#i can't remember very distinctly but i know for a fact we still have happy meal cups promoting the first that are used for paintwater now

[bookcrazyace]

Dick & Jason and Why We Need to Stop Mischaracterizing Them and Their Relationship

I know it's been brought up a million times and will probably be brought up a million more times but I wanted to put my 2 cents in. Jason and Dick and their relationship is grossly mischaracterized and it hurts the narrative. Now there isn't anything wrong with a little ooc content I'm a fanfic writer and I've fallen onto some of the more fanon sides of things to make it fit my narrative better but the problem arises when people mistake fanon for canon and bring it up in serious fandom discussions.

Dick was the first Robin so we'll start with him first. Characterizing Dick as the happy-go-lucky Robin is very distinctly wrong and actually quite the opposite of what he actually was. Dick wanted revenge for the death of his parents and that's what drew Bruce to him in the first place. Bruce made Batman to focus his anger and grief into something productive that would help people. When he recognized the same yearning for vengeance in Dick he trained him so that Robin could be for Dick what Batman was to him, a coping mechanism. In the end Dick manages to let go of the notion of revenge and it means that Robin succeeded and he then takes on a new identity, Nightwing (Canonically Dick and Bruce start having arguments and that's more the reason he leaves but from a narrative perspective Dick going from Robin to Nightwing can be seen as him getting rid of the feelings of revenge and gaining new goals. Also it's an excellent juxtaposition to the fact that while Robin succeeded in freeing Dick Bruce is still Batman.) Dick starting off as a vengeful spirit and blossoming into one of the most outwardly cheerful members of the batfam (despite the most definitely present repressed anger) is so much more powerful than him essentially not changing throughout the entire story especially when you consider that multiple times in canon Bruce has said that NIghtwing is better than Batman and what Batman was meant to be.

Jason ever the fan favorite and probably the person in the batfam that is misharacterized the most (in my opinion) is the next topic of discussion. Jason being the angry Robin takes so much away from his story and honestly I'm not vibing with it. One of Jason's notable lines as Robin is the phrase "Being Robin gives me magic!"you surely can't hear that and picture a violent criminal in the making. Jason being a street kid that jacks tires for a living but still being kind and childishly innocent makes him as Robin so much more interesting. Jason's drive to help people is obviously heavily influenced by his mother and how he took care of her up until her death. The tragedy of his mother's death is what drives Bruce to him. Of course Jason's process of becoming Robin wasn't immediate like a lot of people believe, Jason was actually sent to an all boys school for a short period of time before realizing they were a front for a crime ring he then helped Batman take down their operation. I feel like after seeing all that one would lose their faith in most people but Jason didn't remember he wasn't Robin until after this incident and he still was so happy and bright. The big turning point in Jason's story (from what I remember I haven't read the comics in a while) Batman suspects he pushes a man they were chasing off of a roof (I don't remember if it's ever made clear whether he did or not) this puts a pretty big strain on their relationship. Soon after all that goes down Jason finds out that the same mother he grew up with, the same mother he took care of, the same mother he watched die isn't actually his mother. The tense atmosphere between him and Bruce in combination for his yearning for answers leads him to run away to find her. When he meets her she sells him out to the Joker who subsequently beats him with a crowbar and leaves him to die in a warehouse that's rigged to blow up. Jason's mother is in the warehouse too and he does everything he can to save her. In the end they both die but when Batman questions her Jason's mom tells him that he tried to save her. In most modern iterations of Jason's death story his mother is written out and his death is pinned on him and his "impulsive and brash decisions". When Jason comes back to Gotham after his revival he seeks vengeance and is incredibly violent a very stark contrast to the bubbly kid that was just happy to be there. Two of his most notable actions as Red Hood are decapitating the lieutenants of the top crime lords and delivering them in a duffel bag and attacking Tim Drake the new Robin in Titans Tower. Jason's main drive for attacking Tim and becoming a crime lord is the fact that he died, he died as Robin and he didn't think that children should have to take on crime in the way Bruce did Jason decided that the best way to get rid of crime was to control it. The way Jason went from sunshine personified to a gritty crime lord who was willing to kill is what makes his story so interesting. The way an innocent child that got exposed to the darkness of the world and got swallowed by it is what makes the story so meaningful. In comparison to Dick, Jason is Batman's greatest failure he became the very thing Bruce tried to prevent him from being, a vengeful spirit that kills. In some ways Dick and Jason's stories are opposites and parallels.

Now for Dick and Jason's relationship. Despite what a lot of people think Dick didn't hate Jason when he first appeared (I think there was a point where Dick wanted to adopt Jason but I don't remember). Making Dick hate Jason as Robin sort of ruins both of their character arcs Dick evolved past his hatred and need for vengeance and thus adores Jason, Jason growing into someone so angry and hating Tim as Robin despite the fact that Dick showed him so much kindness makes everything hit so much harder.

In conclusion, this isn't really a huge deal but I've been thinking about it a lot recently. I've written and read fics where Jason was an angry Robin and Dick was a happy one. I've written and read fics where Dick hated Jason at first. Fandom is all about what fans do with a piece of media they like and at the end of the day the characters can be whoever you want them to be. Don't let this post uninspire you or make you feel called out if you enjoy the more fanon dynamics and personalities of these characters. Fee free to point out any inaccuracies to me it's been a while since I've read the comics.

[raichijin]

⋆͛♡⋆͛ the hangover; mirio edition.  ❥ a one-shot.

━━━━━ 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. (tba)

preface; writing this was honestly so painful. a testatment to why i should never 1.) do collabs ever 2.) write long things. i am drained.

word count; 5k words.

starring; mirio, mina, shinsou, denki, unnamed boyfriend.

summary; after your boyfriend forgets about your anniversary, you spend some time with friends to forgive and forget about what happened. then it gets worse.

warnings; reader gets called some nasty names towards the end of the fic. watch out for that.

you were supposed to be spending this weekend with your boyfriend. at a resort, poolside, on vacation, or on a beach, or where ever he’d fancy peeling off the nice (read: expensive) swimsuit he’d gotten you for your five year anniversary.

he was kind, is kind, but not as committed to your relationship as he was to his job. not even a call as the clock struck midnight, almost an hour past your reservation, but a text the morning after with a short apology, and the sudden announcement that he’d be working late. again. you didn’t cry. wouldn’t, because shedding tears would cause a mess and a headache, and self-doubt is what’s tucking you in at night, telling you that maybe for tonight, tomorrow and the day after your feelings don’t matter.

cause his job is the one keeping you afloat. (your interest in the arts is cute, to him; like a hobby. nothing you could stay afloat with. it’s too risky, he insists, so to you, it became nothing. to others? it became offhand remarks at his high-end office parties. a joke to your in-laws. a breathed sigh of relief from your parents.) so more time is what’s best for the both of you.

that has to be it.

your friends figure out something might be wrong when you go ghost for days, bordering on a week.

you mention how it’s easy to lose track of time when you’re by yourself as you are, but they don’t buy it. say you need to loosen up, take a vacation of your own even when you say you don’t need it because you’re not working, give you sharp glares whenever you object. you don’t know why you thought you had a choice in the matter — especially when mina’s sugar mommy gives her enough money to afford 2 full suites at one of the most expensive hotels in the area.

denki also tags along, just cause, and brings his boyfriend; shinsou, with him.

if they know what’s going on, they never mention it. 

and it’s a little easier to cope that way.

you dip your toes, ease yourself into the night, before you’re being pulled into the deep end and your mind’s been left at the door, but your body is having a field day.

you should’ve blacked out two margaritas ago.

you think you did.

you’re too drunk to recall all of the rash decisions you made, or whether or not you maxed your credit card, but you’ve must’ve gotten separated from your friends somewhere along the way, because when you wake up, you are distinctly not in your bed, not in a tastefully decorated room, not in a hotel.

and mina, shinsou, denki? unless they’re in the adjacent room, they’re not here with you either. you’re still in your clothes from last night. your shirt is missing a button and you don’t have your shoes on, but beyond that, you’re perfectly fine.

a scraggly bed head lies next to you, who is, notably, more nude than you are.

he has no shirt. no shoes. no pants. his blonde hair is unruly and you’re so shocked you actually start to wake up. your eyes widen and you’re sitting up so fast you’re a bit dizzy from the sudden motion.

the room is spinning and you feel sick, the headache behind your eyes making you want to grind your molars into dust. and just as quickly as you sat up, you lay back down; shaking the bed with the force. the guy next to you isn’t as heavy of a sleeper as you hoped, though. he blinks open tired eyes, showing you the most exquisite navy blue, and the little bit of drool dripping down his chin might’ve been cute if he wasn’t a complete stranger.

though you can’t stave off the creeping anxiety, the silence as he comes to his senses doesn’t feel wrong, and you’re more confused than scared.

he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, and gives you a criminally bright smile, and though his voice is wrecked when he says “...g’morning, sunshine.”, you doubt yours sounds much better. 

the nickname makes you feel fuzzy, if only for a second.

“i, uh … good morning?” you sound awkward, but the guy manages to find humor in your predicament when he chuckles gently, sitting up without so much as a second thought. you can see more of his body when he does so, and when his hand comes up to ruffle his hair, you can catch the glint of a silver band, resting on his ring finger. 

then everything clicks into place.

did you cheat? was he cheating?

all of the things you’d been beating yourself up over settle thick over top like smoke clouds and a raging fire. you feel like you’re suffocating, and don’t realize you’re freaking out until a strong hand is wrapping around yours, which, in your panic, you squeeze.

you spot a matching ring on your hand, that you know for a fact wasn’t there before,

and you think that’s when you pass out.

you wake up (again) to a room with tacky but charming decor, the smell of breakfast, and considerably less of a headache than what you started with. now more lucid, with the strength in your body to walk and think, your first priority is finding your phone. you tap your pockets, check the bedside drawer and tables, under your pillow, in the cracks of the bed, under the bed.

no cigar. you’re digging through miscellaneous memorabilia, trinkets and clothes that aren’t yours for at least a minute before the guy you were laid up in bed with comes back to just to see you picking through the corners of his bedroom, banana in hand.

he stands in the doorway and clears his throat. he has clothes on this time, pants. “you’re awake? are you feeling any better?”

you startle, straighten your back and stand upright, your arms falling to your sides. “um, kind of. i — have you seen my phone?”

he shakes his head, offers you the banana. “you should have this though! it’ll fix that hangover, i think.”

“i … thanks.” standing and eating a banana in someone else’s bedroom is certainly … a time.

“i made some breakfast,” he says when you’re halfway finished, “if you want some.” he ends with a smile, and you feel those 3 shots of serotonin go straight to your brain.

granted, you shouldn’t be that happy.

he takes the lead and turns around, leading you down a narrow hallway into a quaint kitchenette with a lovely beach view and all the good summer vibes condensed into a single, small room. it makes your heart hurt even more when you realize you have someone home, someone expecting you to come back.

to a hollow apartment, a cold bed, a lukewarm welcome.

you have to force your brain to be quiet to even hear a fraction of what blondie is saying.

“alcohol basically just dehydrates you. the potassium stops that, gets you all your minerals and stuff back. i heard it works with beer, so i was thinking it works for other stuff too!” he sounds so chipper that it brings your mood up just to hear his voice.

so bold and sure, warm and kind.

“but if it doesn’t clear up in 30 minutes, i have some advil i can give you! don’t want you having a headache all day now.” he’s sitting you down at his small table and sliding some pancakes in front of you, some orange juice. eating feels like a chore, but you know you have to, or that you should try at least.

while you push around your food, blondie chatters away, and even if you just met, he has you entranced by the way he speaks. smooth like the butter on his toast as his stories flow effortlessly into one another, how easily he can chat you up is amazing; getting you from gentle chuckles to full blown belly laughter before you can get your first bite in.

there’s lulls in the conversation if you count the moments he takes to actually eat, but he keeps you on your toes with his personal anecdotes, and questions about yourself, forcing you out of your shell, little by little.

the thought of your boyfriend pushed back into the depths of your mind.

until you broach the topic of your friends.

you learn quickly that he’s a good listener, completely silent unless prompted, asking questions or making jokes only when you’re finished speaking. when he asks, you tell him about the ones that got you here, shinsou, denki and mina.

his eyes flash momentarily, a look of recognition, or maybe understanding, passing over him. he hums gently, head swaying as he does so.

“they’re a little rough around the edges but they’re like family, you know?”

“i get what you mean. they were very nice when i met them. especially at our wedding!” he sips his coffee.

“i — are you alright? you’re choking!” that you are. the guilt you felt when you first woke up and the rising panic ram into your gut like a freight train, and suddenly, you don’t want to eat anymore.

"what do you mean we're married?" you rub small circles into your forehead as this idyllic morning goes right back to being cruel hell. 

"yesterday, at the chapel," he twists his wedding ring with warm familiarity that makes your stomach churn. "i can't really believe it myself, like maybe we were meant to be? i know the universe works in strange ways like that."

you're sorry to burst his bubble, but you save the happily ever afters for fairy tales, not real life.

you pinch your forehead and heave an exasperated sigh.

"i have a boyfriend." you wrap your arms around yourself, trying to seek lost comfort. "and we don't know each other to begin with. can't even remember your name, i was so drunk."

you cradle your face in your palms, feel his stare bore into the top of your head.

"togata." you perk up.

“what?”

“my name. it’s togata. mirio togata.” 

“oh.” you rub your cheeks, pull them back with the heels of your palms.

“that’s a nice name.” an uncomfortable silence washes over you both before someone speaks up. mirio.

“so what do you want to do?”

you answer a little bit too fast in response. “i don’t know. i … i should call my friends. i still need to find my phone—” you stand up, ignore the onslaught of nausea, and look around the kitchen.

“help me look? and then … and then we can figure out all the other details later.” mirio carries both your plates to the sink, and busies himself with dishes for a brief moment, allowing you to find the bathroom nook and reorient yourself. you fix yourself up a bit, straighten out your shirt and fix your hair up. no time to take a shower.

you cup a hand in front of your mouth, breathe and sniff. eugh. 

“hey, uh, togata; got an extra toothbrush?” his heart might’ve lept when you called him by his given name.

“um! yeah!” rushing water obscures his voice a bit, but if he shouts he’s loud enough to hear. “check under the sink? i should have some there.”

“thanks.”

you rummage around in his cabinets, and in that time he’s managed to clean up the leftover food and put a shirt on. 

your phone having gotten lost or being stolen becomes more of a possibility the longer you think about it. you doubt you came back to his house to do anything but sleep. how many places could you have dropped it? you come out of the bathroom to mirio sitting back at the kitchenette table, holding his phone in his hand.

“hey togata … do you think you can call me?”

“i mean, sure, but i don’t know if i have your number...”

your anxiety makes you a bit snippy even when you don’t mean to be rude, but you can apologize when you get your phone back.  ”just give it to me then. i’ll do it.”

it rings a few times before someone picks up, which is a step up from going to voicemail, and the situation goes from okay to great when the croaky voice of shinsou answers, worn out and tired, but awake enough to make a greeting.

he says you’re not here to pick up the phone right now, you interrupt and say that this is you, and that you just borrowed togata’s phone to figure out where yours was.

“togata? who?” 

“my, my um. husband.” gingerly said, you can see mirio tense up in the corner of your eye.

“oh,” someone’s snickering away from the mic. denki probably. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “mirio?” you’re upset that he can remember his name but you couldn’t. “how is he?” you shoot mirio a look, he gives you a thumbs up.

“good. so, uh, where are you guys?”

two hours away. they’re two hours away by car and mirio’s pickup truck is exactly what you’d expect from him. it’s big, beat up, it’s blue, and it’s his pride and joy, even if it’s slow to start up. if anything, it feels a bit humbling to hear the low hum of the buzzing engine. brings you back down to reality, out of the lap of luxury.

reminds you of the way mirio laughs with his whole chest. that gentle, rumbling purr.

you’re sinking into the crunchy leather seat with a groan, then a laugh from togata; to which you swat at him. you give him the address so he can set it up with his gps, and get going. he messes it up a bit and then it’s your turn to laugh, much to his displeasure. he blushes from the embarrassment, and you pat his shoulder, still chuckling. it feels natural. waking up together. having breakfast together. unofficial road trip to meet back up with your friends because you got blackout drunk and are 100 miles away.

oh, right. you sigh softly and mirio looks over, thinking to comfort you by turning on the radio, greeted by soft pop and slow guitars.

the silence carries.

fifteen minutes into the drive, he thinks to ask about your boyfriend.

“what’s he like?” togata drums his fingers on the wheel with an air of anxiety almost, though you can’t imagine why he would be — unless he thinks you won’t react well to his question. you don’t mind however, and sate his curiosity without as much as a glance.

“oh, he’s nice,” your statement lacks the enthusiasm you’d expect when someone talks about their significant other. it seems sincere, yet exhausted.

“buys me whatever i want, when i want it, loves his job to death, and … we were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary this week.” dejection is visible in the way you slouch your shoulders, interest waning. mirio can’t help but exercise a little concern, filling in the gaps while he’s at it..

“and you couldn’t, because you came here?” you shake your head.

“what? no. i came here because he was too busy, and my friends thought i could still have some fun on my own. his job is important to him.”

“and your relationship isn’t?” your eyes narrow, glaring at him from the passenger's seat.

“the fuck’s that supposed to mean mirio?” 

“well, an anniversary is supposed to be more important than some job— don’t you think he should just take a day off? it wouldn’t hurt.” you lean against the car door, shoulder propping your head up as you peer out the window.

“i mean, i guess. but he’s keeping us afloat, so i can’t really complain.” togata’s eyebrows shoot up.

his tone is incredulous. “what, you don’t work?”

seeing you cringe away out of the corner of his eye is what makes him back track almost immediately.

“i’m so sorry! i’m — wow, that was completely out of line,” your embarrassment lessens when he apologizes, and you inhale sharply. 

“don’t worry. it’s, it’s fine.” you can’t help the way your fingers dig into the flesh of your arm, gnawing the inside of your cheeks, afraid of getting laughed at. mirio wouldn’t laugh at you, would he? 

“i, i used to make music. i was in a band in highschool, actually.” though mirio’s forced to keep his eyes on the road lest you two crash, you can see the way his smile reaches his ears, the silent ‘wow’ of awe making your cheeks heat up. high brow company doesn’t have much use for your talents unless it’s the violin, or something else that fits their lame-ass agenda. your bass chills in the back of your closet, a relic of the past, but a neat decoration.

you shake your head, too caught up in your own train of thought that you didn’t realize togata was speaking.

“i’m sorry, what’d you say?”

“oh! i was just curious, i asked if you sing?” you snort, then full on laugh, though mirio doesn’t seem to get the joke.

“oh, hell no. i don’t have the voice for it, nor the patience to do vocal training. i just played bass! thought it was easier than guitar because it only had 4 strings. i was wrong. maybe i could … show you sometime? i mean, it’s been a while, but i think i remember a few songs: have you heard of seven nation army?”

you talk with mirio about music at length, and learn that he’s a pretty big enthusiast himself and while he’s never played an instrument, he’s been interested in learning guitar. he brings up your band, and the memories of your senior year come flooding back; mina and denki convincing you to audition, your stage fright, recruitment later in spite of it. 

mirio can see the stars in your eyes when you speak, speaking so animatedly with clear adoration at the topic at hand, and he starts getting a creeping suspicion that back where you’re from, you don’t get to talk about this as nearly as much as you like. he realizes in the same breath that he doesn’t mind indulging you. he participates enough so you don’t feel like you’re chatting his ear off, but quiet enough to hear you fill in the empty space.

the way your hands move as you tell stories is adorable and so is your enthusiasm, he could hear you ramble for hours and never get bored. and he nearly does, it’s been an hour and you’re still talking — but then you take a breath, and apologize for no good reason.

he squints at you, confused.

“what’re you apologizing for?”

“i’ve been talking waaaaay too much. i’ve barely heard a word out of you for the last thirty minutes!”

“i thought you were having fun! i know i liked listening. besides, it looks like that you don’t get to talk enough about the stuff you enjoy. i’m willing to listen, so talk all you want!” the assumption makes you furrow your brow, and you hate that you feel like he’s right. 

your boyfriend either talks about his job, your friends, his parents, or nothing at all. no interest in music. no time for it. your friends enjoy reminiscing on occasion, but you don’t speak enough to them to get all nostalgic.

it’s … nice that he takes your feelings into consideration. you smile to yourself, saying nothing in response.

“we’re getting closer to the hotel — it’s 30 minutes away now.” it gets quiet again, before all the sounds you hear are the other cards and the slow hum of low volume music you’d forgotten about, coming from the radio. you turn towards the window to take in the scenery while mirio catches glimpses of you in his periphery, surprised at how adorable you look, doing even the most mundane of things.

mirio couldn’t remember much from the night before, well, can’t remember anything that wasn’t you. you weren’t completely out of it when you met him, but he could’ve misjudged, considering he wasn’t quite in his right mind either. didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so bold, but everything about you was so charming. 

from something as simple as your smile to how easily you chatted him up, despite his tendency to be a tad overbearing, you would take him and his attitude in stride. running around town, dipping in and out of nightclubs with your friends close behind, getting kicked out of said clubs, dancing and laughing together in another—

he huffs, pouting to himself. your boyfriend was so damn lucky.

he steps on the gas and starts going a little faster. you don’t seem to mind.

the rest of the trip was silence, and it wasn’t until he parked and stepped out of the car and said something.

“wow.” he whistles, low and long, until you pinch his arm to stop from attract the stares of passerby. “you guys could afford this? gosh. that’s like, three of my paychecks, maybe.” you chortled as he helped you out, quick to clear up any confusion.

“not me,” you walked in the lobby with him, going straight to the elevators after checking in with the front desk. “i could barely afford it! mina’s … uhm, girlfriend, paid for a room for all of us.” he arches a brow at the emphasis on girlfriend, but if he has any objections, he holds his peace.

“mmh. wonder what it’s like to be rich.” 

you laugh as you’re carried up a few floors, specifically to the more expensive suites, at least 12 floors up. “me too dude! mina is lucky.”

you’re barely knocking on the room door before denki is throwing it open and screeching, ushering you both in. they remember mirio from last night, which is upsetting, considering they don’t remember anything else: not how you got to mirio’s house, not how they got back home. not how they found your phone in the bathroom either, apparently.

“speaking of bathrooms, i’m gonna take a shower. keep mirio company, i guess." 

you have to look through your luggage for a change of clothes, and find your phone on your bed in your room, charging and you don’t think about going through it until after you’re clean.

coming back to nearly forty notifications from your boyfriend wasn’t on the agenda, and quite frankly, might’ve been a sign. some were calls but most were all lower case texts, each more foreboding than the last. holding your towel up with one hand, you scroll through your messages with the other.

 what the fuck is wrong with you?

 who the hell is this guy?

beneath it, a video of you and togata. your pupils dilate, and a deeply rooted sense of dread clutches your heart. it looks like a screen recording off of denki’s instagram account, of you two dancing. not overtly scandalous, but too close for comfort.

have you been cheating on me? 

for how long

how desperate are you? i say i have a business trip and you take it as an excuse to slut it up somewhere else?

you’re fucking pathetic.

heart slowly sinking, threatening to beat out of your chest, you can’t find it in you to scroll through the rest. you barely have pants on before you’re calling him up, frenzied and feeling out of breath. the phone barely rings twice before you’re going to voicemail and hearing the beeping tone. 

fuck. fuck fuck fuck.

you hang up, and try again.

this time, he picks up on the first dial tone.

“baby?” you nearly yell into the microphone, while the other end remains silent.

“what is it.” his voice is hollow, not even asking a question; rather making a statement. you choke on your words, are quiet for a few seconds at most before he’s barking at you. “i don’t have all day. i’m busy.”

“t-that video. it wasn’t, it wasn’t anything—” something slams in the background that makes you flinch, and he takes it as a good opportunity to cut you off.

“so the wedding wasn’t shit either? the way he was holding you, looking at you like that, like some lovesick fucking puppy?”

“w-what? what’re you talking about honey? it’s nothing like that—”

“don’t get fucking cute with me. i’ve seen the photos. that girl mina doesn’t know how to not publicize your life.” you feel like dying. 

“i knew i should’ve never settled for you.”

“you don’t mean that—”

“shut the fuck up.” there’s more shuffling on his end, a deep sigh. you’re too shaken to speak. “i wasted so much on you. gave you a house, a home, just for you to repay the favor by being a two-bit whore, sit on your ass all day and complain, and waste my time with those stupid fucking hobbies of yours.” what’s more terrifying is that his voice doesn’t wane or waver. he means it.

“... honey, please. please just let me explain!” you hadn’t even noticed the tears until you’re wiping them off your cheeks, your sniffling getting louder until you’re full on sobbing.

“there’s nothing left to explain. get your shit out by tuesday. we’re done.”

the line goes dead after that.

you don’t realize how much time has passed since you went to go shower initially, only that it’s been a while, considering how urgently mina starts knocking on the door.

“baby, are you alright? you’ve been in there for half an hour!” you can’t find it in you to respond. all it results in is choking on your own words, coughing and sobbing and tears and this fucking headache.

you don’t want to be seen.

mina announces that she’s coming in, and conversation behind the door quiets down until you can’t hear it anymore. just your own thoughts. she opens it and finds you in the corner, your knees to your chest while you’re just barely dressed, hair soaking wet. crying feebly until she rushes over and asks what happened.

you show her your phone. the texts.

she wraps her arm around your back and helps you up. hands you a towel so you can finish drying yourself off, and picks out some clothes for you to wear. when she turns around, she’s greeted by the concerned faces of your friends. mirio.

her face morphs from a look of concern to pure rage.

“what the fuck!?” she all but snatches your phone away from you, to which you pull your hands back and cradle you legs again. “who the fuck does this asshole think he is?” she looks down at you just then, and sees the red in your eyes, the tear tracks that stain your cheeks and a few drops dripping off your chin. you need your help more than you need her rage and half hearted insults. 

“you yelled.” shinsou states plainly. “is everything alright?” mina approaches them and ushers everyone out, closing the door, presumably to give you some privacy.

you dress slowly, the few minutes feeling like an eternity before you’re reaching for the door handle, clean and feeling like shit, for different reasons other than a hangover.

when you emerge from your room, mirio gives you a hug.

a hug that you melt into. one that you weren’t expecting but squeeze him back just as hard, tears that didn’t quite make it out seeping into the spot where you press into his shirt. his arms are comforting and strong, rubbing and patting your back gently, until the room is silent beyond your heartbeat and your sniffles, your friends milling about in the background.

“he said i have to move out.” your fingers dig into togata’s shirt. “pack up all my stuff and leave but i don’t know where i’m supposed to go—”

there’s a smaller hand patting your back when mina speaks up.

“d-don’t worry.” you can feel her hugging you too, a special warmth blooming in your chest. 

“we’ll figure something out.”

while you’re leaving the hotel, mina makes a call to her girlfriend camie to explain the situation, and by the time you’re back in mirio’s pick up, she said that camie offered to rent you an apartment in her name. the earliest she can get it was by monday, so she offered to let you spend the night for a couple days as well. denki says that he and shinsou could help you with things around the house: shopping, redecorating, etc.

togata is the one who offers to help you get your stuff. you arrange the date for monday, actually exchange phone numbers, and meet up at 8.

it makes sense; his car has enough space in the back, you don’t have much of your own stuff, but you nearly regret accepting the offer in the first place. something about moving out with your … husband in tow doesn’t sit well with you. almost seems like it’s too soon. 

but mirio’s charming enough to make the whole ordeal seem less like a fever dream. you’re beaming at him by the time you’re all done, laughing and smiling and so infectiously happy. by the time you both wind down you’re out of breath, wheezing in the front seats of the car.

he smiles fondly at you.

you can feel your cheeks heat as you return the sentiment.

then both of you are back on the road. the musics louder this time, and you get to show him how shitty you sing; which he insists isn’t so bad after all. it’s after twenty minutes of this that you’re suddenly struck by the irony of it all. 

“i can’t believe our first date with you was me moving out of my exes apartment.” mirio chokes on his spit, cheeks bleeding red as he does a double take, eyes flitting from the road, back to you, back to the road.

“wait.”

“that was our date?”

𝔱 𝔞 𝔤 𝔩 𝔦 𝔰 𝔱 ;  @mitsusuri​ @okayshin​ @tamasoft

[kimbrrleee]

It’s been six years since September when she left us, but I missing my Grammy a little bit more than usual tonight. Seeing the ornament she made me for my first Christmas always makes it more real. I’m going to share a little bit about her tonight, I hope you don’t mind. This is what it wrote in my journal the day after she passed and what I read at her memorial service. (sorry about the formatting, I don’t understand tumblr’s spacing)

My beautiful Grammy lost her battle with cancer yesterday.

I am still trying to process all of this. This really the best way I can do it right now. Its not going to be terribly coherent or organized but I am just going to let you all in on some of my  memories with her. Putting them down is hopefully going to help fill the void I have in my heart right now so I hope you enjoy it...

 In preparation for writing this, I lit a candle and put on Frank Sinatra radio on iTunes radio.

I didnt even get halfway through the first song before I realized I was not ready for that yet.

My Grammy loved Sinatra.

In fact, it was something the two of us bonded over. I remember sitting in the living room of my parents house with my phone and a dock playing a mix of Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Tony Bennett.. etc.

We would just sit there and sing. No need for words. Every so often I would look over at her and I could tell that she was someplace other than chandler. See, my Grammy had the beginning stages of Alzheimer's and had trouble remembering quite a bit. However when I turned on that music you could see the warmth in her eyes and the little smile that crept across her face. She would sing harmony for a little bit and then lament about how her singing voice wasn't as good as it once was. (It always sounded beautiful to me. I would give anything to hear it again.) Then after a few more songs would go by she would say how happy she was that I loved this music as much as she did. "Most of the youngins these days... they dont listen to the old people music." She would tell me I had an old soul, and I would tell her she had a big hand in it. Every so often I would drag out my ukulele and play "Cant Help Falling in Love" by Elvis Presley. Even though I had played it for her so many times, she would always react like it was the first. She would start crying and telling me how beautiful it was and how much she adored Elvis. Elvis was Grammy's big crush. Even the mention of his name would send her into a tizzy. I remember a time I was at the dollar store and I picked up an Elvis magnet for her. She started crying a bit and kept repeating how much she wished he was still alive. It was the cutest thing ever. My Grammy was everything you would expect a Grandma to be. Sweet, hilarious, wise and a little ornery. One of my earliest memories of my Grammy was when I was (i think) 4 or 5 years old and we were visiting her in Florida. She wanted me to eat peas, and I didnt. So I took the peas, put them in my spoon, and flung them across the kitchen. She never let me forget that. She was a firm believer in horoscopes and would read the paper every morning just so she could tell me what my day would be like. She would tell me that when there was a full moon I should run outside and pray to it because it would give me money. She would scold me whenever I even though about wasting food. Followed promptly by a long dissertation about how she grew up in the Great Depression and were not afforded the opportunity to waste anything. She would feed the dogs scraps from the table even if she knew my mom would be upset. Nothing ever went to waste. She would always try to get me to dress up like a lady. She was disapproving of my tattered, dirty jeans and got so excited on the rare occasion I would wear a dress. Grammy was a straight shooter. Always said what was on her mind whether we wanted to hear it or not. I distinctly remember telling me "Kimmy, before you were born I had wished you were a boy. But I guess since you love football, beer, whiskey and bluejeans its gonna be the closest ill get." (I totally took it as a compliment) She was the most gracious person on this planet. When I would swing by and pick her up food on the way home she would always say "Thank you for thinking of me" about 8 or 9 times. She was always surprised but always so grateful when we would spend time with her. When she was diagnosed with lung cancer about a month ago, my world stopped. I never had to associate the words family and cancer. I had been lucky enough to not have encountered death in my immediate or extended family. I didnt know how to function... and I still dont. She was admitted to the hospital and I left right after work to go visit with her. She turned on "Catfish" and I tried to explain to her the main objective of the show. She was almost as amused as she was confused. I was still hopeful at the time because she hadn't been officially diagnosed. I was talking to her about how she's gotta stay there for a bit because we want her to get better and come home. Well she did come home, just not the way we had hoped.

She was diagnosed with advanced lung cancer and the decision was made to not seek treatment. Hospice was set up and my parents dogs did not leave her side for the following weeks. I would make it a point to get there as much as possible. I would listen to music with her like we always did but this time she wasnt singing. As much as it broke my heart, I could still see the twinkle in her eye and I knew she was singing on the inside. When things were getting bad, we had almost all of the family over to be with her. She kept saying how happy she was and how "everything is going the way I want it to". That was all I needed to hear to find closure. The very last memory I had with her was last week: I gently kissed her swollen hand and whispered "I love you" I dont know when I will be able to listen to the likes of Sinatra and Elvis again... I can still hear her silly little chuckle in the back of my head. I can hear her saying "God I wish I had your energy" when I would dance stupidly across the living room or "looking good girl!" every other time I would pass by her. I still can't believe she's gone. It tears me up inside. But I take solace in knowing she went peacefully knowing that she has so many people who love her. I can just imagine her being united with the love of her life, my Grandpa Ed, after being separated for 60 years. And I can guarantee she is asking Elvis and Sinatra for an autograph.

[paradoxi-callum]

Criti-Cal book reviews: Good Pop, Bad Pop, by Jarvis Cocker.

I haven't got a clue how I came to know of Jarvis Cocker.

The most likely answer would be through his music, but I have a more vivid memory of watching him on Celebrity Catchphrase before I even knew the chorus to Running The World (a simple, yet effective bit of writing to be fair to it).

The episode of Celebrity Catchphrase aired Christmas 2019, predating Hot Chip's 2020 single Straight to the Morning which features Jarvis so that isn't it either.

Does it really matter? All I remember is my first proper musical exposure to Jarvis was through JARV IS… the confusingly named band that he formed. They did the soundtrack to the BBC drama This Is Going To Hurt, an amazing show based on the equally amazing book by Adam "Dry Wit" Kay, and I fell in love with the score. That was my gateway into the songwriting brilliance of… no, wait, sorry I've just remembered something.

During the UK's 1st Lockdown I was sent to work in a shop, and I distinctly remember listening to the song Further Complications while I picked stuff up and put it down somewhere else, so where the hell do I know him from? Did my Dad put his music on? No, he hates anyone who came from the Brit Pop scene (except Albarn, obvs, it's hard to hate him). Do I know anyone with a Cocker Spaniel named Jarvis? No, that's not it. Has Cocker been hiding subliminal messages in YouTube videos of old cassette decks? Maybe, actually… I can't really disprove that one to be honest.

Wait! I've got it! In 2019 JARV IS… released the single Must I Evolve, and I got a bit obsessed with the Must I Revolve remix on the B-side! Off the back of that, I decided to listen to the Further Complications album and thought "Oh, rock isn't my thing" and left it to gather dust in my music library. The title track stuck with me through to those early days of COVID because of a single line, it's a very weirdly whitty lyric that makes a lot of sense when you think about it, and it goes "Your life is like a carrier bag, fill it and the straps will snap". Genius!

This kick-started the vague interest I had in Jarvis, but I don't buy signed copies of books by people I'm only vaguely interested in. The thing that made me love Jarvis was the soundtrack for This Is Going To Hurt that I mentioned before; around the time the soundtrack was released I was going for a design job that would have me working closely with the NHS, so it felt fitting to watch the show/listen to the music. I didn't get the job, apparently you have to actually be good at speaking to people to get an office job, but I did gain a proper love for Pulp, Jarvis, JARV IS… fuck, even Relaxed Muscle. We're now 500 words in, and I haven't even mentioned the book.

I promise that is deliberate, what I was doing is celebrating something a bit inconsequential because Good Pop, Bad Pop has made me realise that what we store in our lofts might say more than what we show on our mantelpiece; that first half was me clearing out my mental loft, you see? Thank you for joining me for it, and I'm happy you've stuck around to hear that I adore this book.

It's a strange book for a musician to make, as it doesn't really talk about Pulp as the megastars they grew to be, in fact… it isn't really about Pulp, it's about tat. I previously mentioned a mental loft, but Jarvis is clearing out his actual loft and giving us a look at some of the gems he finds, as well as the worthless junk; it doesn't really matter as every item tells us a little bit about the mind of Jarvis Cocker.

If that makes this book sound pretentious, then that's on me because Good Pop, Bad Pop is a delight to read; I got through it in about a day and was left wanting so much more, but also knowing that what I'd been given was still great. A creative manifesto, of sorts, that shows how we create art shouldn't be so detached from the world around us, and that it's honestly ok to go at your own pace and make your own rules when it comes to creativity. If there's a set formula, you should be pushing the boundaries of that formula for fun because the end result can be magnificent.

Take, for example, the actual Good Pop, Bad Pop book; it's a stunning piece of design packed with kitsch graphics and interesting typographic treatment that you very rarely find in something with a hardback cover, even if it's a horrifically expensive illustrated novel from the Folio Society. The design breaks so many rules of book design, often forcing you to stop for a minute to just process how to read a page as the text has gone all wonky or there's a comic book-ish exchange between a TV which Jarvis is living inside and Jarvis's collaborator Chilly Gonzales.

This pushing of boundaries sets Good Pop, Bad Pop apart from the crowd of boring band biographies and moody musical memoirs; it's become an essential piece of pop art that doesn't even cost a lot. It's absolutely Good Pop.

I rated Good Pop, Bad Pop 5 stars on Goodreads, and honestly think it'll be my book of the year.

[demonofthelight]

Life stories: Simon Clarke

Joanne (presenter): What keeps you awake at night, like what do you regret the most?

Simon: I don't know if I regret anything because everything teaches you something. Everything we go through is a lesson in life.

Joanne: That's the diplomatic response. What's the real response? If you could change something what would be?

Simon: There's this girl, anyone that listens to this podcast regularly probably knows all about her. Well, I can't regret us ending, because she's getting married in, what's the date? She's getting married in less than a month and she's meant to be happy so I don't regret us ending. I regret being so unimportant in her eyes that we don't still speak. I regret that, more than anything. I don't know if she was the 'one' but she was a friend. A friend I will forever adore.

Joanne: Does that keep you awake at night.

Simon: I wouldn't go that far but there are days I wonder about her.

Joanne: If she was watching this show, what would you say to her?

Simon: I'm sorry I never made her happy and I'm sorry she felt pressured by me. There's this story where a mutual friend once told me, this girl who I don't want to name Joanne, I really don't. You've shown pictures there but she doesn't look the same anymore not even the same coloured hair. Anyway this mutual friend told me she 'hates me for bringing her up'. Honestly, I'm sick of talking about it but I was always taught there's no taboo subject.

Joanne: Do you wish you two stayed in touch?

Simon: Mixed. (looking uncomfortable and shifting) I wish we never drifted so apart into two different circles but the circle she mixes in aren't compatible with the circle I drift in. I don't want to sound like an arrogant asshole. I mean it's nothing to do with superiority or a god complex. The circles I drift in are quite intellectual. Political debates, university alumina, professional jobs, e-sports. The circles she drifts in are more materialistic or hobby orientated. Motorbikes, sports etc. I mean some of those people think I'm literally the worst thing to happen to her, while some of the people in my circle find those who can't debate infuriating. The reality is the person she is now and the person I am now are completely different.

Joanne: Moving on to the death of your mom. Can you remember the day you found out?

Simon: Like it was yesterday. I got woke up in the morning while the paramedics were in my kitchen. I got told that my mom had died in her sleep and as you can imagine my father was in bits. I didn't know how to process it initially so I stayed in my room for about an hour. As time passed, I just wanted to be hugged and told I wasn't as alone as I felt.

Joanne: I'm sure your sisters and brother were by your side.

Simon: Of course, but they were trying to come to grips with it too. To be entirely honest, I reached out to a friend the following day or within the next few days. It became a blur that week but I remember distinctly that the one female who I loved and depended on to that level other than my mother was my ex. I spent the time up until the funeral genuinely believing she would pop over and check up on me even after we broke up on bad terms.

Joanne: How did your friend react , how did they support you?

Simon: As we've touched on, I was a loner in school. Until near the end of high school, I was a bullied shy kid. I didn't have any true friends. But this moment, this terrible event, Matthew made me realise I would never have to go through a travesty alone. He took time out to go for a drink with me during that week and he took the day off work to go to my mom's funeral. He's a complete atheist. He think's my philosophy on the afterlife is closer to Stephen King than history textbooks but he literally walked probably a few miles to and from the funeral just to show his support. I've never told him how much that meant to me. But I'd like to think he just knows.

Joanne: I'm sure he wasn't the only friend over that time?

Simon: No, I have another fantastic friend called Andrew. I had a very bitter falling out over him trying to get me support and honestly anyone else would have knocked me out for the abuse I gave him over it. He just laughed it off. One of two friends that I can depend on, hopefully and as far as I'm concerned the rest of my life.

Joanne: You mentioned the girl again (picture of 2011 as a couple goes on screen), her family is your neighbour right so they knew about what happened with your mom but didn't she text you or call in?

Simon: Her parents lived opposite the street, but she never asked or showed concern on my wellbeing. I have no entitlement of that care. It's her right to feel or act in any legal way she wishes. I'll respect her freedom to do that for as long as I can.

Joanne: How does that make you feel?

Simon: It made me realise our perspectives on the 18 months we were in a relationship were different. For me, it was a fantastic period and I imagine for her it's best to forget it.

Joanne: Does that bother you?

Simon: Should it? People change, circumstances change. Can we move on?

Joanne: OK. We'll go to a break... Welcome back. I'd like to talk about university and is it true that you were warned before you enrolled?

Simon: As a 18 year old child. I made a stupid comment about a friend publicly on Facebook. My friend found it hilarious and it's the sort of dark humour we say to each other over voice chat and in person but someone twisted what I said to imply someone who died in my local area. Well implied the post was about them. I never met and couldn't care less about them. I apologised and thought that was the end of it but a formal police report was filed and the individuals informed my university who at this point had just provided me with an offer to enrol that I accepted. I mean top business college diploma in the county, they ripped the hands off for me. So that was interesting. The university was great about it. The police were as incompetent as you can imagine but it did teach me that don't say anything on social media that can't be literally taken. Like this will go up on YouTube and Tumblr. So anything I say can be proved.

Joanne: How did you emotionally react to this event, where what you said was taken out of context?

Simon: Betrayed by others but I was stupid and naiive. You can't be those things especially as a successful businessman. At this time a lot of falsehoods and rumours came around ranging from me being a drug addict to committing sexual assault. It was obvious at this point those who had ever had a conversation with me knew that I had traditional moral values so the accusations were as ridiculous as they sound. Childish rumours spread to squash what I had to say. My friends just ignored them, and the people the bullshit influenced were better off not in my life anyway.

Joanne: I've only met you twice and you're quite outspoken about some controversial subjects but its obvious to me morally your the other way. Severely punish criminals, probably too far in my opinion.

Simon: I agree, my opinions can be quite controversial but I'm as against illegal drugs as I love a cup of tea. Even my critics would tell you that.

Joanne: You've gone from a social media account with 50000 followers overall to less than a tenth of the size. Why do you think this is and does it bother you?

Simon: I used to be a depressing blogger with poems, and writing that was soul crushing but honest about my thoughts or feelings about myself. I then started to feel less lost so naturally started writing about facts not emotions. Politics was always a topic I found fascinating. I've always been debating since I can remember. I get off on a debate, which is why it's hilarious to mock those that call you names because they can't debate the facts of the topic. I started looking at things like the wage gap and white privilege economically and they don't hold up to the scrutiny expected in academic work. They just don't. Those that believe either of those things are either stupid or lied too.

Joanne: I don't want to go down the rabbit hole of politics because it's become who you are but if I can, I want to touch on 'getting off' of those that call you names in other words 'Trolls' can you elaborate on that?

Simon: I'll give you an example. I'm quite camp just look at what I'm wearing so I got an anon message on Tumblr once that read 'you are a gay homophobic sexist Nazi that should just kill yourself'. How hilarious is the stupidity of that statement. If I was gay, I couldn't be homophobic and gay people aren't allowed to be a Nazi. It shows the idiocy of these people that are probably children.

Joanne: Does these kind of hate messages matter to you?

Simon: Of course it matters, everybody wants to be liked. Those that claim otherwise are lying. But the opinions of people I've never met who are so ashamed of themselves they hide through anonymous, do not matter to me. The opinions of friends and parents of friends matter to me.

Joanne: You once said you were 'bad with women'.

Simon: Oh God, yea. I really wish I hadn't had said that. It was on an emotional post at 3am. It was a spur of the moment thought. I don't think I'm naturally bad with women but I am a marmite figure. I'm not universally liked. Most people I meet are probably intimidated by me. I think the women that I find attractive clearly don't normally find me attractive.

Joanne: Why is that? What type of women do you find attractive?

Simon: I'm probably a 6 out of ten, if I could lose the acne probably a good 7. I tend to fall for either the tall slim blonde or the short petite unique person. I'm quite simple like that. Then if they are able to debate or disagree with me brilliantly, I just adore them.

Joanne: (laughs) So you see yourself as just above average?

Simon: In looks, I do. In style, I'm quite unique and some people hate that I stand out. In personality, I am extremely demanding but I also expect that from myself.

Joanne: Do you ever think about children?

Simon: I did. I thought about marriage and kids but I've only ever found three people in 21 years that I could see having a life with. I do think about children's names though, I have top three for both genders. For a boy: Constantine, Excalibur or Arthur. For a girl: Katherine, Kate or Kathleen.

Joanne: Do you think it's fair when some people refer to you as egotistical, arrogant or psychotic?

Simon: It's no business of mine what other's perceive me to be. I can only concentrate on who I am and I'm none of those things.

Joanne: Do you like being the centre of attention with someone claiming you 'have to be seen to be the most overdressed person because you need the attention?

Simon: I don't mind it, but I don't actively pursue it. I don't really mind whether someone outshines me. I love a challenge and I think demanding the best from myself constantly while can be quite exhausting to see, is who I am whether that's monopoly, gaming or dressing.