’s arm for morale-boosting purposes.

“I mean, think about it,” Fake-Anxiety said, spreading his palms open in a faux innocent gesture. “How many times have you screwed up in the past couple of weeks? Speaking with family, hanging out with friends, even just basic customer service interactions. Those were all your fault, and you know it.”

Thomas’s hands shook slightly. “I…”

“Falsehood,” Logan cut in sharply, his expression severe. “A person cannot be ‘broken’, particularly not for simple mistakes. In any case, there is no meaningful connection to be drawn between your baseless accusation and our current conundrum.”

Before Fake-Anxiety could respond, Patton’s hands flew to his mouth. “Wait. Kiddo, you don’t really think that about yourself, do you?”

All eyes turned to Thomas, who hesitated just a beat too long. “No… I mean, not entirely. Not all the time.”

“Thomas…” Roman looked stricken. “There’s no reason to feel bad about yourself!”

“Emotions… are often without reason,” Logan said, sharing a look with Patton. “This is important information, though. It’s entirely possible that a negative sense of self could affect us, as aspects of yourself. This could be the cause.”

“Then… How do I fix it?” Thomas asked, voice strained.

“You can’t,” Fake-Anxiety said, inspecting his nail polish as though bored. “You’re going to be stuck like this forever.”

“The first step,” Logan said, with a complicated glance towards the figure on the stairs, “is not letting negative thoughts control you. I was hoping Anxiety would be able to shed a light on our discussion, but it’s become clear that he’s… not in a helping mood.”

Fake-Anxiety clicked his tongue. “I’m helping. Helping you not make an even bigger embarrassment out of yourself.”

“Don’t listen to that villain,” Roman told Thomas, glancing down at ‘Puff’. “You have the power to send him away, Thomas.”

“Don’t bother. I’ve said my piece, and you know I’m right.” Fake-Anxiety gave a mocking salute before sinking out, making brief eye contact with Virgil as he did.

“He’s not right… right?” Thomas asked, his face a little pale. “I mean, it’s Anxiety.”

In his arms, Virgil tucked his limbs in tighter against himself.

“You are not broken,” Logan reiterated calmly. “Take a few deep breaths.”

“You do feel bad, though,” Patton said, a hand pressed over his heart in sympathy. “Kiddo... why don’t you take today for yourself?”

“That’s right!” Roman gripped Thomas’s shoulder comfortingly. “Do something that you’ll enjoy, and you can worry about everything else tomorrow, okay? We’ll sort things out on our end.”  

They spoke for a little longer, making new plans and cancelling old ones, and Virgil felt as though his mind was full of static. Eventually, finally, he was back on Roman’s shoulder, ready to sink out.

“Nice meeting you, Puff,” Thomas waved, and something in Virgil’s chest twisted painfully at it all. He chirp-crooned back, and it felt like a goodbye.

-

Luckily for him, the others were all preoccupied with their own thoughts and plans. It took almost no effort to slip away, and before he knew it he was back in his own room, in the form that everyone hated.

His summon was nonverbal and insistent, and before long, Deceit appeared before him, this time in his own skin. Virgil wanted to yell, to rage and vent the emotions inside of him.

“How could you?” Instead, his voice came out quiet. Cold. Betrayed.

Deceit shifted, a flash of discomfort crossing his face before he composed himself. “They needed a villain. Last I checked, it was you who cast yourself in that role.”

A villain. He felt himself shaking, distantly. “You used me. Like an object.”

“To help Thomas--”

“To frighten him into doing what you wanted!” Virgil said, voice finally rising. “To guide the others like puppets on strings and to make me take the fall for your plan!”

“This is for you, too!” Deceit finally snapped back, before taking a deep breath. “This isn’t a framing, Virgil. It’s an opportunity. They won’t look for you, and that gives me enough time to fix things. Come home.”

Virgil laughed, once, harsh like broken glass. “No.”

Deceit held up a hand, sweeping it downwards and shifting himself into Fake-Anxiety again. It was like looking in a mirror, but the reflection was… different, this time. It wasn’t the one that had sat on the stairs before.

“Look at yourself, Virgil. Look at what you’ve been doing to yourself.”

The bags under his eyes were dark and sallow. He was shaking and sweating, his breath coming in stuttering gasps. His body looked like it’d been having consecutive panic attacks for days on end, and there were plenty more coming.

“You don’t have to do this anymore. We both know that you’d have an easier time if Thomas wasn’t always fighting against you.”

He tore his eyes away from the reflection. If he thought about it for too long, he’d spiral, and then all of it-- every comment, every look, everything he’d been tucking away for the past weeks-- would come rushing up to meet him. Like hitting water from a hundred feet up and finding it felt like concrete. Like drowning.

“Virgil?”

He was tired of this. “Get out.”

Deceit said something else, but it was his room, and it followed his will. The other Side was evicted, shoved out, gone. He took a breath, but it felt too shallow and caught in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to get anything done in this form. He wasn’t of any damn use in this form. Nobody wanted him like this. Why not ease his grip, let go?

He wouldn’t have to be Anxiety and everything that came with it. It would be selfish, but-- but Puff was better for everyone, not just him. It made sense.

He sighed in relief as the transformation washed away the vice grip around his lungs and the dizzying pounding of his head. The feelings were muffled, as though he’d put on thick, good quality headphones. It was nice.

It was also harder to focus in this form, unfortunately, but the idea-- the solution remained helpfully stuck in his head. He easily found his way into Roman’s room to collect what he needed, but Roman himself was absent.

He padded down to the commons, and found all three of them were there. Their discussion came to a halt as he carefully jumped up on the couch, dropping his prize into Roman’s lap.

“Oh, Puff…” Roman seemed sad, so he kneaded the creative Side’s leg with the dull edge of his claws.

“What is that?” Patton asked curiously.

Roman shifted, as though anticipating a scolding. “It’s a charmed bracelet. I designed it to keep Anxiety away from Puff. And you know what? I was right to make it! You saw how he acted today!”

Patton bit his lip but remained quiet. Something about the silence hurt, but that was okay. It wouldn’t hurt for long. He nudged the bracelet slightly, impatient.

“Why hasn’t he been wearing it, then?” Logan asked, a curious bend to his eyebrows.

“He… Well, he didn’t want it at first. Put it on yours truly instead,” Roman replied, carefully brushing a hand over Virgil’s head. “I suppose he changed his mind.”

“Did Anxiety really scare him that badly?” Patton asked, voice heartbroken.

Roman frowned determinedly and finally started undoing the clasp. “Whatever that scoundrel did, he won’t be able to bother Puff anymore. This will make sure of it.”

He carefully wound the bracelet around Virgil’s neck, gently adjusted it until it fit right, and reconnected the ends. The last thing Virgil saw before the world went hazy was the three of them, the best parts of Thomas, looking back at him without any fear or hatred.

Then, there was only Puff.

[bigskydreaming]

Which Batkid do you think Dick feels is the favorite?

Quick caveat here just to clarify (not assuming anything about you here, just clarifying for my own purposes) that like, I'm hugely not a fan of DEFINITIVELY declaring that Bruce has a favorite kid, or that Alfred does, or even that any of them have a favorite sibling. Because I honestly think that's pretty much impossible to ever fully separate just from our own fannish character preferences and preferred character rankings. And like....I don't think that ever meshes well with the idea of a found family that doesn't actually benefit from or explore anything via a forced hierarchy of favoritism that's like....based entirely on which characters any given fan likes best and thus WANTS to be their other favorite characters' faves in turn.

BUT. I'm not saying that has anything to do with your ask or that I think that's what you were asking, I just wanted to include that upfront just for like....context for my actual answer.

Because all of that said, that doesn't mean that the characters don't ever have ASSUMPTIONS about someone being someone else's favorite, that sorta thing. That's born largely of insecurities and like, is totally natural and understandable. I'm totally down for exploring that. Its just validating or confirming those fears of favoritism via like....Word of Author that I'm opposed to.

As far as Dick goes......having known Bruce the longest and probably having the FULLEST understanding of him, not necessarily the best but just the most varied, the understanding that contains the most time, context, variables to factor into his view of things Bruce-related....

I think Dick does absolutely at times think or assume or fear that someone is Bruce's favorite and its definitely not him. But I think WHO that is tends to be fluid.....

And its always whichever kid is the FURTHEST from Bruce at any given time.

Because the thing about Bruce is that he is undeniably brilliant. He's smart as fuck, meticulous, well-reasoned, and I actually think he understands people a hell of a lot better than a lot of us give him credit for. Given that like.....it tends to be largely agreed upon, that Bruce is good at manipulating people or getting them to do what he wants/needs them to do....and to accomplish that you actually do need to understand what makes people tick, what they've got going on under the surface.

No, Bruce is absolutely a genius, just as I believe everyone in that family is, and while he's not the most emotionally intelligent of the family, I don't think he's as ill-equipped there as he tends to be advertised being.

BUT. I also think this is the EXACT THING that so often gets in Bruce's way, and causes a lot of conflict between him and his children specifically.

Because the danger inherent in all of the above, is I think Bruce sometimes is a bit too quick to make assumptions. To assume with all that he does know, the information he does have, the understanding he does possess of what motivates people and makes them behave the way they do....

AS WELL AS.....being someone who absolutely IS aware of and reflective upon a lot of his own worst flaws.....

I think Bruce has a tendency to act upon what he THINKS he 'knows' about what his children are thinking or WHY they did something....before he bothers actually asking them, or talking it through with them. I think he too often leans into the commonalities he shares with his children, the things he builds upon as a foundation for his entire relationship or dynamic with them....before remembering that his kids have influences other than just him, many that PREDATE his influence in their lives, and like.....the things he seems himself reflected in when he first meets most of them are like....a starting point, at that fixed point in time.

They can and do all grow beyond just who they are then and there, and that growth includes a lot of overlap with him and his own views and characteristics....but it also includes stuff totally divorced from him and coming entirely from their own history, their own beliefs, their friends, teams, etc, etc.

And so the problem this creates is Bruce - who very much is a man of action, even given as much time as he devotes to thought, planning and contemplation - I think Bruce is so often so eager to leap into 'fix-it' mode, and tackle any problem that arises between him and his children....and he's so USED to leaning on his own intellect and knowledge as the tools he uses to address or fix problems, as well as leaning on his own awareness of people and of HIMSELF, who he sees as so often overlapping with who his kids are....

That sometimes he charges headfirst into a problem that isn't remotely what he assumes it to be, and he tries to handle it with a plan of attack/action entirely unsuited to addressing the problem it ACTUALLY is, relying on tools that are just.....not what the job in question actually calls for.

And when that happens.....he's like....stumped. This is when and where he defaults to just freezing up and doing nothing or breaking off and avoiding further acknowledgment of the problem whatsoever. Because he doesn't know WHAT to do, because he's not sure where he went wrong in the first place. He's not sure which of his calculations he got wrong, and why the tools and plan he defaulted to as the necessary 'fix' were such a poor choice....and without understanding that, being able to identify where he missed the mark....he doesn't know how to come up with a NEW plan to ACTUALLY address the situation. And a Bruce who doesn't have an actual plan, is a Bruce who doesn't know what the FUCK to do with himself. And it shows. And it gets awkward, and he gets snappy, and everything devolves into more and more of a trainwreck from there.

And so to bring this back up to your question.....I think Dick at least perceives Bruce's favorite as usually being the one furthest away from Bruce at any given time....because Bruce tends to romanticize his dynamic or history with his kids when they're NOT right in front of him.....actively contradicting his assumptions of them and what they need and want, and throwing him offcourse and into uncharted waters where he doesn't know how to swim.

Because the kid who isn't right in front of Bruce.....Bruce can reimagine/reinvent his dynamic with to be anything he wants it to be. That kid is the one Bruce GETS.....because they're simply not present to act or behave in a way that Bruce DOESN'T get. There's no conflict. No indication that Bruce doesn't actually know them as well as he assumes or that they don't actually have as much in common with him as he takes for granted (and which he defaults back to as seeing the root of the sapling he grafted into his own family tree to make one...super...tree).

And that....Bruce knows what to do with. That's a status quo he can work with, be comfortable with, take comfort IN.....because it doesn't NOT align with what he takes for granted or assumes to be true....and thus it can't ever create problems that he can't fix because he doesn't know how and hasn't ever stopped moving long enough to wait and listen to his children actually explain where he assumed incorrectly and they all got offtrack.

And to be fair, all of this is like, my headcanon for what Dick would answer AFTER the family is like...full grown. I do think that when he was younger and it was just Dick and Jason for instance, Dick likely assumed Jason was Bruce's favorite due to specific things like Jason being both Bruce's partner and his adopted son at a time when Dick was distinctly neither of those things and lacking reassurance as to his place in Bruce's life and heart without definitive MARKERS to show what that place was, like adoption or wardship papers or the linked names of Batman and Robin. But by the time the family includes multiple siblings, I think this is Dick's assessment of things.

He does know Bruce loves him, loves all his children. He does believe, I think, that Bruce doesn't CONSCIOUSLY favor one child over the others. But I also think he knows and understands Bruce well enough that he can see Bruce better knows how to relate to people - his children especially - when they're acting in ways he GETS and understands.....and his kids all have a tendency to throw him off and do the unexpected in person. So its always the one furthest from Bruce that reaps the (largely intangible) rewards of Bruce temporarily favoring them simply due to them being less.....complicated in his mind. Less another inevitable seismic upheaval waiting to happen, reminding the man who really really values knowing what the hell is going on and how exactly to deal with it, that like.....his children are not often obliged to cater to that tendency of his.

[ka-za-ri]

Prize Pt 1

Hello! Comin’ at you hot with some commission work I received from a lovely client on Ao3. The request was for breeding centric fic, so if you’re not into that, please avert ye eyes. This is a three part series and will end up being Satan centric, but the first part will be dedicated to the lovely Asmo~

°˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°  Please enjoy!

Chapter Index and Obey Me! Masterlist: here Ao3 Mirror: Here Pairing: Asmodeus x Reader Genre: smut Wordcount: 4,200 ish   Tags: Hand job, demon sex  Summary: There’s a game afoot and it’s up to you to figure out the rules before you’re taken by surprise by the brothers.

Game

There was an unspoken game afoot, one that only the brothers were in on. You didn’t need to confront them on what they were hiding though, it wasn’t hard to figure out. None of the demons seemed to be well versed in the art of being subtle. At least it meant you were able to catch onto what they were doing much sooner than they anticipated. You would play along with them; and in the end, it would benefit all parties involved. The most important question was how to make them play by your rules without them knowing.

It was a careful dance around their flirtatious advances. It was a precise push and pull that you needed to become adept at if you wanted to win their game. For some, material bribes distracted them enough. A different approach was needed for the others who were more persistent. From Leviathan’s obvious attempts to usurp your time by asking you to raid with him until the wee hours of the morning to Beelzebub constantly asking you if you wanted some of his favorite snacks, they clearly wanted more personal time with you than they let on.

It wasn’t hard to push away Beelzebub. You could claim to have an upset stomach or were too full from your most recent meal to accept his idea to raid the fridge and retreat to his room to enjoy the spoils. Leviathan was similar. Most of the time you got away with complaining about how much homework was put upon you. On the few occasions you did end up joining him for a dungeon run or two, you may or may not have purposefully provoked the enmity of the boss to frustrate him enough to kick you out of his room early.

It was difficult to keep up appearances. Trying to find the balance of spending time with the brothers while also keeping up an innocent and unaware facade was more tiring than you anticipated. You knew that their intentions weren’t bad, but they were up to something that definitely revolved around getting you alone and probably naked. Some of the plans they executed were more obvious than others, and you needed to pick your battles accordingly.

Mammon was particularly difficult to deal with at times. He liked to spend most of his time hanging off you. He had the distinct advantage of being chosen to be your caretaker and guardian thanks to Lucifer. One of the few favors the first born had ever done for Mammon was allowing him to have as much contact as he needed with you. Though he was great with showing you the ropes of Devildom, it was problematic when it came to you wanting your own space. Though his words were brash, you could tell how much he adored being the default person that you had to turn to for help.

Luckily for you, it seemed as though his past made it hard for him to ever have enough time to be properly intimate with you. At any moment, he was liable to completely disappear from the current plane of existence due to his debt with a few powerful witches. You never found out who they were; but secretly, you thanked them for giving you just enough leeway to dodge out of his advances.

The game continued, and the tactics the brothers used became bolder with every attempt you managed to escape. Eventually, you realized that if you didn’t give at some point, the tension between them would only mount and create chaos among them.

Unsurprisingly, it was the Avatar of Lust that took it upon himself to break the ice and blow the game wide open for them all.

“Are you free after classes?” Asmodeus asked over breakfast. There was a brief moment of apprehension that passed through the other brothers when they heard his question. With all eyes on him, Asmodeus played off any nervousness he had by flaunting the attention he was receiving. He carried on with the conversation as if he wasn’t getting barely hidden glares from the others. “I just got the cutest outfit in the mail, and I want to show it to you if you’ve got time. You have a good eye for fashion, right?”

You checked your calendar, mumbling incoherently while you contemplated his offer. The Avatar of Lust truly lived up to his name, being ostentatious with his suggestions and leaving nothing to the imagination. There was no doubting his ulterior motive, but it didn’t stop you from gently trying to push him away. “There’s a test at the end of the week I need to study for,” you said while scrolling through all your tasks for the week.

“Oh please, with how quickly you pick everything up, it’ll be a breeze for you to pass it,” Asmodeus dismissed your excuse with a nonchalant wave of his hand. He could tell you weren’t convinced and quickly tried to strike up a deal with you to keep the advantage he had over his brothers. “How about I help you study after you take a look? What subject is it on?”

You double checked your schedule, realizing you weren’t going to get out of his offer so easily. He was being much more persistent than his brothers had been. To do it so publicly almost felt like he was trying to send a message to the others. After putting off answering as long as you could, scrutinizing your schedule over and over again, you gave in and just went with the first class on your schedule. “Demon Biology.”

Asmodeus’ grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, I have the best notes for that class, and they can be all yours for just coming over and having a looksie. Sounds like a good deal, right?”

Beside you, you could feel Satan physically bristle at his brother’s thinly veiled intentions. Asmodeus didn’t have to say it, but everyone at the table seemed to know what his ultimate plan was. Sure, he was afforded some slack due to his general nature; but he was pushing the unwritten limits that had been set. You weren’t even sure if you should continue to play dumb; but the less they knew about what you surmised about their game, the better. In the end, the choice was yours; and you couldn’t afford to be too conspicuous when it came to how much you had gathered.

“Well, if that’s all I have to do for some notes to pass this test, how can I deny your generous offer?” You smiled sweetly, noticing the tension in the room grow as the agreement was made. The balance of power had been tipped in Asmodeus’ favor within the span of a few minutes.

“Great! I’ll see you after class then. You know where my room is.” He blew you a quick kiss and skipped off to get ready for his day.

You expected a great upheaval between the brothers after such a proposal from Asmodeus. Surprisingly enough, there was minimal fuss over it, further proving to you that there was a plot brewing among them where cooperation on all sides was necessary. The most dissent came from Mammon who was adamant about walking you to your classes and would spend the whole time grumbling about his brother’s audacity to pull such a stunt in front of everyone. Despite all the complaining, he didn’t try to stop you from visiting Asmodeus after your classes as promised.

You expected to be a little nervous, but you didn’t think your hands would be shaking as you knocked tentatively on Asmodeus’ door. The Avatar of Lust warmly welcomed you in, already dressed and waiting for your arrival. A large fluffy robe covered his newest precious outfit, but you could see bits of lace peeking out from under the collar. Oh boy, this will be good. You raised a brow, eyeing what might be hidden. He caught your glance and chuckled, pulling the robe tighter around him before beckoning you into his room.

Even if he tried to be stealthy about it, it was very difficult to ignore how he locked the door behind him while you got comfortable.

“I’m so glad you could make it. I wanted you to be the first person I showed this to,” he pitched his voice a bit lower, adding the slightest hint of a seductive purr at the end of his words. You sat at the edge of his bed and set your things down. Asmodeus was being quite the tease, twirling around and letting just hints of his ensemble show. You caught glimpses of shiny black leather trimmed with plenty of fine black lace. He was being a showoff, and he knew it.

“Well, I might be the only person you get to show this to if you’re going to make me wait three weeks before the great reveal.”

Asmodeus let out a laugh before he finally let the robe drop, showing off the new ensemble in its entire glory. It was quite the sight seeing him decked in all that leather and lace. The outfit clung to him like a second skin, flattering his figure in the best way possible. You had an idea it was going to be risque, but no amount of mental preparation was enough for you to be ready for the sight before you. The accenting jewels he chose to wear in champagne and pink complimented the black if only because they matched his hair and eyes.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t think anyone but you could pull that off, Asmodeus,” you replied truthfully.

He laughed, his eyes glittering with mirth at your compliment. “Oh please, you know you can just call me Asmo. I’d like to think we’re familiar enough for nicknames.” He twirled again, and there was a brief flash of light accompanied by a rustling sound. Once you blinked away the bleariness from the sudden bright light, you saw that he had changed into his true form.

The low back of the dress allowed for his wings to freely move making you wonder if this was a custom piece or if it was something he found on a whim. His wings peeking out past his shoulders only added to the aesthetic appeal of the ensemble as a whole. Asmodeus relished in the attention you gave him, posing and giving you his best angles. “It looks so much better like this, right?”

You nodded dumbly. There was no denying the Avatar of Lust was stunning, even in his human form. However, seeing him in his full glory, his horns and wings on full display, only seemed to elevate his look to a whole different level. His hand traveled down his abdomen, tracing the intricate lacework. He could tell your gaze was following his fingers; and he looked over at you, a playful smirk on his lips. “I take it as you like what you see?”

“It’s hard not to like something so… aesthetically pleasing,” you tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a definite waver in your voice. You knew his charms were useless against you. That had been established when you first met. However, the heated gazes he gave you and the lowered pitch of his voice was awakening things in you that you had tried to avoid thinking about since your arrival at Devildom.

You tried to look anywhere around you but at Asmo, the outfit he had on really was doing things to your libido you hadn’t expected. Furtively glancing over to the clock on the dresser, you noticed just how long you had been there and decided a change of subject was in order. If you could get out of this, you would have dodged yet another attempt from one of them. “Oh, so about those notes...” you started.

“Oh, yes. I was wondering when you would ask me,” Asmodeus giggled, a playful smirk spread across his delicate features as he continued to prance around his room. Eventually he stopped teasing you and pulled out a notebook to hand to you. While you flipped through, he lounged in bed next to you, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“Wait. Uh… are you sure this is the right book?”

“Oh of course, I wouldn’t dream of giving you the wrong one.”

“Asmo, the pages are blank.”

“Oh, I know,” he giggled, his eyes crinkling up with mirth as you stared at him in confusion. He coyly lifted the skirt to his outfit to reveal he hadn’t bothered to wear any undergarments. “It’s better if you got some hands-on experience, right? The upcoming test is on anatomy after all,” he gave you a sly wink and giggled.

You couldn’t avert your eyes fast enough before getting an eyeful of what Asmo was packing as a demon. Even if you covered your eyes, you couldn’t avoid hearing him giggle gleefully at your reaction as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “Aww come on now, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. This is natural,” he cooed, petting your hair softly.

He guided your hand to feel him, letting you feel every curve and ridge of his dick. You didn’t want to look. It was too awkward for you to do so; but with a little coaxing, you eventually cracked open your eyes to take in just what you were feeling. It was a little odd to admit it, but his cock was pretty. Slim and tapered, your hand could easily wrap itself around his length. With a little more vocal encouragement, your fingers did eventually find their way round his cock. You gave him an experimental little pump partially to feel how his skin shifted and felt under your hand and partially to see his reaction. He let out a soft mewl of appreciation at the friction and rolled his hips up to meet your hand. “Feel free to ah…take as many notes as you’d like.”

His eyes were lidded, the irises blown out and darkening his light colored eyes. It only added to the sensuality of the moment as he laid next to you, letting you explore every inch of him for the sake of ‘studying.’ You could hardly believe it was happening yourself. His hand held onto your wrist firmly and continued to guide your hand to stroke him at a slow, lazy pace.

As your attention was occupied with what was in between his legs, he pulled you in with his free hand to press soft kisses at the corner of your mouth. They were quick, soft and a little hesitant at first; but when you didn’t immediately pull away from him, he became bolder, gliding his lips over your own and nipping at your lower lip, hoping to gain access to go deeper. With your mind short circuiting from all the sensations you were experiencing all at once, you gasped for breath; and that was all the permission he needed to deepen the kiss. His tongue swiped over your lips just once before delving into your mouth.

Kisses with the Avatar of Lust were unlike any you experienced before. Perhaps it was the centuries of practice he had with other partners, or perhaps it was his innate charm as the Avatar of Lust that made his kisses feel like a full body experience. You didn’t even feel embarrassed about feeling him up any longer as his kisses were what ultimately made you feel overwhelmed. The scent of new leather laced through the smell of his citrusy cologne and made for an absolutely intoxicating combination.

His hips jerked into your hand as he really got into it with you, the ridged texture under your fingers was firm yet pliant at the same time. His soft whimpers in your ears only emboldened you to explore more of his length. You traced the tapered tip carefully, watching his reactions. It seemed to be a rather sensitive spot considering he stopped kissing you just to let out a lewd moan and grind his length into your hand. His kisses trailed away from your lips to your jaw and to your ear where he licked and nipped right at your pulse point, enjoying the salt of your sweat as the room was quickly becoming warm.

Asmo let out soft whimpers almost akin to a coo every time you stroked him just right. His vocal appreciation egged you on, allowing you to stroke him with more confidence once you figured out just what he liked. He simply looked ravishing in that dress; and you needed to make sure you properly thanked him for not only the extensive notes he was giving you, but also the lovely little show as well.

Eventually, he pulled away from you if only to roll you onto your back and give your body as much attention as your hand had given him. Asmo gently put your arms at your side, murmured reassurances that he would take care of you while he slowly undid every layer of your uniform. If there was one thing he excelled at, it was making you anticipate his next move. He was slow and methodical, admiring every inch of skin he revealed; and he always had a compliment at the ready to make you blush even more under his watchful gaze.

“Beautiful. Just beautiful. Every bit of you,” he murmured before taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it.

You wailed, feeling his tongue lave at your sensitive skin. In fear of the others hearing your lewd exchange with Asmodeus, you quickly clasped your hands over your mouth to muffle your noises. He looked up at you from his place at your chest and laughed softly, putting your hands back at your sides. “No, no. Please be as loud as you wish. I want everyone to know exactly what’s going on here.”

You bit your lip, not sure if you could follow his demands; but the heat simmering in his eyes convinced you to comply. Once he was sure your hands would remain at your side, he went right back to what had been doing, redoubling his efforts on your nipple and making you whimper in need from his ministrations. He loved hearing every one of the sounds that came from your lips, and he was sure the others could hear just what he could do to you on the other side of his door. After the stunt he pulled at the table earlier that day, there was no way his brothers wouldn’t eavesdrop.

You surprisingly still had your panties on, but Asmodeus made quick work of them, peeling them off of you once he was sure your body was willing to accept him. Seeing you completely bare beneath him was absolutely breathtaking. He stared for a moment in awe, making you feel entirely too self conscious; and you curled up a bit to shy away from his heated gaze. “No,” he stated firmly, once again placing your arms at your side. “I want to see all of you.”

“Okay, you’ve seen it now, how about evening the playing field? You’ve got a lot more on than I do.”

“Oh, I do. How rude of me. Let me fix that.”

You felt his weight leave the bed momentarily. Looking up at where he went, you realized he had given you front row seats to a most sensual strip tease.

The only real garment he wore was that leather and lace dress. However, he somehow made taking it off feel like an eternity. From showing off his assets whenever he bent over to the slow pull of the zipper at the side of the dress, you felt like every second he wasn’t spending on top of you was another second that made your arousal reach the unbearable breaking point.

“Asmo, please…” you whined, “Stop teasing…this isn’t fair.”

He liked it when you were whiny. The way you pitched your voice in that desperate whimper broke the last bit of control he had. Whatever other teasing he had planned was thrown out the window in favor of shucking the dress right off so he could settle himself between your legs. His cock pressed at your soaking entrance. “You say please so prettily, I can’t resist.”

He pushed into you, and your hands almost flew to your mouth again to cover the lewd moan that came from your lips. He stretched you just right, fitting into your warm heat as if he was meant to be there. Your moan faded into a satisfied sigh as you felt him fill you. He smiled softly, memorizing the way your eyelids fluttered and the blissful look on your face when he bottomed out inside of you. “That’s a good look,” he purred, giving you a moment to adjust to his cock.

The time he gave you really wasn’t needed, he filled you but didn’t stretch you out in a way that made it painful. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and pulled him in for a hot kiss, your hips flexing as a wordless command for him to move.

He complied eagerly, moaning into your kisses and starting a pace that wasn’t unlike the one he guided your hand into earlier. It let you feel every ridge and bump of his cock slide in and out of you. He knew your first experience with a demon would be unlike any other coupling you had before. He wanted to make it special; and with all his experience as the Avatar of Lust, he sure was able to make you see stars and feel like you were drowning in pleasure.

It was an entirely new type of euphoria you were feeling, and you were quickly beginning to crave more of it. Your legs wrapped around his hips, and you desperately met every one of his slow thrusts in an attempt to get him to give you more. He quickly got the message and picked up the pace once he was confident you were well accustomed to his unique shape.

The change in speed and intensity was just what you needed to satiate your desires. He knew exactly what his cock could do, and he took advantage of it as he fucked you in earnest. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin echoed off his walls, your breathy moans mingled with his grunts of pleasure as you both lost yourselves in the throes of ecstasy while chasing your release.

He could make you see stars and the ends of the universe with his cock and it wasn’t long before the building pressure in your abdomen of your oncoming orgasm was reaching its breaking point. You called for him, encouraging him with your jilted moans every time he buried himself inside of you. His skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion which only seemed to add to your overwhelming arousal.

“Oh fuck,” you choked back a sob as your orgasm washed over you like a wave. Intense and all consuming, your body convulsed as you reached your peak long before he was ready for his own release.

“You’re even more beautiful when you cum,” he panted, starry eyed and amazed at how tightly your inner walls were hugging his cock. “Makes me wish I was rutting right now so I could breed you over and over again. We would make the cutest babies.”

The primal, almost feral way his words sounded only made your walls clench around him even more. For as sensitive as they were, they reacted to him and craved more. He wasn’t done yet, and it seemed like he would continue until he reached his own blissful peak within you.

You weren’t able to keep up with the sensations of his cock still sliding in and out of your swollen walls. Everything became a blur of lust and desire. Your throat felt hoarse from screaming so much; you didn’t want anymore despite what your trembling body craved.

Eventually you could feel a change in Asmodeus’ pace as the even thrusts became erratic, and the volume of his moans matched the pitch of your screams. He gratefully unloaded himself, spilling his seed into you in hot spurts. Your name mixed with a variety of curses in a language you could only imagine was demonic in nature. He groaned, burrowing his head in the crook of your neck as he rode out his climax.

As soon as the brunt of his orgasm was over, he was kissing you deeply, wordlessly thanking you for the intimate moment the two of you had just shared. There was a fair bit of passion in his kisses though the needy heat from before had dissipated now that both of you had found the release you craved. He pulled away with a content sigh, rolling to your side and pulling out of you.

“So, do you think you got some good notes in?” he asked while he gazed lovingly into your eyes, brushing away a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Or do you need some more studying?”

You giggled, your skin still sensitive from such an intense session. “I think I’ll be able to pass with flying colors,” you reassured, rolling closer to him to get some much needed post coital cuddles.

[misedejem]

Date Nights

Series: Persona 4 Ship: Kannao (Kanji Tatsumi/Naoto Shirogane) Word count: 9196

If ever Naoto was feeling low, Kanji would try harder than ever to show her how much he cared. Little gestures of good will and love that would go towards easing the pain. It had been that way from when they first met, and was still the case after over fifteen years.

So when Naoto found herself with Kanji in a slump and a few hours to spare, she took it upon herself to do the same.

(Basically lots of domestic future headcanon shenaningans~ As a note, Naoto is genderfluid in my fics, and this one uses she/her. AO3 link in the notes)

It had been an awfully long time since the Shiroganes had been working away from home at the same time.

Kanji had become unemployed almost two years ago and had been pooling his resources into his online store since then. And Naoto had been on leave a full year now, because of Chihiro, and then the upheaval and transfer of half the Shirogane agency from Tokyo to Yasoinaba. Save the odd local case, she’d effectively been forced to hang up the detective cap until life calmed down enough for her to return.

It was… a much-needed break. They could mutually agree on that.

Then, less than a month between moving into a house and the agency reopening, Yu Narukami had appeared on their doorstep one evening with ‘encouragement bentos’ and a request. The middle school he worked in as guidance counsellor had suddenly lost a teacher temporarily due to illness. The art teacher. She’d probably need at least six months to recover, but the new semester started in September and it was far too tight a deadline for the board to submit a request for a replacement.

“I mentioned you used to work as an art teacher in Tokyo, Kanji, and they said to ask you as soon as possible.”

Neither of them could have foreseen such a thing… But in a week, their situation had changed from both of them being at home, to both of them returning to work just a day apart from one another.

One day.

What a rare commodity that was.

As much as she adored it, Naoto’s career had always been taxing, keeping her late at night and seldom offering her a chance to catch her breath. After all, the Shirogane agency was lauded all across the country. Grampa had made such a name for it before he had died, and the attention she had gained from the media as the ‘first Detective Prince’ had only served to bolster the Shirogane name’s shining reputation once she’d taken over. That, and the fact that it was the only remaining detective agency in the country that specialised in Shadow-related incidents. They’d become ever more prevalent since the mental shutdowns and the Phantom Thieves incidents a decade ago had made knowledge of them more widespread in the seedier depths of society, and the Shadow Operatives had ensured to keep her busy when the cases grew too complex for them to handle.

That’s why they’d come back to Inaba of all places. With the TV World still very much active, it was the most potent place for illicit Shadow activities to occur in all Japan. And with the murmurings of new information cropping up, the higher ups had figured it may be a good idea to have a team of investigators to hand.

The detective had a lot of work waiting for her when her leave expired.

So, for her to be the one left with the house instead of Kanji for a full day… Well, she couldn’t exactly waste such an occasion.

“Momo, no -!  Don’t… climb in there…” Naoto sighed, watching as her orange tabby clambered her way into one of the cardboard boxes at the far end of the room. She knew it was a fruitless effort to try and stop her. Their other cat didn’t house much love for boxes, but Mochi had been found in one as a kitten and clearly had developed a natural affinity towards them as a result. Half their move had been spent trying to keep her out of them long enough to fill them.

“If you wish to help, the very least you could do would be to climb into the ones I haven’t yet searched,” she told her, crossing over to the box and hoisting Mochi out. “That way, I won’t be wasting any time by delving into boxes twice when I retrieve you.”

Unfortunately, Naoto’s request was not met with much approval. The cat just mewled indignantly, clearly unimpressed and unwilling to cooperate, and scampered behind the large pile in the centre of the garage, leaving the detective to continue her investigation on her own.

It was frankly impressive that all the miscellany crammed into these boxes had fit into their Tokyo apartment; big though it was, it had been severely lacking in storage. Half their belongings – all the stuff they didn’t desperately need - were all packed up in this room, waiting for a spare moment to be put in their rightful place. They’d had five weeks to unpack, and perhaps if they’d still been living as just the two of them, they’d have made more of a dent in it. That would certainly have made Naoto’s current task a considerable deal easier. But all the free time they had now was devoted to Chihiro. She was only just coming up on her first birthday, and she was still very much dependant on her parents every moment that she was awake. Even now, Naoto was only able to search the room because the infant was taking her midmorning nap.

She was looking for a binder Kanji had put together, containing a collection of their favourite recipes that he’d found online or written down over the years. Somehow, it had gotten separated from the recipe books when they had packed away their kitchen, and it had not yet resurfaced. This was a major blockade in her plan for the day. She needed that binder. Desperately.

Kanji had seemed rather perturbed as he’d prepared for work that morning. In fact, he’d seemed uneasy about it from the moment Yu had asked him to take it. It was… unlike him. He’d worked as an art teacher in a middle school back in the city for four years, and he’d loved every minute of it.

“Hmm? Course I want the job,” he’d told her when she’d questioned him about it over breakfast. “I miss this kinda shit, you know that.”

He had a smile on his face as he tried spooning a blob of mushed fruits into Chihiro’s mouth, but it was a strained smile if nothing else.

“You just seem tense, that’s all.”

“Yeah, well… So do you. Goin’ back to work after havin’ a kid is s’posed to be kinda rough.” He shrugged.

“I can’t deny that…” Naoto sighed. “Even knowing that your mother will be there for her, and that you’re only doing part time hours, the idea of leaving her alone at all is more taxing on me than I could ever have expected… That’s all it is though?”

Naoto could think of several other reasons Kanji might have to be nervous about this particular job. But on the off chance that they hadn’t crossed his mind yet, she refrained from bringing them up. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel worse.

There was a pause, filled only by Chihiro’s babbles and the sound of the cats zooming about the living room after one another in a burst of energy. As he scraped the last of the baby food from the pot and offered it to their daughter, Kanji’s face began to fall ever so slightly, and before long he was sighing.

“I really gotta… stop overlookin’ that I’m married to a detective.  I am scared shitless of leavin’ Chihiro for the first time. If anythin’s wrong, it’s that most of all. But uh… Otherwise I’m just a little weirded out.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Middle school – this middle school – is kinda… where I started to get a bad rep… What… I dunno, what if they take one look at me and realise who I am and kick me out? Like, they don’t realise ‘Shirogane Kanji’ is actually ‘Tatsumi Kanji’ an’ once they do they won’t want me anymore? They don’t know why I resigned from my last job either, what if they think I did something bad an’–”

As his voice grew louder and more sporadic, his panic becoming so apparent that it was palpable, Naoto scooted her way over to him and slipped her arms around his waist, resting her head gently on his chest.

“You left on your own terms because you disliked the way the school was being run. You don’t have to disclose why. And Kan-chan… you don’t mean to tell me that I’ve kept you from your hometown for so long that you’ve forgotten what it’s like? Inaba isn’t overly massive – rumours spread fast. I daresay there isn’t a person here who doesn’t know that the Tatsumi boy married that Detective Shirogane person. Especially not with how much your mother talks about us.”

She held him close for a while, rubbing her hand across his back even after his heart stopped pounding so hard, and his muscles began to relax.

“Yeah… I know… I know it’s a stupid thing to worry about, an’ that there ain’t no point in getting’ worked up about it…”

“Well, it’s not… stupid. I’d say it’s a perfectly reasonable thing to be concerned about, given the impact it had on you in the past. But I can assure you of this: they wouldn’t have hired you if they thought you were unfit for the position.”

He nodded, and a smile appeared on his face again – a genuine one, this time. For the rest of the morning, his dour disposition had dissipated somewhat, and his spirits certainly seemed higher when he had left the house.

But even if she had managed to cheer him up, Naoto knew the day would be a challenge for him no matter how many positive sentiments she sent his way. Returning to a place you had been mistreated, even after nearly twenty years had passed, was difficult enough as it was, without the thought of leaving your baby for the first time nagging at you as well.

That’s why she needed that binder. It contained the recipe for one of Kanji’s all-time favourite curries, one she believed even she could produce, and she figured he might need something like that when he returned home.

He often did little ‘date nights’ from home for them, for birthdays or anniversaries, or even just when Naoto was struggling with a tough case and needed a distraction or treat. They would put on whatever was comfortable, sit down with a meal and a drink, and more often than not, end up in a snuggled-up heap on the couch with a movie flickering on in the background. She hosted her fair share of them as well, but admittedly hers often involved an expensive night out at a restaurant. Kanji was the better cook, and he considered it a hobby more than simply something one needed to do to survive, but Naoto lacked the skill or drive to make a hand-crafted date night even without her long hours.

But this night would be an exception. She suddenly found herself with eight hours at home without him, and she would be a fool not to use that time to surprise him in the same way he always would with her. She’d throw him a date night so damn enjoyable that he’d forget all about his anxieties, no matter the cost.

That was… if she could find the damned recipe she needed to carry out her plan.

And so, she perused box after box in her investigation, leaving not even one overlooked. Old case files she’d had sent over from the Shirogane estate that had once belonged to her grandfather. An assortment of holiday decorations that really needed separating by date. Kanji’s miscellaneous box of scrap material. A box marked for charity of Naoto’s old clothes that had stopped fitting since she’d had Chihiro. Plushies. More plushies. Even the container of extra crockery, things that had come from the kitchen itself, bore no sign of the item she sought. An hour passed as though it were seconds, yielding nothing of value.

Had Kanji already moved it? It wasn’t as though she could ask him… Had they forgotten it? No, that apartment was spotless when they’d moved out. She’d triple checked it herself.

She foresaw herself spending all day searching at this rate… but she didn’t have all day. He’d be staying late for a debriefing, but even so, Kanji would still probably be home for five o’clock, and she still had to go to Junes to fetch the ingredients she was going to need.

Perhaps she could look it up online again? That was where Kanji had found it originally…

She sat herself, cross legged, on an old rug and pulled out her phone, plugging in the name of the recipe into a search engine, lifting her arm so that Mochi – tired of hiding – could come and curl up in her lap. And then, running the fingers of her free hand through Mochi’s fur, she began to scroll and click every site she could find.

But she recalled vividly the constitution of the page she was searching for, and none of these were it. She’d never read the words herself – having never made the recipe – and Kanji had decided to crop the name of the site it was from to maintain the ‘aesthetic’ of the folder, but she knew what it looked like. The colours, the typeface, the accompanying picture.

Nothing.

It was entirely possible the site had been redesigned or deleted. In which case she was out of luck online… It wouldn’t work for her to try a different recipe, it had to be that one. If it wasn’t that one, it wouldn’t taste the same, and then it wouldn’t be his favourite. Irritation began to swell within her as her endeavour began to look more fruitless, and she had to take a few moments to breathe and calm a little before moving onto her last resort: checking with Mrs. Tatsumi, with Yakushiji, and the Investigation Team on the off chance that maybe Kanji had lent them the recipe at some point.

Nos all around.

The irritation grew stronger.

And then, as though a timer had gone off signifying the end of her allotted time, the baby monitor sprung to life.

***

“Are… You even listening?”

Naoto huffed and folded her arms, wearing her most devastating expression of disappointment as she shook her head. She’d been talking for a good ten minutes, and she was beginning to wonder if any of it had been heard at all.

“’Course we are. You want to do something cute and romantic for the big guy, because you’re secretly a massive softie, but your first idea went bust.”

Yosuke offered her a cheeky wink and raised his soda cup in a mock toast, before turning back to fawn over Chihiro in Chie’s arms.

“But I dunno how you expect us to concentrate on anything else when you’ve brought this adorable little muffin along,” Chie added, putting on a baby voice and ‘booping’ said muffin on the nose. Chihiro giggled, her tiny face absolutely beaming with delight.

“Oh, I expect you to manage perfectly. If I can – if Kanji can – despite seeing every cute thing she ever does, then it should be no problem for somebody only exposed to it for a short while.”

A couple of hours had passed since Naoto had given up her search for the original recipe and had elected to change tactic. She would simply have to find… a different meal entirely. One that would still mean as much to Kanji. But a quick scour of the recipe books they had on hand in the kitchen yielded nothing.  And so, once Chihiro was fed and dressed appropriately for the late summer warmth, she walked her over to Junes to grab some supplies, hoping that by some pure miracle, looking at the ingredients on offer would spark some form of inspiration within her. Only, out of sheer coincidence, she had managed to time her visit perfectly with the end of Yosuke’s shift, and Chie’s day off.

The two of them could often be found talking in the food court on their off-hours. It had been that way since high school, through all the changes and remodels they’d made to the layout of the store over the years and would likely continue to be that way as long as Junes stood and they remained in Inaba. It was the secret headquarters of the Investigation Team, after all. It wasn’t a place you could so easily give up.

So, guided by tradition, they all sat together, sharing a Takoyaki selection in the summer breeze – a welcome change from the mustiness of the Shirogane residence garage – Yosuke and Chie completely spellbound by the baby while Naoto explained her predicament. She had hoped they’d be a little more attentive, and frankly more helpful, but… she supposed she couldn’t fault them. Chihiro was effectively their niece, and she’d been in Tokyo for the past year.

But at least they were making her happy. Seeing her so ecstatic, despite Kanji being gone for so long, certainly helped ease some of the anxieties she had been feeling about leaving her. Getting her acquainted properly with the people who would likely be babysitting her until well into her teens was certainly not a bad thing… although… Naoto was on a tight schedule.

“Aaanyway.” She rapped the table lightly with the tips of her fingers. “Regretfully my first idea – the one that was ah… ‘bust’, as you said – was also my only idea. I’m currently running at a loss on where to proceed from here…”

At the very least they were nodding along now, and looking at her as she spoke.

“…Chie-chan, do you have date nights? What do you usually do?”

“Hmm? Yeah, of course we do! But, uh… Yukiko and I always go out for ‘em. You know, because the inn keeps her so busy and I –”

“Can’t cook anything without it coming out tasting of cardboard?” Yosuke supplied, grinning. Chie shot him a mean look, but nodded nonetheless.

“Pretty much…”

“In most instances, that would be my go-to as well,” Naoto said, holding back a grin at Yosuke’s comment. “Hand-crafted anything is Kanji’s forte, not mine, but… we both agree the ones at home are more enjoyable, no matter how good the food may be in a restaurant.”

“You’re like… the most private people I’ve ever known, so that isn’t surprising.”

She gave an affirming nod. Lovely as it was to go all out sometimes at an expensive eatery, there were always… stares. No matter where they were, people would see them and notice. Sometimes they’d simply recognise the Detective Prince, and that was all they’d see. But other times their eyes would linger longer. They’d take note of Kanji’s piercings and spikes combined with the cute animals and soft colours, analyse Naoto’s dedication to old English fashion and deliberate lack of conformity to any gender, and then keep their gazes trained on the two of them as they attempted to pick apart every contrasting aspect. The way they looked and dressed alone, the way they looked and dressed together… it made going out in public difficult for two people who both struggled to some degree with social anxieties and a history of being scrutinised for the way they were.

Kanji had left the house worrying he was going to be judged. She didn’t want to put him through that twice in one day.

“Well, is there anything else you’ve made before that you know he likes?” Yosuke asked, helping himself to the Takoyaki  

Naoto frowned. “Well, yes, but all of it is rather… typical? I have a small repertoire, you see.”

“So you want something different? Hmm… Why don’t you just go ham?” Chie suggested with a genuine smile. “Grab stuff you think’ll go together and make a totally new curry. Heck, doesn’t even gotta be curry.”

“That’s how you end up with Mystery Food X: Redux,” Yosuke warned, and Chie’s smile instantly vanished. “Though actually, Naoto… In your sensible hands you’d probably be okay. You actually know how to cook.”

“If I wasn’t holding a baby right now, I would kick you.”

“Without a recipe at all…?” For a moment, the detective was left perplexed. But before long, a thought came across her mind, and that irritation from earlier came grumbling back into her periphery. “Yosuke-kun. Please. I simply don’t have the time to spare for your… japes and mockery. I need you to be serious.”

She expected him to laugh, as he often would when she caught him out while he was joking. She didn’t do so very often, loathe as she was to admit it, and it had become something of a game to Yosuke to see how long he could keep pushing her buttons.

But this time he threw up his hands instead, with… was that his face now contorted in confusion as well?

“H-hey, I am being serious. Promise. If you genuinely have no other ideas, then I begrudgingly accept that Chie might be onto something.”

“And I’m supposed to do that without instructions?” She asked incredulously, raising her eyebrows. Was she being foolish and naïve? Or was Yosuke the one reeking of inexperience? “You act as though you believe I have time to memorise every food combination, and how to make them work. I am a detective, not a chef, Yosuke-kun. Recipes exist so that I don’t have to preoccupy my brain with trivialities such as cooking from memory.”

“Hey, it was Chie’s idea, not mine!”

“You should know better.”

The raised voices and snipes were a staple of any conversation involving Yosuke and Chie, and at this point Naoto had come to learn that it was largely performative. They ‘fought’ with warm regards. She’d even reached a point where she was able to go along with it without utterly deflating the mood. But to Chihiro, with no grasp of the concept of banter, it was all just loud, frightening noises coming from people she didn’t know all too well. The conversation very quickly had to switch courses when a crying spell threatened to rear its head.

“You know… you never asked me what I do for date nights,” Yosuke pointed out once the baby had been settled. She now lay propped up on Naoto’s lap, nodding off with her little head resting on her chest. Naoto constantly considered herself fortunate that Chihiro wasn’t especially fussy. Sometimes on a good day all she needed to calm right down was a cuddle.

“Hmm?” she looked up. If Yosuke had said anything before that, she had been too preoccupied with gently coaxing her daughter to nap to hear it. “Oh, no, I suppose I didn’t…”

Chie, who had moved into the more comfortable position of resting her chin on her hand now her arms were free, scoffed slightly.

“Dude. Maybe because you don’t have anybody to date?”

“Well… No, but I’ve been on dates. More than one with the same person. I have experience, I’m just… not experiencing it right now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, casting his gaze off to the side. “Dinner dates aren’t really my thing though…”

“So, why’d you even bring it up?”

“Hey! I’ve been on… like, one dinner date. I’m just not the guru of them!” He shrugged. “It’s an interesting story actually… I got set up a few years ago by my bandmates, and it turns out the guy isn’t my type at all. But I didn’t want to say no without at least giving him a chance, so… Y’know. He wants to go out to this fancy French place, but we get there and they’re closing early because of… Uh, I think the kitchen flooded or something like that? So, he takes me back to his place and leaves me there, runs off to go shopping, and comes back and cooks a three-course French meal himself.”

“And you didn’t marry him on the spot?”

“Nah. We did a couple more dates but it didn’t really work out. We weren’t super compatible...”

“Is this why you get Rise to vet anybody you’re gonna date now?”

“Pretty much. You guys know me best, so…”

The two of them continued to talk, but from Naoto’s perspective, their voices had been drowned by her thoughts into a dull and distant murmur. From the moment Yosuke had finished his story, the gears in her brain had whirred into motion, working their way into fabricating a plan formed from his words.

It had hit her at last. A wave of inspiration and relief, tantamount to the feeling she would have when she’d finally cracked the secret to a particularly arduous case.

A plan. Followed by a conjured image of how Kanji’s face might look when he saw it.

“Yosuke-kun…” she began, standing slowly so that she did not wake the baby and gently lowering her into the buggy she had parked next to her seat. “Would you be able to look something up for me? While my hands are full.”

***

January 19th, 2025. Little over a year and a half ago. London, England. They’d been abroad for a few weeks at that point, Naoto on a case for the Shadow Operatives, and Kanji taking advantage of her hotel room to table at an artist’s alley in a convention.

It was something of a special occasion. Kanji’s 29th birthday had been the original cause for celebration, but to him at least that was very much an aside. It was, what, only three hours prior to reaching the restaurant that they’d found out Naoto was pregnant.

There had been several sources for the reasoning behind Naoto’s choice in establishment, and unlike most of her destination picks while they’d been in London, none of them had a single thing to do with Sherlock Holmes. The ones that stood out the most: a churning in her stomach – simultaneously a mental and a physical reaction to her current condition – and a particularly mournful image of her mother-in-law from a few months prior.

“There was this little place my late husband and I would always take Kanji when he was young, if we had to travel to Okina. Italian, it was, family run. I just heard from a customer that it was recently shut down because the owner passed. It has me a little down to think of, that’s all Naoto dear.”

A precious memory from Kanji’s childhood was no small matter, harrowing as such a thing was to think. And Italian… parsing through her options in her mind as she browsed the local restaurants on one of those food apps, Naoto took note of how the one being advertised made her insides turn the least at the thoughts of it. It was one of those smaller, more community-based places, while the others were either going to be full of too-rich smells for her poor stomach to handle, or full of classy, antiquated rules and stares that she didn’t feel up to taking that day.

She didn’t want to make her husband eat hotel food on his birthday… And nor did she want to worry him all evening by being exceptionally edgy. So it didn’t take very long at all for her to have dialled the number for the family-run Italian place, and had booked them a table for two that evening.

The food had been… good. Standard fare for that kind of place. But Naoto was a harsh critic – even without feeling deeply unwell, she had been to Italy. And yet, in all the fifteen years she had known Kanji, she could not recall a single meal out where he seemed to have enjoyed himself quite as much as that. The rush of euphoria from learning he was going to be a father had apparently been enough to turn any experience he may have had that night into the best date night of his life. And Naoto knew the kind of man he was. Sentimental, perceptive, prone to dwelling on the little things. He’d remember, starkly, what he had eaten then.

It was just a pasta meal. She recalled it being made with chicken and a creamy, pesto-based sauce, and Yosuke’s internet search had quickly pulled up a recipe for something along those lines. It wouldn’t be the same – these places kept their recipes close to the heart – but that didn’t matter. Her plan had now become a case of finding something symbolic, over finding something that tasted good.

“I think he’s really starting to rub off on you,” Yosuke had noted as Naoto had prepared to rush off to grab the ingredients from the recipe he had found. “Kanji, I mean. In a good way.”

She’d queried him on that. Her own sharpness didn’t exactly extend to analysing herself.

“I just meant that five years ago, I don’t think you’d ever have thought to do something like this. I always took you for the… less cliché of the two of you. Didn’t you propose to him spontaneously in a cat café? If you don’t mind me asking… why is this the first thing you thought to do for him?”

A pause for Naoto to collect her thoughts. One that, much to everyone’s surprise, didn’t last nearly as long as it might have.

“It’s… because this is logical to me. A dinner date – it’s the simplest, most common activity in the books. It’s a cliché because its effective. Because food is one of those love languages that transcends barriers, and to somebody who struggles in most social situations, like Kanji, like me, you must understand that something like this is a life saver. It’s a change to our routine that really doesn’t change all that much.” She smiled to herself. “Kanji does this to make me feel happy. So many people do, for the person they love. It only makes sense to me that I follow their lead.”

It was that way for most matters of the heart, she thought to herself as she balanced a packet of chicken on the hood of the buggy. She had never known how to act in these situations, how to express the feelings she had. And while she’d devised some unique little ways that she had managed to convey to Kanji, oftentimes the most effective means of telling him that she loved him was to simply use another person’s idea as a foundation. She had her own experiences as proof that it worked. After all, Kanji was a person who had been so starved for and scared of affection as a child that now, almost anything that said ‘I care about you’ was enough to draw him to tears. And Naoto was no different. He was more physical than her, and really that was the only major way in which their feelings towards romance diverged. The things that made one of them happy was sure to leave the other in the same state.

***

Naoto loved Kanji more than she hated cooking. That was really the defining fact that made this entire plan of hers possible at all.

Because she really hated cooking.

“I’ll prolly be home in like… forty minutes,” Kanji had told her over the phone when she’d given him a tentative call at just gone four to gauge how long she had. Pasta wasn’t exactly something she could make well in advance – just the thought of reheating it or overcooking it made her skin crawl. It was one of those things she needed to be perfect. Kanji, thankfully, didn’t have a preference.

So, she’d had to leave making the actual meal until as close to Kanji’s arrival as she could predict. But it wasn’t as though she had time to spare… She had to make the table, feed the cats, feed the baby, put the baby down for a nap…  

Then she had to cook the chicken and the pasta… that was fine, it just… radiated a lot of heat for a day that was already rather warm. Inaba’s houses were old, and they didn’t yet have much ventilation or air conditioning.

Then was the sauce, and she had to do some vegetables, but she had to keep stirring the sauce so it didn’t ruin the consistency, and she had to keep turning the meat and the veggies so they wouldn’t burn, and oh, the pasta might stick or become overdone if she wasn’t careful. Then it would just become stressful. Every meal, every time. No matter how methodical she tried to be, it would always devolve into this.

It was a focus thing, she was sure. When she homed in on a task or a detail, it became quite difficult to switch gears on the fly. A useful skill for analysing a murder case. Not so much for cooking.

It was why, when they were both at home, she and Kanji would often just cook dinner together.

But occasionally, and for the sake of somebody she cared about, it was worth it.

She was just at the stage where she was plating up the food, trying to get it to look as it did in the picture on the website, when the familiar sight of an old, dusty car that had at one point been purple staggered its way up their driveway, starkly contrasted with the shiny motorcycle it had pulled up next to. As Kanji climbed from the car, Naoto carefully studied his face, trying to glean from his expression how exactly he was feeling in that moment. But Kanji had a naturally angry look to him, so such a task was often difficult to undertake.

“You makin’ garlic bread, Nao?” he called from the porch almost as soon as the door had slid shut.

“You’ll see,” was all she said in response. With Kanji just moments away from seeing what she had done, she found herself buzzing with anticipation.

“Wuzzat s’posed to mean?” he asked, sticking his head around the door into the kitchen.

For a moment, his forehead crinkled as he took everything in, his eyes lingering on the table made up as closely to that of a restaurant as Naoto could manage, with cloth, candles, and an arrangement of Kanji’s favourite red roses (albeit that was rather haphazardly done).

And in that moment Naoto felt as though her heart had somehow managed to stall.

But the tension was brief, quickly dissipated by the biggest, goofiest grin taking up a huge portion of Kanji’s face.

He strode into the room and pulled his partner into a powerful hug all in a motion that was so fluid, you wouldn’t think it was Kanji performing it.

“I can see you’re ready to reopen the agency, huh?”

Naoto smiled and shook her head, before snuggling her cheek into Kanji’s chest. “Don’t mistake this for a fit of boredom – I’ve been anything but. Welcome to our first date night back in Inaba.”

“Huh? W-wait, hold up… Date night? You did this… fer me?”

His eyes threatened to grow wider than his smile had those few moments earlier, as the realisation of the circumstances slowly began to dawn on him.

Then, as was customary for Kanji whenever Naoto would do anything for him ever, his face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, and he began stammering unintelligible gibberish.

“Quickly now, before it cools down!”

“Y…Yuh…”

This was… odd. Kanji seemed unequivocally, unprecedentedly broken. His movements as he crossed to the counter and grabbed his plate, were mechanical, shaken, even. They weren’t unheard of for him, but it was as though they had suddenly been transported fifteen years into the past once more. Before they had fallen in love, before they’d even been close friends, when Kanji was so overcome with embarrassment whenever they spoke that he would be unable to function.

Now they were married, it wasn’t exactly commonplace.

Had something happened to him at work which had left him overwhelmed?

“Kanji?” Naoto called out tentatively as they took their seats.

“…huh?”

“You seem… Rather out of it.”

He blinked a couple of times and shook his head. “Right. Yeah… Sorry…”

He cleared his throat and repeated the process of shaking his head.

“It’s just, uh… ‘M kinda at a loss for words. This is… Wow.”

A tension she hadn’t recognised until it was gone suddenly flooded from her body with a sigh of relief.

“For a moment there I was concerned that something was wrong, so –”

“More like… everythin’ is right. I never pegged you fer someone who’d do date nights Tatsumi style.”

“…Tatsumi style? So this…” she waved an arm across the table. “This is something you observed… what, from your parents?”

He nodded. Naoto didn’t realise it was possible for him to turn redder until just then.

“Ain’t really a lotta options for fancy restaurants like what you do out here. Ma and my old man always improvised at home. I know cookin’ yer partner a meal ain’t somethin’ my folks made up, they just ended up callin’ it that… Nickname kinda stuck.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Well, I suppose I have rather adopted a Tatsumi way of behaving today. Our roles have been utterly reversed. Why, I daresay after dinner, I shall take up a crochet project, and you’ll lull our Chihiro to sleep by reading her more of ‘A Study in Scarlet’.”

“I love you, Naoto.”

“Eh?”

But instead of elaborating, Kanji simply left his partner to turn an equally furious shade of red while he took a bite of the food. Naoto found herself so flustered that she didn’t even have time to be nervous about him trying the dish.

But, she supposed, she didn’t really have anything to worry about. This was Kanji.

“…I better never hear the words ‘I’m not very good at cooking’ comin’ from yer mouth again.”

“Well… Regardless of the quality of the food –” she began, about to launch into a spiel about how the mess she made, and how stressful it was for her, suggested that she technically wasn’t exactly on the level of a master. But all it took from Kanji was a single glare, and she stopped herself.

This was supposed to be a pleasant evening. And he did hate when she was self-deprecating in any capacity.

“I’m glad you like it Kan-chan.” She smiled, taking her own first bite. Hmm. Not bad. She wasn’t sure how this was supposed to taste – she’d been feeling far too unwell that night in London to eat much at all, so she’d ordered a lighter dish – but how it did taste was pleasant.

“Better than it was on my birthday that one time. Dunno if you remember, but at that one Italian place when we were in England –”

“Where do you suppose I gained the inspiration to make this particular meal?”

“Huh? Well shit, haha. Last time I ever doubt yer memory.”

“Hm, well… I don’t think I’m capable of forgetting that day…”

Kanji slid his free hand across the table and placed it atop hers, rubbing his thumb soothingly over her knuckles. Strange, she noted, that the nail was still painted black; she was sure the school would make him take the colour off alongside his piercings.

A nagging feeling in her chest, her stomach, her mind was begging her to ask him how it had gone. But it was not the only train of thought on the feeling that she had. What if Kanji didn’t want to talk about it yet? What if it was best to simply… enjoy the meal in ignorant bliss? Was he waiting for the right time, or for her to say something?

He looked as though he were about to speak now, was that the subject he was going to bring up?

“How has Chihiro been today?”

No. Of course not. The subject of work would have to wait.

As with… most of their conversations over the past year, the rest of the meal was largely dominated with Chihiro. Naoto describing, in detail, exactly what she had done, and Kanji’s expression growing fonder and fonder with every word. By the time they were done eating, he looked as though he were going to cry.

“Kinda sad that this is our lives goin’ forwards…”

“Hm?”

“Nothin’… just been missin’ her at work is all.”

The nagging feeling was very quickly becoming anxiety. The first mention of his day all evening, and it was something negative.

“Kanji, was everything –”

A sound suddenly stole her words before she had the chance to finish. A baby crying, as audible through the walls as it was the baby monitor on the counter.

“Prolly needs changing, huh?” Kanji smiled, rising to his feet. “Mind if I take this?”

“Please… She probably misses you too.”

In the time that Kanji was attending to the baby, Naoto managed to load everything that needed cleaning into the dishwasher, and found her way to the living room, and then to the couch. But her mind wasn’t exactly responsive as she did so.

Kanji… was worse than she had anticipated… More than just a simple meal could possibly hope to fix. Why on earth… What delusion had she been under to think, with how he’d been these past few days, that a little romantic gesture would be all he needed to feel better.

Amidst the haze that was buzzing in her mind, she vaguely registered her hands clenching into fists.

At some point, goodness knew when, Kanji had reappeared in the room and had sat down next to her, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She’s back down. Heh… Wanted to play as soon as she saw me, the little tyke, but could barely keep her eyes open long enough to do it.”

“She’s had… a busy day.”

“Ain’t we all?” he said with an air of exhaustion about him, placing his glasses gently on the kotatsu in front of them and then sinking back into the couch. “You ready for tomorrow?”

“I’ve been ready for weeks. Waiting on other people…” Naoto mumbled in response. Her gaze had fallen as she’d spoken to her socks, and she could not bring herself to remove it until Kanji nudged her with his arm.

“Hey. You good, Nao?”

“…Are you?”

That brought the conversation to a standstill.

“Would ya believe me if I told ya I was jus’ tired?”

“Only… partially.”

He gave her a half smile and repositioned himself so that his head lay on her shoulder.

“It was… a pretty exhaustin’ day… Lotta new stuff. Lotta old stuff too… that school ain’t changed in twenty years. Amazing it’s managed so long.”

Naoto just made an affirming noise and let her hand come to rest on his shoulder, pressing her cheek onto the top of his head. Best just to let him speak, she thought.

“Ain’t none of the people I knew still there but… they knew who I was. Course they did… didn’t expect any different. An’ you know what?”

“Hm?”

“Most of ‘em just complimented me on the plushies. They knew me ‘cause of the shop, not… ‘cause of the delinquent shit.”

“Well, that’s… good, is it not? That’s what we hoped would happen.”

She felt him shift his head as though he were trying to nod. His arm had worked its way around her waist, and she felt him bunching up the fabric of her dress shirt in his fingers as he spoke. It was an unconscious habit of his. Most notable when he was nervous.

“Yeah… Never said it weren’t good. Jus’ that I was tired. And that I missed my kid. And you.”

Naoto drew a deep breath. “It seemed like something was wrong, that’s all. I’ve been worried about you. All day. All week.”

“…That why you’re not okay?”

“Yes! Effectively!”

Another brief standstill.

“Sorry ‘bout that… Really… Last thing I wanted was for my bullshit worrying over nothing to affect you too.”

Naoto squeezed his shoulder slightly.

“You should know by now that such a thing is impossible. The same can be said of you, to me. We’ve been in this partnership since we were in high-school, Kan-chan, we can’t simply… hide our true feelings any longer. We know each other too well to be caught out.”

“Yeah… s’pose you’re right… I did appreciate it though. Back before I went in today and realised my worries were a load ‘a crap. I… I dunno, I guess comin’ back to Inaba after so long had me thinkin’ that everythin’ was gonna go back to the way it was.”

“Kanji… You weren’t… Please don’t tell me you’ve been thinking that way since we first planned to come.”

Silence. Naoto’s heart dropped. Obviously, that meant she was right on the mark.

Good lord, she had still been expecting when they’d first discussed moving back! Their daughter was one in a week!

“’s in the past now though. All of it,” he said eventually. “Physically this place ain’t no different, but I guess the vibe has changed since we were kids. Maybe… Enough time has passed now that I ain’t gotta worry about… the guy I was.”

“Kanji… I rescind what I said earlier. About how it’s impossible to hide our feelings from each other. Please… when it’s something serious like this, I implore you to tell me.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry. If she did, he’d try to make this about her, and dammit, she was tired of it being about her. The entire point of everything she had done that day was to make it about Kanji for once in his life.

“…’M sorry, Nao…”

After that, for a long while neither of them spoke. They simply adjusted themselves into a position where they could more easily cuddle and sat there, snuggled into each other as the dwindling oranges and purples of the twilight sky gave way to darkness.

Kanji was the one to break the silence, his voice so slick with sleepiness that it was demure in a way which was much unlike him.

“Hey Nao… Yer still awake, right?”

“Mmhmm…” she responded. It was… mostly true.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’. I got a new goal now we’re back here… I wanna be able to look that bastard in the eye and tell him he ain’t me. Not because I’m denyin’ anythin’, but because he ain’t.”

“Him? Your Shadow?”

“Yeah. Like you can, y’know? If your Shadow popped their head back up and started sayin’ the same shit as before, you could just tell ‘em: ‘you’re wrong.’ ‘Cause they would be.”

“But they wouldn’t say something like that. My age and gender no longer cause me grief to the level they had in my youth, so my Shadow wouldn’t bring them up.”

Of course, they wouldn’t. Naoto thought that was obvious. She was thirty-one, very much an adult, and any doubt she had about whether she was a man or a woman were significantly eased when she had learned that she could be both and neither. She had no lack of confidence in those aspects of herself, regardless now of what other people thought, so there was no way the Shadow could use them as ammunition if they were to reappear.

But based on Kanji’s next statement, suddenly full of more vigour than his words prior, she wondered if perhaps she had misunderstood where he was coming from.

“Yeah, but that’s what I’m saying! The stuff your Shadow said back then… It ain’t even crossin’ your mind anymore. I wanna be the same… I mean… It’s not that I ain’t happy with who I am. I like cute shit, and sewing, and all the stuff like that. Shit, I’m bi as hell. I can say that stuff proudly. It’s…” he huffed. “For some reason, it’s like I can be confident in myself all I want, but in my head it don’t mean shit unless everyone else feels the same way. An' as long as I got a history as 'the guy who beats up bikers', it's like that day ain't gonna come... I’m… still scared shitless of bein’ rejected after all these years... It’s like… every time I meet a new group of people, I just end up wonderin’ how long its gonna be before they brand me a thug and cut me and everyone I care about off. Think that’s kinda the reason it’s been weighin’ on me again so much more recently. I start comin’ up with scenarios in my head where it gets outta hand and Chihiro gets hurt ‘cause of it.”

As he spoke, his hug became tighter.

“Kan-chan…”

“So, my goal is to get to a place where I don’t constantly worry about that stuff. Where if that bastard showed up again and said that kinda shit, I could deny him with my whole heart and know for certain that I’m right an’ he’s wrong. An’ before you say shit, I know that ain’t how Shadows work. That’s jus’ the image I use in my head to try an’ visualise what I’m itchin’ to do.”

He added that last part with a hint of a laugh to his tone.

So that was why he took a job he was so caught up about? As some concrete way of proving to himself that he would be okay if he did?

A self-destructive means of gathering evidence for a hypothesis… hm… perhaps Naoto’s inheritance of Kanji’s traits over the years had gone the other way as well.

“I didn’t realise it was possible to be so unbelievably proud of somebody, while simultaneously thinking them a fool…” Naoto ensured to keep her own tone bright, so that he would know she spoke in endearing terms. “You know I would have supported you through this if only you had told me –”

“Hah. Yer actin’ like you take me for the kinda guy who thinks this shit through… this ain’t exactly something I’ve been plannin’ or nothin’, it just sorta… came to me now.”

Oh, so it was a subconscious instinct?

Then perhaps he would be safe from her bad influence for just a little while longer…

“Well… regardless of how much preparation has gone into it… it is a good goal to have in mind, so long as you’re comfortable with the pain it may bring in the process.”

“Yeah. No problem. Anyway…” he sat up and looked her in the eyes. “What was that you were implyin’ with the whole ‘you know I would have supported you’ bull you just said?”

Naoto frowned. “It’s the truth –”

“Yeah, I know it’s the truth. Because you have been supportin’ me, dumbass. You ain’t ever stopped.” He thrust his arm in the vague, general direction of the kitchen, a wild delight dancing in his eyes. “You spent the last day of yer maternity leave makin’ sure I’d have a good evenin’ because you thought I needed cheerin’ up.”

Naoto felt her cheeks heat up. “I… I only did what you would do for me…”

“Yeah, but it ain’t like I made you do it. You still made the decision. It’s amazin’, an yer incredible, and adorable, an’ you make a freakin’ awesome pasta, an’ I can’t believe how lucky I am to have you.”

She knew she was blushing harder and harder with every word, to the point where all she could think to do was bury her face into his shoulder.

“Feel kinda bad that we kinda got side-tracked from the ‘date night’ though… Sorry if you had anything else planned.”

“No, no, don’t feel bad. I did this because I thought you needed it, Kanji. And I don’t suppose I’m wrong in suggesting that you very much needed this talk as well?”

“…You ain’t wrong… Not at all.”

“And do you feel any better for having it?”

“Mmhmm.”

Naoto lifted her head and gave him her warmest smile. “Then I can safely declare this date night a resounding success.”

“Damn right, you can! But uh… I don’t wanna take away from anythin’ else you mighta wanted to do, so –”

The heat in her cheeks returned as quickly as it had vanished, and she sheepishly averted his gaze. Right. Date night was usually more than a meal.

“Uhm... About that. Kanji, I’ll be perfectly honest with you, I… I was so caught up in trying to find a recipe for dinner that it never even occurred to me to look for a movie or something to do afterwards.”

She offered him an apologetic look, but his immediate response was only to laugh and hold her closer.

“Don’t think I coulda made it through a movie anyway… I’m beat…”

“As am I. I think I may drift off here…”

It quickly became apparent that each of their ideal end to the evening would be to turn in early and hope to gain a restful night – something that was near impossible with a small child. Whether such a thing was an indication of how eventful their day had been, or whether it was simply a sign of them getting older, neither really cared to consider. Instead, they just ensured the house was secure, called the cats to follow them, and moved upstairs as quietly as they could so that their footsteps wouldn’t cause Chihiro to stir.

It wasn’t until Naoto had switched her outfit for one of Kanji’s old shirts and was brushing her teeth in the upstairs bathroom that it dawned on her: there was still one aspect of her day that had yet to be cleared up.

And now that it had come to mind, she feared she may be unable to sleep until she had an answer.

“Kan-chan?”

“Hm?”

“You know the binder you keep with recipe print-outs…? Do you have any idea what box it’s in?”

His face was mostly buried by the bedsheets by now, but she could tell from the part she could see that he was thinking hard.

“Uh… Oh! My car.”

“…Your car?”

“Yeah. I didn’t want the other kitchen stuff to squash it, so I put it separate. I see it every time I go in there an’ I keep saying I’ll bring it in and never do. How come…?”

Naoto heaved a great sigh and flopped on the bed besides him. It wasn’t until her face hit the pillow that she realised exactly how exhausting her day had been. “So you had it all along… I never would have found it.”

“You were lookin’ for it?”

“I was. I wanted to make you that curry instead, the one you called your favourite.”

“Ohhhh. I getcha now." He laughed. "That woulda been a good choice. But y’know anythin’ would have been fine. I got a real soft-spot for Italian food, hehe.”

“I like that curry myself though,” she added, as she shuffled under the covers. “It’s rare to find something spicy that you can handle as much as I…”

“You do, huh? I see.”

There was silence for a while. And then…

“Hey, Naoto…?”

“Mmm?”

“When’s your next day off?”

“My next day off…? That would be Sunday… Why?”

But Kanji didn’t answer. Instead, he just leaned over to kiss her goodnight, and then, with a sleepy smile, he rolled over and went to sleep.

[jaskiersvalley]

This blog is fairly new and you’re one of the first I’ve found that I hadn’t already with an old blog. I love your work. It’s very well written. 💜

Thank you! When you sent this ask, it was a fairly new blog (to be fair, I still think of it as such, it’s not even 6 months old). As a little thank you for being so encouraging so early in the life of this blog, please accept this random little story: Geralt the accidental gardener.

The Path was lonely without Jaskier. Geralt had grown to hate the silence, the way people turned away from him without the buffer of Jaskier between him and humanity. But Jaskier was off on better adventured now, Geralt had to hurt him so he’d realise at long last that there was a better life for him out there than one beside a witcher. It had hurt, Jaskier’s expression had burned into Geralt’s mind, the crushing disappointment and realisation that Geralt wasn’t going to come crawling back. But oh how Geralt had wanted to run after Jaskier, beg his forgiveness. Alas, this was the very act of being cruel to be kind. Maybe one day Jaskier would realised.

Contracts were few and far between but the lands Geralt had roamed of late hadn’t been too hostile towards an infamous witcher. There was even a contract advertised in a lesser court not too far. Geralt made his way to Lettenhove and was ushered into a hall where the Viscount and Viscountess greeted him.

“I’m here about the job,” Geralt announced, not beating around the bush. Nobody ever wanted a witcher in their courts, no matter how small their power was. As expected, he was given a hesitant once over.

“Do you have experience?” It was the Viscountess who spoke up, looking only slightly unnerved.

“Yes.” There was no point for Geralt to prove his worth, they either wanted him to deal with their issue or they would suffer until another witcher graced their courts with his presence.

“Then it is settled. Room and food are part of your contract. Reydan will show you to your quarters and tomorrow he will give you a tour. Your horse will be welcome in the stables of course.”

That was a much warmer and pleasant contract negotiation than Geralt had ever had. Even when he heard the Viscount mutter “you sure about this?” and the Viscountess’ “we owe him this much” which made Geralt frown in confusion. Maybe the Viscountess was one of those who hoped to bed a witcher for the novelty of it. That was Jaskier’s forte though, not Geralt’s, he tried not to tangle with anyone in a relationship.

The room Geralt was shown to was in the servants’ quarters and actually nicer than anything he’d ever had. Even Kaer Morhen paled in comparison. His window overlooked the garden to start with. And the bedding wasn’t torn or moth eaten. In fact, it looked barely used at all. The Viscountess was almost definitely a monster fucker. Geralt would do the job and get out as quickly as possible before things got awkward.

Settled into the room for the night, Geralt was surprised when Reydan knocked for him, inviting him to the servants’ dinner for the evening. It was strangely nice, being surrounded by humans who, while a little wary, were doing their best to be welcoming and friendly. They treated him like one of their own. For the first time in a very long time, Geralt felt at ease amongst humans.

Morning came sooner than expected and Geralt groaned, pulling his armour on, strapping his swords to his back, ready for Reydan to take him to where the beast was. He didn’t expect to be given a baffled look by Reydan but be led into the garden without comment. Various plants were pointed out, rose bushes, a vegetable garden, arches of wisteria and so many others that Geralt had never even heard of. It was all very nice but he couldn’t figure out what this had to do with monster killing. Maybe those were the plants the monster liked? Or the ones he was to avoid while battling the creature that haunted the gardens? The answer came as they walked through the front gardens and stopped to admire an apple tree. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a sign being removed from the front of the property.

Gardener wanted

Oh fuck. Somehow the Viscount and Viscountess had assumed he was there for the gardener position and not the creature killing one. They took one look at him and, despite his inhuman looks, swords and general demeanour, they decided he couldn’t possibly be a witcher but rather an unusual gardener.

“That is about all that you’ll be responsible for.” Reydan finished up and looked over Geralt. “Do you have anything more suitable to work in? Leather tends to get too warm. And we have pruning shears which are more efficient than swords.” Laughing awkwardly, Reydan gave Geralt a small smile. “And I don’t think I ever caught your name, I’m so sorry.”

This was a crossroad in Geralt’s Path. He could either declare this had been some great mistake and he was here for the monster. It would be awkward, he’d be sneered at, ostracised and thrown out for taking their resources, even if by mistake. He’d still kill the monster but probably to take his frustrations out rather than for coin. Or, he could lay his swords down for a while. The world was tiring and disappointing. One evening in the company of people who treated him as an equal had been invigorating and, selfishly, Geralt wanted more.

“I’m Eric,” he said, quietly sending a “fuck you” to Vesemir who had denied him the name.

Gardening, Geralt realised was more difficult than he had ever thought if would be. Knowing what to cut when and how, which trees needed what compost or how much water was beyond him. Geralt tried his best though, tried to watch what everyone else was doing. Thankfully, Reydan had been kind enough to find him some dungarees and a floppy, wide brimmed hat to work in. He had been absolutely right, such work in his leathers would have been worse than uncomfortable.

Miraculously, none of the plants in his care died. Sometimes it looked like a close call, Geralt fretting that he’d cut something at the wrong time or the wrong way but, somehow, the plants survived his inexperience. Even better, the other servants and staff seemed to genuinely warm to him. The few times he encountered the Viscount or Viscountess, they nodded and smiled at him, only once enquiring how he was settling in. As well as food and room, Geralt was granted a weekly wage which might have been meagre but it was more and steadier than he had ever had before. While he was loath to spend it, he found that it built up into a tidy little stash at a surprising speed. Soon, Geralt was going to be the richest witcher in existence.

To keep his skills sharp and also repay the kindness of those around him, Geralt secretly sneaked out at nights and on his days off to slay local monsters. It was both to keep his newfound job safe and also to feel that he hadn’t quite given up on being a witcher. Merely, he was taking an unofficial hiatus.

Months down the line, Geralt was cutting roses for the dinner hall bouquet when a murmur went up around him. He couldn’t see the cause of it but the words were easy enough to hear.

“He’s back!”

“The little master is home!”

“He’ll be so happy we followed his request.”

While Geralt didn’t get a glimpse of the ‘Little Master’, everyone seemed to be cheered by his appearance. In fact, the whole court was in a bubbling upheaval. A feast was ordered and all servants were invited to take part in the meal in the main hall to celebrate. Curious, Geralt let himself be playfully bullied into attending too. He didn’t quite blend in with the rest of the servants but the crowd was almost large enough to swallow him. It was nowhere near enough though when he walked in and sat at the high table with the Viscount and Viscountess was none other than Jaskier who was staring right back at him.

Noting their staring, the Viscountess scowled at Jaskier then rose, dragging what was so evidently her son behind her.

“Julian,” she said, stopping in front of Geralt. “While you’ve been away, we’ve hired a new gardener. This is...Eric.”

“Eric?” Jaskier looked incredulous.

“Yes. He has been with us for a few months. Eric, this is my son, Julian. He’s often away, travelling the continent as a bard.”

Sudden bright, clear laughter broke out from Jaskier, head tipped back, eyes creased and mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “Can we stop this charade. Geralt, what the fuck? Mother, this is the bastard who broke my heart.” Without any warning, he swept Geralt into a hug. “You fell off the face of the continent without anyone knowing what had happened. Eskel and Lambert mourned for you, you bastard.”

At least the Viscountess looked relieved rather than anything else. “You asked us, Julian, that if any witcher ever came, especially one with white hair, we would make sure to give them respite. So we did.” Sniffing daintily, she looked at Geralt. “No offence Eric, Geralt, whatever, but you make a shit gardener. Poor Reydan had to sneak around after you to try and keep the plants you butchered alive.”

Jaskier laughed even more at that and a few of the braver servants crowded closer, listening. Geralt looked at them all, the ones he had been able to call his friends for the last few months. They all knew he was a witcher and yet welcomed him with open arms just because Jaskier had asked his parents to help. All in all, Geralt felt rather foolish.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll leave immediately.”

A hand shot out to grab his arm. “Or you could stay.” Jaskier said.

“Just please, spare the plants.” That was Reydan interrupting, giving Geralt a friendly slap on the back. More of the servants echoed Jaskier’s suggestions that he could stay, at least until Jaskier went back on the road.

There was a bit of an uproar when Geralt didn’t move to the high table to catch up with Jaskier. Instead, Jaskier had moved down to his table and joined the servants. Oddly, Jaskier’s parents only looked on fondly.

As the meal wound down, gossip was exchanged, Geralt laughed at in a friendly way for all his bumblings as an incompetent gardener, it was time to retire for the night.

“Come to my rooms for a nightcap?” Jaskier asked, a hand on Geralt’s arm. “I feel we have a lot to discuss and catch up on.”

Hesitant at first, Geralt accepted the invitation and followed Jaskier to his rooms. If Geralt had thought his room was fancy, Jaskier’s were downright lavish.

“Got something to say to me?” Jaskier asked, a smile teasing at his lips.

“You engineered all of this?” It wasn’t at all what Geralt wanted to say but it was what came out to start with.

“Oh come now, if a witcher comes looking for a job in these lands, it means he’s desperate. My parents know how to keep beasties to a minimum here. I’m thinking we should have Lambert come this way next, he’d excel as a cook for a few months.”

A very good idea, Geralt could imagine Lambert taking to life in the kitchen, experimenting with the spices on offer. It would do him good to have a break too. And Eskel, though he probably would be better in the stables. And Vesemir too, if he could be enticed there, he would excel as an adviser to the household. But that was all beside the point, Geralt had something much more important to say.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing for you.” Geralt hadn’t thought Jaskier would still travel as a bard, had assumed he’d settle in a court. Instead, he’d sought out other wolves and kept them company.

“Never do that again.” Jaskier’s face hardened. “If you have a concern, speak. Don’t make my decisions for me.”

Nodding, Geralt looked a little chastised. It had been so much easier to express emotions recently, around friends.

“Now. I do believe before you so rudely chose our paths for us, we were building towards something quite beautiful.” Jaskier handed Geralt a glass of something rich and smooth. The clinked glasses. A week later, they were leaving Lettenhove together, once more a witcher and a bard rather than a gardener and a viscount.

[bun-breaker]

@stolen-godhood

Gonna readmore this for spoilers and length too

Oh nonbinary is absolutely the rabbit hole I would be going down. To me it feels very right for the character

After all, in many ways they would be somewhat reinventing themselves after a major upheaval to their sense of self. Those who are tempered but cured retain no memory of what happened during their time under the influence of a Primal. And Hades would have been under Zodiark's influence for an inordinate amount of time

Their life before they know meticulously. There's no way they would misplace even a moment of that life. But that meticulous attention to memory would leave them with a new dilemma. It's almost certain tempered!Hades crafted another crystal from themselves. Something of a backup plan should the worst come to pass. I.e. they die. Allowing one of the sundered to take up the mantle and work to revive Zodiark. But this leaves the newly freed Hades with the choice between remembering their actions and living free from the shadow of their former master

Much of the Shadowbringer's story deals with the topic of loss. And it is most evident in Hades. Their motivations for their actions are the loss of everything they once held dear. And in the end even what little they have managed to piece back together is lost. To a greater or lesser extent this is exacerbated by the loss of their most trusted confidant, Azem. Who we learn is the WoL from the time of Amaurot. In this meeting Hades perhaps has the best chance to move beyond this loss as they once more realise just how badly they have been needing support that they haven't had. Sure they have Elidibus and Lahabrea. But the former can barely remember why he does what he does and the latter throws himself relentlessly at the task at hand with no pause for respite. Leaving then largely alone to deal with the weight of memory. We even see them coming close to being able to open up about these things near the end of the story. But we are alas robbed of the chance to see it through to the end by a single misstep.

But that's what got me to thinking, what could have come to pass if there had been another chance? I feel like the WoL would take it. Even more so for having learned how Hades preserved her memories despite her forsaking the rest of the Convocation to seek another solution. Especially in my case as my WoL went through the Dark Knight job story. She had the inner struggle between obligation and freedom play in her head and in the flesh. This particular blog deals with Rhaya having come to accept Esteem (renamed to Fray here because I like it better) and form a compromise. Having her around such that they might both find what they need. Setting them up for the Challenge to look deep inside and find Hades wants to be.

Which in the end is still a sarcastic asshole full of dry wit and a love of their own voice. But one no longer driven to view all others as pawns to bring about something better. They've learned to respect the people they once hated and grown from the experience.

And like I pointed out, I feel the WoL is absolutely an inspirational type. One that although has physically changed, hasn't changed in spirit. Which I think would be a bit catalyst for thought for Hades when it comes to rebuilding their sense of self. And potentially finding something new that is right for them.

[colitisandme]

Self care, don’t care.
Before I start this blog post, I want to say last month was probably one of the most exciting months of my life as I became a finalist at the Wego health awards 2021 for Rookie of the year category. I could not and still cannot believe that my blog, Social media page and general posts resonated so strongly with you lovely lot and is recognised so highly by Patient leaders across the world. So thank you. That night and the excitement I felt throughout the whole of the month is something I will never forget. I love you all. 😊
So, the reason that I have not posted a full blog for a few months is … well honestly like I have felt like over cooked spaghetti. You know when pasta is cooked to long, and it all gets sort of mushy and stuck together, people avoid it, make appreciative noises when you bring a plate of it out, and when your back is turned, they stuff it behind some sort of pot plant or when it becomes so claggy you could use it as some kind of DIY alternative for tile glue. Well yeah, like that. I think the thing that started it was the realisation that I would have to go out into the world after lock down – back to work, seeing people, whilst still trying to stay safe and well and not feel like wallpaper paste. It was also the scary realisation of how Phyllis has very much become a permanent fixture in my life and how my mobility and general staying ‘uprightness’ has got worse in a year. Suddenly the safe cocoon I had built for myself, and my husband was obliterated. I suddenly became very wary of others, especially large groups of people with faces. The walk that I could complete which would take me to the bus stop a year ago became this game of Russian roulette to see how impossible it would be to carry myself, a bag on wheels and walk in a straight line on a 60mph road with no pavement, and I was pretty sure there was a higher than likely chance, if I fell over, I would get rolled on by a vehicle or 6 coming in the opposite direction and I would spend the rest of my life in 2D. Pre fibro, I used to be able to hop in a ditch with care free abandonment, waving merrily to all the passengers in the cars going past, letting the cars whizz past me in the knowledge that I was safe and sound (albeit muddy) but oh Mama those days are long gone. Since Fibro makes me feel like my legs are tied together with bungee cords and my reflexes are not up to par, hopping anywhere would require me to be lifted up on a trampoline by a team of 4, said team pressing me up and down in unison in some kind of bouncy motion, then hoisted up by winch, until a team of workers could create some kind of solid landing platform for me to land on. However I fear the reality of me trying to leap out of the way as a car comes screaming towards me, would cause me to losing my footing and end up arse over face, in a ditch covered by twigs, moss, grass and last nights remnants of KFC, then trying to scrabble out of said ditch, swearing, removing, chicken wrappers out of my hair, apologising to the squirrel I have just rolled on. All whilst some twat face leaned out of a car window, absolutely wetting themselves at the sight of this mad Stig of the dump like creature covered in mud and tears, stopping only to take a video of me for their social media page. Then once I had managed to dig my way out of said ditch and on two feet, I would have to drag my poor bruised, hair straggled self to a bus stop filled with suspicious people all wondering why I look so dirty and smell of chicken and suddenly have 3000 views on you tube. That thought is stressful. All those tasks I didn’t have to worry about whilst safe in my little bubble, became now something extra to worry about and I have to admit I have not coped with the change very well. As well as that my darling husband, (yes we still like each other after a year of us both working from home) suddenly started a new job, a better more shiny job, and I didn’t see him as much. I missed him, in fact I still miss him. I lost my lockdown buddy and suddenly the world became much more difficult to navigate with chronic illness, and I retreated into my shell like a sad turtle, not sure how to re-integrate myself back into society. 
I know I have not been alone in my thoughts. I met up with one of my darling friends a few weeks ago, and she confessed she had been struggling over lockdown. Her feelings very much echoed my own, except I felt all the things she was feeling now the world was opening up again and so I wondered why? Why now when we have the choice to go out more and explore and be free, dance in the sunflowers with our hair blowing in the wind, why now am I feeling like the feeling of going out fills me with dread and anxiety? I think it’s the feeling of losing control. In my bubble, I had complete control of my own actions. For one whole year, I went out about 6 times throughout the pandemic. I created this lovely, safe, nest for myself and my husband. It was comforting and familiar. Now I feel like I have lost that. I have returned to the office where I work, I know because I am alone in my house I need to do things to upkeep my own mental health and now feel like I have to go out. Its this horrible catch 22 situation where I feel nervous leaving the house but then sad if I stay inside. There’s no safe space for me anymore, plus I had to fully confront head on the effects of fibro and the chronic fatigue syndrome a year on.. One person asked me ‘ So, why were you able to do….. and not able to now?’ and my answer was ‘BECAUSE ITS BEEN A YEAR SINCE I HAD TO AND PHYLLIS IS NOT HAPPY WITH THE NEW ARRANGEMENTS’ followed by ‘Please by all means if you have any grievances, take it up with her I am sure she would be delighted to answer any complaints you have to why I am suddenly not able to walk without looking slightly drunk/ lob sided, speak without repeating myself, and losing the words for toast but be please be aware she likes to swear and bite’ …. and that’s why I feel like over stretched cheese. 
So I have had to regroup…. and quite honestly, I am not there yet. It is hard. I am falling into a rut where I am struggling to leave the house or get out of a very stale routine. I have become reliant on my ‘comfort things’ to help me get me through my rough days…. An abundance of tea, MasterChef Australia, MKR, Disney and pyjamas (whilst at home) and I feel like I have lost my Jess spark and not sure how to get it back. I know I am going to have to put a lot of work into self-care to get me back on an even keel, drastically reduce my tv time drastically, start arty projects again, go and see real people with real faces, stop glaring at strangers not wearing masks, follow a routine, say my self-affirmations once again, listen to mindfulness exercises, complete more meditation…. Its going to be hard work. But I refuse to lose myself again. So, if I am quieter than usual, or seem a bit lost, It’s because… because well I am a bit lost. This new world is hard to navigate whilst juggling fibro and LC and CFS and sometimes I just want to drop all my juggling balls and quit the circus. So, for a little while I am going to focus on Jess. And gently supporting myself to feel like me again, one step at a time. I know Phyllis is going to hate me and with all the change I have spent more time on the toilet than recommended dealing with Colins ever changing habits and demands…. But its something I need to do, and for others trying to step back into the world after all this upheaval and unease, I just want to give you a big hug. You got this. Whether you struggled through lockdown, or are struggling now out of lockdown, please be gentle with yourself. One step at a time and if you need to regroup and recharge, then you do that. I am going to try and speak about the way I am feeling and encourage you all to do the same. After all, with this ever-changing world of chronic illness, symptoms, medication, appointments and this new normal, then its important we all support each other because we are all in this together.

[comradeclown]

OK, so in honour of my top posts now being me saying at various degrees of length that Arthur is gay (hashtag mylegacy, lmao…), I thought I should just go for it and actually dive in a bit a lot into why I read the character as gay. Now, usually all the justification I need to read a character as gay is “wouldn’t it be cool if this character I like/relate to/etc were gay like me?” and “it’s OK, officer, I do what I want”, and I’m well aware that 99% of the time it’s me using my own creativity to do a resistant reading + the film/book/whatever bumbling into subtext entirely by accident. And while I definitely don’t think there’s ever any more justification needed for any kind of LGBT reading, lol, as it comes to Arthur, obviously feel free to disagree with me, but I honestly think my read of him as a gay man is entirely textually supported, however unwitting and accidental that might have been on the part of the filmmakers (mind you, I don’t think it was Todd Phillips’ conscious intent, but I’m like… 85% sure Joaquin Phoenix knew exactly what he was doing).

(ETA that this is extremely long, so I’ve put it all under a cut.)

First of all, there’s of course… pretty much the entirety of Joaquin Phoenix’s performance (a very, very small sample can be found in my he gay son tag and just generally in my arthur fleck tag, ha), from his mannerisms to his physicality to the way he interacts with other characters. I know part of it is a function of wanting to go back to the character’s campy roots (which are themselves… you know…), and I know I’m relying on stereotypes to some extent, but first of all, you can’t divorce either camp or gender non-conformity from LGBT history and existence, and secondly this is literally how characters have been coded as gay throughout the entire history of cinema. What I’m saying here is that you can’t have a character who acts like Arthur does, literal limp wrist and all, or says “come on, Muuuurrrayyy, do I look like the kind of girl clown who could start a movement” the way he does, to pick one of many, many examples, and not evoke the long history of cinematic wink emojis at People Like Me.

That in itself would… honestly be plenty, lol, but it could be chalked up to, idk, Joaquin Phoenix doing his own thing, were it not for the fact that it’s completely reinforced at every turn by the filmmaking language, even down to his wardrobe choices, and it’s worth noting at this point that the framing is always one of empathy — albeit with nuance — and affording the character subjectivity, rather than being “ew, look at this gross [homophobic slur]”. Like, the very first time we see Arthur, literally our first impression of the character, he’s at a mirror, putting on make-up and then ruining it by crying, and while the make-up is of course part of his job, this is just not how the inner crises of straight male characters are expressed in the language of cinema. Of note too is the fact that he’s clearly visually separated from his co-workers in all the scenes at Ha-Ha’s, indicating his alienation from them, and while this could be chalked up purely to his disabilities, I don’t buy that that’s the only reason, given that Gary gets shit due to his dwarfism, sure, but at the end of the day he’s clearly “one of the boys” in a way Arthur (can’t be) isn’t.

There are honestly so many examples of the framing working to separate Arthur from conventional masculinity and heterosexuality that I’m just going to pick some highlights, such as: obviously, the way he expresses himself emotionally through dancing (to the point that one of his coworkers explicitly ribs him about it, “if your dancing doesn’t do the trick”), which again is not something that straight male characters do in the language of cinema. The fact that all the media we see him consume is musicals, classic comedies and a talk show he’s obsessively fannish about and watches with his mother — and we know he’s a fan of the show as a whole, not just Murray, hence him saying “I love Dr Sally” (and the way he says it…). Or, speaking of his media habits, when he’s dancing with the gun while watching Shall We Dance, this could have so, so easily been about him ~regaining his lost masculinity~ through, say, fantasies of revenge or badassery, but instead it’s about him being acknowledged as a great dancer and punishing bad dancers, and it all ends in slapstick anyway.

Also, while I’m on this topic, I want to address the nature of Arthur’s dissociative fantasies about Sophie. Honestly, I don’t read them as indicative of genuine romantic/sexual interest at all, because the film frames them as identical to Arthur’s more deliberate daydreams about Murray. I mean, not that I’m adverse to gay readings of that if that’s what you want to do, lmao, but to me they’re both very clearly post-traumatic fantasies of having another person look after you for once, of having someone value and cherish you and take care of you emotionally (which obviously has massive appeal if you’ve been dealing with the after-effects of catastrophic trauma all your life but nobody has given a shit about your suffering and you’ve had to be the one to look after other people to boot). Note that after the get-together with Sophie — which is clearly patterned after all those old comedies and musicals Arthur watches — the Sophie fantasies are incredibly platonic and involve things like having another person be there for you in a crisis, telling you something supportive, getting you a hot drink (in contrast with the reality of the hospital scene, in which Arthur is alone and he’s the one trying to comfort someone else, i.e., holding Penny’s hand), essentially no different from fantasy!Murray hugging Arthur and knowing exactly what to say to make him feel good about himself. Also note that both fantasies involve being the object of someone else’s affection, Murray picks Arthur out of the audience and Sophie comes to him, it’s a pillow princess Cinderella fantasy, more than someone loving you it’s about being loved. (And, once more, this could easily have all been v. v. different, the Murray fantasy could have been the much more conventionally masculine fantasy of being a famous comedian and being invited on Murray’s show, the Sophie fantasies could have had an undeniable sexual component, etc.)

Anyway, to get back to the general point of cinematic framing, again if the movie didn’t want me to read Artie as gay, it shouldn’t have had a pivotal moment in his character arc be him sitting at his mother’s vanity table, doing a new make-up look which involves using her lipstick, and then having a Moment while he’s literally holding a quasi-glamour shot of her.

And the thing is, all these reams of stuff aren’t even the key piece of the puzzle for me, which is the way in which the film as a whole can be read as a gay narrative. I’ve posted before about how part of the emotional catharsis of the film is about Arthur finally shamelessly embracing and even revelling in all his freakishness and socially-despised traits, a big one of which being what is arguably his effeminacy and… honestly I don’t need to explain how that’s a classic gay (and more generally LGBT) narrative, do I? Like, there’s a reason why a pivotal scene is Arthur having his hair-dyeing underwear rave in a flat that’s suddenly incredibly bright and sunny for the first time, it’s about reclaiming the pain and ugliness of your life and your circumstances into a space of potential liberation, which is honestly why this movie is always going to be incredibly personally meaningful to me for so many reasons, but definitely meaningful to me as a gay woman. (Again, this could so, so easily have been about him becoming some stone-cold badass or whatever, but instead the film has him dye his hair, put on a super garish new outfit and new make-up look, dance shamelessly in the street, and be incredibly campy on national television.)

More generally, there’s other aspects of the narrative arc that tie into this general theme and which also serve to continually distance Arthur from the conventional cinematic narratives of heterosexual manhood: for instance, once he starts fully embracing the Joker persona — which is… just Arthur, the crucial difference is in how others perceive him and how he perceives himself — any attraction to women, feigned or real, goes completely out the window and the only genuinely affectionate interaction he has with another human being is with Gary (I know we all love to joke about his first kiss being with Dr Sally, but it’s obviously Comedy Jokes and he doesn’t even kiss her for real, his make-up is completely intact; Arthur’s only real kiss in the movie is when he kisses Gary). Or, when Arthur’s personal narrative finally intersects completely with the larger social narrative — which is itself about upheaval, reclamation and potential liberation — the big triumphant moment is him once again dancing, this time for a cheering crowd, and using blood like lipstick to redraw his smile.

Or even, to a lesser extent, his whole sub-plot with his mother, before I watched the film I was worried that this was going to be the usual narrative about the henpecked guy who finally puts the bitch in her place as part of becoming a Real Man, and it’s not at all, quite the opposite, Arthur is not henpecked and is clearly in charge of the household, he genuinely loves Penny — and is confident she loves him back — and enjoys doing at least some things with her (them watching the Murray Franklin Show together), and up until the reveal any issues he has with her are largely the product of having to look after an ill person with zero social support and while working a physically and emotionally demanding job and dealing with his own disabilities. When he kills her, it’s a deeply sad and self-destructive scene and it’s the result of his profound anguish and sense of betrayal and he frames it as the bitter, trauma-haunted dark half of self-actualisation and self-acceptance (“that’s the real me”, “I haven’t been happy one minute of my entire fucking life”, “now I realise… it’s a fucking comedy”).

Or, at a more meta-textual level, the way the film is unabashedly both a pulpy thriller and a melodrama, just shamelessly embracing all its emotions, its pain and catharsis, without a trace of irony. Like, yeah, part of this is the immense sincerity and compassion Joaquin Phoenix brings to his performance, but it really is the movie’s approach as a whole, and when there is humour — and I do think there’s quite a lot of humour in the movie — it’s not the distancing, let’s-not-feel-anything-too-deeply-bro humour of your typical MCU movie, it’s the camp sensibility of laughing with and at your own tragedy. (Myriad examples down to the use of certain songs in the soundtrack.)

On a final note, you guys know how much I don’t care about authorial intent, but I feel compelled to point out that in his director’s commentary, Todd Phillips says, while discussing Arthur’s journey into becoming Joker, that he reads the larger pop-cultural character of the Joker as someone who doesn’t want women, and like… Again, it’s not like I think that he was deliberately making a gay narrative in any way, it’s just that if you’re creating this journey of a man who eventually becomes a character who’s not interested in women in that sense, you’ve also just ended up stumbling into a gay narrative accidentally on purpose, lmao, what’s the real difference between “at the end of the story, Arthur doesn’t want women because he’s ~da Joker now, baby, he doesn’t want anything~” and “at the end of the story, Arthur doesn’t want women because he’s gay and he’s no longer deeply repressed and closeted”?

Anyway, like I said, feel free to disagree, he’s a fictional character, lol, but this is where I’m coming from, and the reason why if everyone involved in the movie decided to make a statement tomorrow about how much Arthur Fleck wants to bone women I’d just say “shit, idc, I’m afraid you made a gay movie about Arthur Fleck, a gay man, it’s a little too late to retcon this bitch now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯”. Also this is over 2,000 words long what the fuck I am so sorry

[tlbodine]

What Zombie Movies Teach Us About COVID-19

As I write this, it is April 20, 2020, and  42,514 Americans have died of COVID-19, the disease caused by a deadly novel coronavirus first discovered in late 2019. South Korea has just  237 deaths from the disease. 

The two countries learned about the virus at roughly the same time, and had the same amount of time to respond to the disease. But the responses took wildly different paths, with vastly different outcomes -- as you can see. 

But I’m not here to talk about that, not exactly. I’m here to talk about zombies. 

Train to Busan (2016), directed by Yeon Sang-ho, tells the story of a zombie outbreak in Korea, with the action focused predominantly on the passengers of a train. It’s one of my favorite zombie movies, in large part because the flavor of its zombie narrative is so different from the types of zombie stories we see in America. It’s a fresh spin, driven by cultural influences and the director’s vision, and it’s a movie that’s been at the forefront of my mind since watching the vastly different responses of South Korea and the USA to the current pandemic. 

Train to Busan is a film concerned with the morality of classism, a theme repeated in many South Korean exports (see 2019′s Parasite for another example). Innate in that premise is a moral statement about collectivism, cooperation and kindness that runs contrary to everything American zombie fiction holds dear. 

Train to Busan’s main character, Seok Woo, is a fund manager, a white-collar businessman who operates in the financial sector. In his introduction, we see him reviewing reports of the biological leak that we the viewer already know is responsible for zombies; he advises a concerned investor not to sell his shares, as the reports could be false or the worry is premature -- and then, a moment later, hangs up the phone and sells his own shares. It's implied later that his role in financing the company may give him some moral responsibility in the disaster -- ie, he invested in a company, knew that it was harmful, and reacted not by blowing the whistle on that harm but instead by selling his ownership and thus profiting.

The film treats this as morally reprehensible. Indeed, Seok Woo's storyline is a tragedy: We will see him brought low by his flaws, struggle to overcome them, but ultimately fall short.

This is quite different from American zombie narratives, which more often than not place the hero as a working-class underdog who finds himself suddenly uniquely equipped to deal with the threat at hand. Consider police officer Rick Grimes (and, for that matter, hillbilly archer Daryl) in The Walking Dead, or retired U.N. investigator Gerry Lane in World War Z. Perhaps the best example of the type is Zombieland's Tallahassee, a quintessential "Florida Man" -- rough around the edges, crude, eccentric, socially inept but good with a gun and  a willingness to adopt the role of patriarch in the post-apocalyptic found family narrative. 

Implicit in American zombie fiction is a promise of role reversal, of a social upheaval in which established ruling classes will no longer matter and in which new lines of power can be drawn -- and that power rests squarely on a foundation of guns, violence, and a small but tightly knit family structure united against external threats both human and supernatural. 

Of course, guns can’t serve as a currency of power or survival in Train to Busan because there are no guns. South Korea has some of the world’s strictest gun laws, and nobody riding on a passenger train would have a firearm at the ready. This makes for a much more thrilling narrative thanks to the balance of power shifting heavily in the zombie horde’s favor; it also forces characters to work together for survival, relying more on wits than strength.

Like many zombie film protagaonists before him, Seok Woo is a father -- a disengaged, overworked father, but one who’s trying his best. But unlike some horror movie kids, his daughter Su-An is more than a victim-in-waiting; she’s the moral centerpiece of the story, an external conscience who serves to gently remind her father of his misplaced priorities and call him on his bullshit.

Fleshing out the rest of the cast are more unlikely heroes: a high school baseball team, a homeless man, a pair of old ladies, and a middle-aged man, Sang-hwa, traveling with his pregnant wife. Sang-hwa is an especially important character, holding up a mirror in some ways to our protagonist: he has a successful, loving marriage where the hero's has failed; he is a doting, patient father where Seok-woo is out of touch.

It is hardly coincidental that this core group of characters is comprised almost exclusively of vulnerable people. And once the zombie disaster strikes, it becomes clear that the job of the less-vulnerable is to step up and protect the most vulnerable, even within a group where no one is especially skilled, heroic, or well-trained to deal with this.

Self-sacrifice is the recurring theme of Train to Busan, delivered with a bludgeoning regularity -- but each death is valorized, the narrative making it clear through its storytelling techniques that these sacrifices are meaningful and heroic.

It’s worth noting, too, that the self-sacrifice that drives the narrative is made necessary by the selfishness of others. Sang-hwa is bitten and stays behind to hold back hordes of zombies only because another group of survivors locked them out of their car.

Those exclusionary survivors -- a group spearheaded by a rich businessman who declares himself early on to be too important to risk his life -- receive their comeuppance soon enough. Here's the clip in all its satisfying glory: 

All of which is not to say that self-sacrifice is not a trope that shows up in other zombie media as well. But I have never seen it the focus of a film with such brazen commitment before. 

In Hollywood storytelling, self-sacrifice all too often comes in two flavors. The first: The only righteous path a fatally flawed anti-hero can take. The second: A heroic cop-out, where the character sacrifices him/herself but fails to actually die thanks to unexpected circumstances -- suggesting, thematically, that willingness toward self-sacrifice is all that is required, and that good things come to those who deserve them. 

In a lot of zombie media -- and post-apocalyptic media in general -- storylines often flirt with the morality of sacrificing other people for the greater good. Heroes will grapple with the decision, and the one who pulls the trigger may ultimately succumb to guilt or plot karma (Shane and Otis in The Walking Dead, for example), but the discussion is given serious weight and consideration. 

Train to Busan makes it clear that such cold calculations aren’t just villainous, they’re cowardly and pathetic. 

Other popular zombie tropes that fail to make an appearance in the film include: 

A self-appointed leader calling the shots and telling others to get in line 

The asshole pragmatist arguing with the self-appointed leader

The untrustworthy outsider and/or villainous mole 

The weak or cowardly idiot who gets people killed by virtue of being useless and/or careless 

Utterly useless or corrupt government/military/authority 

In many zombie stories, man is the real monster, and this holds true in many ways for Train to Busan. But the focus is different. Rather than the monster being the outsider who comes for your supplies, or the stranger who you trust only to be stabbed in the back, the worst humans in Train to Busan are those who act with distrust and selfishness. 

Declaring yourself the leader, securing a perimeter, and making a difficult choice to turn away strangers at the gate in order to protect your own group is the action of heroes in a show like The Walking Dead. In Train to Busan, those same actions are villainous and ultimately lead to ruin. 

On the flipside, soft-heartedness in American zombie films is often both foolish and disastrous. Consider, for example, Hershel’s barn in Season 2 of The Walking Dead, where walkers are corralled in dangerously high numbers out of an optimistic belief that they can be cured. Just as heroic self-sacrifice becomes a recurring theme in Train to Busan, an endless cycle of trust and betrayal is the signature of The Walking Dead, and the show routinely rewards its moral centerpieces -- like Dale and Hershel -- with deaths that are treated not as valiant but as senselessly tragic. 

But let’s get back to my central thesis. What does any of this have to do with COVID-19? 

When South Korea first became aware of the threat of the novel coronavirus, its government immediately launched a response called TRUST:  “Transparency, Robust screening and quarantine, Unique but universally applicable testing, Strict control, and Treatment.” 

The heart of the program was testing, not just of obviously sick people but of those without symptoms or known exposure -- and then carefully tracing the contacts of those found to have a positive result and isolating anyone who was infected. But the price of this widespread testing goes beyond the monetary needs of dveloping and administering tests; it comes too at the cost of certain freedoms. The South Korean government is able to track down and contain its citizens through credit card records, cellphone data, security cameras and other Orwellian security devices that would make most Americans' skin crawl. Add that to a cultural norm of wearing medical masks in public and obeying social distancing as a matter of course (less casual touch and physical contact, greater personal space) and South Korea’s spread of disease has been quite slow. 

Meanwhile, in the USA, people across the country are breaking social distancing rules in order to gather in public and protest the quarantine measures that have left many without jobs and which, some say, infringe upon civil liberties. Mixed messaging about the efficacy of masks, and a long history of masks being associated with crime, have also made it hard to win Americans over to mask-wearing in public -- even though if we could get 100% of people wearing masks, the spread of disease would drop dramatically (and the economy could open sooner). 

Countless political, historical, and socioeconomcic factors are at work differentiating these two nations, and the situation is infinitely more complex than any movie. But I do think viewing the coronavirus through the zombie apocalypse lens helps to make sense of these wildly different responses to the disease. 

Time and again, America’s zombie media has hammered home certain essential lessons: 

When times get hard, you will be called on to step up and take decisive action 

Difficult decisions will need to be made, and the people who are too soft-hearted or cowardly to make those decisions will put others at risk 

The safety of your own family (or found family) is paramount, and any threat to the family must be immediately destroyed 

Survival will be a matter of strength, guns and resources 

Institutions like the military, government and police are useless at best and often corrupt or downright murderous; you can trust only in yourself

Viewed in that context, it’s hardly surprising that the United States response to the pandemic has involved hoarding supplies, buying guns, distrusting scientific authorities, and even staging protests. 

By comparison, the take-home lessons from Train to Busan are quite different: 

No one person is above or more important than anyone else 

If you have power, it is your duty to protect those who are more vulnerable

Selfishness invites trouble 

Self-sacrifice is heroic and sometimes necessary for the greater good 

All of which is not to say that there is no value in the American lessons. There are times when the values of individualism, decisive action, self-sufficiency and suspicion may well be exactly what is needed for survival. 

But during a pandemic of a disease that overwhelmingly affects the already-vulnerable -- the elderly, those with disabilities, those living in poverty -- it seems self-evident that values tied to protecting the weak and working together to protect public safety are the values that will prove most successful. 

At the end of Train to Busan, the survivors of the ordeal is not the strongest, best-prepared, or cleverest of the people on the train. They are young Su-An and  Seong-Kyeong, the film’s most vulnerable characters -- and also its kindest. In an ending reminiscent of Night of the Living Dead, they emerges the sole survivors to face the path of armed military men who at first mistake her for a zombie. But Train to Busan is, for all of its tragedy, a film devoid of cynicism. The soldiers stop just short of shooting when they hear Su-On singing and realize that she’s alive. 

In the end, it is quite literally her humanity that saves her. 

Living in a time of coronavirus means making self-sacrifices, including personal liberty and livelihood. And while none of our sacrifices are likely to be as dramatic as those made by characters in Train to Busan, they are no less heroic or necessary. 

And that is, to me, a lesson worth remembering.  

[sataniccapitalist]

MOVEMENT FOR A PEOPLE’S PARTY IN SOLIDARITY FOR RACIAL JUSTICE

May 29, 2020

Contact: media@peoplesparty.org

“CORONAVIRUS IS HERE TO STAY.” COALITION WILL MARCH TO MEMBERS OF CONGRESS’ HOMES ON JULY 11 TO DEMAND THAT FINAL BAILOUT BE A PEOPLE’S STIMULUSJuly 6, 2020

Contact

MPP Media Team | media@peoplesparty.org    

“Coronavirus is here to stay.” Coalition Will March to Members of Congress’ Homes on July 11 to Demand that Final Bailout be a People’s Stimulus

Former presidential candidate Andrew Yang’s Humanity Forward, members of the Yang Gang, and basic income advocates join the coalition

U.S. Rep. Jim McGovern agrees to meet with protesters who will host an outdoor town hall on the People’s Stimulus in Worcester, Massachusetts

Thirty-eight rallies are planned at the homes of Democrats and Republicans including Cory Booker, Ted Cruz, Lindsey Graham, Chuck Schumer, Warren Davidson, Marcia Fudge, Raúl Grijalva, Steny Hoyer, and Nancy Pelosi

Washington D.C. — With the government having lost control over the pandemic and no end in sight to the ensuing economic depression, a coalition of organizations is coming together to demand that the final coronavirus stimulus bill bail out the people and not Wall Street. The final stimulus is being negotiated in Congress and is expected late this month.

Hosted by the Movement for a People’s Party, the organizations include Humanity Forward, Humanity First Movement, Income Movement, Move to Amend, Our Revolution Los Angeles, Our Revolution Central Connecticut, United Left, and We Want Bernie Worcester.

Appalled by the Democrats’ and Republicans’ management of coronavirus and the enormous human toll, the organizations will lead marches and honking car parades to the homes of their members of Congress and senators across the country on July 11 and demand that they commit to a People’s Stimulus. Constituents will rally outside their homes and deliver the demands directly to their members of Congress.

They will ask members of Congress to join them as they share stories of the deep anguish and pain of loved ones who died before saying goodbye, memorial services that were never possible, lost jobs and health insurance, mounting bills and desperation, rising alcohol and drug abuse, the indignity of standing in breadlines to feed one’s kids, and fear of missing housing payments and facing eviction into a pandemic.

The organizations are demanding the following in the People’s Stimulus:

1. Defund ballooning police budgets and divert funds back to schools and social services 2. Medicare for all 3. Monthly $2,000 cash payments for all 4. Cover payroll to protect small business jobs 5. Suspend rent and mortgage payments 6. Suspend debt payments including student loans and credit card loans

Medicare for all, a basic income, a paycheck guarantee, and suspending rent and mortgage payments have already been introduced in Congress. Suspending debt payments until the pandemic and economic crisis are brought to an end has been proposed.

Because both have failed to stand with working people in their time of greatest need, organizers will march on Democrats and Republicans alike. In Massachusetts, U.S. Rep. Jim McGovern has agreed to meet with protesters, who will host an outdoor and televised town hall with him to discuss the People’s Stimulus. Thirty-eight marches and rallies are on the action events map with more being planned. The rallies will be nonviolent, masks are required, and we will observe social distancing while calling for emergency relief.

The Disastrous U.S. Response to Coronavirus

The U.S. has four percent of the world’s population but more than a quarter of the coronavirus cases and deaths. Last week, Dr. Fauci told Congress “clearly we are not in control right now,” and that new cases could reach 100,000 per day, nearly doubling the current rate of about 55,000. Cases are rising in about 40 states and breaking records daily. Thousands more are dying from a lack of diagnosis and treatment of other diseases.

“It’s impossible to overstate what a corrupt catastrophe our government’s response to coronavirus has been,” said Nick Brana, national coordinator with the Movement for a People’s Party. “Instead of bracing the country, members of Congress who received advanced briefings on the impending severity of the pandemic took that information to the stock market and personally invested themselves in the economic meltdown.”

Moreover, he said, “Having failed to increase the production of masks and facing shortages at hospitals, the government lied about their effectiveness and told people not to wear or make masks in the critical early period of the pandemic. It took them weeks to reverse their instructions. After that, members of Congress gave Wall Street a multi-trillion dollar bailout and took undisclosed sums of money for their own businesses from the Paycheck Protection Program.”

The economic wreckage is unprecedented. About half of the country is without a job in the worst crisis since the Great Depression. A U.S. Chamber of Commerce poll showed that 40 percent of small businesses could close permanently in the next six months, threatening the largest wave of corporate consolidation in modern history. An analysis out of Stanford University estimates that 42 percent of layoffs will result in permanent job loss.

The communities rising up against police brutality and systemic racism after George Floyd’s killing are the same communities that are being hit the hardest by this pandemic and economic depression. Black, Latino, and indigenous peoples have the highest coronavirus infection and death rates, the highest unemployment rates, and the least wealth. That’s why the People’s Stimulus demands have the highest support among communities of color.

Other countries have shown that the economic upheaval was entirely avoidable. While American workers lose their jobs and spend weeks fighting for unemployment benefits, many European Governments simply subsidized payroll for businesses hit by the pandemic and have not experienced mass layoffs and bankruptcies. The European response was designed to protect workers, jobs and businesses while the U.S. response was designed to enrich billionaires and wipe out millions of small business competitors to large Wall Street corporations. Rampant unemployment and poverty was a deliberate policy choice by the Democrats and Republicans.  

Things are about to get even worse. More than 45 million people have filed for unemployment during the pandemic, but the expanded benefits are expiring on July 31. State and federal moratoriums on evictions and foreclosures are also expiring this month threatening an “avalanche of evictions” that could throw up to 23 million people out of their homes.

“Cases are exploding. The curve is spiking. A second wave is building on top of the first. The government has lost control of the virus and the people of this country need to know: ‘Will you reverse the disaster you’ve created or are we on our own?’” asked Brana.

“Eighty years ago, social movements and independent parties forced the government to respond to the Great Depression with the New Deal. The worst economic crisis since the Great Depression demands an emergency response of at least that scale.”

[tarotinapinch]

Some things that may be relevant to the signs this coming week

The following are some things that may be relevant to you this week. They may play a big role, they may play a small role, they may be weird, they may be good, they may be not so great. But take the more negative things as a warning, not a definitive. You are able to shape your own future and if you are warned of the possible negative, you will be prepared enough to deal with the situations, or avoid them altogether. Also all, some, or maybe only one of the things listed may be relevant to you, for this is a general reading. Just keep your eyes open and pay attention to your surroundings over this coming week.

Gemini: A message, news, a letter, an invitation possibly being delivered by or to a mature male in your life, something entirely new coming into your life, a feeling of adventure, the spark that starts a fire, a new cycle starting, a diamond ring, an engagement taking place, the spirit.

Cancer: A visit to the doctor, an investigation, seeing the dentist or psychiatrist, a disappointment, unions or fraternities, the power to analyze, an examination of one’s qualities and shortcomings, research. 

Leo: An offer, an opportunity, a female friend or any female member of the family, open-mindedness, seeking better circumstances, to rise further on the ladder to success, a chance to gain what you want, a big promotion, clothes, curtains, something lacy and feminine.

Virgo: A wish come true, success, victory, well being, a pleasant feeling of accomplishment and events turning in the direction that you want.

Libra: Divorce, ending matters once and for all, moving away, possibly watching two young people move away or ending matters with them, a feeling of not knowing what’s ahead, a foreboding, being forced out into the world to make your own way, a breaking up of established customs or patterns, fate taking a hand, getting rid of deadwood in your life so that you can build anew, getting ready to move ahead, a car, the bathroom.

Scorpio: A new apartment, moving into a cottage for the summer, your bank account, a license to be certified in some field, a cashier’s window, sitting behind a desk, concern with material matters, short range planning, advertising, the den or office.

Sagittarius: Building towards sound and happy partnerships, a feeling of security, compatibility, the partner, a place of amusement, a feeling of success and victory, warmth, summer weather, the roof of a building, the South.

Capricorn: Divorce, ending matters once and for all(such as quitting your job, school, etc.), depression, tears, vague fears, a feeling of being abandoned, being forced to deal with your own problems, being forced to stand on your own two feet, doing something never before attempted, a missed opportunity.

Aquarius: A decision and/or a new situation possibly revolving around two mature male figures in your life, the mind, rebirth, total upheaval and rebuilding of your life.

Pisces: Taking matters into your own hands, doing something about your position or circumstances, reading, books, working with your hands, instigating or starting something, manufacturing, conversations, ability to communicate your ideas with others, advice, helping others to help themselves, service being given, sports, radio or stereo, responsibility, gloves or the hands.

Aries: A very large sum of money, financial security, success in material matters, satisfaction, a person capable of contacting the Spirit World, an airplane, a rocket, fusion of forces, atomic or nuclear energy, the wind, spring weather, the West

Taurus: A member of the opposite sex wishing to see you or wishing on you, extra money coming in, energy, electricity, the act of visualizing things in your mind, psychic ability, unusual magnetic attraction, your attitude towards life or situations.

[talpup]

Lost Song: 2

Summary: The war between the Dragons and Griffons ended 233 years ago, and both races right along with it.

Or so it was believed. There are three individuals that will soon change that.

Kai is the last of the Dragons and he seeks to take what he sees as his rightful place and rule over all of Oblvi. Meanwhile, Shouta, the last Sphinx, wants nothing more than to do his job; keep the peace and and teach the young Fourth’s to hopefully avoid the mistakes of their ancestors. And Teris, a Foundling who is just trying to understand and survive in this strange new world that is supposedly her own.

All three have their own wants and desires, but Kai’s plans, Teris’ existence, and Shouta's past mean that none of them may get what they want.

***So this fic will have a LOT more world building than my others.  Please feel free to comment or send me an ask if you have any questions.  

This fic is rated explicit and has warnings of sex, violence, and other possible triggers.

If you prefer reading off AO3 here’s the link for that: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009679/chapters/57812554

I write for my own enjoyment, but edit and post for yours.  If you enjoyed reading this at all please comment and let me know.  It’s the only thing that encourages me to keep editing and posting.

Special thank you to @inorganicone2230 who knows of my love for the mythic and encouraged me to start this fic without stressing about the other two I’ve got going.  Your friendship means the world to me.

Thank you to those who have left hearts.  And a special thank you to those who have left comments or re-blogged. They really mean a lot.

2.1

“Why are we waiting out in the hall?”  Teris asked, eyeing the closed double doors.

“Because.” Twice snapped.  “I’m sorry Mistress.  Ilca dorms are protected.” The House Elf went on in meek apology.  “One can’t enter unless a member of the resident Ilca or invited in by one.”  Seeing a copy of himself Twice turned and demanded.  “Have you seen Aizawa?  He’s making the Mistress wait.”

The copy escorting Hizashi shook his head in answer and scolded. “Remember what Nedzu said.  No calling the Mistress, Mistress.”

Twice huffed at his copy, waving him away.

As if sucked into a whirlpool, the copy spun around and disappeared.

“Wha--” Hizashi shook his head.  The sight, though astounding, wasn’t the strangest thing he had seen these last two days.  “Teris!” Hizashi rushed to her.

Twice stepped in Hizashi’s way, a warding hand outstretched.  “No touching the Mistress!”

“Hey.” Teris snapped.  “I’m not your Mistress.  And he’s my friend.”

“Weak, unknowing friend.”  Twice snipped, his next words smooth and sweeter.  “The Mistress is too kind.”

Hizashi stepped around the House Elf and hugged Teris in a warm, friendly embrace.  Though they had only met each other a couple days ago they were in this boat together.  Cast adrift in unknown waters. Surrounded by literal monsters, all be it in human form, and told that this was their new home.  Their new life.  An experience like that would make fast friend's of anyone.

Teris stiffened but accepted Hizashi's hug.  She couldn’t say why she felt a protective instinct over Hizashi.  The sense of kinship was easily explained by the upheaval they were both going through.  But her guarded jealousy of him was different.  It wasn’t romantic. More familial.  Only deeper.  More binding.  Hizashi was hers.  And in a sense a part of her.

“How was the person who will be helping you learn?  Did they treat you well?”  If they didn’t I’ll be paying them a visit, she thought.

“Oboro? Yeah!  He seems like a fun guy.  He’s some kind of wind spirit called a Venti though he seemed pretty solid to me.  What about you?”

“Kai was… alright.”

Neither saw Twice’s lip curl at the mention of the Dragon.

Hizashi frowned.  “You don’t sound so sure.  Maybe they’ll let you come with me.  Oboro was really nice.”

“You heard what Yagi and Director Nedzu said about the difference of divisions.  Apparently I’m a beast and need to be taught by one.”

Twice nodded firmly.  “Kind for kind.  Fourth’s learn best from their own.  If no direct species can be found, genus, order, class, phylum, and lastly division kind for kind must be sought.  The closer line of connection.  The better it is for all.  Less chance of death and devastation.”

“Death and devastation!”  Teris balked.

“Too loud.”  A rough, low voice complained.  Shouta fixed tired eyes on Twice.  “Sprite.  Quit scaring my Ilca.”

“I’m not scaring.  Yes I am!  The Mistress must be protected.  You’re late!”

Shouta's eyebrows pulled together.  Mistress?  He mouthed the word, wondering at it.  Too exhausted to contemplate the idiosyncrasies of the clearly insane House Elf, he simply dismissed.  “Go away.”

Damn his class, Shouta thought, rubbing the back of his stress tightened neck.  He loved and would die for his students.  But on days like today, he just wanted to bind them all with his capture weapon, throw them in a dungeon, and forget they existed for a couple of weeks while he caught up on some much needed sleep.

Bakugou and Midoriya especially had been in rare form this afternoon.  It had been as if the two finally found something they agreed upon something.  And that thing had been testing him.  The Basilisk was extra aggressive toward everyone, spitting literal venom at his friends.  And Midoriya…  The Thoth was even more interested in exploring the limits of his own immortality.  As if the kid had read in one of his books that today was some great day to die.

Naturally, Midoriya had ended up at the healers.  Again.  And when Shouta went to check on him at the end of the day he had gotten an earful from Shuzenji. The old Nagual admonishing him to inform Midoriya what she no doubt told the boy every time he ended up in the healers. That just because Fourth’s were immortal didn’t mean they couldn’t die.

Twice spun around to Hizashi, remembering the questions and conversation he had bothered his copy with.  “You...”

There was an audible pop that left Hizashi's ears feeling as if he hadn’t swallowed during an altitude change.  For a moment he thought the House Elf had disappeared.  But quickly realized that wasn’t the case.  Twice had shrunk in size.  He remembered what Oboro had said about true forms and wondered it this was Twice’s.  It was cute.

Before Hizashi could ooh and aah, Twice went on, voice sounding as if he had taken a drag of helium.  “Don’t speak to me unless you have a task or order that falls within my domain.”

“Sorry…” Hizashi’s apology sounded more like a question.

Pitch growing higher, Twice continued to shrink like a deflating balloon, he bowed to Teris.  “Mistress.  If ever you need anything.  Don’t call!  Don’t hesitate to call.”

Shouta’s eyes narrowed.  House Elves cared nothing for the inhabitants of the house.  The only thing that mattered to them was the house itself. The reason they did things such as cook and clean was because it kept the place well ordered and running smoothly.  They weren’t servants.  More like mildly malevolent caretakers of the home that tolerated the residents because things, including homes, went mad when left alone.  So why was Twice offering assistance?

His headache pulsed in his temples.  Shouta grunted and ordered.  “Off with you.”

Twice hissed at the Sphinx, finally disappearing fully with a pop as he shrunk totally in on himself.

Hizashi blinked at the space Twice had been.  “Well that was… interesting.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”  Shouta sighed pushing passed them to get to the door.

He pushed one of the large double doors open and paused.  New Ilca members usually swore something when Binding to an Ilca clan.  From what he understood it was normally along the lines of being loyal to the Ilca clan they were joining and its purpose.

Shouta sighed.  To hell with it.  He was too tired to deal with all that. The two Foundling’s were lucky that he came by the dorm at all.  A part of him had been tempted to leave them out of the secure housing that was, or at least use to be, his private sanctuary.  It wasn’t as if Traverseen Hall didn’t have countless comfortable sitting or meeting rooms for the two to bed down in.  But that would have hardly made for a good first impression.  And, like it or not, these two were to be members of his Ilca.  For the sake of peaceful cohabitation some effort had to be made.

“Welcome. I accept you, or whatever.”  Shouta mumbled stepping in and holding the door for them.

There. It was done.  The Bind was set.  He officially had two members in his Ilca.

“I’m Yamada Hizashi.”  Hizashi held out a hand.

Shouta nodded, struggling to keep his eyes open.  All he wanted was to get a few winks of sleep before it was time to go out on patrol.  Just exchange names he drowsily told himself.  Don’t be rude.  For the sake of peaceful cohabitation, just try to be nice.

“Good for you.”  Shouta stifled a yawn.

Teris stepped forward.  “Are we boring you?”

Shouta turned to the woman for the first time.  His sight sharpened his senses enough for his weary mind to register the warm electric feeling that had been buzzing deep within him.  Her.  She was… Beautiful.  No.  Well, yes.  She was beautiful.  But that wasn’t what the tingling feeling was.  Her powers aura.  She was of ancient pedigree.

Suddenly Shouta felt wide awake.  “Not in the least.”  He cleared his throat, noticing Hizashi's hand.  Clasping the blonde’s forearm with a hand, he gave a firm squeeze of greeting.  “Aizawa. Shouta.”  He turned back to Teris.  “And you are?”

“Nova Teris.”  She took one look at Shouta's outstretched hand and pointedly turned away.  The man was rude.  He had already hurt Hizashi's feelings.  She didn’t like him.

Hand falling to his side without a care of her snub, Shouta set down the stack of homework that needed grading.  “I don’t have much stored in the kitchen.  But call for Twice.  He’ll complain about it, but will make you whatever you want.  You two do know how to call for the House Elf, don’t you?”

Hizashi nodded, smiling.  Happy to actually know something.  Oboro had taught him how to do it earlier in the day.  It wasn’t so much the name as the will behind it.

“Twice!” Hizashi called.

“No! Don’t--”

But it was too late.  Twice appeared.

Shouta glared at Hizashi, unsuccessfully stifling a growl.

“What is it?  How may I help you?”  Twice asked.

“Go away.”  Shouta ordered.

Within the confines of the dorms Shouta had claimed as Ilca leader, Twice was forced to obey whether he wanted to or not.  The House Elf disappeared.

“It was a question.  Not a test.  What are you?  One of my students?”

Teris moved between the glaring man and Hizashi.  “And what are you?  An asshole?  It was an easy mistake.  You’d think as a teacher you’d know how to be more clear with your questions.”

Shouta's head tilted.  He took in Teris’ protective stance and smirked. “Pack beast.”

“What did you call me?”

Shouta all but rolled his eyes.  “You hear me.  Are you simply looking to be offended?  You might not know much, but I know for a fact you were told you were a beast.”

Teris glared.

“What?” Shouta huffed.  “I stated a fact.  It’s not like I called you an asshole.”

“Because I wasn’t acting like one.”  Teris retorted.

“That’s debatable.”

Hizashi’s eyes darted between the two.  He hated conflict.  “So!  What are you?”

Shouta turned to the loud blonde.  Why was he so loud?  Maybe it just seemed that way because he was overtired.  His exhaustion returned, making his shoulders sag.  “Sphinx.”

“Can we see your true form?”  Hizashi asked, brightly.

“No. True forms aren’t some parlor trick.”  He heard Teris’ low growl and struggled not to growl in return.

Damn it.  So much for good first impressions and peaceful cohabitation. Shouta opened his mouth to tell the sad looking Hizashi maybe later, but thought better of it.  He wasn’t the best at socializing; and his temper and exhaustion clearly weren’t helping him.  The longer he stayed the worse he would make of this.

“Look. I got patrol in less than an hour.  There’s eight open quarters to chose from.  Pick whichever one you like.  You know how to call Twice if you need him.  Please.  For your sake and mine.  Don’t call the House Elf unless it’s to give an order that has to do with some sort of household chore.  They can be spiteful when offended. Causing inconveniences ranging from too cold or too hot rooms. Blaring light at night.  Damp or torn clothes.  Or worse, clothes washed in a Tongons sty.  And their grudges can last for centuries.”

Hizashi deflated even further at that.  “H—how do you make it up to them?”

“You don’t.”  Shouta said simply.  He made for the door and opened it. “And don’t go destroying my—our place.  It’s the only sanctuary I have.”

2.2

Hari found Kai in their Ilca dorms library.  Seeing various books stacked and open on the nine large tables, the Arepyiai inquired. “Something I can help you search for, Sir?”

“Just looking for adequate material for my pupil to read.”  Kai muttered without looking up for the tome his was skimming.

“The Foundling?”

“Teris. She has a name, Hari.  And seems proud enough to demand its use.” Kai finished, softly.

Though the Dragons last words were meant for himself, Hari’s keen ears heard them.  The Spirit raised an eyebrow.  “I didn’t think you would take Nedzu’s assignment so seriously.”

“How so?”

“With as busy as you are, I thought you would pass her instruction on to one of the others.”

Kai snapped the book shut.  “Would you like to instruct the Beast on the way of things?”

There was something almost possessive in Kai’s gold eyes.  Hari found his own gray gaze, lowering.  “I live to serve.”

At the proper response, Kai’s expression eased.  “The Rat would hear about it if I pushed his tiresome task off on someone else.  Nedzu’s already watchful enough.  I’d rather not give him further excuse to stick his nose in my affairs.  Besides, the aura of Teris’ power was... ancient.”  He paused, remembering the tug of hope he had felt for a brief moment.  The split second thought that he wasn’t alone.  That another dragon had been found.  A queen to rule at his side and help see his plans come to fruition.  Kai shook away the memory and put the book in the maybe pile.  “Who knows. Depending on what her species turns out to be, she might be found worthy of becoming a follower.  But that would first require proper instruction.”

Hari nodded.

Dismissing the Arepyiai with a wave, Kai ordered.  “Just be sure to tell the Ilca to be mindful during the day.  Having her around will be a bit of an inconvenience.  But it might be worth it.”

2.3

Shouta landed on the large balcony outside his quarters.  Though there were luscious plants and a soothing fountain, the terrace was more than just some pretty place to sit and look at.  It’s main purpose was as launching post, or in this case a landing pad for large fliers.

Though the place was littered with seating areas and clumping sections of green, there was just enough space for him to land comfortably while in his true form.  He had tried clearing out the space of its fountain and plants.  But Twice’s wrath wasn’t worth the headache, and so he had left it.  So long as he didn’t have to tend to the flora he didn’t really care.  If he were honest, it was nice to look at.  Not that he ever had the time to do so.

The Sphinx stretched out his dabbled grey and black wings and shook out his wavy, black mane relishing these last few moments of being in his true form.  It confounded how everyone else seemed perfectly happy to keep to their human forms.  It made him wonder if no one else felt like they were breathing through a heavy mask.

For Shouta, it felt as if the world was seen through a too small window while in human form.  As if he were touching things through a thick gloved hand.  He wondered if maybe that was part of the reason for Bakugou's constant outbursts.  That, like him, the Basilisk didn’t care for his human form.  Only with Bakugou being younger and of a more volatile species, the Basilisk reacted by taking the dissociative discomfort out on those around him.

It wasn’t that Shouta didn’t appreciated the distinct abilities that came with being in human form; but those abilities could often feel minute when he was forced to spend roughly ninety percent of his day, everyday, in what felt like thick gelatin.

Sighing he returned to his human form, hands opening and closing, missing his claws.  He opened the door and entered, already half asleep.  Mind focused on the single thought of bed he didn’t fully register the warm, sweet scent that greeted him upon entering.  Only that the smell was nice.  Comforting.

The large, hard, cold bed pulled him toward it like a gravitational force.  Uncaring about his clothes, Shouta fell face first into the warm, soft mattress.  Wait.  Warm?  Soft?

The soft, warmth moved and started to rise beneath him.  Shouta's head pulled off the plush pillow.  His hand pushed the warm, soft back down.

“Lights!”

At the same time a female voice cried out.  “Twice!”

This was the second time Teris had banished his foggy, exhaustion and got his blood pumping.  Laying on top of her, Shouta realized that the pillow his face had been buried had been her breasts.  His blood heated, pumping all the harder.  Hand on one of the perfect, soft twin mounds, he squeezed ever so slightly.

Teris’ eyes dart from the Sphinx’s groping hand to his handsome-- No!  Not handsome, face.  “Do you mind?”

The sharp, sternness of her voice pulled Shouta's eyes up from the breast his hand was on.  It really was a beautifully formed tit.  Too bad it was attached to an ill tempered, bothersome woman who shouldn’t be in his bed.

“Not all.”  Shouta’s hand gave another squeeze, this one firmer.  He heard her breath catch.  Felt her nipple harden against his palm.  He smirked, voice dropping an octave.  “Clearly you don’t either.”

“Off! Get off!”  Teris shoved him.

Shouta didn’t budge, arrogantly showing his power over her.  With one last gentle squeeze he knelt up and got out of bed.

“What the hell is wrong with you?  And where’s Twice?  Twice!”

Shouta shook his head.  She would wake up all of Traverseen Hall crying out like a Banshee.  “The House Elf isn’t allow in my quarters while I’m here.”

“You—You’re quarters?”

Shouta's eyes narrowed.  Was it the lighting and his exhaustion?  Or had there be a slight physical sharpening of her features?  “That’s right. Could you not tell this room was taken?”

Hugging the blanket to her chest, Teris looked about the space exasperated. “How, Aizawa?  How was I suppose to tell?  There’s nothing in here but limited furnishings.  Not an ounce of anything personal. It’s not like the door had your name on it.”

She realized with a start that the smell.  The warm and comforting scent should have been a clue.  The other chambers she checked out hadn’t had that distinct, somewhat earthy musk.  Her eyes widened as she realized the scent was purely Aizawa’s and hated herself for having liked it.

Cheeks colored in angry embarrassment, Teris tripped out of bed.  “This is your fault.”

“My fault?  How so?”  Shouta crossed his arms, both annoyed and amused.

“You should've stuck around.”

“Forgive me, Princess.  I have a job to do.  Two in fact.  Babysitting you wasn’t something I signed up for.  I don’t know what it was like before you were found but I’m not here to serve and cater to your whims.”

Teris glared.

Shouta stared.  There it was again.  The barest sharpening of her features that looked almost bird-like.  The world around them faded as his mind worked furiously.  A feeling of awe and foreboding grew deep in his chest.

She was a pack beast.  Had clearly claimed Hizashi as a member of her pack.  Prideful.  Jealousy protective of what she had claimed.  Her power had an ancient aura.  And Twice…  Twice called her Mistress. What had Traverseen Hall originally been before it was a school and home of the area Ilca?  That’s right. Before the Fall of Crowns that saw the end of the Dragon-Griffon War.  Traverseen Hall had been the home of a griffon pride.  Built long before the Dragon-Griffon War for one of the oldest, proudest griffon prides there ever was.

[recycledmovies]

‘Parasite’ shows the ugliness of Koreans dealing with their hierarchical society in very high detail. Unlike many other interpretations I’ve seen, I will not deal with the details and the mise en scene, but the overall story, characters and their roles. The details are stunning, but I don’t think that’s an excuse to look away from the main story to focus on the little things. Also, there are two dimensions from a macro and meso point of view that I think are more relevant than finding hidden foreshadows or symbols.

Please note that I am Korean and know enough about Korea to point out the flaws of our society and people, including myself. I know very well that Koreans hate being criticized (just as Gitaek shows signs of anger when Mr. Park points out that he has an weird smell), but the truth is the truth and nothing will improve if we cannot see ourselves objectively. So if you’re pissed at my interpretation because you are a proud Korean, think again about what good pride will do.

The Hierarchical Society

Hierarchy has always been part of Korean culture. But as the movie shows, hierarchy is not based on traditional values anymore but overridden completely by economic status. You can see this in the scene where the young pizza box collector speaks down to the Kims. Traditionally, speaking in this manner to people who are even a year older would be considered absolutely unacceptable. This scene sets the stage as a society where economic values have become the new standard for hierarchy. In reality, money justifies everything in Korea and I’m sure it’s the same in a lot of places around the world. Basic ethics and philosophy is forgotten, or something only the naïve remembers anymore.

Although the Parks have higher economic status, a number of scenes demonstrate that in essence, they are also just human beings and have the same flaws as anyone else. Mr. Park and Yeon-gyo uses Gijeong’s underwear as prop during their role-play intercourse on the couch after criticizing the former driver for indecency and accusing him of drug abuse without any evidence whatsoever. Although the Parks are respectful towards the Kims, they still smell the difference. This is another trait of the Korean middle class. While they act like decent people in general, deep down, they still consider the Parks different. Koreans know very well that this is not a trait of the upper class, but more a trait of the middle class. We like to think that we are different from those that are of lower class in our hierarchy. We may act like we respect others, but deep down, the concept of hierarchy prevails. Even today, when two Koreans meet for the first time, questions go back and forth to subtly reveal the status in hierarchy of the two people. Sometimes this is age, sometimes social status and sometimes economic status, but we always establish the hierarchy. When a difference in status is found, the language that we use suddenly changes. The higher class can speak down and the lower class has to speak the polite version of Korean and show respect in almost every word, gesture and even posture.

Another fascinating feature of Koreans and our hierarchical society that also appears in Parasite is the fact that rather than the middle class cooperating with each other to make their lives better, individuals try to move up to the higher class by stepping on their fellow middle class people. The goal is always to make our own lives better by being better than others rather than making everything better. Choongsook demonstrates this when she finds out that Moon-gwang has been hiding her husband in the cellar. Immediately, Choongsook decides to side with the higher class family and fails to see that Moon-gwang’s family and her own would benefit from a partnership. An example in reality? Although most Koreans get outraged when owners of Korean conglomerates or their family members mistreat and deceive the public, most Koreans would do anything to get a job at Samsung, LG or Korean Air. No matter how inhumanely the upper class treats the lower classes, people will jump at any chance to join the higher class and look down on those that are considered lower once they get there, regardless of how many ethical or philosophical values they have to give up.

The dominance of competition in the Korean mentality is emphasized by the fact that both the Kims and the Parks had gone bankrupt from trying to run a franchise store of a ‘Taiwanese Castella’ chain. Even though the Kims hear that Moon-gwang’s family had gone through the same financial difficulties for the same reason, they fail to feel sympathy and only think about competing with those that can be considered their closest fellows. Sadly, another common characteristic among Koreans.

The Absence Of A Middle Class Family

The middle class is the essence of capitalism. The large portion of middle class sets the norm in most modern societies and creates a barrier for the upper class preventing upheavals from inequality. But there is not middle class character in the movie that influences the plot. It’s hard to see this as accidental and for me it was the single most impressive aspect of the plot.

I have two explanations for this absence of the majority. First is that in a strictly hierarchical society, nobody feels like the middle class. Apart from very close friends, everyone else is either in a higher class or a lower class than myself. In one on one interaction with other I’m either the upper class or the lower class. When two Koreans meet for the first time, we ask questions that can lead to answers which give clues to who is higher in the hierarchy. Usually age, social status or financial status is asked indirectly to establish the hierarchy. Once it is established, it dictates the language, gestures and even postures of the two people. Even if one person is a couple of months older than the other, the hierarchy unfolds.

Another reason I think the middle class was left out was because the majority of the audience would be middle class Koreans and Koreans are terrible at taking criticism. If the plot had a middle class family, most of the audience would related themselves to that family. And if the movie showed any criticism towards them, it would instantly become personal to the audience and Bong would have had a hard time both financially and reputation wise.

The Deranged Husband

Moon-gwang’s husband acts like a crazy person and shows unconditional respect towards Mr. Park, who doesn’t even know that Moon-gwang’s husband exists. But is this really that weird for Koreans? Most Koreans work for tycoons that brainwash their employees to show unconditional obedience while not even knowing their names. We arrive at our desks before our superiors do and leave after our superiors leave even if we have nothing to do at our desks and have to kill time watching Youtube videos. Can we really say that Moon-gwang’s husband is that much different from the average Korean? And just like Moon-gwang’s husband, the middle class does nothing about being forced to show fake respect everyday. We actually encourage it by investing years of studies to pass the company employment exams. Yes. Korean companies have exams because there are so many people trying to become employees. One of them is called SSAT. Guess what the first ‘S’ stands for?

Moon-gwang goes on further by impersonating the North Korean national news caster. The North Korean news caster is a symbol of manipulation and oppression for South Koreans. Are South Koreans really in the position to think that North Korea has extreme issues and we are free from oppression and manipulation?

The Hero

Like in reality, there are always exceptions. The exception in this movie? Gitaek. Gitaek is the only character in the movie that acts against the hierarchical system for values that are innate to humans. As a result, he is forced down into the cellar that Moon-gwang’s deranged husband once lived. This also directly reflects the Korean society where being different is unacceptable. Maybe reality is not as severe as in the movie, but going against popular sentiment brings similar consequences. I remember growing up, people who would had tanned skin were called ‘tanning jok,’ meaning ‘tanning tribe.’ During the cryptocurrency boom, people traded cryptocurrency were called ‘coin choong,’ meaning ‘coin vermin’. Such framing isolates people who show any difference from the majority, regardless of whether the difference is positive or negative. Of course, heroes, who act against the wrong when others don’t, are also often isolated by the majority. Gitaek, the hero of the lower class who couldn’t stay put when Mr. Park showed no concern for other people’s lives than that of his son, ends up in the place where a deranged man once lived. The peer pressure to act the same way that others do in Korea is so strong that they can no longer tell the difference between a deranged person and a hero but can only regard them as misfits.

Socially Acceptable Deception

Although the title ‘Parasite’ has a negative vibe, it must be noted that no character in the film ever shows signs of excessive greed or bad intentions. People might debate that the Kims were greedy, but in reality, lying and pretending is everyday life for average Koreans. It is especially considered acceptable when it’s done for profit. Hell, it’s usually considered clever and smart. You’d get a pat on the back if you were working in Korean company and you showed better performance by deceiving others. The lies can be justified further in the movie considering that the Kims were desperate in terms of finances and they had to deceive in order to survive. Giwoo shows no signs of remorse about deceiving the Parks and justifies his lies by saying that he will enter university once he gets his funds together. Things a lot worse than small lies are justified everyday in reality and this is hardly considered a problem among people that have not been educated properly in ethics or philosophy. Do it long enough, and it becomes a way of life.

When Philosophers Are Considered Failures

There are a lot of interpretations about the rock and what it symbolizes. Overall, the rock was the boundary between cleverness and wisdom. Kiwoo, who had the strongest ties to the rock, was no doubt an intelligent character. He was clever enough to deceive the Parks and actually demonstrated knowledge about teaching high school students. But his obsession over the rock implies the boundaries of his intelligence. The power of the rock is a myth and the rock came to Kiwoo with his new job as a tutor. The reason Kiwoo’s friend came over at the beginning of the movie, was to offer him a job. While doing so, he brought the rock as a gift. But as the story progresses, Kiwoo goes on to believe that the rock brought him the new job and good fortune to the whole family. Such myths are still common in Korean culture and often lead to irrational decisions though not as extreme as the case in the movie. A lot of Koreans still read interpretations about dreams everyday and visit fortune tellers before big events such as marriage, buying an apartment, moving jobs etc. The rock is the hope and last resort that Giwoo chose without any logical reasoning.

When Giwoo first meets Dahye, he captures both Dahye and Yeon-gyo’s attention by saying “I don’t care whether the answer to question 24 is right or wrong. In reality, it’s the attitude that’s important.” It’s a great motivational speech, but at the same time, it shows that Giwoo is focused more on handling situations than the basic truth behind the situations.

The study that focuses on the latent truth is philosophy. In Korea, majoring in philosophy is considered a huge failure. Even if you study philosophy in the most prestigious Seoul National University, people laugh and your degree is a mockery. Giwoo’s attachment to the rock, his short term plans and failure to tend to the truth mimics such aspect of Koreans. Without philosophy, we focus on the wrong things. We live in cramped apartments that cost close to a million U.S. dollars and buy exotic cars to show off. A lot of us focus on the top portion of Maslow’s triangle while sacrificing the bottom portions. In other words, we make our lives better by creating fundamental problems. It’s not just Giwoo.

Mr. Park’s ‘Line’

Mr. Park complains about Gitaek’s smell, but he doesn’t fire him for the fact that Gitaek doesn’t cross the ‘line’ that is so important to Mr. Park. From the moment Mr. Park mentions the ‘line’, the line becomes a big deal not only for Mr. Park, but also for the audience as this line has the potential of becoming the tipping point of a major conflict among characters. This mysterious line becomes so important that the audience forget about the basic moral values or philosophical lines of human society and only focus on trying to understand Mr. Park’s line and whether Gitaek crosses it or not. Ironically, it is Mr. Park that crosses the more important line of basic human ethics at the climax of the story. He reveals that he has no respect for human life other than that of his own family when faced with dramatic situations in reality. In spite of having two people in his garden with critical stab wounds, Mr. Park is only worried about his son who had passed out and manages to show disgust towards Moon-gwang’s husband’s smell rather than being worried about his life. Finally it is Gitaek that snaps, not Mr. Park.

“Your Plan Can’t Fail If You Have No Plan”

This is the life philosophy of Gitaek. I’ve seen reviews saying that this is the basic mentality of losers in society. But is it? How many middle class Koreans have made plans themselves that actually worked out? We show hatred towards the owners of Samsung, Hyundai and all those Jaebols, but most of the middle class try so hard to work for them and become a part of their establishments. Was that the plan so many middle class people had that worked out so well? How many Koreans you know currently work at their dream jobs? Gitaeks philosophy isn’t a sign of his inability. It’s his observation of life as a lower class citizen in a hierarchical society. When absolute powers above us make all of the decisions, your plans often get swept away and you are forced to adapt to whatever those higher class people have in store. In other words, Gitaek knows that ‘plans’ of the powerless are merely dreams in a hierarchical society.

Throughout the movie we laugh at the ridiculous plans that Giwoo makes. But in the end, he comes up with a plan to save his father that makes more sense. But how do we feel about that one? It feels closer to a dream than a plan. This is what plans of the powerless look like. Either short sighted plots or unattainable dreams.

So Who Is The Parasite?

Everyone and no one. All three families leech on another family. Moon-gwang and her husband had been leeching on the Parks while traumatizing Dasong. The Kims leeched on anyone with money. And the Parks leeched on the lower class. Despite the whole family working for the Parks, the Kims couldn’t even afford a motel when their underground apartment got flooded. Moon-gwang and her husband couldn’t afford a home either and had debt problems.

More importantly, both the Kims and the Parks scattered like cockroaches when the light switched on and people appeared. The Kims scattered from the Parks’ house when the Parks returned early from their failed camping trip. The Parks and their wealthy friends scattered when the true face of the capitalist hierarchical society appeared in their garden. The Parks had also been hiding in their dens while leeching on the lower class and accumulating wealth. But when the consequences unfold and real people of the society appear, all they can do is run.

When Koreans get tired of these conflicts among one another, we use the term ‘Hell Chosun.’ It’s a word that represents how Koreans leech and step on one another to get ahead of any and all kind of competition. Maybe this is the real parasite in our minds. It eats away at our rational minds and guides us towards irrational decisions. In the end, Mr. Park, Moon-gwang, her husband and Gijung lose their lives, Giwoo gets impaired and Gitaek has to live like an actual cockroach.

  I’m sure there are other interpretations that have different views. I especially found the detail oriented explanations very interesting since by myself, I tend to focus harder on the forest rather than the trees. It would be fascinating to see how people from other cultures interpret the movie as well and whether other hierarchical societies have the same problems. Let me know what you think of my perspective and I hope I’ll soon come across another movie that I can’t resist writing about.

[fathercharlesoffdensen]

In Defense of Fat Thor

I not only enjoyed Thor’s portrayal in Endgame, but found it to be a productive and well-developed(/acted, DAMN, Chris Hemsworth) characterization that has been steadily building up across each consecutive movie. Caveat: I do not fault anyone for being skeptical that the directors, etc. had it in them, considering the clunky nature of some of their previous creations, to say nothing of some of their interviews, etc. I am also not 100% surprised to see people maligning Fat Thor, and/or saying they don’t understand his trajectory and/or that they felt some of the humor at his expense took away from the legitimacy of having a fat, depressed, anxious character able to accomplish the same feats as when he had more physical prowess, etc. I disagree with this as well, in part because Fat Thor feels very personal to me, though not exclusively, and at the very least would like to propose a reading of many of the scenes in Endgame that offers a considerably more well-intentioned and good faith portrayal of Thor, with my own caveat that at least the anti-Ragnarok people using Fat Thor to further their agenda that Thor’s characterization sucks because Chris Hemsworth and Taika Waititi spent each day on set shaking Tom Hiddleston down for his lunch money and laughing at their own fart jokes are still wrong, which balances out everything else, because balance is still important, even if Thanos’ fuckboy interpretation of it is ridiculous. Anywho, apologies in advance for how messy this ends up being, I feel like my thoughts are very roundabout right now, but getting it out of my system will really help.

Thor has been ~emotionally fat~ for a while now, folks. As far back as Thor (2011), we see him disassociating, aka spending at least a few moments staring off into space in the midst of dealing with sudden upheaval, often because his angry outbursts have failed to be satisfying or get him what he wants/needs. One of the things that made me so excited to see a physical fallout to this in the MCU is that it actually ties into a bunch of other canons, too, including a recent spell in the comics leading up to the War of the Realms, wherein Odin sort of admits to his own role in breaking Thor, as far back as being “too drunk” to be there for his birth, as well as his being dubbed the God of Thunder because baby Thor used to wail whenever there was a storm, and Odin used to make fun of him for it because you don’t get a #4 Best All-Father coffee cup from your kids for nothing. @thishereanakinguy and I are even reworking parts of our Thorki paper for publication to put forth even more evidence that the pressure on Thor to be the Golden Child was too much, and that he’s been unraveling for a long time.

Again, none of these reactions to turmoil are new for Thor, though it’s fascinating that the conversation between Frigga and Thor in Endgame is largely focused on her assuring her son that it’s okay for him to fail, and/or for him to delegate tasks (there’s a recent comic that’s gone viral where Mister Rogers visits with Thor, and it has a similar bent), or realize that he has to shift his perspective on Who He Is. In part, it’s lowkey hilarious that Frigga, aka “send Loki some soup and some library books he’ll enjoy after our big fight because I still love that little asshole, never mind that he’ll probably receive them after she has been killed omfg,” is so blatantly ignoring Odin’s decrees to basically withhold basic affection from their children so that they’ll toughen up on their own, because fuck that noise. At the same time, Frigga imparts words that Thor (and Loki) should have heard and taken to heart a long time ago, and it’s painful to realize that Thor has felt as though he hasn’t been allowed to express his feelings, but so God damned great that that’s what Frigga hones in on. Notably, Thor isn’t trying to botch his trip to 2013 Asgard, either; he has a panic attack when he and Rocket arrive, and Frigga sneaks up on him because Frigga knows her babies no matter how much they are made of pizza or in Loki’s case magical artifacts. (Sarah read something saying that in households where the Golden Child and Black Sheep co-exist, statistically it’s common for the Golden Child to turn to alcohol and food, whereas the Black Sheep is more likely to turn to drugs/more illicit substances wherein they opt not to feel their feelings as much, and I was really floored by that because that really fits a couple of different scenarios that I’m familiar with for one reason or another.)

SO ANYWAY, we see Thor disassociating in previous movies. In TDW, even Odin comments on Thor’s confused heart, which Thor assures him has nothing to do with Jane Foster, even though it would be very easy for him to pretend he’s not actively thinking about Loki a thousand times a day and spending so much time stalking Heimdall and the broken Bifrost remnants that dude is like holy fuck please talk to your kid or I am going to commit treason again so hard. Thor reaches out to Odin for guidance/arguably comfort once Frigga dies, and his inability to provide either sends Thor immediately to Loki, who at the very least can help him properly realize the revenge he seeks, while also saving Jane. In Ragnarok, we get that great moment where Loki is talking directly to Thor, and Thor simply stares straight ahead; Loki doesn’t seem all that surprised by it either - he and Thor have different triggers and whatnot, but he knows the emo fuck who ends up at his cell in a fucking black poncho and handcuffs isn’t a new creation by any means, and he is into it fwiw. Even stuff like Korg admitting at the end of Ragnarok he carried around Miek’s presumably dead body because he felt so bad that he was dead warrants a little nod of understanding from Thor. Likewise, we see Thor stress-eating a bowl of bread at the beginning of Endgame, before the focus on his weight became a thing. Thor doesn’t run outside to see Tony Stark come home; whenever possible, he’s barely there, even before his five-year hiatus.

The use of well-placed humor in a three-hour sob fest does not seem all that weird to me. Shakespeare does it in all of his tragedies; and to continue this egregious metaphor, a lot of his comedies contain tragic bits, aka loss of family identity, which is arguably something that underpins how good Ragnarok is, as well. Being able to laugh at stuff has always been very important for me personally, though I realize it’s not for everyone. Still, I think there’s an additional caveat with Endgame regarding who the ‘fat jokes’ are coming from, aka arguably all of the Avengers have their own significant traumas to work through even before The Snap, and are also just trying to survive, even if they seem to fare physically better than Thor at this particular point in time. So Tony Stark calls him “Lebowski”; but as soon as the musical cues and Hemsworth’s amazing acting switches over into Thor being triggered by thoughts of all that he’s lost only minutes later, we see Tony, who canonically has major issues with being touched, putting his hand on Thor’s shoulder and allowing himself to be grabbed and held because he knows that is what Thor needs from him. Bruce, too, has to set a boundary for his own personal safety about being grabbed, but still gives in to Thor’s need for physical touch. One of the tragic touchstones of Ragnarok is that Thor doesn’t touch Loki once, even though in the first two Thor films and Avengers 1, he is constantly pawing at him. Thor wants to make a point in Ragnarok that he has decided he must let Loki go if that’s what Loki truly wants, and so he withholds his own instinct for physical contact - which Loki gives back to him, however briefly, in Infinity War by knocking Thor out of the way of Thanos and the Tesseract, to say nothing of how all Thor can do when he arrives at Loki’s corpse is to mewl and cling and bury his head and wait for everything to explode, himself included.

In any case, the other 'fat jokes’ come from Rocket, well established as being caustic in the face of personal tragedy, and having been put in the position even back in Infinity War of sort of making sure Thor keeps going, and Rhodey, who is probably just trying to deal with all these new people hanging around, and the fact that all of the structure in his life pretty much has been upended in a really short amount of time. Regarding Frigga’s “eat a salad” remark, as his mom, she seems to understand how much his physicality comes into play for him, and how devastating it is for him to see how others react to him seeming both physically and emotionally diminished. This is why it’s so powerful for him to still be 'worthy’ of Mjolnir, I think, and why that moment book-ended Frigga’s admonishment. Likewise, we don’t get a suspiciously fast glow-up wherein Thor’s all muscley again. He has to hold his own against Thanos in his current form, and he fucking does. Sometimes, life happens, and you have to respond to it as you are because you don’t have the time or energy to get everything in order first, and so you do the best you can. IMO, Thor did a pretty fucking good job.

I also find it completely understandable that Thor went off with the Guardians at the end of the film. (P.S.: Peter Quill is still absolutely intimidated by Fat Thor.) For one thing, I don’t think he’s going to stop trying to find a way to bring Loki back, regardless of what Clint said about the Soul Stone’s magic not being able to be reversed. For another, Valkyrie deserves her own glow-up into becoming Queen of New Asgard, as much as Sam deserves to be the new Cap. I’m of the mindset that Steve likely wouldn’t have gone back in time to be with Peggy if Tony had lived, and that doing so was him honoring Tony’s legacy by taking the advice that he gives several times in the film to go and live life while you have it. Likewise, as sad as it is for Tony to have died, I’m not sure he would have been able to rest, post-Thanos. You also can’t tell me for a second he hasn’t left all sorts of little messages and trinkets and whatnot around for his loved ones to find, cough AI Tony in Peter’s next suit or something cough.

Overall, I thought Endgame was a good send-off. It was well-acted, well-scripted, beautifully scored (Thor’s Pink Panther-esque theme when he’s trying to explain the Aether is amazeballs, as well as the theme that plays when everybody gets to the battlefield), and really just surprisingly, suspiciously good. I am glad that if we have to see this leg of the MCU end that it did so in such a way as to leave character arcs open to further interpretation, and I’m legitimately excited for a lot of them. While I don’t think everybody is required to be fake-positive all of the time, I do think that in fandom spaces, if one’s sole focus is how disappointing something is all the time, it’s not a productive or soul-enhancing use of one’s energy, and it makes me sad to see it. Nuance is important; the MCU has more of it than it’s given credit for having, and I hope more people realize that as it continues into Phase 4, or at the very least, that they find something they enjoy and keep coming along for the ride.

[rockofeye]

Predictably, once news of civil and political unrest in Haiti hit the mainstream news, all the left-leaning and social justice oriented news feeds practically salivate at getting to display the corruption in Haiti and what day-to-day life has looked like under a broken government. It's feel-good disaster porn that substitutes politics for religion.

With this sudden uptick of coverage ALL the Haiti conspiracy theories have come out of the woodwork. All of them, literally ranging from the Clintons are the secret puppet government to Baby Doc never really died. It seems like suffering and upheaval is an opportunity for folks to gloat over that suffering and use images of it to further a discussion of the impact of colonialism on Haiti. We can definitely talk about that--and should be--but do we really need to use the video of the mother crying in the street because her son was shot to death to do it? Do we really need to open that door by engaging in this masturbatory recounting of other people and their struggles?

Hand in hand with that shit comes statements about what is happening, as if it is something brand new. There have been violent protests at least every other week since June. Cops shoot people down there on the regular (just like the US, they use bullets as crowd control). People stand in line for propane and water every day.

Where was this self-important outrage in June, when the protests stretched into days and weeks? What about when all the roads were blockaded at once in a coordinated action or the national phone lines cut? Where has the outrage been for the people who have starved for years? Why didn't people take up Haiti as a cause before?

Here's why: it's not glamorous and you don't get social awesomeness points for it. Haitians don't have status in the US or the world stage, so it's not socially profitable to invest. But, when things *do* get visibly unsettled, it's time to jump on and use words like 'insurrection' and 'shadow government' and get really frothy without knowing what I being said really means.

Here's a super brief overview of some of the factors in play right now:

The current president (Jovenel Moïse) was a political unknown before being elected in 2016. He ran on promises of addressing a lot of the issues that are super pressing for Haiti: country-wide electricity, deforestation and ecological issues, potable water, fuel issues, and more. He has not really addressed these issues and has instead focused on building international ties, which does have the potential to address a lot of his campaign promises but it is a slow road.

The collapse of Venezuela has fed the unhappiness towards Moïse. Venezuela was the primary supplier and funder behind PetroCaribe, an alliance aimed at making fuel oil, propane, gasoline, and kerosene available to Caribbean nations at low or reduced cost. Haiti has not had a back-up plan for this, which was a failing of multiple iterations of Haitian government. In June 2018, the Haitian government announced a giant hike in fuel prices to compensate for the impending failure of the Venezuelan state and crumbling of the PetroCaribe alliance and that backfired immensely. Huge protests coordinated country-wide, shut down of a ton services (including airlines), and a lot of people dead or harmed as a result.

In the background of all this, there has been a larger game of chess being played. Haiti is a very wealthy country with an immense amount of natural resources (massive oil deposit under the island alongside a large gold vein) that cannot be tapped due to lack of infrastructure and a lot of material wealth held by less than 1% of the population (about 10 families with deep ties to oil industry overseas and import/export businesses). So, control of Haiti means control of what resources are available and access to the upper echelon of wealth and the connections that echelon has.

Like in the US, parts of the government are invested in the poor remaining poor and the marginalized areas and populations staying marginalized. They stay rich if everyone else stays where they are. This faction of folks--corrupt politicians, the rich, and those with connections who have a deep investment in controlling Haiti--has been preparing and coaching Nicolas Duvalier, the oldest son of Baby Doc, for the presidency in the hopes of reinstating a regime that governed with fear, violence, and poverty because it benefits them. When rioting began this past June, an interview was released with Duvalier saying that he would be willing to serve as president to aid his country. He's been visible on the international stage since.

The current upsurge in protest and violence has been in response to new reports being issued unequivocally show corruption dating back almost a decade, with close to $4 BILLION in PetroCaribe money missing or misspent. Additionally, there were statement connecting misappropriation of money taken from money transfers to Haiti (the Haitian government takes $1.50 from each incoming money wire/transfer) as well as surcharges on calls into or out of the country on the largest phone service provider in the Caribbean (Digicel).

Those things directly affect Haitians--1.50USD can buy you something to eat in Haitian goud, and surcharges on your phone calls means your minutes run out faster. It's a LOT, and it's especially a lot for folks who may not have regular work, regular income, regular access to food and drinkable water. Like, stress on stress.

People took to the streets, and in response food, water, and gas/propane prices skyrocketed. In the past, the government has set price caps to prevent gouging but they did not do that this time. So, people cannot afford food or water or propane to cook with.

And here we are.

Some of the things that are being mentioned in the press, as if it's brand new:

People are being evacuated from the country. Yes, they are...rich folks always leave when things get difficult, and foreign non-essential personnel are always evacuated. Embassies close, the whole deal. Not unusual.

There is a level 4 (do not travel due to unrest) travel alert issued on Haiti in the US and similar in Canada. This is also normal when things get heated; when I flew to Haiti last summer a level 4 advisory was in effect.

There are fires/blockades/riots/crowds of people in the streets. This has been happening for months and intermittently for years.

There are US Marines in Haiti. This is super unfounded and no actual sources are reporting this. If US military had been deployed, 45 would never shut up about his benevolence and goodwill in saving the shithole country where everyone has AIDS. The only permanent US installation of military in Haiti is with the embassy. People may have seen those folks out on the streets escorting US citizens to the airport or other airfields. That's their job.

A big struggle right now is if Moïse stay in office to complete his term. Haiti has a history of deposing governments when the citizens are unhappy. This is an understandable outcome when life can be desperate day to day....but hitting a reset does not necessarily change anything, particularly when some folks are waiting in the wings to stage an actual coup. Moïse says he won't resign, but I think if he doesn't do something drastic he won't get the chance...I think he will end up dead or in jail and an actual military coup will take will take place. It's rock and hard place right now, and I think it's only a short time until the UN makes a bid to return.

That's the brief brushstrokes. There's a lot more subtlety, of course.

What to do from a distance? Read the news. Support reputable charities doing on-the-ground work. Say some prayers for the best possible outcome with the least amount of damage to those living on the island.