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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years ago

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Play date with the Lans and Nies! Except it's Nie Mingjue training with little Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen painting with Nie Huaisang! Baby brothers getting crushes!!!! Adorable all around!!!!!

Lan Xichen had been told several times not to expect that things would be the same as they’d been the last time he’d visited Qinghe and the Unclean Realm.

It was unusual that he’d visited before at all, in fact; usually, the heirs to the Great Sects were raised very firmly in their own traditions before allowed to venture out to meet any others – often only in their teenage years, when they were wise enough to learn from others without losing the core of their ancestor’s teaching. But his uncle had been friends with old sect leader Nie, personal friends in addition to being allies, and so he’d had the chance to visit once before, a few years back.

He’d enjoyed that visit.

He’d been very young, younger than Lan Wangji was now – sometimes he felt he was still younger than Lan Wangji, who was not quite nine years old but very solemn about it – but Nie Mingjue was very nice to him, showing him around and playing games with him very earnestly as if he hadn’t had any friends at all.

It didn’t feel at all like the older boy had been humoring him. They’d even gotten in trouble with their parents together, having tried to switch their baby brothers around so that old Nie would stop complaining about his child’s low vitality and Lan Xichen’s Uncle could have some peace and quiet from Lan Wangji’s very effective lungs at last.

Things would be different now, of course.

Lan Xichen was nearly thirteen years old, on the verge of adulthood (in the technical sense, anyway), but Nie Mingjue…

Nie Mingjue was already Sect Leader.

(It puzzled Lan Xichen a little, how someone he remembered as being only a few years older than him could have so quickly shot into the ranks of real adulthood – were there really six years between them? It didn’t seem possible, but then again, he had spent his childhood visit looking up at Nie Mingjue from a great distance...)

It was Nie Mingjue, not old Nie, who greeted them at the door, and who sat with Uncle in the study to drink tea and talk politics. And when he was done with that, he had to go and deal with sect business, first a table full of papers that Lan Xichen would never be allowed to look at and then a hall full of people asking questions and after that he had to lead saber training for the Nie sect disciples.

It wasn’t until right before bedtime in Gusu that Lan Xichen was able to find time to talk to his friend.

“You look tired,” he said, and Nie Mingjue smiled a little, nodding in agreement. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his eyes. “Can you spend some time with Huaisang tomorrow? I haven’t had as much time for him as I’d like, these past few days, and he’s only just barely started being able to handle being away from me for a few hours without going into a panic.”

“Certainly,” Lan Xichen said, and a beautiful idea appeared in his brain. “And I’ll send Wangji to you, of course.”

Nie Mingjue blinked at him.

“We did always say they’d make a good trade,” Lan Xichen said, and smiled when Nie Mingjue laughed.

The next morning, Lan Xichen told Lan Wangji that his duty for the day was to go and help Sect Leader Nie with whatever he needed, which Lan Wangji accepted with a deep, solemn nod that suggested he was preparing to go to war.

“It won’t be that bad,” Lan Xichen coaxed. “It’s only Mingjue-xiong. Don’t you remember when he came to visit Gusu a few years back? You sparred with him a few times, and later –”

Lan Wangji’s ears abruptly turned bright red and he shook his head furiously to forestall any further commentary. Lan Xichen pressed his lips together to keep from laughing; Lan Wangji had had the most adorable crush on Nie Mingjue in those days.

“You know,” Lan Xichen said innocently, “given that it’s morning, I think you’ll probably find Mingjue-xiong at the training grounds…”

Lan Wangji was gone faster than the wind.

Still chuckling, Lan Xichen went to go find his own charge. Nie Huaisang had been sick with allergies during part of their visit to Gusu, staying inside so he wouldn’t make them worse, so Lan Xichen hadn’t had much of an impression of him – he remembered a little dumpling, a round face with a vivacious smile and an awful lot of giggling, a sunny contrast to Lan Wangji’s natural seriousness.

The shy, skinny child that flinched away from him and hid his face away behind a fan wasn’t anything like the child he’d remembered.

Nie Mingjue had said something about Nie Huaisang having developed a tendency to have brief attacks of heightened panic, Lan Xichen remembered, which were worsened if he couldn’t lay eyes on his elder brother for any extended period of time. He must be afraid of losing his brother the way he’d lost his father, which Lan Xichen could understand – the painful memory of being told his mother wasn’t there anymore still stung bitterly anytime he let himself think too much about it, and it’d been years, not months.

(Nie Mingjue’s visit had been the only thing that had managed to lift Lan Wangji’s gloom after the death of their mother, and Lan Xichen would be forever indebted to him for that. Even if he’d never tell him the exact reason – Lan Wangji would immediately expire out of sheer embarrassment if he ever did.)

“I’m going to be spending time with you today,” Lan Xichen announced, and Nie Huaisang looked more resigned than anything else, turning his head gloomily to look at where his saber was sitting in its proper place. “How do you feel about painting?”

Nie Huaisang paused and very slowly turned his head back to look at Lan Xichen suspiciously. “…real painting?”

“With ink and colors and everything,” Lan Xichen promised. He knew that Qinghe Nie tended to believe that physical exercise was a good antidote to grief, but he’d personally found that art worked better for him as an escape – maybe the same would be true for Nie Huaisang. “We can go paint some landscapes. Or maybe we can see if we can find any birds?”

There were a lot of birds in Qinghe, and all different types, too. It was as if every time Lan Xichen turned his head, there was a new explosion of feathers in some new configuration.

“I like birds,” Nie Huaisang murmured, his voice very soft.

“We’ll keep an eye out for any we see, then,” Lan Xichen said enthusiastically. “If we can catch one, I’ll convinced your brother to let you keep it.”

Nie Huaisang’s face brightened, and Lan Xichen was sure it wouldn’t be hard to convince Nie Mingjue to let his brother keep a few animals, not if he could see that smile. “Really? I can keep one at home?”

“Really.”

“It’s safe now?” Nie Huaisang asked, hopping off the bed to go put his hand in Lan Xichen’s.

Lan Xichen thought that was an odd question, but nodded again. “We’ll buy a nice bronze cage in the market,” he said, thinking that Nie Huaisang might be worried about cats or something – another notable feature of Qinghe. Stray cats everywhere. “That’ll keep it safe.”

“Steel is better,” Nie Huaisang said as Lan Xichen led him out. “Bronze will bend if a fist hits it hard enough; it won’t protect whatever’s inside.”

“Steel it is, then,” Lan Xichen said. He’d only thought that bronze would match the décor of Nie Huaisang’s bedroom; steel would clash and ruin the feng shui. “Maybe plated in bronze?”

“That works!”

“I’m a Sect Leader now,” Nie Mingjue told Lan Wangji, who was standing at attention better than some of the adult Nie sect disciples. “What I need right now are good lieutenants. Are you capable?”

Lan Wangji nodded firmly.

“It won’t be that interesting,” Nie Mingjue warned him. “If you think you’ll get bored and want to wander off –”

“I won’t,” Lan Wangji said, and there was a note of determination and pride in his voice that made Nie Mingjue want to pick him up with one arm and give him a hug the way he’d done in the past.

He didn’t, of course. For one thing, it’d be beneath his dignity as a Sect Leader to so causally embrace a child from another sect – or anyone, for that matter; for another, Lan Wangji had always had a great deal of pride for a child, and Nie Mingjue had long ago figured out that the best way to deal with pride was to offer respect where it was due.

“Very well then,” Nie Mingjue said. “I will count on you.”

Lan Wangji lifted his head and clenched his fists, his eyes shining, and his expression only became more and more happy (in that barely-noticeable way he had) when he realized Nie Mingjue was giving him tasks that actually needed doing, rather than merely filling the time to entertain him.

Nie Mingjue wouldn’t have done the latter regardless – he’d always disdained the idea of condescending to a child like that – but as a matter of fact he did need the help: someone to write things down as he made decisions, to survey things and report back to him what he saw, to arrange that he would have fresh ink before he noticed he was out, to put signatures on things that needed to be signed once Nie Mingjue had approved the idea, to inconspicuously serve tea during important political discussions while keeping enough of an ear out to be able to remind Nie Mingjue of everything that had been discussed later…

His advisers were right; he really did need a deputy. Possibly several of them, if he couldn’t find one competent enough to serve alone.

“Wangji,” he said towards the end of the day, and Lan Wangji looked up at him from where he was faithfully copying out one of the letters that needed to go out before the end of the day. He was barely tall enough to sit properly at the table, but his calligraphy was perfect. “You helped me a great deal today. Well done.”

Lan Wangji nodded and looked back down to finish off the letter, only the redness of his ears revealing his embarrassment.

They went down to the entrance to meet Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang, who were returning from their outing for the day – Nie Huaisang was clutching a giant bird cage covered in a cloth, with a smile that almost looked like the one from last year, from before, and Lan Xichen had paint splattered on his face and white clothing.

“Do I want to know?” he asked Lan Xichen dryly as he gestured for the two children to greet each other, but Lan Xichen only laughed.

“I promised him he could keep whatever we found,” he said with a smile. “Also, Huaisang has some paintings he wants to show you. If you like them, you might consider hanging one up in your office.”

He will hang them all up no matter how ugly they are, Nie Mingjue decides immediately. He doesn’t say that out loud, merely nods and says, “We’ll see, then.”

“How was Wangji?” Lan Xichen asked. “He didn’t bother you, did he?”

“Don’t be absurd, Wangji’s a good boy,” Nie Mingjue said. “And an excellent deputy. If he wasn’t your brother, I’d try to steal him away from you.”

“He might like that,” Lan Xichen said, looking at Lan Wangji fondly. “Maybe when he’s a little older, I can send him here for a season, to improve his cultivation –”

Lan Wangji didn’t do anything as crass as nod furiously, but his expression showed distinct signs of interest; he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to Nie Huaisang, who was rambling into his ear.

“And perhaps I’ll send Huaisang to the Cloud Recesses for your uncle’s teaching,” Nie Mingjue replied, mildly hopeful – it was out of the question right now, with Nie Huaisang only sleeping through the night half the days in the week and never when he was on his own, but it would be nice, in the future. He thought that his younger brother would enjoy the serenity of Gusu.

“– and then we caught a bird, look!” Nie Huaisang concluded, pulling the cover off the birdcage.

Nie Mingjue glanced over, then did a double-take and stared.

“Xichen,” he said, with admirable restraint. “Did you actually promise that my brother would be allowed to keep a vicious flesh-eating hawk?”

“There’s no way a hawk is that small,” Lan Xichen said. After a second of observing Nie Mingjue’s face, he added, a little weakly, “…right?”

#mdzs #lan xichen #lan wangji #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #possibly this is the background to Pastime (With Good Company)#but it can also stand alone #Anonymous

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ban-canram · 3 years ago

Text

Fluff Alphabet with King

Masterlist!

Warnings: pre-Holy wartime, also modernized (tv & car mentions), gender-neutral reader

Length: 1.1k || Read on Ao3

A/N: @levithestripper has been writing so much so I finally got up the nerve to post again (sorry it’s been a while but here you go!)

Affection

King is really big on physical affection. He loves to hold hands out in public so he feels close to you. In the privacy of his home, he also becomes an even bigger softie (if that’s even possible) and will cuddle with you all day long.

Beauty

King absolutely loves your eyes, he adores how they look in the sunlight. You can often catch him staring at you and he's just admiring his lover's eyes.

Cuddles

He is a huge cuddle bug. If King could sit around and cuddle with you for the entire day he definitely would. Cuddling is his love language, you cuddle him and he’ll be on you like a puppy.

Dreams

King usually vividly remembers his dreams, but he won’t talk about them unless the love of his life was involved. He tries to talk to Ban or Meliodas about them but they’re not really interested. So he heads straight over to you and gushes about his dream.

Entertainment

King is honestly okay with just going on a simple car ride with you as entertainment. Listening to music and enjoying each other's company is fine with him. If you want to stay in, he settles for tv and his favorite pastime, cuddling!

Fighting

King HATES getting into fights with you. He tries to de-escalate the situation as fast as possible but sometimes he loses his temper. He may yell at you and immediately regret it. He’ll be sure to apologize and try to make it up to you with dinner.

Gifts

He is the ultimate gift-giver like it is insane. King will spend everything he has to make you happy and not regret it one bit. Every time he needs to get you a present he starts shopping months in advance.

Honesty

King isn’t good at lying, but sometimes he tries and fails. His lies aren’t serious and he might even be just hiding a surprise from you. He tries to hide the other sins from you as well, but that doesn’t last too long.

I Love Yous

King doesn’t say it much, but he does things to let you know that he loves you. He’ll buy you things, and spend ridiculous amounts of time with you to make sure you know it.

Jokes

Dad Jokes. That’s all. He LOVES dad jokes and cracks them all the time. They make you laugh but you make sure he knows how stupid they sound. He made one when you first met him and you almost walked away.

Kissing

He isn’t big on PDA so most of your kissing is done at home or occasionally on dates if many people aren’t around. However, when he does kiss you, it’s sweet and soft. He holds your face and strokes your cheek while admiring you.

Love Language

Kings love languages are physical touch and gift-giving. He constantly wants to hold hands, have his hand on your thigh, or hug you. It’s a comfort to him and he shows love easier that way. As for giving you gifts, he has bought you more clothes than you’ve bought for yourself. He just loves seeing you with things he bought.

Mornings

King is not a morning person. He will not get up early if it isn’t life-threatening. You try to get him up and he simply falls asleep again seconds later.

Naps

Napping with you is so comforting to him. He already sleeps most of the time anyway, but add you to the mix and he’ll never want to get up. He turns on a movie for background noise and pulls you into his arms for a nap.

Open

King is a decently open person, so he shares a lot with you. Most of the time he only keeps things from you if itś to protect you. If he’s comfortable enough he’ll open up about his sister, Elaine (something he rarely does).

PDA

Not a big fan at all. He tends to cringe at couples being all over each other in public. However, if you want a kiss or a hug he won’t say no. He just simply prefers giving you physical affection at home.

Quirks

King isn’t…normal I suppose you could say, but his quirks definitely add to his appeal and the relationship. He always knows where to get the best food, the comfiest pillows, and the softest blankets. Perfect for nights inside. He knows it isn’t much, but he hopes that you can see how much he cares for you.

Romance

King is a total sucker for romance. He loves romantic gestures and basically swoons if you take him out on a romantic date. He’ll watch romantic movies with you and make a whole date out of it.

Support

Honestly, he is your very own personal cheerleader. He cheers you on and supports you through anything you decide you want to do. As long as you’re happy he is glad to be in your corner.

Thrill

King is not a thrill-seeker. He really just wants to stick to what he’s used to most of the time. If you want to show him something new, he might complain but ultimately he won’t turn you down.

Understanding

This man is so understanding that sometimes it’s not good for him. He will always forgive you no matter what you do. It may take him a while if it’s something exceptionally bad, but he always comes around eventually.

Vanity

He isn’t one to gloat about his looks, but he definitely does take pride in keeping his hair tidy. He may not shower every day and he may not change clothes for days, but his hair must always be neat.

Wild Card

King is an amazing artist, which not many people know about him. He loves to draw and occasionally doodles pictures of you into his ratty old sketchbook(which he refuses to stop using). His art is really private so you’re the only person besides Elaine who knows about it.

X (random headcanon)

King loves going out to lakes to relax. The forest will always be his favorite place, but there’s just something about the calmness of lakes that makes him smile. He even takes you out for lakeside picnics to share something he personally likes with you.

You

Another one of his favorite things about you is probably your personality, and he has a valid reason for it. Of course, you are extremely attractive and he loves every part of you. There’s just something about the way you act around him and other people that makes him want to just fall in love over and over again.

Zzz

King sleeps all the time, like all the time. At the store, he’s asleep. In the shower, he’s asleep. As soon as you two get in for the night, he’s sleeping. He prefers to sleep with you next to him, but sometimes he hogs the bed.

formatting by @levithestripper

#seven deadly sins king #sds king #sds x reader #seven deadly sins x reader #anime #anime x gender neutral reader #anime x reader #seven deadly sins #fluff alphabet #drabble #sds fluff

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59writes · 3 years ago

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SEVENTEEN- SCENARIO: HAVING AN ALT PARTNER (PERFORMANCE UNIT)

VOCAL • HIP HOP • PERFORMANCE

Last but most definitely not least, the boys with the moves 🙌🙌

again! don’t be shy, feel free to reach out or request!! I’d love to have some anon buddies lol. I promise I’m nice haha!!

also hi Jun’s is about kandi I had to self indulge a little lol (which is why it’s so long omg) I make kandi and it’s literally the best pastime and the culture around it is super cool too so I had to add it in haha!!

🌈🌈🌈!!!PLUR!!! 🌈🌈🌈

tw: food maybe (?)

JUN

• you guys met on complete accident

• he was walking to the company, you on your way home

• and he bumps into you and one of your bracelets hooks onto his bag and it snaps

• you’re both shocked by the sound, watching the beads bounce into the street while people shoved past you both, glaring at you both for blocking the way

• and even though Junhui is late he stoops down to pick up the beads

• you stop him quickly

• “don’t worry, I have more beads at home”

• and he’s like “wait woah you made this” because it’s intricate and pretty and a little pixel art cat that he accidentally ruined ):

• but he feels so bad, and wants to pay you back somehow cuz the bracelets are so cute and he broke one!!! he cannot get over it!!!

• even when you assure him it’s fine he looks so concerned you have to give in

• so you give him your number, telling him to text you when he can and you can work something out

• and at the company he considers it all day

• he, an idol, just got a number from someone on the street. all because he messed up and then insisted to be in your life

• was this a good idea?

• Seungcheol hears about it eventually, and says to give it a chance

• “your friends are in another country, Jun. make some here too. plus you’re stressed, and it’s probably best to get any weight off your shoulders you can.”

• and so he texts you

• and plan to go to a cat cafe (his treat) on his next day off

• when he walks into the cafe you greet him with a beaming smile

• “I have a gift for you.” You grin, pulling something out of your bag

• and like, Jun almost disagrees, like “no I’m supposed to be apologizing to you” but then be sees what you’re offering

• a little cat bracelet just like the one he broke the other day

• he reaches out for it but you shake your head

• “there’s a special way to do it, here.”

• you give him a rundown on the style of bracelet, called kandi

• and you explain they’re meant to be traded

• “and there’s a secret handshake to trade with, ok? just do what I do.”

• peace, love, unity…

• and he’s suddenly holding your hand

• you slip the bracelet onto his wrist before letting go, grinning as he examines his new accessory

• “I’m y/n, by the way.”

• “Junhui.”

• you chat and play with the cats that come to visit your table

• you take off one of your kandi rings at one point and gently loop it around one of the kittens’ paws

• Jun hasn’t had this much fun in a while, much less been in such a positive environment

• as you were bright and cheery as you made kissy noises at the cats to offer them snacks

• always had something new to say or observe

• and when it was time to leave he really didn’t want to go

• you don’t either, but you have an appointment you can’t miss

• so you promise to do it again soon, giving Jun a quick hug and a wave before dashing off

• Jun can’t keep his eyes off the bracelet as he goes back to the company, running his fingers along the peyote weave

• he spends the rest of the night reading about kandi and kandi kid culture

• and everyone involved is so happy, and their bracelets?? like holy shit.

• he thought yours was good but some of these people had massive and intricate kandi

• the next time you meet, he asks if you can teach him how to make kandi

• and your face lights up!!

• the next few meetups he learns, little by little

• passing the bracelet to you if he can’t get part of it right

• and he just keeps getting surprised by your patience when you have to undo rows, your bubbly spirit calming a bit as you focus on a pattern

• and one day you invite him to a rave

• and yo he’s so nervous ??? but he wants to go so bad ???

• you promise him you guys can leave it early, because eventually you get overwhelmed too

• so he agrees

• you meet at your apartment, Jun shy as you flit around and drape him with more kandi

• you ask him to sit still as you paint a tiny design on his face in UV paint, hand resting on his jaw to keep him still

• and when you gleefully spin him around to look at himself in the mirror he’s just. wow.

• a line of heart stickers on his cheek, a necklace made from kid toys draped around his neck, and of course, endless bracelets

• this was so cool.

• the rave was even better.

• Jun got used to the flashing lights and eccentric music very quickly, mostly following behind as you greeted people and traded bracelets

• and then you turn and pull him out to the dance floor

• and that shit is like a fever dream.

• adrenaline, glitter, and neon lights fill your veins as you both dance for hours

• eventually too tired to keep up, you fall into Jun’s arms, laughing

• and he’s grinning too (:

• you leave shortly after that, walking home in the dark

• you stop to sit at a park bench, and Jun says he has a surprise

• he holds out his hand

• peace, love, unity, respect

• and slips a bracelet onto your arm

• he did it completely himself, as you’d never seen the design before

• it’s of a cat with a rainbow tail, along with his name spelled out in pixels

• and you look up at Jun, whose eyes are filled with anticipation

• and you give him a huge hug

• and he thanks you for showing him this diverse underground world full of color in the night; a way to break out of his shell a little

• and damn I guess you can’t help but hold back an “I love you”

• and he feels the glitter surge back into his veins

• and the feeling never leaves again (:

HOSHI

• Soonyoung always thought photographers were more likely to stay out of the lens’ view, but you proved him wrong

• when you introduced yourself as his photographer for the magazine shoot you were working on, he couldn’t help but feel like you should be in front of the camera, not him

• like holy shit. the beads and chains that engulfed your arm and shimmered in the dim lights. the clips nestled in your hair that were shaped like cartoon spiders. the patches for bands he’d never heard of on every square inch of your camera bag.

• he’s polite and energetic the whole shoot, and to be honest maybe you take a little longer than usual to line up closeups of his face

• after all he deserves the best photos (:

• once you’re finished you agree to meet again at Pledis the next day, just to review the photos

• and Soonyoung spends the whole night hyping himself up lol

• you look just as cool as the day before, if not better, and he manages to compliment you without a problem (practice pays off!!)

• he wants to see more of your photos, and you offer him a ticket to a portfolio viewing you’re having

• he shows up without telling you, taking his time to walk through the gallery and examine each photo

• and they’re so dynamic, perfectly balanced, mysterious. he can’t help but get lost in each one, not even noticing you staring at him

• you, heart warm from his wonder and genuine interest

• he was soon a common subject and reviewer of your photography

• and you were soon a common staple of his, Soonyoung trying to be with you at every opportunity

• he invites you over for movie nights with the other guys

• if you show up in your usual outfits he whines about how you’re all pokey and he can’t lay on your arm without getting stabbed ):<

• luckily you own soft sweatshirts that still look super cool so it’s a win/win

• he’s so adoring of everything you do omg

• every interest of yours is now his interest too

• and he’ll always be by your side, curious and wide-eyed, always ready for the next adventure with you

• whether it be through clothes, or photos, or even just the park

• you’re what makes it special (:

MINGHAO

• dude. he’d lose his shit in the best way possible.

• have you seen this man??? his sense of style??? he’d be drooling in seconds lol

• you’d catch him watching you as you intern at Pledis, sketching up scenes in the corner

• finishing your degree required film to turn in, and you managed to snag an internship with the production crew for Seventeen

• a successful music video for a major group would definitely save your grade lol

• every dance practice, you’d be in the corner, wedged against the mirrors, huddled over your sketchbook as you designed

• and of course you watched them dance, you had to encapsulate the emotion somehow

• during a water break, one of the members plops down next to you and introduces himself as Minghao

• his hair is damp with sweat, sleeveless shirt clinging to his chest

• and he asks to see your ideas

• the concept is focused on the ideas of identity, and your current plan was sketches of each member as the background

• you could animate them slowly turning into each member, and you explain the idea to Minghao as he very gently flips through the pages, fingers hardly touching the pages

• he lingers on his own page

• “you didn’t sketch anyone else’s face this detailed.”

• “you’re pretty.” You say simply, reaching for the book back

• he grins at his lap.

• he sits next to you every day now, always eager to see your designs

• but more often he wants to see your other works

• and when you tell him you and your friends made most of your clothes he’s dumbstruck

• “can you make some for me?”

• you laugh and he apologizes for being so straightforward

• but the next day you bring in a trench coat you’ve been illustrating

• cutting diamonds into the sleeves and lining them with neon thread

• the half-finished painting on the back your friend started working on

• and as you proudly explain the coat’s background Minghao can’t help but want to join in too

• the way your face lights up when you speak about it, how gently you fold the fabric, how you adjust the collar on him so it looks just right

• eventually you begin to hang out outside of the company

• and you take him to craft stores when you need supplies or new clothes to ruin

• and he has such a good eye oh my god

• and his long fingers pick up sewing so easily

• and many hours are spent on your apartment floor quietly snipping, painting, lacing

• minghao wears his clothes with pride, especially the ones you make for him

• you go out one day, both of you completely dressed in your own designs

• and Minghao has never felt this beautiful before

• and when he sees your outfit he can’t help but wrap you in a huge hug

• he’s proud: of himself, of you, of the creativity and passion and hours put into these clothes

• and he admits he’d like to keep that feeling around a lot more

• and so your time in the city becomes a date

• and behind the music video sets becomes a spot to hide and snuggle

• you still sketch him sometimes

• when he doesn’t notice

• when he’s too focused on choreo, or reading a book, or laughing at the other boys goofing around

• because you’re proud of him, too

• and when he sheepishly admits he’s been doing the same, pushing over his own sketchbooks filled with endless drawings, improving page by page

• you know he’s your other half.

DINO

• Dude he’d be so flustered

• he straight up would just. not know what to say and would probably be defensive whenever you talk to him so he might come off as rude ):

• it would take time for him to warm up to you

• but when he does it’s clear he can’t get you out of his head

• as a choreographer, you had to spend a lot of time with the performance line

• and in this case, specifically Chan, as he has a solo

• and just seeing you look so damn rad even when you’re slowly walking him through potential choreo,,,, homeboy is gonna break down and try and defend himself

• the first few days are awkward because he’s drawn back and a little hostile

• but you force him to get lunch with you after a particularly rough morning, just to try to have a better relationship

• you guys didn’t finish the choreo that afternoon, choosing to sit on the studio floor and talk

• the next day he’s still quiet, but shyly rather than defensively

• and he can’t seem to get his arms right, and you have to go over there and straighten his arms for him, rings digging into his biceps

• and even though he tries to hide his grin you know it’s what he wanted

• eventually your job is done and you’re ready to head to the next performer, or go plan choreo for another group

• and Chan shuffles up and even though his cheeks are red he manages to ask you out

• and how could you say no?

#svt #svt fic #svt scenarios #svt reactions #performance unit #jun #Junhui #hoshi #soonyoung #minghao #myungho #dino #lee Chan #svt x reader #x reader #kpop x reader #alt reader

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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“...Cautious young women came from all classes and backgrounds; so did those who proved most daring, experimenting, or free-spirited. Because young women of all classes had limited spending money, their most popular forms of public entertainment consisted of a variety of free, outdoor activities. For young women who lived in towns and cities, walking up and down shopping streets, looking at the window displays, evaluating the goods, discussing prices and styles, and occasionally making minor purchases while keeping an eye on other strolling shoppers provided a particularly popular form of entertainment.

In many towns, local choirs, musical ensembles, and military bands gave free Sunday afternoon concerts in public squares and parks, attracting especially young men and women, but also many working-class and lower-middle-class families whose budgets did not afford them other, more expensive forms of leisure activities. Without provisions for seating, these concerts provided ample opportunity to parade one's Sunday best, mingle, meet old friends and new acquaintances, chat, and exchange flirtatious glances.

Similarly, ice skating, another conventional pastime that attracted both young people and their parents, remained firmly within the boundaries of respectable behavior. Despite mixed-gender audiences, the participation of older adults in such activities contributed to their respectability, and even the most old-fashioned parents rarely objected to such outings. After all, shopping had long been a central component of middle-class women's leisure, and ice skating and military music hardly incited raucous behavior.

Equally popular among young women were new forms of commercial leisure activities that catered particularly, if not exclusively, to a cross class and mixed-gender clientele of adolescents and young adults. Movie theaters, for instance, attracted swarms of working-class and middle-class youths. Although many older contemporaries remained uncomfortable with the inappropriate mingling across gender and class lines and with the cheap thrills and seemingly loose moral standards of Hollywood films, young moviegoers found that the darkened auditorium offered hours of exciting, inexpensive, and easily accessible entertainment as well as a convenient place for meeting with friends and possibly engaging in courtship.

Enclosed swimming areas and public beaches also became increasingly important sites for fun, relaxation, and mixed-gender sociability in the 1910s and 1920s. While the immodesty and physical intimacy of "undressed, scantily dressed, and fully clothed people mixed together in one big confusion" often shocked traditional sensibilities, warm summer Sundays nonetheless brought such large crowds of young men and women to public beaches that popular wit soon dubbed them "flypapers."

Other popular arenas for spending leisure time included cafes and restaurants. Because of their limited resources, young women typically sought out places that served coffee and dessert rather than full meals. Yet because they were generally inclined to spend more time than money in such places, young women were often made to feel unwelcome. "If you knew the waiter, he would sometimes let you sit over the same cup of coffee all night long," Inger-Marie Rasmussen recalled, "but most often that was not possible. When a haughty waiter came by and asked if 'there was anything else?' for the second or third time, you knew it was time to go."

Besides, the presence of men who might be willing to pay the bill in exchange for female companionship made such places more precarious arenas for young women concerned about their sexual reputations. While straining limited budgets, an afternoon or evening in an amusement park was often easier to negotiate. Having paid a small entrance fee, visitors were free to stroll around, look at the various booths and rides, and enjoy free musical and theater performances, occasional fireworks, and other attractions without additional expenses.

Although some amusement parks were scorned by middle-class families because of their rowdy working-class clientele, others—such as the Tivoli Gardens in Copenhagen—were entirely respectable sites of entertainment for families as well as young, single people. Various forms of theatrical entertainment also appealed to young women. In community halls and neighborhood theaters, they enjoyed cheap slapstick comedies and amateur performances starring local talent and would-be actors.

In addition, hotels and restaurants frequently sought to lure customers into their businesses by offering some kind of stage performance as the opening act to an evening of dancing. The most popular form of theatrical entertainment was presented by the revue and vaudeville theaters that flourished in the 1910s and 1920s. Featuring evening programs of comical sketches, singing, and dancing, replete with chorus girls, lavish costumes, and elaborate stage settings, vaudeville shows attracted both young men and women looking for a good time, an easy laugh, and a spectacle of glamour and luxury.

Yet young women's participation was generally more limited than men's. Often the price of admission precluded them from attending, and sometimes the sexually suggestive character of songs and acts made them feel uncomfortable. Nonetheless, most young women managed to stay remarkably well-informed about the glamorous costumes, the musical hits, and new dance steps they generated. However, given the opportunity to choose freely among all available forms of fun and entertainment, most young women would probably not have opted for any of the amusements just mentioned. In the vast majority of cases, dancing topped their list of attractive recreational pursuits.

When, for example, the popular women's magazine Vore Darner in 1925 queried its readers about their favorite leisure activities, fully 72 percent of the respondents listed dancing as their first choice. Similarly, of the fifty-nine women interviewed for this project, at least fifty-four mentioned dancing as the favorite leisure activity of their youth. It is hardly surprising, then, that the rapidly expanding numbers of restaurants, cafes, hotels, inns, night clubs, and other establishments that offered dancing attracted vast numbers of young women. Nevertheless, public dance places remained highly controversial public settings for young women throughout the 1910s and 1920s.

Like other forms of entertainment that did not encourage community-based, intergenerational sociability, these settings were viewed with suspicion by older generations. The fact that crowded dance floors and lively music facilitated, even encouraged, easy and spontaneous physical intimacy between young men and women only heightened this suspicion. As a result, public dance places constituted an exciting, but also an especially dangerous and difficult terrain for modern young women eager to have fun without jeopardizing their reputations.

The tension between excitement and respectability was not unique to public dance places. The mixed-gender clientele and unsupervised mingling of city streets, skating rinks, public beaches, movie theaters, amusement parks, and variety shows could also throw into question the respectability of female participants. Therefore, public dance places merely represented the end point on a spectrum of controversial arenas for female leisure activities, simply heightening the conflicts young women experienced individually and in groups whenever they entered public space.

Although the companionship of female friends provided some measure of protection against potential dangers and missteps, it did not provide them with an inviolable safeguard. Even if young women trusted and depended on each other, there was always the nagging doubt that judgment calls of female friends might be wrong. As Meta Hansen poignantly remarked, "Having a girlfriend meant that you wouldn't get into trouble by yourself. It didn't mean you wouldn't get into trouble." Without female companionship, the likelihood of getting into trouble was simply too great for most young women to risk venturing out, but even the presence of female friends did not ensure safety.

To avoid making mistakes and more permanently minimize the risk of getting into trouble, young women therefore eagerly sought to determine what constituted appropriate and inappropriate behavior and activities. Throughout the 1910s and 1920s, they continually struggled to define the difference between the two, hoping to establish a set of rules that would ensure protection from moral reproach without sacrificing newfound possibilities for fun and excitement. Determining what constituted acceptable public behavior and activities was complicated by the fact that only a few public places and activities were entirely off limits for respectable woman.

Therefore, simply determining the respectable from the disreputable—and placing oneself on the right side of that line—was not an easy task. Going alone to a restaurant in the afternoon might be perfectly acceptable, for example, but enjoying a cup of coffee in the very same location at ten o'clock at night would be considered highly inappropriate. Waltzing with a young man on the skating rink was one thing; tangoing with him in a night club quite another. Similarly, if watching the latest movie release in a local theater or enjoying oneself in an amusement park in the company of girlfriends provoked only few raised eyebrows, going there alone or in the company of a man to whom one was not officially engaged was likely to generate both gossip and criticism.

"It wasn't so much what you did," Gerda Nybrandt declared when asked to explain what constituted proper behavior in her youth in Aarhus in the 1920s. "It was whom you did it with, and where you did it, and when you did it." Offering an almost identical explanation, Anna Eriksen remarked that "as long as it was daytime, people seemed to think that nothing immoral could take place. Doing the exact same thing when it was dark—now that was a different matter." Agnete Andersen recalled the code of conduct to which she adhered in a very similar way. "Well, how should I explain it?" she mused. "It was just like—you couldn't do this, but you could do that. It all depended on circumstances, whom you were out with, where you were and so on."

While in retrospect these three women maintained that "you just sort of knew" the boundary between acceptable and inappropriate public behavior, other evidence suggests that many young women at the time found determining that line an exceedingly difficult task. The fact that reliable sources of guidance were hard to come by only compounded the problem. Certainly, given their already contentious relationship, most young women did not turn to their parents for advice, and those daughters who did seek their guidance often found the older generation as confused and uncertain as they were themselves.

Since the vast majority of young women were already out of school, advice from teachers was rarely an option available to them, and adult leaders of youth clubs, concerned about their standing with parents, were generally cautious and restrictive in their counsel. Writers, intellectuals, and newspaper editors steeped in older traditions of female domesticity also seemed unqualified to guide their path. And especially in urban areas, where organized religion already had lost much of its grip on young people, the prospect of going to a minister for advice never seemed to enter their minds.

In this void, young women tended instead to look to self-proclaimed etiquette experts and advice columnists for suggestions on how to negotiate public behavior and city life. The sheer quantity of letters to women's magazines and advice columns about proper behavior speaks both to the uncertainty women felt and to the significance they attributed to knowing the limits of their new freedoms. In letter after letter, young women consulted these self-proclaimed experts both about the appropriate nature of planned events and about the specific restrictions they ought to place on their escapades.

Could a young woman go out alone at night, they wondered? If so, could she casually stroll city streets without being taken for a street walker? Could she smoke cigarettes in public? Could she wear makeup? What about high heels? Could she go to a movie theater? If so, how late? And how frequently? What about an amusement park? A restaurant? What if the restaurant featured live music and dancing? Could she go out alone if she returned home before a certain time? If so, at what time ought she be safely indoors? In response, editors of women's magazines and advice columnists generally offered very specific guidance, usually in the form of strict, inflexible directives.

"No, a young lady may not go to a restaurant alone at night," one columnist warned. "A nice girl should always be home by 11 P.M.," another enjoined her female readers. And no, a respectable young woman could "absolutely not under any circumstances" wear makeup in public—aside from "lipstick and perhaps a touch of rouge." Often, however, the logic that guided advice columnists' directives seemed incoherent, even arbitrary, and frequently their answers seemed to lack a systematic pattern. When, for instance, one advice columnist maintained that "it is perfectly acceptable for two young girls to go for an evening walk, but a group of girls strolling the streets after dark is an unfortunate phenomenon," she might very well have added to the confusion and uncertainty her readers already felt.

Moreover, while generally encouraging women to avoid being alone in public and being out too late, the advice columnists frequently differed among themselves in their assessment of what constituted proper behavior. When asked almost identical questions in 1928, Sondags B.T. declared that a young woman could absolutely not go to the theater alone, while Ugebladet found it perfectly admissible "as long as [she] makes sure to sit in the front of the theater and leaves immediately after the show."

Such disparate pieces of advice in publications that did not otherwise represent different political and cultural perspectives underscore how confusing and unsettled the standards for women's public behavior remained throughout most of the 1920s and how difficult it was for young women to find the kind of guidance they were seeking. Paradoxically, the only rule constantly reiterated was the one young women already knew and worried about—namely, that there was a boundary between respectable and disreputable behavior and that stepping over that boundary would have consequences that even young women who insisted on being "modern" and leading "modern" lives were not willing to risk.”

- Birgitte Soland, “Good Girls and Bad Girls.” from Becoming Modern: Young Women and the Reconstruction of Womanhood in the 1920s

#birgitte soland #1920s #history #danish #becoming modern

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duhragonball · 3 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (155/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Hey, it’s the Hero Lab!

[1 July, Age 726. Planet Plant.]

The latest reports from the frontlines were very encouraging. The Tuffles were a stubborn enemy, but the Saiyans had managed to drive them out of the north quarter of Orange City, while the Truffle pushback in Cidertown had slowed to a virtual standstill. Nappa smiled as he laid the report down and enjoyed the view from his new penthouse. The blood of the previous owner still stained the walls and floors, but he rather enjoyed the scent of dead Tuffles. It gave the place some much-needed personality.

"You seem to be in a good mood today."

Nappa looked up from the balcony and spotted a young Saiyan floating overhead. He didn't recognize the man, but judged him to be part-alien from the color of his hair and the strange clothes that he wore. He looked more like a Tuffle than a Saiyan, but the scent was proof enough that he wasn't Nappa's enemy. Whatever the young man's parentage, his blood was nothing like the kind that decorated his new home.

"Why wouldn't I be happy?" Nappa asked. His thin mustache framed his smile as he crossed his arms over his massive chest. "The Tuffles have been lording over us for years, and now we're finally taking over this planet, just as easily as I took over this apartment. Before long, the Tuffles will be the ones begging us to let them stay on Planet Plant."

"I guess you're right," the man said. "At least until someone stronger comes along and takes it all away from you."

"I like you, kid," Nappa said with a gravely laugh. "You sure do know how to tell a joke. What brings you here?"

"I had some questions," he said as he alighted on the balcony. "I need information, and I heard you knew my father, so I thought I'd start with you."

Nappa eyed the man suspiciously. "I know a lot of fathers," he said. "None of them wore long black coats, or carried a sword, though. What's your dad's name, kid?"

"Vegeta," he said.

Nappa laughed. Then he looked at the young man more carefully, doing his best to ignore the blue eyes and the lavender hair that hung around his face. Then he laughed harder.

"Something funny about that?" the man asked.

"I do see a bit of a resemblance," Nappa said. "Guess King Vegeta II had a few 'unofficial' heirs over the years, huh? Who knew he had it in him? So which is it? You want to blackmail the royal family? Or were you hoping they'd give you a cushy civil service job?"

"Nothing like that," the man said. "I just wanted to ask you some questions. Nothing personal, just general background stuff."

"Yeah? Well why should I help you?" Nappa asked. "For that matter, killing you would probably be a smarter play. One less would-be usurper for the king to worry about, right? I’m sure your old man would make it worth my while."

"Oh, I probably should have been more specific," the young man said. "My father isn't Vegeta the Second. It's Vegeta the Fourth."

Nappa gave him a sidelong glance. "There is no Vegeta IV," he said warily.

"Not yet, anyway," the man said with a knowing smile.

"That's it, I don't know what your game is, punk, but I'm through playing!" Nappa said. "You can tell your lies in hell!"

He drew back his arm and threw a punch that would have killed most Saiyans on contact. Nappa had made a name for himself on the battlefield for defeating entire companies of Tuffle mechatroops all by himself. He fully expected to turn the young man's head into a cloud of red mist.

Instead, the man blocked his strike with such incredible speed that Nappa couldn't even tell that he had moved. In one instant, the man had been standing with his hands in his pockets. And then in the next, the man was now gripping Nappa's palm with his thumb and index finger. He squeezed slightly, and Nappa nearly dropped to his knees from the pain.

"Nnnghhh!" was the noise he made as he struggled not to show how much it hurt. His free hand reached up for his scalp, where he tugged at the tuft of thick black hair on his head.

"Look, let's cut to the chase, all right? For you, this'll only take a few minutes, but I might be doing these interviews all night, so don't waste my time, okay? Those Tuffles you're fighting might be pushovers, but I'm not. So now that you know that you can't brute force your way out of this, what'll it be?"

He released Nappa's hand, and Nappa gasped with relief as he cradled it in his other palm. He stared at his hands for a moment, then at the man. Then he paused to consider the sword, and how much worse it would get if the young man decided to make use of it.

"Heh. Uh, yeah, sorry, Your Majesty. I-I should have recognized you sooner. Anything you want, just let me know, Prince... uh... Prince... What'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't," he replied. "So, let's start with a simple one. Have you ever heard of a Saiyan named Luffa?"

*******

[1 December Age 893, Earth.]

"Honestly, I didn't expect him to know Luffa. Nappa didn't recognize her when she faced him on a Time Patrol mission, but he did fill me in on a few things."

By Age 889, the arcade game Super Dragon Ball Heroes had become a popular pastime, and the city of Hero Town became the global headquarters for the craze. Gaming enthusiasts from around the world traveled to Hero Town to partake in the game, which was based upon actual events from the previous century. Trunks had logged many hours in front of an SDBH cabinet, though his reasons had nothing to do with recreation. For all its popularity, the game had a very strange secret. It was the Capsule Corporation who developed the software, but the world within the game was actually made possible by the Time Patrol. Deep beneath Hero Tower was the Hero Lab, where the Time Patrol occasionally conducted secret research and reconnaissance.

"I don't get it, Master," said a teenage girl standing near one of the main computer terminals that surrounded nearly every surface of the Hero Lab. "You formed the Dragon Ball Heroes Team to help you defeat Sealas, right? So why didn't you come to us on this Towa situation?"

"Note's right, Trunks!" said a teenage boy eating mochi from a bag. "I'm Goku's descendant, after all! It's not fair to leave me out of a case like this."

Trunks deactivated the Hero Switch device and handed it to Anne, one of the scientists who maintained the lab. His black trenchcoat and sword hung next to several labcoats on a metal rack in the corner, revealing the olive-green sweater he wore underneath. He smiled at Note and Beat, and then Dr. Leggings, the project director of the Hero Lab, who was programming the next simulation.

"I understand where you're coming from, kids," Trunks said, "and I appreciate the offer, but it's not that simple."

"Why not?" Beat asked. "From what you've told us, Luffa's a Saiyan, right? If that's all you needed, then I could have tackled these missions for you. I'm a Saiyan, too."

"Oh, here we go..." Note grumbled. She made sure to roll her eyes dramatically enough for everyone in the room to see.

"What?" Beat asked. "It's true, isn't it?"

"Beat, even I have Saiyan ancestry," Dr. Leggings said without looking up from her computer terminal. "After a hundred and thirty years of Saiyans living on Earth, it's not as uncommon as you might think."

"She's right," Trunks said. "We have a lot of Saiyan-Earthling Time Patrollers back in Toki Toki City from the next century. A few of the stranger ones call me 'Your Highness', but I try not to hold it against them. Besides, if all I cared about was Saiyan blood, I'd go to my father for help. So that's not why I recruited you, or Luffa, for that matter."

"Then why did you recruit Luffa instead of coming to us?" Beat asked.

"Listen,” Trunks said. “In my timeline, No. 17 and 18 had destroyed much of the world. Son Gohan was the only Z-fighter left, and he was reluctant to train me. He needed the help, but he was worried about me getting hurt. I think eventually he decided he didn't have a choice. He knew that if anything happened to him, there would have been no one else to defeat the Cyborgs. But now I understand how his reluctance. After he... well.... Later on, when I was on my own, I was determined to defeat them alone. I wanted no part of my mother's plan to use her Time Machine to get help from Goku."

"But, Master, if you hadn't gone back in time," Note said, then you never would have joined the Time Patrol, or formed the Dragon Ball Heroes Team!"

"Exactly," Trunks said. "Working with Goku and his friends in the past, I learned how valuable it can be to have allies. It's not just about having extra hands to help with the hard work. You can learn from each new friend you make. And they can learn from you, as well. I think that's why the Supreme Kai of Time created the Time Patrol in the first place. So it wouldn't be right to keep turning to the same handful of allies every time. Besides, I need you guys here, keeping an eye on things in Hero Town."

"Well, yeah," Beat said. "I guess that makes sense. But it's been so dull around here lately."

"Tell you what," Trunks offered. "Once things settle down in Toki Toki City, I'll pull a few strings, maybe bring you guys in on a Time Patrol mission. How's that sound?"

"Really?!" Note cheered. She jumped into the air and kicked her heels behind her with excitement.

"Awesome!" Beat said.

"Don't get too carried away," Trunks said. "I can't make any promises. Ultimately, it's up to the Supreme Kai of Time. But I think we can manage something."

"I think we're ready for the next session, sir," Leggings said. "Assuming these coordinates you gave us are valid. Are you sure we can trust Nappa?"

"She's right, Master," Note added. "He's bad news. Just because you're stronger than he is doesn't mean he would have had any reason to tell you the truth."

"Which is exactly why I'm using Hero Lab to access the game world instead of traveling back in time," Trunks explained. "Our research teams back in Toki Toki City are constantly using time machines to observe historical events, but they can't interact with anything or ask questions, because it might alter history."

"But the SDBH game is a simulation based upon the Scroll of Eternity itself," Dr. Leggings said. "Meaning it's a nearly perfect copy of the real world, one that you can tamper with and not have to worry about permanently changing anything."

"Of course!" Note said. "It's like how Sealas used the game to learn what changes he could make to alter history. He used the game like a practice run for the real thing."

"Only, instead of changing the way things happened in the past," Beat said, "you're using the game to find out how things are supposed to have turned out. But how does that help you learn anything about Luffa?"

"I asked Shenron to bring me a powerful ally," Trunks said. "I should have been more specific about the wish, but I was kind of desperate for the help. Shenron sent me Luffa, but she had no idea what was going on, and neither of us knows how to get her back where she came from. She talked to one of our historians, and it's starting to sound like she's from some other part of the universe, or maybe from another timeline. But wherever she's from, she's still a Saiyan, and not a descendant of Goku or Vegeta, like we are. So I think if I go far enough into the past, I'll find some historical information we have in common, and maybe I can follow that thread back to her home."

"Phew!" Beat said. "That sounds like a lot of work! I'm worn out just thinking about it."

"You're not even doing anything," Note muttered.

"There's no telling what kind of trouble I might run into in the simulated history," Trunks said. Dr. Leggings has only ever run the simulation in a very narrow time range. A few centuries at most. I may end up taking the simulation into uncharted territory, and everything I know about Saiyans tells me that they had plenty of enemies to fight. If things get hairy, I'll need some backup, and that's where you two come in. I can't think of anyone better qualified than my two top students."

"Gosh...!" Note said.

"Yeah! Now you're talking!" Beat cheered.

Anne handed the Hero Switch back to Trunks. The device was a powerful computer, but it looked like a black bracelet covered in glowing blue lights and a Capsule Corp. logo. Trunks placed it onto his right wrist and prepared to activate it.

"In the game world," he said, "Nappa told me that "Saiya" was a name for several planets colonized by Saiyans throughout history. The most recent one was destroyed around four hundred years ago. Hopefully, someone there will know more about King Rehval, or the Camelian Empire, or this Planet Nagaoka that Luffa once mentioned."

"What if they don't know, sir?" Anne asked.

"Then I'll have to keep traveling backward until I find someone who does," Trunks said. "Wish me luck."

"Wait, Trunks, one more thing before you go!" Dr. Leggings said urgently.

"Huh? What's wrong?" Trunks asked. He held up the Hero Switch on his wrist and pointed at it. "Everything looks good on this end."

"It's just... are you sure you don't want to wear the Great Saiyaman 3 outfit for this mission?" she asked.

"I'm positive," Trunks said. Before anyone could object, he activated the bracelet, and vanished into the game world.

*******

[12 May, Age 513. Planet Saiya.]

"You picked a fine time to ask about the weather, stranger."

The Saiyan’s name was Reeque, and Trunks had no idea how old she was. The small settlement he found on Saiya was it's largest population center, and they directed him to an old hag who lived in the wastelands. Trunks found her easily enough, but then the blood-wraiths attacked, and they had to take their conversation on the run. Powerful as Trunks was, his technology and ki were useless against the intangible creatures, and Reeque's warnings were enough to convince him that he should keep his distance.

"They become solid every seven months," Reeque told him. "Then we pay them back a thousandfold, but in the meantime, we run and hide until dawn. They say the storms left them behind, but I doubt that. Not even Luffa would be so cruel."

She carried a walking stick carved from some gnarled length of driftwood, but Trunks was impressed with how swiftly she crossed the rough terrain. Her dark red robes flapped behind her back like the wings of some great ugly hawk.

"I apologize for not making myself clear, ma'am," Trunks said as he hopped over a rock. "The Luffa I asked about is a Saiyan, not a storm system."

"Well that's perfectly clear to me, boy," Reeque said, "but it doesn't change the fact that you're mistaken. Only Luffa I've ever heard of is the one my great grandmother told me about. Wiped out the entire Kingdom of Saiya in a single day. The smart ones fled while they could. The rest stayed, but only the hardiest few survived. The environment here was harsh before Luffa, and it only got worse from there. Without the supplies from allied worlds... well, you learn to savor the taste of roast blood-wraith."

"Then where did the Saiyans go when they abandoned this planet?" Trunks asked.

"Hell," Reeque said. "If there's any justice, they went to hell. Otherwise they scattered across the galaxy. There was a kingdom on Sadala, but my life wouldn't be worth a zinc coin on that forsaken place. My parents were banished, and they joined the usurper kings during the civil wars. Fifty years ago, they tried to rebuild Saiya, like the name alone would restore their fortunes. But there's nothing left here. Nothing but blood-wraiths and ruin."

None of this was surprising to Trunks, since Nappa had told him this planet would eventually be destroyed altogether. He had tried to arrive on Saiya well before that day, but it seemed like the destruction of Saiya had been set into motion long before whatever warrior finally put it out of its misery.

"And King Rehval?" Trunks asked. "What became of him?"

"Why should you care, boy?" Reeque asked. "You've come a long way in search of the dead."

"I think he's my ancestor," Trunks said. "I, uh, I'm trying to settle a dowry on another planet, and they're very interested in genealogies."

"Social climber, huh?" Reeque said. "Well, I can't help you with that. Anything else you wanted to know?"

"The Camelian Empire," Trunks said. "Do you know where I can find it? I don't need exact coordinates, just a general idea will do. Er, is something wrong, ma'am?"

She began to make a sort of rhythmic coughing sound from her throat, and Trunks eventually figured out that it was laughter. "You're an amusing fellow," Reeque finally said. "When I saw that purple hair of yours, I thought I might be seeing things, but my imagination isn't wild enough to dream up such silly questions. Oh, I've spent countless nights like this one, running from bloodwraiths, but I think I'll remember tonight for a long time to come."

"Then you can't tell me about Camelia either," Trunks said.

"There's nothing to tell, boy," Reeque said with a rasping chuckle. "The Camelian Empire fell more than three hundred years ago!"

*******

[23 February, 238 Before Age. Chai I.]

"The ‘Super Saiyan’? Now what in the world is that, Trunks?"

"It's a legend I heard when I was a boy," Trunks said. "According to my father, once every thousand years, there's a Saiyan who surpasses the limits of what Saiyans can do. They're considered the ultimate warriors. Powerful, invincible, and with an insatiable craving for battle."

Rehval III considered this tale for a moment while admiring the bouquet of his wine. At last, he took a sip from his glass, and sampled a bite of his fish entree. Trunks waited patiently at the other side of the table. The restaurant looked fancier than any Trunks had ever seen on Earth, in any century. And this was merely a section of a minor administrative building in the Camelian capitol.

"I'll be blunt, Trunks,” Rehval finally said. “You seem like the kind of man who likes to get to the point, so I won’t keep you in suspense. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I see," Trunks said.

"Do you believe in this legend yourself?" Rehval asked.

"No," Trunks said after a pause. "In my experience there's no such thing as an invincible warrior. There are extraordinary Saiyans, but not necessarily one every thousand years. There could be two or three, or a hundred, or none at all."

"I'll tell you what I think," Rehval said. "I have heard tall tales of ancient Saiyan heroes. Chanisp was said to have lived about a thousand years ago. For all I know, they've been saying "a thousand years ago" for centuries. I mean, a year ago, was anyone saying Chanisp lived 'nine-hundred and ninety-nine years ago'? Of course not. The round numbers make for better storytelling, but I deal in precision."

Rehval paused his meal to point at a gold watch on his left wrist. "My summit with the Camelian Imperial College begins in three hours and twenty-two minutes, Trunks. I can't afford to offend the Camelians by rounding up. Time can be a strict mistress."

"I take your point," Trunks said. "And I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me."

"Not at all," Rehval said. "There aren't many Saiyans in this part of the galaxy, besides common raiders, I mean. And you're a man of unusual manners and poise, Trunks. You're exactly the sort of citizen I want in the Kingdom of Saiya. I think you'd find life very prosperous under my rule."

"I am... interested in hearing more," Trunks said. "Let's put it that way."

"Well, then, it's a good thing you found me during this gap in my schedule," Rehval said. "I have all afternoon to convince you to come home with me."

Trunks smiled as though amused by his remark. In fact, this had been his third attempt to speak with King Rehval III. An earlier visit to the Camelian capital world gave him access to important diplomatic records, which showed him the exact date and time of an official visit by the Saiyan King. Trunks found him on the first try, but he was too busy to talk. Trunks reset the game world simulation and tried again, approaching Rehval three hours earlier, but wasn't able to catch the man's interest. This time, he figured out that the key to Rehval's attention was to show interest in joining his cause. Rehval’s Kingdom was the most powerful Saiyan faction in this era, but his subjects made up less than half of the Saiyan population, and Rehval was very keen on getting more Saiyans to rally to his flag. Even half-aliens like Trunks were welcome, apparently.

"Where did you say your mother was from?" Rehval asked. Trunks was pretty sure Rehval had aims for establishing diplomatic ties with Earth, even if he had no idea where it was or if it was worth his time.

"The Yajirobe System," Trunks lied. "It's pretty far off the beaten path. But what were you saying about Chanisp?"

"Well, there are lower classes in every society, Trunks," Rehval explained. "It's not something Saiyans think about much, but other civilizations have demonstrated it time and time again. The problem is that, in disorganized societies, these lesser citizens don't understand that they have a duty to follow their betters. And so, in their confusion, they turn to superstitions."

"Go on..." Trunks said. He took a bite of his salad and chewed thoroughly.

"They say Chanisp defeated a mighty demon and liberated the entire Saiyan race from slavery. Did it actually happen? Maybe. Was he one of your father's 'Super Saiyans'? He might have been. How does any of that prove that there should be another one like him ten centuries later? Oh, and the cycle just happens to reset in the present day. So the tale expects us to believe that, at any moment, any one of us might miraculously transform into an invincible, demon-slaying superhero. How convenient."

"Well, when you put it that way..." Trunks said.

"I'm not one to brag, Trunks, but as far as I know, the strongest Saiyan alive is sitting across the table from you. That's not a challenge, or a demand for respect, just a statement of fact. I'd have to be stronger to be the king, or I wouldn't be the king for very long, now would I?"

"Makes sense to me," Trunks lied again.

He only brought up the legend to gain historical context. Rehval seemed to enjoy discussing it, so that worked to Trunks’ favor, but what he had truly wanted to know was whether Rehval had heard of a golden-haired cryptid running amok in the galaxy. He had not, which meant that there had been no Super Saiyan in this era, or that the Super Saiyan hadn’t appeared yet.

"These legends are just stories people invent to convince themselves that there's a way out of their reality. When the thousandth year passes, they move the goalpost, or invent a new story to replace the old. 'Oh, the Super Saiyan is real, he's just invisible and working in secret, but he really is here to help us all.' That sort of thing."

"And that's why you're pursuing diplomatic ties with Camelia," Trunks concluded. "You can't afford to wait for a messiah."

"The Saiyans are at a crossroads, Trunks," Rehval said. "If our race is going to survive, we need to follow the same well-tread path as the Camelian Empire. Statecraft. National unity. It's not as romantic as your father's legend, but it works. It's a path that leads to prosperity. If we all unite as one kingdom, under one law, then we grow stronger as a people. That means forming alliances, brokering treaties, and all the other minutiae that goes with it."

"Well, this has been a very interesting discussion, but I'm afraid I need to get going," Trunks said. He stood up from his chair and gestured to the waiter to bring his coat and sword. "It's been a pleasure, Your Majesty."

"Wait," Rehval said. "I thought you wanted to hear more about Planet Saiya. The great society that I'm building there. I'd like you to be a part of that society, Trunks."

"I'm sure you would," Trunks said as he put his arms through the sleeves of his coat. "But I've already seen how Saiya turns out, and I'm already a part of the society you envisioned. What's left of it, anyway."

"I don't understand."

"It's simple. Your vision isn't all that visionary, Rehval. No matter how strong you think you are, there's always someone stronger who'll come along to challenge you. That's not a leader, that's a gunfighter daring someone to come along and defeat him. I've grew up in a world ruled by strength alone, and you're half-right. It is a well-worn path, but it doesn't lead to prosperity."

"What do mean you've already seen Saiya?" Rehval asked. "Who are you?"

Trunks activated the bracelet on his arm, and vanished from the game world. The simulated Rehval who existed within it was left with more questions than answers, though he would not ponder them for long. Soon enough, the simulation would be refreshed, and he would have no memory of this encounter.

NEXT: Burning Questions

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #trunks #beat #note #dr leggings #anne #nappa #rehval iii #reeque

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mysterylover123 · 5 years ago

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My Top 10 MomoJirou Moments

mysterylover123

Been a long time since I did one of these Top 10 lists! In honor of the Culture Fest Arc beginning in the anime, I felt it was high time to give some Jirou ships their due. Starting with MomoJirou! Before this, I wasn’t really able to come up with any specific MomoJirou moments because they always seem sort of in the background, not really ever the focus of an episode. However, over time I accumulated a list of a Top 10, and decided I’d finally make this compilation. Let me know if there’s a moment I missed!

#10. Dressing up in the Film

What Happens: Momo takes Jirou to the island; they hang together, go to the party dressed up together, and work together throughout the film.

Why I like it. While the film’s canon status is a little ambiguous, I believe Hori did confirm that it can be seen as canon, so I’m counting it. Momo and Jirou are glued at the hip throughout the film, and they grace our screen together in fancy dress going down to the party. It comes across like they’re attending as each other’s dates.

#9. “You got 98?”

What happens: In the aftermath of the provisional license exam, Momo shares her results with Kyoka, who is surprised but pleased.

Why I Like it: It’s a pretty casual interaction, but one that shows Momo is comfortable talking to Kyoka about her score and what’s going on in her life.

#8. vs Saiko Intelli (anime)

What Happens: In the Manga, Momo and Jirou definitely fought in the Provisional License Exam together. However, the anime gave them a filler episode where they get to team up and fight Saiko Intelli, alongside Tsu and Shoji. Momo prioritizes saving her team, makes Jiro blush again, and Jiro in return comes back to protect her.

Why I like it: They definitely teamed up together in the manga, but the anime was nice enough to add them worrying about each other, Jirou blushing over Momo again, and coming back to save her. They did a good job coming up with what these two would be doing (alongside Tsu and Sho)

#7. Hanging/Shopping (#183/#69)

What Happens: Two scenes where Momo and Jirou go off together to either shop or hang out, demonstrating that they have a strong friendship and hang independently.

What I Like it: Again, more instances where they come across like girlfriends on a date, going off on their own and just being happy in each others’ company. The Culture Fest is a little more meaningful because they just wrapped their show. But both are nice.

#6. “Don’t force her”

What Happens: Jirou is being badgered by the guys to organize the musical act for the Culture Festival. Momo steps up and defends her, telling them not to pressure Kyoka and let her make up her own mind.

Why I Like it: Momo and Jirou have each others’ backs. Their friendship goes beyond simple fun and games and into genuine personal caring and watching out for one another. Here, Momo steps in to ensure Kyoka will be happy.

#5. “Apologize!”

What happens: Sero points out that Momo’s quirk is kinda like pooping, which humiliates Momo and drives her into a corner. Kyoka gives him a sock and tells him to apologize (in the anime).

Why I Like it: Here’s Jirou’s counterpart to Momo’s earlier action above, standing up for Momo’s wellbeing, looking out for her and caring about what happens to her. She cares about what happens to her friend and has her back.

#4. “It’s Imperial Golden Tips!” & Stage Show

What Happens: While prepping for the Culture Festival arc, Momo and Jiro bond a lot over tea and music. They then put on a show together, after much collaboration, that leads to everyone having a great time and Eri’s smile being saved.

Why I Like it: Momo and Jiro really work together well during the Culture Festival aRc and get a lot of screen time. They bond over tea together here for Momo, and music for Jiro, showing interest in each other’s pastimes and passions.

#3. “I see. That’s what Jiro’s planning”

What happens: During the USJ arc, Momo and Jiro are cornered by a villain and forced to try and think their way out of the problem. Momo basically reads Jiro’s mind. Also, their earlier teamwork.

Why I Like it: These two make a good team, like any good HeroAca ship. I really like that Momo is basically able to guess exactly what Jiro is thinking and does her best to cover for her. They have good synergy.

#2. Study Time

What Happens: Before the final exams, as Momo is feeling a little down about herself, her friends come up to ask for tutoring, Jirou among them. This helps perk Momo up about her tutoring skills just in time for the fight

Why I like it: Many fans have pointed out that Jirou is in fact 7th in the midterms and probably not that desperately in need of counseling, but probably wanted to hang out with Momo and cheer her up a little about her failures. This is certainly a favorite moment among fans of the ship, but not quite my favorite.

BONUS

#1. “She’s stacked.”

What Happens. During the USJ Arc, Momo protects Jirou and herself from Kaminari’s electricity by creating a thick shield. This causes her shirt to tear and Jirou sees her half naked. She responds by blushing, noticing her breasts, and then defending her from Kaminari.

Why I Like it: The Moment that started it all. They demonstrate caring for each others’ wellbeing, teamwork and camaraderie, and in Jirou’s case, possibly even attraction. She definitely takes notice of Momo and certainly seems more than commonly pleased by what she sees.

#momojirou #momojiro #momo x jirou #kyoka x momo #yaoyorozu x jirou #momo yaoyorozu #kyoka jiro #jirou kyoka #bnha #top 10

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vincent-frankenstein · 5 years ago

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32: “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.” With Logicality?

Ooh? I haven’t written Logicality in months! This’ll be fun :)

Summary: Logan comes to a startling conclusion, late one night.

Warnings: Uh insomnia, panic, it’s Very Soft but also the ending is ambiguous and not very happy, lemme know if there’s anything else!

Logan was hardly one for sentimentality.

This came as a surprise to absolutely no one. He understood the concept of nostalgia, knew that some people could benefit from the occasional bout of reminiscence — but he also knew that Thomas was not one of those people. Nostalgia only served to hinder them, in small doses, and incapacitate them in big ones.

Furthermore, nostalgia had nothing to do with his core duties. Sure, a side could stray from their core duties and enjoy other pastimes, if they were so inclined, but Logan was not so inclined. Each of his hobbies looped back to his own core; he even carefully structured his relaxation so it would contribute to his duties. Everything he did, he did for Thomas. Anything that didn't fit his role couldn't be allowed to be a part of his routine.

Nostalgia hardly fit his role.

So why couldn't he stop reminiscing?

It was late, later than he'd usually allow himself to stay up, and he was unfortunately cognizant. He found himself dwelling on a series of memories, each just as strange as the last. They had no connecting qualities, no hint towards why his brain had decided to string them together like an ill-advised PowerPoint presentation.

Well... that wasn't entirely true. Each memory had exactly one thing in common: they all involved Patton.

Odd, was it not? They cycled through his mind in a seemingly endless loop — Patton bringing him tea, Patton listening to him read, Patton wrapped in blankets on the couch, Patton Patton Patton —

He sighed, dragging a hand over his face. It was becoming increasingly evident that he wasn't going to get any sleep that night. A frustrating outcome, but an unavoidable one; the more he stressed himself out trying to force sleep, the harder it would become to actually fall asleep. He needed a distraction.

He stood, pulling his tie into place around the neck of his onesie, and left his room. A book and a cup of tea would do nicely as a distraction, and maybe he'd be able to salvage a few hours of sleep from the relaxation they'd bring. He figured it was possible, so long as he was able to banish the thoughts of Patton from his mind,

He turned the corner into the kitchen and froze.

"Oh!" Patton whirled, slipping into a twirl on his soft socks, a smile lighting up his face. "Hey, Lo! What's got you up so late?"

Logan took a split-second to curse his very existence before he snapped away his onesie, his formal clothes appearing in their place. Patton's face fell ever-so-slightly and Logan pretended his chest didn't jolt at the sight. "Salutations, Patton," he said. "I came down for some tea."

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" Patton said, with a sympathetic grimace. At Logan's nod, he turned back towards the counter, sliding the kettle onto the oven with a little hum. "Me neither, hun. Any particular reason?"

"I don't know," Logan said, his least favorite phrase in the entire English language. He stepped further into the kitchen, leaning up against the counter as Patton poured water into the kettle. "You don't have to do that."

"Nah, it's okay! I was re-heatin' some of the cookies I baked earlier, might as well have 'em with some tea." Patton's hands fluttered down by his sides as the kettle began to steam, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. "You want some cookies, too?"

He shouldn't. The excess sugar would only worsen his insomnia, making sleep all the more difficult to obtain. But... "Of course," he said, stepping around Patton to reach the fridge. He drew from inside the greatest of the indulgences he allowed himself, and Patton grinned.

"I was planning on reading until I feel capable of falling asleep," Logan said, as Patton lifted the kettle and poured steaming water into their two mugs — Logan's a deep blue, freckled with stars, and Patton's patterned with puppies. "Would you care to join me?"

"Only if you read to me," Patton said, with a soft smile that sent Logan's heart into an illogical bout of arrhythmia. He hadn't read aloud to Patton in... quite a while. Once, they had all gathered to listen to him read each and every night, but one by one the other sides had left him behind until only Patton remained. And even then they had grown apart, until Logan stopped reading aloud entirely.

He hadn't noticed how sharp the absence of that one small pastime had felt until Patton mentioned it just then, and he paused, eyebrows furrowing ever-so-slightly. Patton lifted a brow, and he cleared his throat. "I don't see any reason not to," he said, with a forced air of nonchalance, and Patton beamed.

Patton — who was the best at summoning, next to Roman — led the way out into the living room, where he snapped his fingers, sending a deluge of blankets and pillows cascading through the room, gathering into a large fort in front of the couch. Logan settled into the center, placing his mug of tea on the table.

"Impressive design, Patton," he said, admiring the fort's spires, the twinkling fairy-lights spilling down inside, casting golden light across the room.

Patton chuckled. "I dunno, teach," he said, and Logan internally braced himself. "Are you sure it's fort-ified enough?"

"And you ruined it," Logan said, with the tone of someone who had to truly force their annoyance.

"Ah, you're right," Patton said, settling down by Logan's side. "This is the best I could get unless I built it by hand! But that would've taken a —"

"Don't you dare —"

"Fort-night," Patton finished, stifling his giggles behind his hand as Logan sighed. "A whole fort-y days and fort-y nights, yknow —"

"Cease immediately or I won't read to you," Logan said, his eyes narrowed. Patton pressed a hand to his mouth to stop his laughter.

When he finally had it under control, he smiled up at Logan. "The floor is yours, teach!"

"Falsehood," Logan said, lifting an eyebrow. "The floor is Thomas's."

"There we go," Patton whispered, pulling the plate of warm cookies closer. Logan shook his head; Patton was an enigma he could never truly hope to solve.

He closed his eyes and scanned along his bookshelf, fingers tapping against his thigh as he searched for an adequate book. He allowed himself the barest hint of a sentimental smile when he found it: a very old, very worn edition of The Secret Garden, bound in velvet. He lifted his hand, and the book appeared.

"Oh!" Patton gasped, eyes widening. "Oh... oh my goodness! Is that the copy that Thomas' teacher gave him in fourth grade?"

"The very same," Logan said. "Or, well. A metaphysical approximation of it. Does this suffice?"

Patton only cooed in response, his hands pressed up against his cheeks, his eyes closed as a happy smile spread across his face. "So many memories," he whispered, and Logan nudged against him to rouse him from his reminiscence. He opened the book and Patton leaned against him, his head dropping to rest on his shoulder.

"Chapter one," he read, his voice soft. "There's no one left."

Young Mistress Mary had only just reached her uncle's mysterious manor when Patton fell asleep, head drooping down towards his chest. Logan shifted, settling the book in his lap as he guided Patton into a more comfortable position.

Patton sighed gently in his sleep. He looked so... serene. It was a stark contrast from his usual demeanor; Logan could hardly remember a time when Patton wasn't absolutely full to bursting with energy, bouncing and twirling and jumping. Even in his saddest moments he still moved, shifting from one foot to the other, hands fluttering around. But now he was just... still. Quiet. His glasses askew, his golden hair falling in twirled ringlets across his face, his cheek pressed into Logan's chest, he breathed, peaceful.

And Logan found, somehow, that he was peaceful as well. For the first time that night, the cacophony in his brain had slowed to a quiet buzz in the background, easily ignored. Sleep tugged at the edges of his vision, blurring the world at the corners; he slid his glasses off his face and shifted again, falling into the warmth that Patton exuded.

It was odd. The very thought of Patton had been enough to keep sleep at bay before, but now his presence alone had calmed Logan down enough to sleep. The conclusion to be drawn was that he benefited, somehow, from Patton's company, that the other's existence was of great importance to him, that —

Oh.

Oh, oh, oh. Oh no.

How? Why? He wasn't built for this; he wasn't supposed to feel love! A healthy camaraderie with his fellow sides, perhaps, but not this. Not this.

"How did you do this to me?" he whispered, his thoughts pouring out of him. Sleep fled; he shifted again, twisting his hands in his lap, foot tapping against the ground as he thought. "This makes no sense! I'm not supposed to — that is to say, I shouldn't even be capable, and yet —"

The conclusion was as obvious as the existence of gravity, and came to him as easily as breathing. It weighed him down into the ground, stacks of doubt placed on his shoulders, and yet filled his lungs with air all the same, until his chest felt lighter than it ever had before.

"And yet," he said, whispered, breathed. He looked down at Patton, at the mess of curls pressed up against his chest, breathing ever-so-softly, and his eyebrows furrowed. The next words spilled from his mouth without forethought, with the hazy abandon of late-night honesty. "And yet, I — I think I'm in love with you, and I'm terrified."

He truly was. What did this mean? For him, for Patton, for Thomas? For the mindscape as a whole? If Logic was capable of something so... illogical, what other flaws existed in their system? What other problems would eventually come to light? There was no denying the feeling curling through his gut; it was just as Roman had described it, once. It was fire, but it didn't burn. It was air, but he couldn't breathe. It was love, and he couldn't believe it.

"...Do you mean that?"

He stiffened, a sharp gasp piercing his lungs. Patton pulled away, his eyes wide, a soft pink flush painted across his freckled cheeks, and he searched Logan's eyes. "Are you... are you really...?"

With a strangled noise, Logan shoved himself to his feet, tripping over the blankets piled around them as he forced as much distance between himself and Patton as he could.

"No, please —" Patton scrambled to his feet. "Lo, it's okay —"

Logan shook his head. His chest ached; freezing panic crystallized through his bones, and he took another step back. Patton struggled to reach him over the sea of blankets and Logan forced himself to breathe, forced himself to tear his gaze from Patton's.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and sank out.

#logan sanders #patton sanders #logicality #sanders sides #celeste's portfolio #AYYYYYY im sorry i saw the opportunity for angst and i took it #ill probably write a conclusion to this!!!#this was a nice breath of fresh air tho i havent written logicality in .... i think a year?#probably more #thanku for the request! i hope u like!#i love the idea of logan and patton being Book Buds #bexxbeauty

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cinnamoonsworld · 4 years ago

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Two Worlds Collide - Chapter 4 (Aizawa x fem!reader)

Hello everyone! After this chapter I will take a month off, it is the first time I have left since the lockdown! During this holiday period I will try to post a short fanfiction about another BNHA character that I love a lot, Fatgum. Meanwhile, in this chapter, the dramas begin...enjoy! Thanks to my boyfriend for the translation.

Previous chapter: ch1|ch2|ch3

You can also find me on Ao3!

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.249 —————————————————————————— Chapter 4

One month has already passed since you started working at U.A.

The kids loved you and found out that your role as Counselor was really useful for them. Many of them already came to speak with you, some more than others who were just curious. You were happy to help them in all ways possible while they were training, and you were happy to see them growing stronger and more confident. You bonded with all the students, but not with Aizawa.

You two did not speak that much, except when you were forced to interact for lessons and school activities. Aizawa almost could not stand seeing you everyday so happy and cheerful with everyone, he could not understand why you were always with that smile on your face. He looked almost like he was unsettled by your comprehensive and worry attitude towards the others. On the opposite side, Nemuri and Hizashi loved you. When they were in the teacher's lounge they could do anything but praising you. Both of them would not have a good day unless they first meet you in the hallways with your big smile.

"Shouta, why you have this costant dead expression when (Y/N) is around?" Asked one day Hizashi while they were alone in the Teacher's Lounge.

"She is the exact same reason i have this face." coldly answered the raven without taking his eyes away from the PC.

"I really do not understand how can you be like this with her! She is such a wonderful and sweet girl!" Shouted Hizashi completely stunned by what he had just heared.

"In my contract it is not said that everyone of my co-worker should be likeable to me." Pointed Aizawa.

"Yup... we noticed." answered the blonde distractly, and Eraserhead grunted at him.

"Anyway, I think you should talk to her more! She do not only have a good attitude, she is also beautiful! It's not a case that she is one of the most loved singer in Japan, i always list her songs during my program!"

"Then why don't you take her as an assistant?" replied Aizawa shutting his pc off.

"If only i could! I'm not a head-teacher like you are!" Sighed Present Mic.

You felt it on yourself that Aizawa hated you. You had already noticed it from the small details, but now it was really obvious. Every day you would question what I might have done wrong to meet his dislikes, and you would always try to be as nice and cute as possible with him even though you really just wanted to yell at him how obnoxious and snobby he was. On the other hand, you were there on behalf of the Commission and you could not afford to behave like a spoiled child. Not to mention the tabloids, which would have done nothing but talk about this scene for weeks at a time and try to question its popularity among the very young and much more.

At that moment someone knocked on the door, and you came in smiling as usual.

"Aizawa, I finished making copies for today’s surprise class test." You said cheerfully. "Where can I drop them off?"

"Leave them by the coffee maker, thank you." He answered without even looking up.

You left them where he had shown you, and greeted them both with your hand and a big smile and waving your hand. Present Mic warmly reciprocated, while Aizawa remained silent.

"You might as well have been a little nicer to her!" said the friend.

As you revised your schedule for the day, you began to feel all the effort on your shoulders. With school work and a singing career, you had little free time, and you began to feel a certain sense of oppression. As much as the assistant and consultant job was going well, the singer job was starting to get really heavy. The time was approaching to record a new album, and among all the commitments you had to find a way to write new songs. It used to be easy for you to write, but now it had become quite complicated. The songs you wrote were very different from the previous ones, they were much deeper and more intimate. You were starting to feel more like a woman than a little girl, and you wanted your fans to understand your change. Sharing your change with those who have followed you for years would have made you immensely happy.

During your lunch break, you ran to the record company to deliver the lyrics to your manager who was supposed to tell you something by the end of the day. You had your heart racing to think what the songs would look like when they were recorded. For others you had the whole base in mind, for others you were still thinking about it but you knew you were on the right path.

You went back to the U.A. Just in time for the afternoon lessons. The boys were thrilled to be back in class, but this enthusiasm died out immediately when Aizawa had you deliver the test papers to surprise class. While the professor was sleeping in the sleeping bag with the background of his students' despair, you sat in the chair to check on the kids and, occasionally, peeked at the phone.

"(Y/L/N), you know you can’t keep your cell phone on in court, right? Unless you’re a professional hero, then you’re allowed to." He grumbled Aizawa turned to you inside the sleeping bag.

"Sorry, Aizawa, I’m just waiting for an important phone call..." You whispered pretty mortified and looked down.

"I don’t care. Your singing career isn’t as important as this job, so turn off your phone NOW." declared the hero in a peremptory tone.

"How can you afford to say that to me?" You asked him out loud and distracted the kids from their homework. In the face you were bruised with anger, your eyes became clear. He had managed to cross the line with only one sentence.

"If you’re here, it’s obvious that your singing career is just as much of a pastime as any." Aizawa asserted without getting upset.

The only thing you wanted to do was slap him in the face. You were so angry that she barely talked to you about work, but she just took the liberty of passing judgment on your personal life. Before you could do anything, you took deep breaths trying to calm down and, above all, not to cry.

"Guys, it’s all right." You announced smiling with a slight tremble in your voice to the guys as they looked at you with a confused look. "Please continue with the task."

Their curiosity subsided, and until the end of the lessons the only noise that was heard in the room was that of the pens they wrote on the sheets.

When the bell rang, you went to collect all the tasks and deposit them on the desk while Aizawa came out of his sleeping bag. Since they didn’t have any practice that day, you waved your usual glowing smile at the whole class before you left. You used to say goodbye to Aizawa before you left, but you just gave him your back and left the courtroom without talking to him. Maybe he had gone too far to tell you those things, he mulled over them all the time without being able to sleep. It was better to apologize for this time.

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #my hero academia fanfiction #boku no hero academia fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #fanfiction #ereserhead #aizawa shouta #aizawa

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tackyink · 4 years ago

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Still holding onto the hope of running out of steam soon so I can work on other fics. In any case, this has a title now. It’s Degrees of Separation.

I hate this chapter solely because in my mind it was supposed to be one, then it got long and turned into two awkward chapters, and by splitting them I was left with this thing in which nothing happens. Why would you want to read this? I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to read it, even though I did. Repeatedly. To edit out all the typos I’m sure I’ve left in. I’m going to put a Golden Sun stream on the background, play Animal Crossing and drown my frustration in Coca Cola. It’s been a long week.

One last detour before Sabaody. Alex is bored, the Heart Pirates reenter the scene, and Law has an “if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions” moment.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

— — — — — — — —

Chapter 3

There was a storm.

Alex didn’t know if it was related to the Aqua Laguna that the ship had set out to avoid or it was simply one of the Grand Line’s meteorological whims, but two days after departure, the noon sky went so dark it was like a moonless night had come down early, the winds picked up, and the waves started to beat against the ship’s hull in an uneven rhythm.

The crew was all over the place, trying to steer the ship and reef the sails as they ushered the passengers inside to keep them from falling overboard. Alex had been caught in bad weather travelling before, but never to this extent. She had a hard time thinking of anything scarier than being at the mercy of a windy sea. Nowhere to run, nothing to do except wait and pray that the waters would take pity on you and let you live another day. Alex wasn’t the praying sort, so while she waited below deck with a group of people as scared as she was, if not more, she couldn’t even do that.

The nervous chatter of the passengers and the parents’ attempts to console their children were muffled by the deafening sounds of the wind, the waves, the creaking wood, and the crew’s rushed footsteps on the deck.

Alex stood the entire time in front of a porthole in the dining hall where they had gathered. It helped with the seasickness from the violent rocking of ship, it was better than to look at the other people, and, ironically, storms were her favorite kind of weather. She wondered what would be worse if they sunk, getting caught on deck and risking being swallowed by the ocean, or waiting for the insides of the ship to become a water tomb. For a long time, or at least it seemed like it, that was the main thought that repeated in her mind, until the possibility of dying felt so remote that she wasn’t even registering. Like when you picked a word and turned it around in your mouth and mind so many times that it lost all meaning. Of course she couldn’t die there. She had never done so before, so why start now?

It was absurd, but it helped. And it turned out to be right, too.

After a while, the storm subsided, and an hour later, the crew let them out on deck again. The ship wasn’t intact, but they hadn’t lost anybody, and that was as much as one could ask for when dealing with an angry sea.

In the end, there was only one major inconvenience: due to the damage, the ship had to change its course in order to dock somewhere safe to undergo repairs.

❦

Her hair had gotten longer to the point of annoyance. The tips brushed her shoulders already; long enough to get in her face whenever it wanted, but too short to tie it in a decent ponytail. Sure, she could have done it anyway, but she was vain and would have rather dealt with the hassle than solve the problem in an aesthetically suboptimal way.

The sunspots on the left side of her face were getting more noticeable, as were the dark circles under her eyes and the shy wrinkles that were attempting to come out. For someone who could spend so much time picking her appearance apart in front of a mirror, she didn’t look particularly healthy or well put together. She supposed that was part of the appeal, in a masochistic way: to find as many faults as she could, and invent some if needed.

Applying concealer under her eyes and red lipstick just for the sake of having some color on her face, she thought she needed to find herself a headband and a healthier pastime posthaste. Porta Bella was a quaint town, but there wasn’t much in the way of entertainment, and she’d had only her thoughts for company for too long.

She had been stuck there for two weeks. After narrowly avoiding disaster, the ship had been moored in the harbor for several days, and by the time it was fit enough to sail, the captain decided to go back to Water 7 to have proper repairs done. The passengers had been given the choice to remain in Porta Bella and find another ship, or to return to Water 7 with the crew. Going back wasn’t an option for Alex when Sabaody was so close that it felt like she could have seen it if she climbed on a tall tree, she didn’t trust a half-baked repair job to keep her safe, and, most importantly, someone had tried to kill Iceburg and Enies Lobby had kind of blown up in the following days of her departure from Water 7.

She didn’t want to think that the tracksuit shipwright had something to do with it, but the conspiracy theorist in her told her that it was totally his fault. That nose? Could totally be used as a murder weapon and nobody would be none the wiser.

The few passengers aside from Alex who had decided to stay in Porta Bella were already gone, leaving the inn she was staying at delightfully empty, but also making her wonder if she had messed up by not taking the first random ship that would let her sail away from there.

The island was small, so much so that Porta Bella was the only town in it, and much of it was empty. For many years there had been a migratory tendency pushing young people from nearby islands to the Sabaody Archipelago, and this one seemed to have fallen victim to it, too. The moderately long recording time of the Log Pose didn’t play in its favor, either. Five days and a half was a long time to wait when the Red Line was only a couple of days away, so not many ships stopped there. An abandoned watchtower in the outskirts of town was the only other notable location.

She left her inn room that morning, picking up a tea to go, and hoping that a good slap of early morning breeze in the face would wake her up.

Every day since she arrived, she went to the port to look for any newly arrived ships and talk to the sailors. Every time, if there was a new one at all, she was told that there were reports of increased slaver activity in those waters, and that they were headed anywhere but the Sabaody Archipelago until Marine HQ got its shit together and stopped the kidnapping crews sailing rampant. Given that the Marines must have been scrambling to recover from the loss of Enies Lobby, nobody thought they were going to get on the case anytime soon.

These series of unfortunate coincidences didn’t surprise her. Her life was often comprised of really small strokes of bad luck that were nothing more than inconvenience on their own, but that added up to really grate on her nerves. This was business as usual, so she just had to keep trying. The temporary finish line was only a stone’s throw away.

Not that human trafficking stopped at any point of the year, but she hadn’t taken into account the seasonal opening of the archipelago’s biggest auction. Thinking that not even the schedule of the Human Auctioning House had changed during her time away gave her a twisted sense of familiarity. That son of a bitch kept finding novel ways to fuck her over without even being aware of her existence. It had to be a gift, for sure.

As she walked to the half empty docks, she hoped that that was the day she lucked out. She had already decided that, if she couldn’t find a direct ship to Sabaody in the following three days, she’d take the roundabout way and sail to a bigger island with, hopefully, a wider variety of ships. She would go completely broke in the process (and there she found the thing that was as terrifying as being caught in a storm at open sea), but one had to crack eggs to make an omelette.

Ten minutes and an empty cup of tea into her stroll, she stopped in front the single newly arrived ship and thought that maybe she hadn’t lucked out, but that sure as hell life was full of weird coincidences. Because there were few submarines sailing the Grand Line, even fewer painted yellow, and she guessed that only one with that particular Jolly Roger plastered on it. Her wish of seeing it up close had been granted when she least expected it, and it didn’t disappoint. It had a curious design, half ship and half submarine. A shipmarine.

Feeling revitalized by the pun, she craned her neck and got on her tiptoes to accomplish nothing at all. She couldn’t see any of the pirates on the deck, at least from where she was standing, and what else was she supposed to do, walk closer to find a friendly face and say hi like a functioning human being would? Yeah, no. She simply stood there and stared like a creep.

The paint job of the thing was hypnotic, and she didn’t mean it as a compliment. It looked like the idea of a man who thought the peak of design was making his vehicle look like a wasp with a decal of the word ‘DEATH’ instead of stripes to look extra edgy. And okay, they were pirates, pirates killed people, it was something that came with the job – but plastering it over the ship like that was a little heavy handed, and she didn’t have any doubts as to which guy with matching tattoos had come up with those brilliant design choices. Come to think of it, wasn’t there a song about a yellow submarine? The one from those singers her mom liked when she was young… Maybe the captain was a fan, too. Maybe they sung it on board. She laughed at the thought.

It didn’t leave her indifferent, that was for sure, and that could count as a compliment, since she had seen a ton of ships throughout her life. Props to Trafalgar Law for standing out among the crowd.

If the pirates weren’t around at the moment, it had to mean they were inside of the ship or already out in town. It was early still, but she was sure it was a matter of time until she ran into them – the town was pretty small, around a hundred, counting sailors, on a good day, news travelled fast, and these guys didn’t dress unassumingly.

With that in mind, she kept an eye out for familiar faces and resumed her unfruitful rounds around the port. Another day, another set of rejections. She tossed her paper cup in a trash can and made her way to the coffee shop where she always had the second tea of the day, sometimes even the third, if she was feeling particularly down about her current predicament.

She placed her order at the counter and waited for it. The owner, a balding middle aged man whose name she didn’t know but who had started to get chatty after she showed up a few days in a row, tried to strike up a conversation while he heated the water. “Did you hear? A pirate crew arrived in town last night.”

Alex wasn’t much for conversation in the mornings, and usually her replies to his attempts were rather apathetic, but the owner had struck gold with this particular topic. “I just saw the ship,” she repeated. “Have they done anything?”

“Not yet,” he replied with the clear implication that they soon would. “But it’s a Supernova’s crew, from what I’ve heard. Their captain’s a scary guy – how do they call him…?”

She had mixed feelings about that. She’d seen scary first hand, and in her experience it came in the shape of kidnapping crews, bubble helmets, or suits and fedoras. And ultimately, it was the fedoras’ fault she was in that coffee shop in the first place.

“Surgeon of Death,” she replied. There was no doubt that with that price on his head he was a walking danger, but after their first encounter, she had a feeling he was more the selective type than the let’s wreck everything in our path kind of guy. Not that his list of attributed crimes would lead anybody to think that. “Do you have trouble with pirates often? Being close to Sabaody and all.”

“Sometimes, but they usually go to more interesting places. It used to be as easy as calling the garrison to get rid of ‘em, but with Marineford so close it’s no wonder no one wants to be here any longer.”

“There used to be Marines here?”

“Yes, at the watchtower in the outskirts, but they left after some of the rooftop caved in. Building’s condemned now. A pity, ‘cause the watchtower’s been there forever, and they’ve let it fall apart.”

“That’s a shame,” she said. “How old’s the tower?”

The water started boiling then, and he turned around to remove it from the fire and make her drink. “Tale goes that it’s old as the stone entrance, but who knows,” he said with his back turned to her. “It’s not like we have any experts to come check.” He slid her the drink over the counter. “In case, try to avoid those guys. A woman traveling alone is an easy target for criminals.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied, putting a few belis in the counter and taking the cup by the handle. “Thanks.”

She chose to sit on the terrace, next to the railing that separated it from the sidewalk, to have a good view of the street. She was in a sort of commercial district, if a main street with a dozen of shops could be called that. Most people who stopped at the island had to pass by sooner or later, so it was the busiest place in town. Not so early, though. It wasn’t opening hours yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched like a hawk the man who was monopolizing the only issue of the World Economic Journal and snatched it as soon as he got up to leave, so fast that it turned the heads of the other two people on the terrace.

News of the assault of Enies Lobby had been filling pages for a week already, and that day wasn’t an exception. The Straw Hat Pirates had done the unthinkable, and while in other circumstances Alex might have been watching the situation with amusement from afar, she was also pretty annoyed at them, because their stunt no doubt played into the poor supervision in the waters near Sabaody. On the other hand, she hoped that this also meant that neither Marines nor Cipher Pol would be very invested in finding her in the near future if she ended up a suspect.

She was also a little worried about Iceburg’s condition, but the newspapers hadn’t reported his death, so she had to assume he had recovered from the attempt on his life.

She skimmed over the usual columns prattling about the lack of security at sea and how worrying it was that a whole new generation of rookies with astronomical bounties were about to set foot in the Sabaody Archipelago at the same time. She didn’t think having a handful extra menaces sailing around mattered anymore, considering the state of the world at large, but the pearl-clutching sold newspapers, and she wondered about her sense of self-preservation when she realized with disappointment that, at the rate she was moving, she was going to miss the Supernova meetup in Sabaody. Her curiosity was going to bite her in the ass one day, she thought, before remembering that it already had, and that was the exact reason she was in her current position.

She skim read a few pages looking for interesting headlines, getting to the less important news that didn’t warrant spreads, editorials and pictures that took up half the page, and paled when she read the contents of an unassuming text box.

An unfortunate accident in the island of Harlun had blown up the local library while it was undergoing renovations. Nobody had been hurt, said the write-up, but the building had been destroyed in the ensuing fire and an investigation was still ongoing to determine what had happened. At least she guessed that the last part of the article said so, because she choked on her tea as she read it and spit some of it on the paper, making the ink run.

It couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, it technically could be, but no way she was buying that. The real question was if they’d be able to link the Poneglyph to her, and considering she that she was the person who spent the most time in the archive and she had conveniently left right before construction work took place, she had a pretty good chance to win that lottery. Oh, God, what if her coworkers mentioned that she used to go to the archive on Sundays, alone?

Her first impulse was to bang her head on the table and hide it between her arms, but the surface was sticky, so she ended up regretting it immediately. Instead, she put her elbows on the table, and covered her face with her hands. Her heart was beating loudly and her mind was running wild thinking of possible courses of action. She was on a timer. Getting to Sabaody as soon as possible was a necessity now. If there was a place she could hide, ironically, it was there.

“I see life’s treating you well.”

Alex’s heart tried to leap out of her mouth when she heard someone talk to her from so up close, but one of the perks of being born with a stick up her ass was that she only tensed up when she was startled, so she saved herself the embarrassment of yelping or jumping on her chair. She removed the hands from her face to look at the person, and the sight of a spotted furry hat and a yellow and black hoodie punched her in the eyes.

“Oh, hello,” she said, feeling more relaxed when she realized it was the Surgeon of Death leaning against the balustrade, not law enforcement. Her life had taken a turn for the surreal in a very short time, had it not?

His smirk faltered. “You aren’t surprised?”

“Saw your ship,” she said with some difficulty, and she drank some tea to swallowed the knot that had formed in her throat. Of all the times for him to appear... “Town’s small, we had to run into each other.”

“Hm.”

If she exerted a bit of imagination, she’d say he looked a bit disappointed. Why would he? No idea, but it was funny to think he was, and she was in dire need of funny.

He asked, “What are you doing here? This is far from your island.”

Farther than he knew, she almost said, but that was a can of worms and not relevant in the situation at hand. Feeling too overwhelmed to give long explanations, she handed him the newspaper open by the page she’d been reading. Talking could happen once she arranged her own thoughts, and only then.

“That’s…” He took it from her hands and read for a few seconds. An inscrutable expression gradually morphed into a look of pure indignation. “What’s the meaning of this?”

She was taken aback by the unexpected display of emotion. It was odd to see him react so strongly to something that didn’t concern him. “It isn’t that surprising, considering—”

“How is it not?” He retorted, annoyed. “Sora can’t lose against these weaklings!”

She stared at him in confusion. “What?” she blurted out, realizing afterwards that he was talking about the comic strip at the bottom of the page. And to be fair, she was going to tell him to look further up when the meaning of his words sunk in, but then she was the one leaning over the railing to look at the paper he was holding. “Wait, really? That’s impossible!”

“That’s what I’m saying!”

Upon reading the message under the strip, she complained, “On break until next month?” She sat back on the chair, mumbling, “I don’t even know if I’ll be alive next month,” before taking a sip of tea.

“Summer vacation cliffhanger,” he replied. “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Read the news above.”

He looked at the paper again, and his eyes widened the smallest fraction as recognition dawned. That reaction was more appropriate. “Do you think it was…?”

“I’m sure of it. It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Are you wanted now?”

“I don’t know. They have reason to suspect I knew it was there.” And she added with a bit of humor that she wasn’t really feeling, “If I get a bounty, I’ll say it was your fault.”

“I don’t think that’s going to do you any service.” A smirk returned to grace his features as he passed her the newspaper back. He was clearly amused by her misfortune, and that was the only good thing that had come out of it. “What do you plan to do?”

Alex let out a long exhale through her nose. She wanted to say that there was no plan, but there always was. Planning was something she did obsessively. “I need to get to Sabaody as soon as possible.” It was the only option. She could have elaborated, but again, she didn’t feel like it. Too early, too stunned to talk about serious stuff. Reality hadn’t fully sunk in. “You’re on Sora’s side? Really?”

He frowned at her. He did a lot of frowning, she thought. He was going to get wrinkles young. “Of course I am.”

“But he’s a Marine,” she said, a smile growing on her face despite herself. “Aren’t you one of the bad guys?”

“The Germa are vile,” he retorted, and perhaps realizing he was getting too much into the conversation, he went back to the other, much less fun topic. “Sabaody’s going to be full of Marines in no time, though.”

She was internally screaming, but it came out as a drawn out sigh. “Thanks to you, no doubt.”

“The merit isn’t all mine.”

“I know. You lot have been all over the news for weeks.” He looked awfully self-satisfied when she said that. “I guess you’ll be heading straight there after this place?”

“That’s the plan if there aren’t any stops in between. By the way, do you know how long until the Log Pose sets?”

“Five days, ten hours and twenty-six minutes,” she said blandly, repeating the number she had been told by several people when she first arrived to Porta Bella. It made her miserable, so of course she wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.

“And the seconds?”

It took her way longer than necessary to realize he was messing with her. “Oh, fuck off.” She returned her attention to the newspaper so she didn’t have to look at his stupid face while he thought he was so funny. “Fishman Island’s right around the corner. Try not to drown.”

“We have a submarine.” He sounded amused still. Alex couldn’t tell if annoying her gave him that much joy or if he was having an exceptionally good day. He was pretty cranky for a while back in Duster Town, but now that she recalled, his mood seemed to improve every time he got one over her. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

“Regular submarines can’t reach Fishman Island.”

He frowned again. “Why not?”

“It’s too deep. They can’t endure the water pressure.”

She could sense the levity from moments ago was gone by the way his jaw set. “But we heard ships can traverse the Red Line through an underwater route.”

“That’s why you go to Sabaody first.” She was exerting a considerable effort to give these really boring explanations that no one was going to thank her for. “You find yourself a good coating engineer to put a resin bubble around your ship and that’ll protect it.”

He seemed to study this new information from several angles before he spoke. “That’s good to know.”

“You’re welcome.”

He gave her a pointed look, but didn’t say anything about the jab. “Is it easy to find one?”

“There’s an entire section of the archipelago dedicated to it. It’s going to cost you, though. And depending on who you choose, there’ll be a waiting list.”

“Really?”

“Good coating engineers are few and far in between, and nobody wants to find out someone did a half-assed job on their sheep five kilometers underwater.”

“That’s…” He made a meditative pause. “…Reasonable.”

“I thought you were going to say something completely different.”

“It sucks too.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. Her life would be so much easier if one didn’t have to jump through thirty hoops to cross that chunk of rock. “In a hurry to get to the New World?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, either, because she was busy contemplating a new idea that had sprung in her mind. One that she’d rather avoid if she had other options left, and she wouldn’t know until a few days passed, but... this coincidence could prove to be useful yet.

“What?” He looked at her with suspicion.

“Nothing.” And just to get on his nerves a little, she added. “Yet.”

He fixed his gaze on her face, most likely gauging her intentions. Alex was incapable of looking at people in the eye, but she was good at faking it and not flinching under pressure, so she stared back.

“Do I want to ask?”

“I don’t know. Follow your instincts.”

To her surprise, he dropped it and took a step back from the railing. “I need to go back to the sub and see if the others are up already.”

Good. “For someone with a target so big on you, you wander a lot without them.”

“I like taking walks alone,” he said, like he didn’t think much of it. Like he could not fathom how he of all people could possibly be in danger from anybody else. “See you around?”

Was that a wish, a threat, or a pleasantry? “Without a doubt,” she replied, not bothering to hide the tedium in her voice. Damn empty town and damn slavers. “This town isn’t big enough for the two of us.”

She could have sworn he smiled a little at that, but Law shoved his hands in his pockets and made his leave too fast to see.

He was far enough that he wouldn’t hear her if she spoke in a normal volume when she remembered something important, so she resorted to raising her voice before the Heart crew did something they could regret. “Go to the Old Brewery if you don’t want to die! The Silver Fountain serves piss for drinks!”

He turned to look at her with the same curiosity back when she’d told him weapons weren’t allowed in the library, but this time he nodded in acknowledgement before making his exit.

The other customers on the terrace stared at her warily, but honestly, she couldn’t bring herself to feel bad for them even when the owner immediately came out to ask if she was okay and if the scary surgeon had said anything bad to her. At least something interesting was happening.

❦

Alex had a love-hate relationship with heights.

She inevitably got queasy when she was somewhere high up that didn’t have barriers or anything she could hold onto, but that didn’t stop her from going up there, anyway. It was like a very stupid magnetic pull that one day would end with her skull split open.

(It was the wind and the view. She knew that. It was also one of the few options she had to feel taller than most people.

But mostly the wind.)

The stone arch at the entrance of the town that gave Porta Bella its name was surrounded by the remains of a stone wall. First century, she guessed by the roughness of the stone blocks and the bit of mortar she scraped from between when she inspected it for the first time. It was easily over two meters, and only because the topmost part had fallen off. The blocks that hadn’t been taken away for use in newer constructions were still next to the wall, inviting anyone who’d dare to step on them to use them to climb.

She knew she wasn’t the only idiot who had felt the temptation, because the stone was worn from use. She’d also seen kids running at the top of the wall and no one had tried to stop them, and there were worse ways to channel all the nervous energy she had from reading that newspaper article.

She wasn’t a very proficient climber, but the blocks were positioned in such a way that getting to the top was easy as pie. No doubts someone had moved them for that exact purpose. When she was high enough, she threw a leg over the wall, then the other one, and sat facing the harbor.

The wind was nice up there.

She wouldn’t stand on the wall for all the money in the world and getting down was going to be an ordeal, but that was a problem for the Alex of the future.

That day had woken up to four ships in the harbor, counting the pirates’ submarine. Two would go away at the end of the week. The third was leaving that night. No vessels on the horizon.

She sighed. If the pirates were on an adventure, they sure had the shittiest of lucks docking only in the most boring islands the sea could offer.

With nothing better to do at the moment, and trying to delay as much as possible the moment she’d regret climbing that high, she moved towards the shadow of the arch without lifting her butt from the stone and rested her back against it.

She was at a loss. Sailing further away from the Sabaody Archipelago was counterproductive, but so was staying in the same island for too long, since she had no means of protecting herself if something happened. Then again, if she ended up broke before she got to Sabaody, she’d have to stay in whatever island she was to earn money to keep travelling.

All the options sucked. Maybe she needed to sleep on it to see what the lesser evil was. She had, after all, a few days to make a decision.

She looked at the sea, tinted dark green by her sunglasses, in what she assumed was Sabaody’s direction. So close, yet so far away. The skies were clear and the water calm, and though there weren’t any sailors to be found in the harbor, she could see the shadow of a couple of fishing boats in the distance. Wasn’t there a song that went like that? I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time…

She hummed, looking at nowhere in particular and letting her thoughts drift with the waves.

❦

She knew better than to cut through the lawless areas alone when it was getting late, so she had no one else to fault when she split from her group of classmates after spending their free day in Sabaody Park. It was only her and her stupid pride that didn’t allow her to admit that she didn’t think this was a great idea and that she didn’t want to go back to her room alone.

She broke into a sprint as soon as she heard the smallest rustle behind her, and that advantage proved to be essential, because someone started chasing after her. It sounded like more than one person, but she didn’t have time to look or tell how many sets of footsteps were behind her – she just ran like her life depended on it in the direction of the bridge that connected to the next grove, hoping that there would be other people there, and then—

—then she saw an open bar, a lone building in an even lonelier grove.

She rushed inside it, gasping for air so hard that she couldn’t speak, no matter how much she tried to explain to the bartender why she had barged in like that.

It wasn’t necessary.

“Don’t worry, dear, they’ve been hanging around these parts for a while,” she said, leading her to a chair with a gentle hair. “You’re safe here.” Her warm black eyes turned to someone else, and though Alex had trouble focusing on what was going on, she saw an old man with long white hair. “Why don’t you go take out the trash, Ray? They’ve driven off my clientele enough.”

“Sure,” the man replied, getting up from his stool and going outside.

Alex thought it was a horrible idea to send an old man to fight off a kidnapping crew, but that was because she didn’t know these people yet.

“Don’t worry about him. Here,” the woman gave her a glass of water. “Name’s Shakky. Rest all you need.”

❦

Footsteps approached. She shut up immediately.

“I like that song.”

Singing helped when she had too much anxious energy. It was probably related to breathing control. She had stopped anxiety attacks in the making like that sometimes.

It didn’t help at all when someone had been listening in and she hadn’t noticed.

“Oh. Thanks. Um, hi.”

“Hi,” Bepo said smiling. “I heard from Captain you were here.”

Even though she was sitting on top of the wall, Bepo’s head went past it. If he stood on his tiptoes, he could have rested his head on her legs. On one hand, it was a little aggravating that she had to climb so high up only to be marginally taller than him. On the other, Alex was filled with the urge to scratch his ears.

“Yeah, I’m stuck waiting for a ship,” she told him. “Ideally, you wouldn’t have found me here.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Sabaody.”

“Isn’t that very close? How come you haven’t found a ship?”

“There’s kidnapping crews infesting the waters. You know what those are?”

“Uh… isn’t it in the name?”

Alex blinked. “Right. Don’t mind me.”

He fell into thought for a few seconds. “Why are they kidnapping people?”

“To sell. They get auctioned in the archipelago.”

Bepo frowned. “I see.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” she said, smiling for his sake. “Nothing’s going to happen to your crew. You’re strong.”

He beamed with pride. “Yeah, we are! We’ve been training for years to come here!”

Alex mirrored his expression without thinking. “Your Captain said you’ve been friends since you were kids. Did you—”

“Bepo!” Someone called out. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, sorry!” Bepo said, turning around to see the newcomer. “I was catching up…”

A woman with curly hair and a severe expression walked up to them, hands on her hips, and she looked a little confused when she laid eyes on Alex. She was struggling to place her. “Have we seen each other…?”

“On passing. I’m the Duster Town dumbass that opened the library for your Captain.”

“Oh, yeah, now that you mention it—” The confusion was back. “Isn’t this place a little too far from there?”

“I’m running away from justice.” She didn’t offer further explanation.

Bepo didn’t need it. “So are we!”

A barely contained laugh made it past the woman’s lips. “Oh well, if you’re a fellow criminal…” She extended a hand towards Alex. “Name’s Ikkaku. What did you do, keep too many books past the return date?”

“I wish.” She shook her hand. “Alex.”

“So that’s your name?” Bepo asked.

She turned her attention towards the bear. “I never told you?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Wow, I am rude,” she said to herself. “Anyway, hope you’re ready to take it easy, because you have five long days ahead of you.”

Ikkaku groaned. “I don’t mind, but some of the guys get so jittery after a couple days on land. I don’t suppose there’s a very active nightlife in this place?”

“Actually, there are two taverns in the entire town.”

“Oh, that sounds like something to keep ‘em busy.”

“I don’t think you want to go to one of them, though.” She wondered if the captain was going to pass the message or they would come to regret their choices. “There’s also an abandoned Marine outpost right outside of town, if they don’t want to be drunk 24/7.”

“Might be worth checking out, but I’m pretty sure they’ll take the ale.”

“Can’t blame them.” She was tempted to drown her sorrows in alcohol, and she barely ever drank.

She took a look around the desolate harbor, the small houses and the half-fallen wall with a disappointed look. “Well…” she began, “Bepo, we need you for the crates. He’s been waiting and he’s cranky enough already after—”

“Ah! Sorry!” He said, bowing at her and looking more upset than the comment would suggest. Maybe they didn’t treat him as well in the sub as she had assumed. When he turned to Alex, he also bowed repeatedly. “I’m really sorry, but I need to go!”

“Sure, no problem!” she said, making an effort to sound lively. She felt so fake when she did that. So customer servicey. “See you!”

As the pirates left, she tried to look at them in a different light. While it wasn’t too difficult to believe they would be mistreating the mink of the crew, even if they hadn’t been unkind while she was watching. He seemed shy. Maybe that was all there was to it? But the reaction seemed a little extreme. She would pay closer attention from then on.

❦

Her privileged observation point let Alex see a lot of things that day. She saw more of the crew coming and going, though they didn’t seem to recognize her, she watched one of the docked ships depart, and she met a cat that tried to get food from her, but after a good back scratch realized she didn’t have anything else to offer and walked away, leaving a lonesome Alex staring at the hand she’d used to pet it, wondering how many parasites it had come in contact with.

She immediately went back to the inn to wash her hands and get dinner.

The rest of the evening was spent looking at her Poneglyph folder and her mostly blank notebook. She had carried with her the transcript of the stone and copied some documentation from the library that could prove useful in deciphering it, but she wasn’t making any headway yet. Very little was known about the ancient language, even less was published, and she wasn’t a cryptographer. So far, she had identified what she thought were punctuation signs separating sentences and one of the names in the text.

In her years working in Harlun, she had seen centuries old coins from a currency before belis, and some of them had the legend around the rim written in different languages. Meaning, she knew how to write the name of the island in that ancient language. That was about it. She had a feeling the script wasn’t pure phonetic, either, and that wasn’t something she could attempt to tackle without cross-referencing.

Porta Bella was a nice place to spend a short vacation, sure, but it was impossible to find any books that might help. She had tried. The local bookstore only carried best sellers, and she would have bought that vampire novel that was getting so popular if money wasn’t so tight and she had space in her bag, but as things were, she had to fight frustration and boredom alone.

She had to face the fact that she wasn’t going to do anything useful that night, either. She took off her reading glasses, thinking that trying to sleep sounded like the best idea. Maybe next morning she’d finally have some good luck and find a ship that wouldn’t carry her too far from the Red Line.

❦

Too early for words, and wearing a flannel shirt as a jacket because it had gotten windy, she strode out of the inn with her paper cup and a new challenge. She had thought herself immune to monotony before this, but she had clearly overestimated her brain’s capability to get distracted by anything.

Instead of walking to the docks following the main road, like every morning, she made for the wall again. Stepping on the fallen rock, she reached up with her left hand to the top of the wall and placed the paper cup as far as she could from her, and then she climbed up like the previous day. Well, she tried to, because for some reason early in the morning she didn’t have a lot of hand strength, and she felt a stabbing pain in one of her knees when she stretched her leg to reach the wall.

It took two tries and the fear of having lost her first morning tea, but she got where she wanted.

Cross-legged, she sat on the wall and took sips of her drink while inspecting the docks. No new ships in sight. That time there was someone walking on one of the submarine’s decks, but she couldn’t make out their face, and she didn’t know most of the crew anyway.

The wind had driven all the clouds away, and the dark shadow on the horizon reminded her of how close she had been to getting to the New World before she had to reconsider the entire strategy.

She was about to sigh, but she sensed someone near her vicinity even before she heard the crunch of gravel, so she kept it to herself and looked over her shoulder.

That silly hat was becoming a familiar sight. Trafalgar Law looked up at her from a reasonable distance, having just noticed her. Please don’t get any closer, please—

He changed course and went towards Alex, who didn’t bother to hide how little she appreciated the company less than an hour after waking up.

“Morning walk?” she asked, or grunted, depending on who you asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, annoyingly awake. “What are you doing there?”

“Wasting time.”

Someone with a little more tact, or at least who cared about having it, would have taken a hint and left, but this was not the case. “I want to hear more about Sabaody.”

Oh, she wasn’t nearly awake enough for this, but she made an effort to not be outright rude. “Okay,” she relented. “But you ask me questions, I don’t want to think.”

That was good enough for him, it seemed. With irritating ease, and without having to step on the fallen stone, he boosted himself up against the wall and climbed it in a matter of seconds.

Something caught his attention when he looked up, and he stood up on the stone like the concepts of acrophobia and losing one’s balance were but a faraway ping in his radar. Alex’s mood was souring by the second, granted, a likely thing to happen at that hour. It wasn’t personal.

“Is that…?”

She turned to look in the same direction he was.

“Yeah. Red Line.”

“I didn’t think it was so close.”

“It’s a few days away still. It’s just that big.” She thought of the times she’d been at the base. It was impossible to see the top from its bottom. And, considering what lay up there, perhaps it was for the better. “You saw it from the other side, I guess?” North Blue was adjacent to the New World. In a sense, both of them were from the same side of the Line. How weird to think that they had anything in common.

“Yeah. We entered the Grand Line through Reverse Mountain.”

Expected, but incomprehensible to her unless he had a death wish. “Ships sink there every day. What do you want so bad that you’d risk that?”

“Wasn’t I the one asking the questions?” he shot back.

She gave him a deadpan look, then looked at the cup between her hands. It wasn’t doing much to drive away the numbness of her fingers. How many people had gone out to sea since the Great Age of Piracy began and failed because they bit more than they could chew? And they weren’t the only ones dying. For every decent man that got a ship and called himself a captain, there were ten whose only interest was pillaging villages and getting rich. Was that massive chain reaction what Gold Roger had intended with its final speech? Had it been a final fuck you to world order, or was there something else behind it?

She had contradicting thoughts about it. Roger’s last words had unarguably made the world worse, but…

Well.

The guy had been a badass. Even she wasn’t immune to seeing that. With every new pirate crew that sailed to Reverse Mountain to test its fortune, he kept proving how much bigger than life he had been. Twenty years down the line, he had become as much of a legend as the tales of gods from islands in the sky. The kind of legacy a regular person only dreams of having.

He said, I will never die.

He had been more right than he knew.

She looked at Trafalgar with renewed curiosity. “Are you trying to become Pirate King too?”

He didn’t give a clear answer, despite how easy of a question it was. “What if I am?”

It wasn’t a no. A straight yes would get many pirates laughed out of town even in a place like the Grand Line. There wasn’t a lot of room for romantic ideas of piracy when civilians lived in fear of black flags showing up one day at the port and taking away everything they had.

“Just curious.” She wasn’t feeling articulate enough to explain where she was going to herself, much less him. “Nothing wrong with dreaming big.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like she had called herself out. Where was she going? After Sabaody, after crossing the Red Line, after getting to her hometown? Those were only checkpoints. But where was her purpose? Inside the bag she had in her room at the inn, or somewhere else?

An awkward silence stretched along with the horizon. For some reason, he decided not to press her for answers and sat down. A small mercy for Alex’s neck.

“After the Log Pose sets, it will point to Fishman Island. How do we get to Sabaody first?”

It was a relief to be able to give an answer she didn’t have to think about. “It should be visible when you’re close enough to the Red Line. It looks like a random cluster of trees popped up in the middle of the ocean.”

“That’s it? Is it safe to dock anywhere?”

“Mostly. The archipelago is made up of 80 groves. 60 to 69 house a Marine garrison, and that’s where the ferries to Marineford and Mary Geoise leave from, so you don’t want to be there. Other than that…” She had to strain to remember the range of numbers. “20 to 29 is the only lawless area open to sea, so you know Marines won’t go there, but since no one’s keeping watch, the competition might try to sabotage you. I don’t know, I never had to worry about that sort of thing.”

“I’m not afraid of other crews,” he said with that devil may care attitude that got pirates killed left and right. “We haven’t come this far without knowing how to defend our ship.”

She wasn’t going to argue his point. “I’m just saying what I know. You do you.” But she took note to keep her opinions to herself, lest he had the urge to express how full of himself he was again.

He looked at her like he was trying to figure out what sort of hidden meaning her noncommittal response held, but little did he know that behind the sleepy façade her prevailing thought was it’s too early for this shit.

“You said you spent some time in the archipelago.” It wasn’t worded like a question, but it was a way to probe for info. She supposed that she would have wanted to know the credentials of her sources, had she been in his position.

She hummed. “I lived there a few years.”

Taking a sip from the cup, she returned her attention towards the outline in the horizon. It had been a constant part of the scenery back then, always peeking out from behind the trees and buildings of the groves closest to the shore. A grim reminder, on one hand, of those who lived above the peasants, but at the same time, Sabaody had been… fun. There was always something happening. Moderately dangerous, but always entertaining. She had forgotten how that felt after the years of routine in Duster Town.

A question brought her out of her thoughts. “Are you from this area?”

“Oh, no,” she said, surprised that he had even entertained the idea. “No, I got a scholarship to study in one of the World Government’s academies. I’m from the other side of the Red Line.”

“From the New World?” He said with surprise, and mulled over this new piece of information until it fit satisfactorily in whatever picture of her he had constructed in his mind. “So that’s where the accent’s from.”

It was unexpected comment after unexpected comment. “Excuse me?” she replied in an incredulous tone. “You are the one with a heavy accent.”

Now it was him who got caught off guard. “That’s not true,” he retorted. He looked like he was trying to determine if she was pulling his leg.

“Yes it is,” she insisted. “Everybody has an accent. You and your crew have that typical northern one that sounds like you’re about to shank the person you’re saying hello to.”

For a moment, she thought he had offended him to the point of silence. Just for a moment, because he didn’t take long to counter with, “You sound like you’re trying to whisper through a megaphone.”

She snorted with laughter as soon as the words sunk in. It was true that she spoke in a low voice most of the time. “If that isn’t the best description of Dressrosan I’ve heard—”

She felt an immediate change in atmosphere, like an electric current shooting through the air, and shut up as a precaution.

Trafalgar has tensed up all of a sudden and was staring at her like she had grown a second head, like she was trying to set her on fire with a glare, or both. “What did you say?”

She found herself tensing up in return, even though she didn’t know what she had done. But when a dangerous guy scowled at you like that, survival instincts kicked in. Goodbye sleepiness, and welcome life danger. “Um… Dressrosan?” She eyed him warily. “My mother tongue?”

His eyes grew wider, but other than that, his expression didn’t change much. “You’re from Dressrosa?”

She suddenly understood. It wasn’t the first time she got odd reactions when she said where she was from, but it had been a while. “Oh, right.” She sighed. “You’ve heard of the whole Doflamingo thing.”

Or… maybe she was wrong. He seemed a little out of it, like he was looking past her at… who knew what was in his head.

After a few seconds without a reply, she deemed it safe to speak. “Did I say anything wrong?”

“…No. I was just surprised.” After that, he seemed to go back to normal, though his voice sounded a little strained. He was still tense. “It’s a long way there.”

Suspicious. Did he know someone from there? “It’s not so much the distance as having the Red Line in the way. Getting permission to cross it takes time.” And she figured that she had run out of it.

“How’s the country?” He asked in a way that tried to sound casual, and maybe, maybe would have worked if he hadn’t made clear already that he had a particular interest in it. “Being ruled by pirates and all.”

She made a disgruntled sound. She had signed up to answer questions about the Sabaody Archipelago, not Dressrosa. There was a reason why she hadn’t been home in ages. “It’s doing fine. Better than fine, in fact. Economy is booming. People are happy.” She delivered each sentence in a quick, clipped tone. “It pisses me off.”

“Why?”

Because she always had to be the odd one out, she thought. And this guy wasn’t getting the message that she didn’t want to talk about it. “Doflamingo doesn’t deserve that kind of credit. He and his crew should go back to the hole they crawled out of.”

He huffed. “North Blue’s had enough of him already.”

Animosity was dripping from his words, and that made her feel a little less displeased and a lot more interested in what he had to say. He could’ve seen firsthand the repercussions of Doflamingo’s actions there.

“That’s true.” She didn’t know much about the specifics, but there was a reason the North Blue was considered the most dangerous out of the four cardinal seas. “I guess he did a number there before he moved onto the Grand Line.”

“You don’t sound very fond of him either.”

Look at that, a flat out admission of having feelings about someone.

“He’s scum,” she said with more venom than she had meant to. “He dethroned the king only to take over himself, reinstated gladiator fights to death, and he has a trafficking empire. The Human Auctioning House in Sabaody displays his Jolly Roger openly. But he’s a Warlord. As long as money keeps flowing and the Celestial Dragons can buy new pets, nobody seems to care.”

“And you do? You say your country’s doing well.”

She didn’t know whether to reply honestly or not. He was trying to dig deeper than she was comfortable with answering, but she was on a roll already. “Dressrosa used to be a very poor country. I’m not blaming the people who have a better life now, but I don’t think you can build anything stable from corruption. Someone will topple Doflamingo one day, and the country will go down with him.” Her tone was increasingly becoming more determined. “And when the time comes, I hope they get rid of kings once and for all.”

“You lost me at that last part.”

“Monarchy is an obsolete form of government. How’s the world going to get rid of the Celestial Dragons if we can’t even get rid of the pests at home?”

He stared at her blankly, and that was when she realized she had talked too much and looked away from him. Ah, to be a life form capable of fusing with granite and dying in the spot…

She heard a short, muffled laugh, and glanced at him. Great, a pirate making fun of her was exactly what she needed to start her day.

“Can’t say I took you for an anarchist.” He was smirking.

“What part of ‘fuck the government’ was unclear?” she replied, still avoiding to look at him. “The more time you spend near Mary Geoise, the more you realize everything has to burn down. Then there are the Marines.” A lost cause. “It’s even their combined fault that I’m stuck here.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded relaxed again. It was like he hadn’t been acting like a weirdo through the entire conversation about Dressrosa. “Aren’t you just waiting for a ship?”

She took a long breath in preparation to give the same explanation she’d been getting every time she spoke to a newly arrived sailor. “Kidnapping crews are infesting the waters ahead. Normal ships don’t want to go near Sabaody because there’s going to be a human auction next week. Marines aren’t helping because the government benefits from the slave trade, and I assume the Enies Lobby debacle has hit them hard. I already told Bepo you don’t have to worry about it, though. They only attack pirates if they think they’re weaklings.” And trying to change the subject to something that didn’t force her to wallow in her misery, she asked, “How much was it already, Mr. Supernova?”

He looked awfully satisfied with his title. “It’s not Trafalgar anymore?”

“I’ve always liked stars.” And speaking of Bepo, she remembered something from their conversation the day before. “By the way, I don’t think I introduced myself. I’m—”

“Bepo told me. I like Librarian-ya better.”

She had an urge to fling what was left of her tea at him, but she held back at the expense of looking away and letting a strained smile show. Not worth the loss of beverage. It wasn’t going to stop him from being an early morning smartass.

The silence that ensued this time didn’t feel as uncomfortable as before, but that bar was so low, it might as well have been underground.

#degrees of separation #tried to post this draft from mobile and the formatting imploded #why is tumblr so

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angelfishreveal · 4 years ago

Text

FRANKFURT UPDATE / DISORGANIZED RANT ABOUT TRUTH AND ART AND FASSBINDER

by Camille Clair

I spent the strict quarantine following my arrival in Frankfurt studying German in the mornings, and watching Fassbinder in the evenings. The time between morning and evening was spent...nervously.

I watched so many Fassbinder films during my quarantine that I began to feel his cabinet of actors were my companions (quarpanions). We were all crying and grinning and swallowing our pills together.

I am one of those people that believes that pain/discomfort/anxiety is necessary, important, a catalyst. That is one of the reasons I left, have left in the past, will leave again. Sometimes the next best life move involves ripping your heart out! Sometimes it isn’t quite so abrupt, and your heart will sizzle in the pan for months. You may even grow to cherish the sensation because it means you are working toward something. You may recognize your true self in that pain. And in that truth, your mission, which may, or may not be, your art.

I do believe that, as an artist, you have to be a bit of a masochist. Your life is sustained via chopping yourself into bits, and, if you’re lucky, stowing those bits in the pockets of the wealthy, the devious. And though you may consider yourself an orthodox Marxist, this seems to be the only way to keep the axe swinging. I would never say aloud that I believe suffering produces great art, but I also must admit I understand the desire to drag oneself across shards of glass a la Chris Burden in Through The Night Softly. I relate to the impulse to bear it all. I want to be torn apart! For art.

I don’t always want this, but fresh out of my Frankfurt quarantine - following a confounding summer in Los Angeles - I want this. I really, truly want to exhaust myself.

Though Fassbinder himself may have been a bit amoral, he was, at the same time, so undeniably invested in all that is human. Many of Fassbinder’s characters seem to cave inward, unable to stand erect under the weight of the social, the political, the bureaucratic: the simultaneity, and responsibility of it all. Fassbinder’s characters give into their truth, or they parish. No time is wasted on the performance of goodness, because salvation was never in their cards to begin with.

What I desire and revere most in art is truth. I want my “self” and my “art” to be inseparable, the same. I want my body to vanish in the company of my art. I don’t really want to exist. I repeat variations of a line from Reena Spaulings in my head all day long: Where does my (boyish, jaunty, smooth, freckle-dusted, foxy, stiff, screen-like) body end and a real event begin, for once? I do a little dance in the mirror. I have never been this alone. Some days I feel stiff with sorrow, so I remind myself that I am a character, and the director expects a performance, and then I stretch.

Walking home in the rain, I envision Margit Carstensen waiting for me in my flat. I am her aloof lover. Or she is mine. I’ll fall through the door with a sigh, she’ll pour me a little glass of schnapps, and we’ll heartfully console one another. I sometimes play The Bitter Tears of Petra von Kant (1972), which starts Carstensen, in the background while I go about my tasks. I speak my favorite of Petra’s lines back to her as part of my daily Deutsche practice. Maybe by Spring, I’ll have the entirety of her central monologue memorized. I love to fantasize about the spring, it’s become one of my favorite pastimes. It is possible to imagine nearly anything happening in the spring because real life has become so severely abstracted.

I lament…

What is real? Now? And in hindsight, what was ever real? Is it, or was it, ever recognizable or is it just whatever you put into your head on a given day? I scroll through Contemporary Art Daily on acid and feel confused about what it is I am supposed to want. My eyes linger on words that used to resonate, and it stirs some sort of longing. I want it to be physical, I want to get dirty and injured in the process. I want to be so involved it’s disgusting. But for now, nearly everything I want is impossible. Maybe it's a symptom of the current situation, but I want to be overinvolved. I generally find most performance excruciating, but now I feel I would do anything for an audience. I desire an audience.

I envy Fassbinder’s overinvolvement. In Beware of a Holy Whore (1971), a film about making a film, Fassbinder seems to play himself. He doesn’t play the director, he plays Rainer Werner Fassbinder. Often fussing around or yelling in the background, it’s unclear exactly what his role is in the production, but as a viewer one is intensely aware of him at all times. Upon first watch, I felt envious. I want to be present in that way, shrieking for the sake of, and within, my art. The ringleader, and also, the eager participant. In the opening scene of Germany in Autumn (1978), Fassbinder, dials a call, and says “Ich bin es Fassbinder” into the receiver. We know of course, who the man on the screen is, though we aren’t immediately sure who we are meant to recognize him as.

In a 1997 eulogy for ArtForum, Gary Indiana writes, “what can you say about a fat, ugly sadomasochist who terrorized everyone around him, drove his lovers to suicide, drank two bottles of Rémy daily, popped innumerable pills while stuffing himself like a pig and died from an overdose at 37? [Fassbinder was] a faithful mirror of an uglier world that has grown uglier since his death”. Fassbinder knew truth, and truth is as beautiful and precious, as it is vile.

My sister, who is 17 and only just got drunk for the first time last week, told me she could never watch The Shining (1980) knowing how much Shelly Duval was tormented in the making of it. I felt I couldn’t argue with her but I also wanted to argue with her. “So you will never watch what is widely considered one of the greatest films of all time?”

“No,” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

Perhaps we are reaching an age in which you really cannot separate the art from the artist. Maybe it’s never actually been possible. But then again, there are so many things that seem to be art by mistake, and so many artists who die without recognition.

In the eulogy, Indiana goes on to say, “there is nothing you can say about Fassbinder that he hasn’t already said about himself”. This line again brings to mind Fassbinder in Beware of a Holy Whore, berating everyone in the vicinity, utterly repulsed by a multitude of things never made explicitly clear. Fassbinder lying dead in the train station after an overdose in Fox and his Friends (1975). Fassbinder lying dead, with a cigarette between his lips and notes for an upcoming film lying next to him, from an actual overdose. A parallel that reveals art is just as intertwined with death, as it is with life.

I realized this year that many of the artists I respect care a great deal about film, about drama. I have found solace in films, because I am alone nearly all of the time, and I don't know when I will see any of my cherished ones again. I am living vicariously through characters, beginning to think of myself as a character, which is admittedly therapeutic. I am the director. And I chose myself from a lineup of nervous red haired girls. I recognised myself at once, and thus, here I am.

Some artists, or people!, are overly concerned with their own narrative. It can be irritating, indulgent, abject, but it’s convenient, and it may save your life. Though you’re never really alone you may feel really alone. Allein. Alleine... Sometimes there is nowhere to turn but toward yourself. And, once you begin to think of yourself as a character, you no longer bear the full responsibility of your being. You have been put in place to carry out the artistic vision. So, in a sense, all characters are artists, just as they are products of art. It’s reflexive, and Frankensteinian, in that way.

Maybe as an experiment, try referring to your dismal flat as “the set”.

Are you at home?

I’m on set.

Complain aloud, but to no one, about the uninspired refreshments.

Stare longingly at everything.

There is a misanthropic edge to many of Fassbinder’s films. A bleakness. It is often said that his work is about the fascism at play in interpersonal relationships. The fascism that blooms in all of our hearts.There are instances across Fassbinder’s filmography of, not only an awareness, but a patience, for all that is despicable. Human beings are weak, impressionable, they want to be liked but if it doesn’t work out, they’ll settle for being hated or feared. Often, Fassbinder will have a character do or say something that completely skews, if not, obliterates your previous impression of them. For example, in Ali: Fear Eats the Soul (1974), Emmi who is, up until this point, mostly redeemable, chooses Hitler’s favorite restaurant to celebrate her and Ali’s wedding, stating upon entry that she has “always wanted to go”. In the scene that follows, she mispronounces the names of menu items, the server scoffs, and one can't help but feel a bit bad for her. Is her desire to eat at Hitler’s favorite spot purely aspirational, a misguided highbrow charade? Or is she a sympathetic fascist? This is another fault of the character, any character, their world view is often contrived, never holistic.

Fassbinder is the Postwar German filmmaker - generally considered the “catalyst of the New German Cinema movement”. In his films, World War II is often alluded to / background / partial context / a shadow, but it is never the subject, or the main event. A character’s idiosyncrasies, or disturbances, could be attributed to the wartimes, but often, their faults seem too deeply intertwined with their truths. But of course they’ve always had a tremor, a temper. Many of Fassbinder’s characters have a hard edge, or have suffered immense loss. They are either in, or narrowly escaping, crisis.

In Fassbinder’s Berlin Alexanderplatz (1980), Franz Bieberkopf, a rampant dilettante, oscillates between political affiliations. When we first meet Bieberkopf, fresh out of prison, he is a bit of an anarchist, sympathizing with soldiers and workers above all. As the series progresses, Bieberkopf is revealed to be immensely impressionable, confused, vindictive. He exhibits symptoms of several political philosophies, albeit meekly. Bieberkopf even briefly wears a Nazi armband, which, when questioned about, he is unable to defend, and from thereon, is never seen wearing it again. Franz Bieberkopf is similar to Tony Soprano in that way. Selfish, gruff, deeply flawed, indubitably human. Tony Soprano bites into a meatball sub and sauce dribbles onto his shirt and you forget, momentarily, that he's a bigot, because he’s the protagonist. And it is the job of the protagonist to represent a spectrum of human strength, and fallibility. It is arguably better, or more redeemable, to be overtly, rather than covertly, self-serving because then at least one is operating in defense of their own truth.

Truth is constructed daily and could easily be mistaken for anything but. Truth is nearly impossible to represent, and harder still to recognize. Truth is a fallacy, and thus, very lonely. Still, it must be guarded, I have been listening to The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe as I walk around Frankfurt which, in all honesty, fertilizes the melodrama blooming in my heart. Werther is bitterly alone, consoling himself via drawn out descriptions of his loneliness. “I am proud of my heart alone”, he says, “it is the sole source of everything, all our strength, happiness and misery. All the knowledge I possess everyone else can acquire, but my heart is all my own”.

I am alone in Frankfurt, but I have my heart.

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bill-the-baker · 5 years ago

Photo

I’ve also decided to finish this decade with something more light-hearted, detailing the many trends that one can associate with the past ten years. I styled this picture in a similar fashion to those gaudy collages you have relating to the 1980s and 1990s, with this mainly being reflected in the style of this picture. The title of the picture holds a very minimalist design, and is shown from inside a phone, whilst the rest of the poster has a dull white background. These main design choices were added to reflect the omnipresence of smartphones in this decade, as well as the general trend of Minimalism, which has been followed by many companies in recent years. The decision to make the background seem plain was not completely because I’m feeling lazy, but because I tried to follow the trend of minimalism, a trend I personally hate because of how boring it is (I probably would have added in a pretty pattern if there was some other major design trend).

Beyond this though, there are a few other things I chose to add in to reflect the 2010s:

-Ragecomics- The basis of most early-2010s memes.

-Skrillex (or rather Dubstep in general)- A key figure in a genre of music that you either loved or hated.

-Obama- A fantastic President who laid the groundwork for change that will hopefully be built upon in the future.

-Hipster culture- Fresh-out-of-college rich kids who made avoiding the mainstream a mainstream trend.

-The Occupy Movement (“We are the 99%” sign)- A promising post-Great Recession movement with disappointing results.

Gay Rights- Gay marriage is now legal in places like the United States, and homosexuality is more accepted the western world, so much so that companies are now no-longer afraid to pander to them whenever June comes around. Still, other parts of the planet have yet to change their outdated ways.

Trans rights- With people like Caitlyn Jenner and Leelah Alcorn, Transgenderism has arrived into the forefront of social issues, though it remains a strongly divisive issue throughout the decade.

Drones- Like helicopters but smaller and cheaper.

Overwatch- An interesting game that offered a unique personality to the shooter genre in a decade oversaturated with annual Call of Duty releases.

Cuphead- A challenging run-and-gun platformer with a Golden-Age animation-style, showcasing what can be made through video games these days.

Minecraft- The game that doesn’t die. It defined the childhoods of many gamers who fondly remember the early-2010s, and has since made a major resurgence in the decade’s end.

Steven Universe- A much-loved show that offered many unique and progressive themes, which I can admire despite my mixed feeling for the show itself.

Gravity Falls- A show aimed at children didn’t have to be this immersive and interesting, but Alex Hirsch and his team did it anyway and offered the world two seasons of hilarious and yet gripping television.

Political correctness/Woke-ness (“That’s Offensive” speech bubble)- Something that has been pushed to death among the political mainstream, but especially by the Left, as people are silenced whilst others demand safe spaces to keep their precious feelings from being hurt. Political correctness is a somewhat-trend that is better off staying in this decade.

Shrek- Whilst the 2010s have been starved of a new Shrek film besides the contested “Shrek Forever After”, the “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” greentext story, despite its crude subject matter, has made the brutish but kind ogre a mainstay in meme culture, whilst offering people the opportunity to explore the nuances of the franchise, after growing up with the character.

Pewdiepie- Starting out strong in the decade, making a name for himself as “that funny Swedish guy who screams as scary games”, an incident in February 2017, in which he was called a Nazi by the mainstream media, resulted in him becoming a more independent and politically incorrect figure, before going on to unite the internet in a battle for the most subscribed YouTube channel against a corporation. He lost in the end, but it was fun while it lasted.

Tyler, the Creator- Offering a unique sound among waves of forgettable Pop music, Tyler evolved from an edgy but somewhat humorous rapper, to an interesting and poignant singer in this past decade, achieving near-mainstream success.

Marvel Cinematic Universe (Endgame logo)- Many mainstream cinemagoers are bound to have seen at least one of these groundbreaking movies in cinemas, with their intense action and perfectly balanced humour, all culminating in the outstanding films “Avengers: Infinity War” and “Avengers: Endgame”.

Death Grips- Unlike anything that has ever been popular among general audiences, the exciting tunes concocted by MC Ride and Zach Hill have remained in the minds of many younger and more alternative individuals.

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic- Arguably the most unlikely of fanbases to come around in this decade, this re-imagining of an 80s cartoon series had a style of humour and storytelling that peaked the interests of a group of adult men known as “Bronies”, who’s reasons for being interested were questioned and much of the internet hated them, but they were certainly something to behold throughout these years.

The 2016 Presidential Election (Hilary Clinton and Donald Trump)- A time many can regard as the branching-off point between the first and second halves of the decade, as the extremes of both sides were exposed to the world with astonishing results.

Vine- A social media platform that has since disappeared off the face of the Earth, but brought about many notable celebrities and memes that are often remembered by younger generations.

Vaporwave- Alongside Hipsters, Vaporwave was perhaps one of the few examples of a concrete “counter-culture” movement, offering an anti-Capitalist message within its use of music and iconography from the 1980s and 1990s. Since then, it is best known for offering a warm and interesting “aesthetic”.

Pepe the Frog- A frog best known for saying “Feels Good Man” earlier on, was later used by certain Right-wingers and has since been touted as a symbol of hat. But, with a smug grin like that, it appears that he doesn’t seem to care about what others say.

Social media- It already played a massive role from the mid-2000s-onwards, but now, the scale of social media has grown exponentially, with people moving away from mainstream news and entertainment and instead choosing to get their kicks on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter and YouTube. This focus on gaining the news from social media has held some negative consequences as fake news continues to fool gullible Boomers.

Hyperbeast fashion- In terms of fashion, the Hypebeast is the late-2010s’ version of the Hipster, though unlike Hipsters, who are financially-independent rich kids who make questionable purchasing decisions, Hypebeasts are often preteen/teenagers who suck money out of the credit cards of their rich parents.

Adventure Time- A rather interesting cartoon that started off as a fun show to get high to, but evolved into a gripping epic with an expansive lore and interesting world.

Minions- While they were rather annoying to older viewers following their introduction in the otherwise top-tier film Despicable Me, children and especially 40-something year-old Facebook Mums couldn’t get enough of these wacky tic-tacs.

Brexit- A subject that I, as a Brit, couldn’t seem to get away from in the past few years, as politicians refused to move forward with the people’s decision. But, with the Tory majority in Parliament, as depressing as that sounds, it seems possible that we can finally move on as a country to more important matters.

Vaping (Juul-smoking mouth)- Recovered chain-smokers and rebellious teens have made this trend a popular pastime, though its popularity has waned recently over health concerns.

Doge- Whilst it began as a singular image of a cartoonish-looking Shiba Inu making a weird face, as brightly-coloured Comic Sans surrounds her, this dog has become the subject of many surreal and unique memes, taking on many different forms, solidifying the transformative nature that all memes should strive for.

Hoverboards, Fortnite, Dabbing, and Fidget Spinners (The monstrosity on the bottom-right)- What do a handle-less Segway, a more cartoony (but somewhat better) version of PUBG, a dance based off of post drug-taking sneezes and small bits of metal for Autistic children have in common? They have all ascended to levels of annoying trends that at least some people have had fun with.

Undertale (Sans)- An interesting game that has gained a heavy degree of fame for its interesting themes and interesting characters, some of which have been admired a bit too much by certain teenage girls.

As for my personal experiences of this decade, I can say that, whilst I was born in the early-2000s, I was definitely raised in the 2010s. Much of my memories of the previous decade are rather minimal, and I didn’t follow that many trends considering I only lived on constant repeats of SpongeBob by the start of this decade. Since then, though I have gained many impactful memories from these past few years. Some good, some bad, some great, all of which were a part of growing up. In about two-weeks’ time, I will finally become a legal adult, and shall begin the rest of my life. So, I wish you all well, and hope your Twenties are truly roaring!

#2010s #2010s nostalgia #collage #retrospective

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meditativeyoga · 6 years ago

Text

Just Be: The Value of Constructive Rest

You have actually attempted every little thing to deal with tension overload, and also you still feel drained. Have you tried simply doing absolutely nothing? In clinical parlance, it's called constructive rest.

I'm balancing on my father's athletic shoe, age eight. Some neighbor is talking-- developed speak about rain gutters or football-- but after that he stops and also overlooks at me. '3rd quality,' he says cheerily. 'So, just what's your favorite topic?' I don't hesitate: 'Recess.' I flash a self-conscious smile.

Recess, I'm assuming, really is far better than math and also background-- it's just what I have actually simply found out, still swirling in my head, plus the liberty to absorb it, plus the Jungle Fitness center, plus some unusual emptiness. However I smile because at eight years old, I already know what's expected. No one has ever before rested down to discuss it to me, I recognize the needs of a society owned by a job values, the demand to maintain unstructured time in its place. So, I take place to say to the good man that spelling's rather great also. I regret it to this day.

Twenty years later on, I'm considering recess-ish things. And work ethic. And rare vacuum. Adult life experiences an obvious lack of set up recess, we just take harsh estimates of it now and also then.

Indeed, a few yoga exercise experts could admit that their preferred component of course is Savasana (Corpse Pose), the silent mins of existing still at the end (see 'Find Serenity in Savasana'). They also might flash an awkward smile later. In a nation that frequently gauges its self-regard in efficiency, that would not really feel amusing calling remainder a rewarding pastime?

But under the amusing feeling, there exists something major. Therefore it is that, as another overbusy American, I'm attempting to imagine a full-bore Savasana developed right into our lives-- not the yoga exercise pose itself yet rather something broader. Having actually remembered to call our papas on Daddy's Day, we would certainly hang up and also show before sitting down to pay bills. After an extreme company conference, we would certainly going someplace silent to digest the experience. Rather than downing coffee and the front web page before work, we would certainly delight in the quiet of the morning. The opportunities are endless, in addition to diverting. On crowded street edges, one would see not just bus quits however individuals quits. Instead of iPods and also cellular phone, people would not leave home without their lavender-scented eye cushions. Yes, there would be laughing at first. However soon sufficient, somebody would certainly mention that laughing is a kind of rest too.

' The concept behind Savasana is to totally release,' Tara Mathur, a reflection instructor at the worldwide Art of Living Structure in San Francisco, informs me. 'The advantages of a task only actually obtain taken in when you've done this. With Savasana, it's physical-- the position is created to make sure that no muscular tissue has to strain-- but also psychological. It resembles meditation: being dead while you're still to life. Fatality not as a morbid thing but as flexibility and also agility.'

With Savasana's freedom and also agility, it's stated, we find ourselves able to absorb all the experiences as well as poses of the technique that came before. Savasana is a resting posture, however the relaxing we do is energetic, it is about incorporating exactly what we've discovered-- yes, a radical concept by itself. Yet many striking to me, Savasana is structured right into the technique. We're not delegated find some silent time later on, we're led to it by the hand. Were it not part of the drill, I 'd just roll up my floor covering as well as head house. I understand this concerning myself. Much more important, yoga recognizes this regarding me, for this reason the built-- in Savasana. We such as a deliberate rest-- need it, also-- but the majority of us typically aren't progressed sufficient to demand it without coaxing.

From books like Juliet Schor's Overworked American and Carl Honoré's In Praise of Slowness to national projects such as Repossess Your Time Day, a task started last year by a group called the Simplicity Forum, the message of our very own busyness has crept right into the cumulative awareness. Require reducing down in a culture blowing up with productivity are, in such a way, revolutionary. But they're additionally ending up being typical-- and also are normally overlooked. ' I require a holiday,' individuals whimper consistently, and afterwards they maintain precisely working, as if the possibility of damaging devoid of the numerous hours, also briefly, is just fantasy. 'This year, I'm mosting likely to simplify,' we swear, however the brand-new electronic organizer we buy in order to help us accomplish this grand goal winds up contributing to the heap.

I see no requirement to make another plea for us to function much less, you've heard them all. Nor do I feel drawn to release yet an additional questions right into our strange connection to function, or to busyness. Instead, I intend to consider the matter from the opposite side of the equation. Why is it that our nonworking hrs don't seem enough to invigorate us? Just what do we perform with ourselves when we're not active? And also when its time lastly arrives, do we enjoy our 'recess' at its energetic, purposeful, restorative best?

"TV is not Relaxation"

Following six straight hours of job, as well as coming before six even more, I commit 30 nonrefundable mins to Judge Judy. For but a moment-- the length of a Ziploc bag commercial-- I wonder if this is the finest method to invest my job break. Then the 30-second area mores than and also Judy is back.

The abiding and self-congratulatory myth relating to Americans as well as relaxation is that we've obtained as well much on our plates to partake. As a society, plainly we have underdeveloped suggestions regarding nothingness. While we're certainly busy, we're not too hectic, not by a long odds, not by at the very least four hrs of TV a day, inning accordance with Nielsen records, plus Internet browsing, tours to the shopping center, and more. We have, oddly sufficient, massive books of apparent free time. That we prefer to use so little of it to proactively deal with the different devastations of stress and anxiety suggests a connection to downtime that wants rethinking.

Of the current mainstream dabblings in the anti-busyness motion was a Redbook short article called '15 Ways to Streamline Your Life.' 'Do nothing' made the checklist, but the Redbook suggestion of doing absolutely nothing appeared to do not have the deliberateness of Savasana. 'Maybe you'll review old love letters,' the post recommended. 'Possibly you'll repaint your nails red. Whatever.'

Not lengthy back, I began doing points that just weren't on my to-do list-- silly things, meaningless court TV-ish things-- simply to feel my RPMs cycle downward. I liked it. With reducing sense of guilt, I 'd push back from my workdesk and also sink onto the sofa, or wander out the back door to adjust a passionflower creeping plant. But by as well as by, I understood my deceleration wasn't actually enhancing my whole lot. It happened to me that simply as the recently reformed cigarette smoker soon discovers himself hooked on coffee, I would certainly exchanged numerous hours for virtueless entertainment, the Wonder bread of remainder. Just not doing anything isn't without quality, it's putting down the pencil, which's a begin. Nothingness alone could recover just so much of the upset soul.

' The majority of Americans are doing what I call default relaxation activities, which generate lower degrees of procedure advantages,' states author Schor, who's additionally a teacher of sociology at Boston College. Refine advantages are the leisure activities associated with higher levels of human contentment. 'Watching TV and also buying, for instance, are revealed to have low procedure advantages,' Schor claims. Mathur, the reflection teacher, says, 'In modern culture, when we state we're tired, we generally mean our mind is tired.' Usually, however, we cannot listen up as well as offer it a remainder. Instead, we hunch down on the sofa with the remote in hand. 'With TV, you're adding input instead of removing or cleansing. In a manner, your mind is mosting likely to be a lot more worn out when you're done.'

Liz Newby-Fraser, academic dean at the California Institute for Human being Science, explains this in physical terms. 'Watching 2 hrs of television is not relaxation. With TV, there are stimuli that turn on the considerate nerve system, as opposed to the parasympathetic, which is connected with real remainder.'

The clinical instance for purposeful leisure has acquired prestige over the last few years. Americans may not require longer or even more frequent holidays simply to enjoy, yet our ears do prick up at health cautions. Inning accordance with the National Ag Safety and security Database, a database of farming health, safety, as well as injury prevention materials funded by the National Institute for Occupational Safety as well as Health, 'Clinical study approximates as high as 90 percent of health problem as well as disease is stress-related.' As well as there's no lack of studies linking mental stress to heart trouble. In 2003, for instance, it was reported at the American Heart Organization's Scientific Procedure (four days of talks as well as investigatory discussions) that the variety of heart attacks in a Brooklyn health center increased significantly during both months after September 11. As well as Joe Robinson, owner of the Job to Live Campaign, has created that taking a yearly holiday reduces the threat of heart attack by 30 percent for males and also 50 percent for women.

A Relaxed Workaholic?

And yet I'm doubtful-- or, rather, unmoved. I long for a less demanding existence but appear incapable of making the necessary way of living adjustments. Do I desire to have 10 good friends over for a fancy supper tonight? Yes! Will I rip out the yard concrete as well as amend the soil myself? Yes! Did I accept the assignment to write this story despite a mountain of other work? Yes!

I'm not the only one. To evaluate our cultural perspectives regarding leisure is to confront our real feeling concerning it: We do not desire that much leisure to begin with. Previous labor secretary Robert Reich wrote in The Future of Success that are only 8 percent of us (compared to 38 percent of Germans as well as 30 percent of Japanese) would certainly favor much less job if it suggested much less pay. A Lou Harris public viewpoint poll showed that Americans' leisure had actually decreased 37 percent over a 20-year duration. In the September/October 2000 problem of Utne Visitor, Joe Harrison declared that in the mid- '90s, the United States passed Japan as the most worn country in the industrialized world, according to a record published in 2001 by the International Labor Company, Americans work 137 hrs (regarding 3 as well as a half weeks) more a year than Japanese workers. The 2002 publication Affluenza: The Intense Epidemic explains 'a painful, transmittable, socially transferred problem of overload, debt, anxiety, and waste arising from the relentless pursuit of more.'

Such examinations right into job as well as leisure in this country bring about impressively befuddling concerns regarding humanity itself. If our default leisure tasks do us little bit good, and an extra thoughtful mind-body recognition makes us a lot more effective, why do we still pick Survivor over meditation or yoga exercise or simply a few mins of actual quiet? One line of thinking recommends that we can not birth to deal with the messy barrenness of our hollow, online, box-store, early-21st-century lives, we do not dare glimpse the abyss. Schor, for her component, sees it extra merely: Tv's simple. 'Reflection requires an ability,' she claims. 'TELEVISION needs none.'

But creating abilities for much better remainder need not be an impossible job, I'm told, nor have to our vast order of business be totally discarded. Lots of people are looking for a counterbalance to the tensions of their lives, states Michelle Adams, health and fitness as well as motion treatment director at the prominent Canyon Ranch health spa and also health facility in Lenox, Massachusetts. 'You can attain that leisure in a number of methods: 3 minutes of music, a few mins of purposeful silent in bed after the alarm goes off-- even running, if you discover how to concentrate on exactly how your body is feeling. People assume reflection has to take location in a peaceful, dark area, yet that's not the situation.'

Schor concurs that an extra restful, reflective life and antique American performance needn't be mutually exclusive. The increased effectiveness of a healthy employee isn't difficult to imagine, and various other relevant advantages have been shown as well. 'One study shows that individuals living with just what I call volunteer simplicity leave less an ecological impact,' Schor informs me-- an exemplary point, certainly, as well as additionally financially beneficial to those individuals in the lengthy term.

But will Americans ever really select an extra peaceful life? There's inertia and habit to emulate, plus, there seems to be an overlooked mirrors that the rushing and also the vegetating are The U.S.A. at its bipolar best. A few of the best art, success, as well as enjoyable appear born of imbalance. Doesn't our mix of mad and also leisurely give us Friday evening, offer us New york city City after all?

Newby-Fraser puts it by doing this: 'The U.S.A. is very obsessed with achievement as well as addicted to certain adverse excitement. It's still possible to be a workaholic and to aspect in regular leisure. I, myself, am a workaholic as well as I don't view myself.'

When I tell Schor, Mathur, Adams, and also Newby-Fraser about my idea for incorporating a kind of generalised Savasana right into daily life, each responds with something like protected optimism. 'Many people do not live life in a proactively deliberate method,' Schor informs me, but includes that some do: 'You have actually obtained some polarized fads now. The majority is doing this dominant point [TELEVISION, buying, and so on], yet an expanding minority is beginning to do something else, to do this volunteer simpleness. You most likely to places like the Pacific Northwest as well as see increasingly more of it. It's about transforming mindsets toward consumerism, a propensity to be much more reflective as well as diligent.'

In concept, anything could be introspective, from lying quietly, to being in church, to several type of motion. The major thing, Mathur states, is choosing that remainder is a beneficial business in the first area. 'There are still one or two in each yoga class that rise and also leave after asana technique,' she keeps in mind. 'It has to do with seeing Savasana as a similarly valued pose and activity.

I desire to experience the value of Savasana. So, after taking in all the research study and also viewpoints of the specialists, I walk my worn self to the hallway outside my residence workplace. For the following 10 mins, my metaphor of generalized Savasana is mosting likely to be a literal Savasana for me, as best as I can take care of. My busyness awaits me, back at my desk, and I find it oddly liberating to approve this. I will not vow to much less job, I've tried it and it does not happen. Instead, I'm mosting likely to 'not work' better.

At one point in our conversation, Schor informed me her vision for the initial step: Americans, whose efficiency grows approximately 3 percent a year nowadays, must trade the moment they acquire for vacation, for leisure. After reflection, this looks like an additional method of saying recess. Which lengthy back really was one of my preferred things.

#asana #meditation #Yoga #yoga retreat

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