#take my words with a grain of salt - I will defer to those who know better

[smp-live]

Was scrolling through c!Wilbur crit blogs again and it got me thinking about why exactly I argue in favour of him so much so here’s a random ramble (that got long) about it:

Most c!Wilbur critics (at least, in the tag, not directly post-lore stream. The ones that do actual analysis on him) are like... really reasonable about it, actually, lmao. Like it’s mostly just calling him a bad person because of power hunger/manipulation/being a bad dad/whatever else. (Not talking about antis. I mean people who are really critical of him, but recognize that he’s a well-crafted character with nuance.)

Which I agree with! I consider myself an apologist, my writing and analysis leans really sympathetic, and I still agree that he’s a shitty rat bastard that I would run far away from irl. Even at the beginning of the story, he’s very morally grey, sometimes using underhanded persuasion tactics, doing ehh things like stealing, and it only gets worse from there.

But on the other hand, he’s... not that bad. Like I saw one person say about c!Dream, “My reaction to most critique of him is... so what?” and that’s how I feel about c!Wilbur, I suppose. Yeah, he tried to rig an election - but it was a last-ditch effort at not going full dictator, he didn’t follow through, and later on he - in part - decided to blow it up because they couldn’t get it back while being democratic. And yeah, he manipulated people - all in all, it wasn’t really really bad things, mostly to paint himself in a better light because of his insecurities, and people sometimes fall into manipulative language without even outwardly realizing that it’s a shitty thing to do. Of course, that shows a bigger underlying problem in their mindset and the way they interpret relationships and possession, but then that’s a different discussion - and definitely one that applies to c!Wilbur.

(Not saying he doesn’t ever intentionally manipulate people. I think that a. sometimes it might be accidental, (”If you wanna be President you’re gonna have to get on my good side,” mans was Not thinking straight,) and b. other times he falls into old habits/coping mechanisms that happen to be manipulation, (Tommy at Las Nevadas.) Other than the election and maybe some times in the early founding of L’Manberg, I can’t think of any moments where I’m like, “Yeah, he is Purposefully Manipulating here.” And even then, it just doesn’t strike me as a terrible thing. People manipulate, it’s a thing they do. That’s it. A morally grey action.)

And I think the majority of the reason I make more posts painting him in a positive light and don’t really discuss my critique of him is because it feels like the fandom has an overwhelming bias of hatred/crit, even if a lot of that isn’t, y’know, proper analysis of his character. I instinctively want to balance it out for this character I love/relate to, because a lot of what I see straight-up ignores the lighter side of his moral-greyness.

Like, a while back, I posted a couple clips from late-election arc, of Wilbur talking about how he feels about Fundy siding with Quackity and against him. And the way I initially saw it while watching was, “Okay. He feels betrayed by his son who disagrees with his politics - and thus, him as a person, because your politics are a reflection of your identity, especially in Wilbur’s mind - and it’s perfectly understandable that he’d want to vent about that in private to a close friend. On the other hand, he should be able to recognize that Fundy’s allowed to be his own person and shouldn’t be babied. Fundy is in the right, here, but Wilbur’s feelings shouldn’t be dismissed.”

But then 90% of the tags were just straight-up hate for c!Wilbur, going as far as to say that he should die again. (And this was after we found out how bad the afterlife was for him.) That fucking floored me. I just couldn’t understand how they took this nuanced character aching for ‘the son he knew’ back (hm. very similar to c!Phil, actually) and turned it into ‘wow. This suicidal man sucks and should maybe die.’ I was so close to making a post defending him before realizing - I was letting fandom bias against a character push me further onto the sympathetic side.

And that’s such a fuckin’ weird thing to have happen, because you’d think that exposure to negativity about a character would make you feel more negative about them? But without fail, every time I scroll through the crit tag, or read a critical post about c!Wilbur/L’Manberg, I maybe lean a bit more towards that side for a few hours before swinging back hard onto the apologist side. Because a lot of the critique, to me, is really just, “so what?” after I let it stew a bit.

Then there’s the whole mental health issue. Obviously it doesn’t excuse the shit he did - I know people who have been in the middle of breakdowns and the stuff they say still fucking hurts, even if they didn’t truly mean it. But recognizing that he needs help? That for pretty much all his time on-screen, he was depressed and paranoid, which obviously affects the way he acts? That’s obvious. And were he in the position to get professional help - which he deserves - everything would be much better off. That’s the root of my apologism, I think: He deserves to get better. He’s not inherently evil, or bad, just a fucked up little man who’s ruined his own life and needs help. I want to see him, specifically him, get better.

Narratively, his punishment has been extreme and disproportionate. Every mistake, every choice - good or bad - has led to suffering, on his part. Start a fun little rebellion, maybe to gain some power? War and betrayal. Declare an election to consolidate said power? Lose, and get exiled. Blow up a nation? Die, and even in the afterlife, he can't catch a break. Purely as a sympathetic human, it feels like he deserves to rest. Deserves to heal.

But even medicated and less anxious, or going to therapy for his neuroticism and depression, or whatever, he still would be quite morally grey. A lot of his manipulation, his power hunger, comes from this neuroticism; from needing to feel safe and needed, (just like Quackity.) Not all of it, though. He’d still have his unhealthy ideals about relationships and possession, for example. Less prominent, sure, but still there. Some people, I feel, discount how tied up with his mental illness it is, while others don’t really recognize that it’s also a personality problem. Like, changing those beliefs is changing part of who he fundamentally is, as a person.

Actually, I think the c!Wilbur apologist community, in general, tends to scapegoat his mental illness a little too much? Not in that we explain his actions with it or ask people not to villainize it, (although sometimes I feel that what we call villainizing mental illness is a bit excessive, but it’s not my place to talk about that as someone who doesn’t really relate to Pogtopia!Wilbur,) but in that we use it in discussions a lot. Which is fair, because it permeates every single aspect of his character, but even without it he’d have toxic traits? Like his possessiveness is not purely a byproduct of his mental illness, imo. Nor is his treatment of Fundy. It’s amplified by it, surely, but that little seed of it is there in the first place. Just as c!Dream’s abuse needs to be addressed as a central part of his character, c!Wilbur’s possessiveness does too - and also outside of the context of their mental health, because they’re both brought on by an internal personality flaw, some fucked-up belief, if that makes sense.

As I said before: c!Wilbur is a mess of a human being that I would hate if I actually met. (irl I would’ve been a SWAG supporter, based on policies, but since this is fiction, I was POG.) But because he’s a character, that flies out the window, and I can love him - not even just as a character, in the sense that I appreciate he’s well-crafted, but in terms of personality and all that shit, while recognizing he’s a kinda crappy guy. Because he’s a character. That’s the fun of it.

[adiwriting]

3, 5, 14, 23, 24, 38!

3. Are there any fics that inspired you to write what you do?

This is a great question. I will say that one of the very first fics I ever ready WAY back in the day... And I mean I was 12 so... take what I’m about to say with a grain of salt- was a NSYNC fan fic that focused a lot more on trauma and personal growth than it did on romance and that story has always stuck with me to this day. So I think that when I’m approaching a fic, I try and make sure that my characters all have their own personal journeys they are on and that the romance is a secondary piece. That being said, I certainly write fluff still that centers romance. 

As for fics that have inspired me currently? I would go back to The Infinite Love series by @realityisoverrated-fic. Though I’m not writing in the Arrow fandom anymore, the way that those fics were all built in one shared universe that tells such in depth stories has stuck with me. It’s the main reason why I’ve fallen in love with the idea of writing a series of one-shots rather than primarily multi-chapter fics. There’s a freedom as a writer to writing the stories that demand being told in the moment, but having a verse that you can go back to and fill in missing moments as the inspiration strikes. 

I’ve read a lot of good RNM fic recently that has helped me broaden my view of who the characters are and the possibilities for writing, but I don’t have a running list right now of fics. 

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

I don’t like fics that bash characters, especially if one of those characters is the main relationship lead. I believe that characters should be allowed to make mistakes and deal with the consequences of their actions, absolutely. I like exploring in fics the consequences for bad decisions that canon rarely allows characters to experience. But I believe that the human condition means that we are all at fault in some way for the state of our relationships... and unless somebody is truly an abusive asshole *cough*Jesse*cough, then they have genuine reasons for making the bad decisions they make that should be acknowledged. If I open up a fic and it’s clear the author is going to spend the entire word count shitting on one of the characters, I X out real fast. I can see enough of that on my dash in various episode reactions and metas. 

14. Do you have a personal word minimum that you hold yourself too? Why or why not?

I am a wordy bitch most of the time so word count minimums are rarely an issue. But I do often defer to the idea that if a drabble I write is under 1k, then I usually stick it on Tumblr and don’t bother posting it to AO3. I’m not sure why that became my rule, but it did. 

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

I’m not sure what you would label this- but I absolutely LOVE writing fics in which a couple breaks up, usually because one or both of the characters have internal issues that present themselves in unhealthy ways, ergo- breakup. But the characters spend a significant period of time apart, changing and growing as people, and in the end find their way back together- affirming that what they shared, really was true love. 

I think that a lot of characters I gravitate towards and write tend to be the kind of people who push others away when they are hurting (Blaine Anderson, Kurt Hummel, Oliver Queen, Alex Manes, Michael Guerin - both OG and RNM), and it’s nice to see those characters deal with the consequences of that action, grow as people, and find that love again. 

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

Haha. I honestly don’t know. Most tropes that I tend to avoid, I’ve seen done really well... so I’m of the “never say never” camp. That being said, I tend not to read a lot of AUs that drastically change who the characters are as people. For example, an AU where Alex and Michael went to UNM together after high school, but Michael is still an alien- cool! An AU where Michael isn’t an alien at all and didn’t grow up in Roswell? I likely won’t read it unless its written by a trusted author or is highly recommended to me. I felt the same way when I was reading more Arrow, and they didn’t make Oliver Queen a vigilante. 

I respect AUs and I don’t avoid them because I think they are gross or anything... I just gravitate towards a show often because of the premise and the characters combined, and if a fic drifts too far away from that, I’m not as drawn to it. 

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

It’s probably a solid 8. I have 3 documents up right now of the exact same scene written three different times, three different ways. I hate all of them, but I love them all enough to refuse to erase my words. When I first start writing, I often let a stream of consciousness out that gets me a lot of dialogue and little else. Here’s an example that not a single person asked for: 

Draft: 

Michael. Guitar. Truck. He’s hiding away from people. Isobel is being weird. DESCRIBE THIS. 

He’s been playing music more. Growing more comfortable with the various chords and stuff. HE CAN’T HEAR BUT HE FEELS THE MUSIC IN HIS BONES (VIBRATIONS) WEREWEWERWEREW. Write more shit here. Set the mood. Make sure he’s feeling broody so that when Alex comes we feel the change in him. 

He’s got his eyes closed and is enjoying the warmth of the sun (TALK ABOUT THE COLD SO WHEN THE ENERGY IS WARM WE FEEL IT). 

Suddenly, his eyes fly open as he looks up at Alex, who looks pissed off. <--HE DOESN’T KNOW HIS NAME. FIX THIS LATER. 

Despite not knowing Alex, Michael feels safe. 

"you can’t just steal instruments out of the music room, this is mine,” Alex says (GLOSS THIS, HE’S SIGNING). 

Michael nearly falls out of his truck in shock. 

Compare that to... 

Finished: 

(From Sanctuary) 

Michael is sitting on his tailgate with the same borrowed guitar, strumming out a melody and enjoying the way the vibrations move through him, calming his nerves. It’s his new favorite activity. He parks behind the bleachers, away from the rest of the world. With Isobel being weird the last few weeks and Michael getting mentally prepared for the transition to college, he’s started taking more time alone for himself. He’s been playing music more. 

He’s growing more comfortable with the various chords and switching between them with each passing day. He can’t hear to know if he’s any good, but he can feel the music in his bones. It gives him something to focus on that isn’t worrying over Isobel’s reaction when she’d found out about UNM. Or stressing about if Max will be alright on his own when he leaves to travel the world. Or obsessing about the piece of spaceship he’s still carrying around in his pocket. Or his insecurity over if he’s going to be able to handle life outside of the safe cocoon he’s built for himself in Roswell. 

His mind is chaos. Never ending, relentless chaos. And he has no compass. No clear direction to tell him the decisions he’s making are the right ones. He has no answers. But when he plays music, something settles within him. He can focus on the vibrations and everything else quiets. 

He’s got his eyes closed and is enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face after a freezing night spent sleeping in the desert. He’s playing the latest melody he’s learned when the guitar is ripped out of his hands. His eyes fly open and he looks up at a boy standing in front of him, looking pissed off. 

Michael would worry. He would get defensive. But he doesn’t get the sense that there’s a reason to. Michael knows violent people. He’s been around them his entire life to be able to read the body language of a person who’s about to hurt him. This boy doesn’t hold himself in a way that makes Michael feel threatened. In fact, Michael trusts him. Despite not knowing him, he has the strong feeling that he should have faith in this kid. 

Though they’ve never talked, Michael recognizes him. He’s Liz Ortecho’s friend. He’s seen him plenty of times in passing. He’s seen him coming out of his classroom a few times this year after lunch. His teacher hadn’t told Michael his name, but she had told him that she was helping him with a project. 

YOU CAN’T JUST STEAL INSTRUMENTS OUT OF THE MUSIC ROOM. THIS IS MINE, the boy signs and Michael nearly falls out of the truck in shock. 

[dfroza]

A pure seed of peace

originates in Love. and it means striving to get along with others.

Today, we read of the significance of our words and actions in Wednesday’s chapter from the ancient Letter of James:

[Chapter 3]

My brothers and sisters, do not encourage a large number of you to become teachers because teachers will be held to a higher standard. We all stumble along the way. If a person never speaks hurtful words or shouts in anger or profanity, then he has achieved perfection. The one who can control his tongue can also control the rest of his body. It’s like when we place a metal bit into a horse’s mouth to ride it; we can control its entire body with the slightest movement of our hands. Have you ever seen a massive ship sailing effortlessly across the water? Despite its immense size and the fact that it is propelled by mighty winds, a small rudder directs the ship in any direction the pilot chooses. It’s just the same with our tongues! It’s a small muscle, capable of marvelous undertakings.

And do you know how many forest fires begin with a single ember from a small campfire? The tongue is a blazing fire seeking to ignite an entire world of vices. The tongue is unique among all parts of the body because it is capable of corrupting the whole body. If that were not enough, it ignites and consumes the course of creation with a fuel that originates in hell itself. Humanity is capable of taming every bird and beast in existence, even reptiles and sea creatures great and small. But no man has ever demonstrated the ability to tame his own tongue! It is a spring of restless evil, brimming with toxic poisons. Ironically this same tongue can be both an instrument of blessing to our Lord and Father and a weapon that hurls curses upon others who are created in God’s own image. One mouth streams forth both blessings and curses. My brothers and sisters, this is not how it should be. Does a spring gush crystal clear freshwater and moments later spurt out bitter salt water? My brothers and sisters, does a fig tree produce olives? Is there a grapevine capable of growing figs? Can salt water give way to freshwater?

Who in your community is understanding and wise? Let his example, which is marked by wisdom and gentleness, blaze a trail for others. If your heart is one that bleeds dark streams of jealousy and selfishness, do not be so proud that you ignore your depraved state. The wisdom of this world should never be mistaken for heavenly wisdom; it originates below in the earthly realms, with the demons. Any place where you find jealousy and selfish ambition, you will discover chaos and evil thriving under its rule. Heavenly wisdom centers on purity, peace, gentleness, deference, mercy, and other good fruits untainted by hypocrisy. The seed that flowers into righteousness will always be planted in peace by those who embrace peace.

The Letter of James, Chapter 3 (The Voice)

with these lines mirrored in The Passion Translation:

[Wisdom from Above]

If you consider yourself to be wise and one who understands the ways of God, advertise it with a beautiful, fruitful life guided by wisdom’s gentleness. Never brag or boast about what you’ve done and you’ll prove that you’re truly wise. But if there is bitter jealousy or competition hiding in your heart, then don’t deny it and try to compensate for it by boasting and being phony. For that has nothing to do with God’s heavenly wisdom but can best be described as the wisdom of this world, both selfish and devilish. So wherever jealousy and selfishness are uncovered, you will also find many troubles and every kind of meanness.

But the wisdom from above is always pure, filled with peace, considerate and teachable. It is filled with love and never displays prejudice or hypocrisy in any form and it always bears the beautiful harvest of righteousness! Good seeds of wisdom’s fruit will be planted with peaceful acts by those who cherish making peace.

The Letter of James, Chapter 3:13-18 (The Passion Translation)

and repeated in The Message:

[Live Well, Live Wisely]

Do you want to be counted wise, to build a reputation for wisdom? Here’s what you do: Live well, live wisely, live humbly. It’s the way you live, not the way you talk, that counts. Mean-spirited ambition isn’t wisdom. Boasting that you are wise isn’t wisdom. Twisting the truth to make yourselves sound wise isn’t wisdom. It’s the furthest thing from wisdom—it’s animal cunning, devilish conniving. Whenever you’re trying to look better than others or get the better of others, things fall apart and everyone ends up at the others’ throats.

Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life and is characterized by getting along with others. It is gentle and reasonable, overflowing with mercy and blessings, not hot one day and cold the next, not two-faced. You can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God and enjoy its results only if you do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.

The Letter of James, Chapter 3:13-18 (The Message)

Today’s paired chapter from the Old Testament of the Bible is chapter 10 of Leviticus in which an act of God’s severe Judgment was seen when Aaron’s sons did something unauthorized by God in their priestly service of the Santuary that was a sacred space to God here on earth. the Sanctuary in the desert and later the Temple in Jerusalem built by King Solomon were made by divine instructions that mirror the heavenly Temple, and in this we see the path of God’s Redemption of His Creation that was given a free will to either embrace our Creator and His Love and peace, or to rebel and to follow the path of the lie, in rebellion and sin.

and so we find that we need to have reverence for Love and its sacredness by treasuring it in the Santuary of the heart (the inner room, an instrumental womb and a place where seeds of thought originate)

[Levitucus 10]

Nadab and Abihu, two of Aaron’s sons, took censers and filled them with embers; then they put incense on top of the fire and presented it to the Eternal One. This was a strange and unauthorized fire that the Eternal did not command them. Flames erupted from before the Eternal and burned up Nadab and Abihu. They both died in the presence of the Eternal One.

Moses (to Aaron): This is what the Eternal One was talking about when He said,

By those authorized to come near,

I will be treated as sacred.

In the eyes of all the people,

I will be honored.

Aaron remained silent.

Moses summoned Mishael and Elzaphan, the sons of Aaron’s uncle Uzziel.

Moses: Make your way forward. Gather the dead bodies of your relatives from the front of the sanctuary, and carry them outside the camp.

So Mishael and Elzaphan did as Moses instructed; they came forward, picked them up—while they were still wearing their priestly tunics—and carried them outside the camp. Moses spoke to Aaron and his sons, Eleazar and Ithamar.

Moses: Do not let your hair go unkempt or rip your garments in customary acts of mourning, or else you will die. Follow this instruction so that the Eternal One does not grow angry toward the entire community. Everyone else—our relatives, the entire community of Israel—can lament the great fire the Eternal One has produced that killed your sons. Do not go beyond the entrance of the congregation tent. If you do, you will meet a quick death, for the Eternal’s anointing oil covers you.

Aaron and his sons followed Moses’ instructions.

The Eternal One addressed Aaron.

Eternal One: You and your sons must not drink wine or any alcoholic drink before entering the congregation tent, lest you die. This directive stands for all time throughout your generations. You must know the difference between the sacred and the profane, the ritually pure and the impure, and teach the people of Israel the directives, which I have revealed to them through Moses.

Moses (to Aaron and his surviving sons, Eleazar and Ithamar): You may take whatever grain is left from the fire-offerings devoted to the Eternal and eat it unleavened next to the altar; this is most sacred. You are to eat it in a sacred space; it is your and your sons’ portion of the Eternal One’s fire-offerings, according to the commands I have given. You, your sons, and your daughters may eat the breast of the wave offering and the thigh presented to God in some ritually pure place. The breast and thigh are your portion and your children’s portion from the sacrifices of the peace offerings brought by the people of Israel. Have them bring the thigh that is contributed and the breast that is waved, along with the fire-offerings of fat, to present as a wave offering before the Eternal One. This will be your and your children’s portion for all time; it is your due as the Eternal has commanded.

Moses began asking for the goat for the purification offering, but he discovered that it had already been burned up. He was furious with Eleazar and Ithamar (Aaron’s surviving sons).

Moses (to Aaron’s sons): Why did you disobey my instructions and not eat the purification offering in the area of the sanctuary? It is most sacred. God has given it to you so that you can take on the guilt of the community and cover their wrongs before the Eternal. Look, its blood was never taken inside the sanctuary; therefore the rightful place for you to eat it was in the sanctuary as I commanded.

Aaron (to Moses): Look, my sons offered their purification offering and their burnt offering to the Eternal One today. But think of all that has happened to me. Given the tragedy I have seen, would the Eternal have approved if I had eaten a purification offering today?

After Moses listened to what Aaron had to say, he was satisfied.

The Book of Leviticus, Chapter 10 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, may 6 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

[thefreckledone]

Pompeii 33

@vesperlionheart

we interrupt your regularly scheduled supernatural shenanigans for a little neighborly fun. enjoy!

Sakura cursed softly as she fumbled with the dish, catching it with mitted hands. It had been a while since she last cooked a casserole and she could almost feel her grandmother cackling from behind her, laughing at her lack of grace. That’d never been a problem for Sayuri Haruno, who’d traveled in a circus act as a trapeze artist before settling down, but she’d never faulted Sakura for her shortcomings.

Sakura shook free of her thoughts, balancing the casserole between one hand and her hip as she knocked on the door next to her own.

She heard a loud thump and a few colorful words before the door was cracked open and a suspicious brown eye peeked out. Upon seeing her, Yamato’s countenance changed entirely, lighting up from within as he flung the door open.

“Sakura.”

Sakura shivered slightly, unused to the affection instilled within the single word. “Hey Yamato,” she greeted before thrusting the casserole out in front of her. “I made chicken divan.”

For a moment, he looked confused. Then he brightened, smile heartbreakingly happy. “For me?”

“A little housewarming gift,” Sakura said, returning his infectious smile. “Just a little way for me to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“I’ve never had a neighbor before,” Yamato said, taking the too hot dish in his bare hands. Sakura bit back an exclamation, seeing the way he moved on unaffected. “I think I’m going to enjoy it though.”

“So, will you do your neighbor the honor of a house tour?” Sakura asked, peering over his shoulders. “I want to see what you’ve done with the place.”

“It isn’t much,” he warned, stepping away from the door and into the apartment itself. It was laid out almost as a mirror image to Sakura’s own apartment though it was far more sparse and Spartan in style. There weren’t really any personal, familial touches other than the exquisite tree that took up a good portion of the living room. Sakura approached it a bit warily, the familiar throb of her wrist an echoing warning.

The tree seemed to grow from the very floorboards, a smooth transition that Sakura could barely even see. However, as it grew taller, Sakura saw vertical stripes of reds, greens, purples, and dappled blues. She pressed a tentative hand to the tree, starting at its warmth. It seemed to thrum beneath her hand, a living, vibrant thing. It was Yamato, his strength, his kindness, his-

“Oh!” Yamato exclaimed and Sakura drew her hand from the tree hastily. He came out of the kitchen, cheeks flushed with heat. His expression was miserable. “I am sorry about that,” he said, shoulders slumped. He looked like he was preparing for her to hit him or something. “That’s...that’s an extension of me. It’s sort of a necessity.” Yamato looked up at her, eyes desperate. “I’m sorry for damaging the floor and this lovely apartment. I’ll pay all the damages just don’t make me leave-”

“Leave?” Sakura said, cutting through his growing panic. “I’m not going to make you leave. This space is yours to do with as you please. I happen to like the tree. It’s quite nice.” Sakura wondered for a moment if she said something wrong as his blush deepened as he stared down at his toes. She pushed forward, grabbing his hand in hers because he needed to understand this. “I’m not here as your landlord or minder. I’m your friend. If something bothers me, sure, I’ll let you know but we can work through it. I’m not going to kick you out without warning or punish you for doing something you need to survive. Do you understand?”

Yamato blinked a few times before nodding. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Yeah, I get it. Thanks.”

Sakura watched him for a few moments more, waiting to see if the panic set in again. When it didn’t, she squeezed his hand and released it. “It smells like...is that eucalyptus?”

He nodded. “Eucalyptus degupta, the rainbow eucalyptus,” he said meekly.

Sakura grinned and said, “Now, want to have some dinner and come over to my apartment to watch a movie?”

She turned and flounced away toward the kitchen before he responded, oblivious to the wondrous look on Yamato’s face.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, just watching her, but when he came back to himself, he looked around. Dark birds lined the rail of the balcony, peering in with beady, cold eyes. Yamato frowned and pulled the blinds closed.

Let the Uchiha think whatever they wanted, this moment was his.

“Sakura!” Naruto whined, pouting up at her with bright, bright eyes.

Sakura sighed, pressing the thermometer into his open mouth. “What’s got you so worked up, Naruto?” she asked.

Naruto was perhaps her most faithful client as he had the tendency to be a hypochondriac. Any scrape, big or small saw him to her clinic. From what she gathered from Kushina and Minato, Naruto wasn’t this way until she rolled into town. Sakura was inclined to take that information with a grain of salt as it came up in a conversation that involved herself, one of the twins, and grandchildren.

“I’m tired,” Naruto said after the thermometer beeped.

Sakura pulled it away, glancing down at the temperature and shaking her head wryly. As always, Naruto ran at 113.6° Fahrenheit. “You’re tired?” she repeated. “Could you expound upon that a bit?”

“I get really sleepy every time I go outside. Not right away but I realize a few hours later that I’m exhausted. Mito-sama’s got me out in the field now and it’s exhausting. It wasn’t this bad last year or the years before!”

Sakura frowned slightly. “You know, it could have something to do with the changing seasons. Are you noticing any other symptoms?”

“My eyes are getting pretty itchy and watery,” Naruto said.

“It might be an allergy thing. Maybe a response to the coming of Spring?”

“But it’s never happened before,” Menma said, speaking up for the first time.

“And he’s experiencing it too,” Naruto put in.

“Well, maybe new flora was introduced into the environment,” Sakura said. “Maybe when they burned the tree for the ceremony.”

The brothers exchanged glances and shrugged.

“That was around the time we started getting tired,” Naruto said.

Sakura nodded, writing a few things down. “I’m going to suggest you pick up an antihistamine from the pharmacy.” When she was met with blank stares, she smiled and shook her head. “Sorry. Any generics of Benadryl should be fine. Try taking them twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening. They will make you sleepier for the first few weeks, but they should combat the allergy symptoms. Stop back by if they don’t work.”

“Thanks Sakura,” Naruto said, hopping to his feet. “You going to the InoShikaCho Bash on Friday?”

Sakura wrinkled her nose in thought. “Is that the party that Ino’s parents are hosting?”

“Them, the Nara, and the Akimichi,” Menma said, straightening from his slouched position to lean in close to Sakura with a roguish grin. “Their parties are legendary.”

Naruto laughed, digging his elbow into his brother’s ribs. “Give her some space, asshole. Menma is right though, their parties are the best. With the Akimichi’s amazing food, the Nara’s wit, and the Yamanaka’s impeccable taste, it’s basically the perfect party.”

“You guys have a lot of parties here in Pompeii,” Sakura said. “It’s basically every other weekend at least!”

“We’ve had centuries to cultivate these traditions,” Menma said with a shrug. “With such long-lived lives, why wouldn’t we celebrate?”

Sakura nodded. “Be that as it may, I unfortunately won’t be able to make the party on Friday. I have some paperwork to catch up on.”

“Take a break!” Naruto exclaimed, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they made their way to the front office.

“Cute,” Sakura said, shrugging out from beneath his weight. “Truly though, I can’t go this weekend. You can’t convince me otherwise; Ino’s already tried.”

Naruto pouted at her and Sakura averted her eyes, knowing better than to allow herself to be suckered in. She needed some time this weekend for herself. She felt like she’d been pouring herself out for others and Sakura needed a chance to recuperate. It was hard to remember the finiteness of her body at times; the burn in her lungs, the ache of her bones, the stretch of her muscles. She only had so much to give.

And at times, she found she gave far too much.

Sakura sometimes worried she’d keep giving and giving until she was just a bundle of scattered parts, offered off to those who needed it more.

So yes, she was firm in her rejection.

There had to be boundaries.

Sakura feared what she’d become otherwise.

(What she’d been before.)

Menma watched her as she set the date for their follow-up, eyes keen and too wise for Sakura’s comfort. “Well,” he said, grabbing the scruff of Naruto’s neck as they prepared to leave. “We will miss you. Try not to overtax yourself this weekend.”

Sakura’s smile softened from the angry, weeping slash to something calmer, more genuine. “Thanks Menma. I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you before then,” Menma replied, slouching into his brother in a way that was just shy of intentional as he nudged him toward the door. “Catch you later, Sakura.”

“Bye Sakura!” Naruto said, smile all sunshine now.

Sakura waved them off before sinking into her seat with a deep sigh. Shizune was out, restocking their supplies. She didn’t say it outright, but Sakura knew she was working with Tsunade on a variety of potions “just in case.” They weren’t “just in case” potions though, not really. Sakura wasn’t sure why Shizune wouldn’t say it outright, if it was in deference to the animosity Tsunade felt toward Sakura or a fear that Sakura would order her to stop.

Sakura would never interfere with something so vital to the community.

The office was therefore quiet and Sakura turned her eyes to the flowers Izuna arranged for her, smiling. They were beginning to wilt, but they were still as magnificent as they were when Itachi delivered them. Sakura’s mouth firmed.

Itachi.

He’d stepped way out of bounds when he questioned her a few days ago. Still, Sakura couldn’t help but wonder how many others wanted to ask those exact same questions and more but found themselves bound by propriety.

How many people doubted her?

She knew she was the outsider. When push came to shove, Sakura would be the first one on the chopping block. It wasn’t intentional or malicious by any means, but her bonds here were shallow and superficial in comparison to the centuries that wove these people together. Sakura wished she could say she wasn’t used to the feeling but she was.

Sakura was never first for anyone.

Sakura shook her head roughly, refusing to get caught up in the vicious cycle of negativity once more. Instead, she stood and turned the sign on the door to closed. There was only fifteen or so more minutes until she was technically supposed to do so.

She headed out the side door to the back of the complex and stepped into the garage. Sakura never thought she’d have reason to use the garage for anything other than additional storage but, as she opened the door to the Camaro, she couldn’t help the little thrill that lifted her heart.

Sakura slid with practiced ease into the driver’s seat, gingerly placing her hands against the steering wheel. She didn’t crank the car. She never did.

It wasn’t hers, despite the title that named it so. She refused to keep the gift, for that was what it was. And it was a gift she didn’t deserve, one she couldn’t repay. Sakura knew Pein didn’t expect anything in return, just as she knew that the novelty of her existence would be worn away by time and leave only Sakura.

And only Sakura didn’t get free cars.

Instead, she sat there, inhaling the scent of warm leather and relaxing. Sakura rolled down the window, closing her eyes as the breeze wafted against her face. Briefly, everything was perfect.

“Dear girl, what are you doing?”

Sakura jumped, legs ramming into the steering wheel that was bound to leave bruises. She looked around wildly, frowning as she found nothing. She grabbed the nazar from her pocket, tapping it over both eyes before looking around once more.

Nothing.

“Who are you?” Sakura asked, taking the ankh from her pocket and placing it around her neck for additional protection. The knife Sai gave her was tucked into her back pocket and she inched her hand that direction.

“The mortals have assigned me the name Fujin,” he replied, voice rasping.

“God of the wind,” Sakura muttered, incrementally relaxing back into the red leather. Her fingers wrapped tightly around the knife, ready for anything. She wasn’t sure how well she’d do against a god, but she would try. “What brings you out this way?”

“Many things awaken during the Ceremony for Spring,” Fujin replied. “Things that hibernate habitually during the winter and…others.”

“Which are you?” Sakura asked.

The breeze kicked up into a wind with a rumble, ruffling her hair. “You seem an intelligent one. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Sakura bounced on the balls of her feet, glancing up at the line. It hadn’t moved at all. She sighed, turning her attention back to her phone. From the disjointed, rambling texts Naruto was sending her, it seemed that his tiredness had led to a full on viral infection that afflicted nearly everyone at the grocery store, leaving poor Konohamaru to man the only open register. It was a Friday afternoon and the store was quite busy.

“Quite a line,” a voice said behind her.

Sakura turned, blinking as she met the cool gaze of Danzo Shimura. He was looking at her like he couldn’t quite place her so she said, “Sakura Haruno. It is a long line, isn’t it?”

“Ah, the resident doctor,” he said with a nod. “I am Danzo Shimura. I apologize for not stopping by your clinic yet, I’ve been quite busy with all of the celebrations.” His voice was fondly exasperated. “You played one of the heroes during Founder’s Day, did you not?”

Sakura grinned. “Indeed I did.”

They shuffled forward in line before Danzo said, “You’ve caused a stir here in Pompeii.”

Sakura glanced askance at him, trying to read what he thought of that. His face was impassive, however, and his eyes flinty. “I suppose so. The residents here can be a bit rambunctious so I’m sure they were excited to have someone in town to treat their wounds.”

“You have made a strong impression,” Danzo said, smile turning wry. “Minato has yet to stop singing your praises during town meetings. Many of the clan leaders do the same.”

Sakura flushed, glancing down at her cart. “I can only hope I’m doing my job half as well as they say I am.”

“I’m sure you are,” Danzo said softly. “I will need to stop by soon and find out for myself.” He looked past her for a moment. “Thank you for keeping me company while we waited.”

Sakura turned, fumbling with her cart as she realized that she was at the front of the line. She faced Danzo once more, offering him her hand. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, Danzo.”

He took her hand, shaking it firmly. “Dr. Haruno, I believe the pleasure was mine.”

Sakura gathered her groceries as Konohamaru rang her up, loading them into the bags she brought with her. It was her turn to cook tonight and Sakura decided she wanted to be a little fancy with it. She and Yamato had fallen into the habit of eating dinner together two or three times a week. It was nice to spend her evenings quietly, whiling them away in pleasant company.

The dinners were a good distraction from Sakura’s mounting frustration at the general incompetence of the people around her. They still rarely worked together, relying on their familial pride to keep them going. All of them, however, believed that Orochimaru was the culprit behind the attacks. Sakura wasn’t nearly so sure. It was made even worse in the way that they tried to keep Sakura out of the loop, all in the name of “protecting” her.

Thankfully, she had a plan.

A tantalizing scent caught her attention, dashing all fleeting thoughts of espionage and heroism. Sakura turned slightly, surprised that she hadn’t noticed the large tree she was walking beneath. She’d taken a new path today, trying to familiarize herself with every aspect of the town. Unlike most other denizens of the town, Sakura didn’t have the song of Pompeii stirring in her blood or etched across her bones. She wanted to though.

She wanted it more than anything.

Then, maybe, Pompeii could truly be her home and she could be at peace with herself, surrounded by the family marked out for her by the town.

Maybe.

She hadn’t realized that there was a veritable orchard just on the outskirts of downtown. Ripe apples hung low and heavy, ladening the branches. They lined the sidewalks, not seeming to belong to any of the nearby houses or apartment complexes. Sakura juggled her bags, fumbling for a moment, before stretching out a hand and taking a few of the apples.

Sakura dropped them in her bags, counting the ingredients in her head. She grinned.

Tonight, Yamato would get to try her green apple pie.

She paused for a moment, leaning against one of the trees and inhaling deeply. The fragrant fresh smell of the apples surrounded her and for a brief moment Sakura could simply be. She looked skyward, enjoying the view of the brilliant blue sky through twisting, gnarled branches. Sakura didn’t know how long she stood there, just breathing deep and feeling the way the air filled her lungs, until something caught her eye.

Further down, on the edge of where her vision went blurry, was another fruit tree. It was a different tree, with flowering pink buds on the fringe branches. Some, however, were burdened with heavy, fat peaches. They were rather pretty peaches, all oranges and reds amongst a veritable sea of green. The tree stood out too, as the only peach tree among the apples.

Sakura frowned thoughtfully and stepped in its direction.

“Yo.”

Sakura flinched as Sai appeared at her side, dropping down from one of the apple trees.

“Sai,” she said, unable to keep the reproach out of her voice. He just looked at her, juices running down the corners of his mouth as he bit into an apple. She sighed, feeling almost fond. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Do you like the knife?” he asked, cutting through all of the social niceties. Sakura was almost certain he didn’t even notice them. Her heart ached a bit at the thought.

“I do. Where in the world did you get it? It’s been so handy,” Sakura said.

He shrugged but Sakura caught the way his eyes flickered away from her. So he was keeping secrets from her. Charming.

Sakura began to walk, winding her way back to her apartment. She was unsurprised as he fell into step beside her. Their walk was silent but from the grimace hidden at the edges of Sai’s mouth and eyes, that wasn’t on purpose. She decided to be gracious and extend an olive branch of sorts.

“Here, take these bags,” Sakura said, plopping a few of her bags into Sai’s empty arms. He caught them easily, though his expression could only be called befuddled. “If you’re joining me for dinner, you have to help out.”

“What are you cooking?” he asked.

“Tuna steak with roasted purple potatoes,” Sakura replied. “I’m making apple pie for dessert.”

“I’m not a good cook,” Sai said. “And, from the last time I was at your house, it seems that you aren’t the best either.”

Sakura snorted, checking him with her hip before continuing on. She didn’t take offense to the comment.

After all, though he was oblivious to it, Sai was smiling.

That first dinner together set something of a tradition among the three. Every time she and Yamato had dinner Sai would slink in through the locked window, dropping into an unoccupied seat. Usually he brought treats or side dishes purchased from one of the many restaurants downtown. On one memorable occasion, Sai brought a dish of misshapen, slightly singed chocolate chip cookies. Neither she nor Yamato commented on the ashy taste.

Sakura had five.

So Sakura was surprised when a knock sounded at her door. Sakura and Yamato exchanged glances before Yamato shrugged.

“Maybe he’s learned some manners since his last visit,” he said, though he didn’t sound all that convinced.

Sakura threw open the door, breath catching on a laugh. It quickly fell away as she met the eyes of the person.

“Kimimaro,” she greeted, eying him curiously. “What brings you here this evening?”

Kimimaro cleared his throat, tucking his hands into his billowing sleeves. He had traded his lab coat for a haori. With his unbound hair, Kimimaro appeared ageless.

“I find that I have been remiss in my neighborly duties. I would be honored if you and Yamato joined me a few nights from today for dinner. Would Friday work?”

“Friday should be fine by me,” Sakura said. “Yamato-” She glanced back to him, startled to find that he’d silently moved to her side. She thought she’d be better used to this now with Yamato and Sai constantly in and out of her apartment. “Yamato, how about you?”

Yamato’s face was placid, but his eyes were hard as he stared Kimimaro down. “I’m available,” he said, leaning against the door frame.

Sakura watched him for a moment, trying to figure out what the issue was. She decided to ignore the unspoken tension in the air, turning her attention back to Kimimaro and looking at him expectantly. “Is there anything you’d like us to bring?”

Kimimaro shook his head, smile soft. “Your company is more than enough.” He looked to Yamato and in his eyes was a challenge. “I will eagerly await your visit at 7:00.” With a slight bow, Kimimaro turned and headed down the stairs.

“How’d he get in?” Yamato asked, shutting the door. “I thought the door downstairs was locked.”

“I probably forgot,” Sakura replied through a flicker of unease. She always locked the door. “In any case, I’m sure he could’ve gotten in just as Sai does.”

“Sai has no understanding of society. Kimimaro understands far too much. He has no excuse.” Yamato’s voice was firm and unyielding.

Sakura shrugged, retaking her seat. “You can ask him on Friday if you please. My only request is that you leave me out of any of the passive-aggressive neighborly antics you choose to get up to.”

His eyes lit with interest.

“What are these antics of which you speak?” a new voice asked.

Sakura looked between Sai and Yamato for a moment before shaking her head and digging into her chicken divan. “If you two really want inspiration, you can go by the library or look it up.”

From their twin looks of determination, Sakura knew that they were going to take her up on that.

Sakura mentally sent up a prayer for her sanity, hoping it didn’t go to any god she knew personally as she prepared herself for what she was about to say. “Sai,” Sakura began, treading carefully. “Yamato and I have something for you.”

Sai cocked his head, watching them blandly. “A gift? Am I obligated to ‘return the favor.’”

“What books has Hiruzen given you?” Sakura asked. “No, you aren’t required to return the favor. Just…well here.”

Sai took the envelope from her and opened it quickly and efficiently, only for his hands to still when he found the contents. She saw a slight tremor run through his body and Sakura feared the misstep.

“These are keys to your home?” Sai asked.

“Well, to mine,” Yamato said, scratching his cheek. “I figured, with how often you’re over, it’d only make sense for you to have a key. You’re basically my roommate already.”

“We can get a bed set up for you,” Sakura said nervously. “There’s that smaller room you stay in sometimes as it is. It’d be easy to get it all fixed up-”

Sai abruptly stood and Sakura shut her mouth. He looked between them for a long time, face unreadable. Then he lunged, awkwardly throwing his limbs across their shoulders and drawing them close to him. He pat them once, twice, and released them, watching them anxiously.

“That is a hug,” Sai said. “The books say they are given to express gratitude and affection. Did I do it right?”

Sakura’s laugh was high and free as she grabbed him once more and pulled him and Yamato close. “Almost,” she said. “It just needs to last a little longer.”

[kmclaude]

Hi Father Claude! (If it's okay to call you that?)This is going to sound silly, especially since we don't really know each other, but I've followed you for a while and you seem to be pretty versed in art-for-hire, I was wondering if you could help me out? Someone messaged me (across several accounts on different sites) about an artwork of one of my OCs asking if they could use it for a logo. I said no but I'd be happy to work on a commission for them -- how do I determine what a fair rate is?

2- I don't really do art for a living, just a hobby (I know it sounds cheap when I put it like that...) so I don't want to shoot myself in the foot, particularly since by the sounds of it this person wanted to use this for branding purposes and that's pretty major. I'm both a little flattered and a little overwhelmed, so...you know, how would you negotiate something like this? How would you determine an acceptable rate (either hourly or a flat fee? I'm not sure which is better)?- Sorry for taking up 3 asks for 1 question but you seem like you have experience with this, and I'm used to deferring to experts for matters I don't know much about! Any advice you could give would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!

Yeah sure and oh that is tough! So you got someone who needs a brand logo and you wanna know what rate to quote him at, yeah? First, congrats! Second, well I don’t know too too much about logos and other specifics of graphic design branding freelancing as I didn’t go that route professionally but I have done book covers, illustrations, and comic work so I guess I’ll speak from that. Please note that I don’t do this full time or even much part time (though I might soon enough if I return to school fulltime) so this is a tad laid back in nature. Someone who does this professionally might be better equipped to talk about this.

If I were in your shoes, the first thing I’d do would ask about his budget -- what’s his budget and what is he willing to work within? You ever hear the phrase “the first person who mentions price loses?” Yeah, so find out where his budget is. Next, compare that budget to both the industry standard for the product (which’ll take some googling or asking around) and to what you’d be willing to charge (which should be based on a mixture of living wage, time it will take to complete, skill, supplies, and other). For the record you can also be doing that step while you send off the “hey what’s your budget” email because it’s always good to have that in mind. If he asks your rates first a decent response is always “well that changes based on what you want and the complexity of the design; a budget would best help me figure out a logo solution that won’t break the bank” or something.

 If the budget looks doable, I’ll give him my quote for the project and my terms and if he agrees to them then I’ll write up a contract. I’ve often based my contracts off of the ones on Art Pact which offer free templates. Contract time is where all the negotiation begins and you can stipulate price, whether the client will cover Paypal fees, when you’ll get it done by, and so on and so forth. It’s always good to have a contract because if you’re not working as part of a firm or whatever the contract is a way to CYOA (hell even my boss and I signed and informal contract and when I send them invoices I always specify that such and such fee is there “as discussed in our correspondence” or somesuch just to, again, CYOA. 

So for example, if someone came up to me and wanted a logo done for let’s say their startup coding company -- nothing fancy, just a name in perhaps a decorative fashion, easily applicable to say a website or an invoice -- then first I’d write them back asking for their budget and maybe a little info on what they need it for, what their plans are, etc. You don’t wanna be charging pennies for the next Warner Bros. logo, y’know?

Then while waiting, I’d research the industry standard for logo designs -- what’s the general rate, what are people asking, what are newbie freelancers asking, what’s the range, what should I be charging? I’m lucky in that my best friend works in a print shop and does logo design so in theory I can ask her but let’s say she’s at church and I need an answer before Communion, so I’m gonna google “industry standard logo design”. Deluxe Corporation gives a few figures and an idea of what you’re paying for and why but no less than $200 seems to be the oft quoted number. So the industry standard is at least $200.00 USD. 

Now the question is what’s my standard? Well I refuse to work for under $15/hour minimum, I have over a decade of doing art in a public sphere, longer still of doing art in general, and about 7 or so years on and off of doing art for pay and in all that time I’ve become familiar enough with some programs, have a handful of resources font-wise and other, and can also work super fast. General experience and speed will up my price because its taken years to get there. The downside is I’m the least knowledgeable at a vector program like illustrator and I don’t have as many resources at my fingertips that a professional graphic designer would nor the dedicated training of one. Those drawbacks will lower my price. The professionality of the piece also matters -- this is branding for a company not someone’s Sonic OC that they’re gonna get framed but will otherwise not see much of the public sphere so it’s gonna cost more, obviously.

Side note: I mention $15/hour minimum but when I give out quotes, I never quote as $/hour but rather a roundabout flatrate. That’s because in general I know about how long it takes me here or there to complete a certain type of work because most clients like a general rate. In fact a lot of times I charge a LOT per hour because while I get a lot DONE in an hour/it doesn’t take me many hours to do, it’s taken me over a decade or so of work to get to the point where I can DO, say, a whole comic page from sketch to final word balloons in 5 hours or so if need be. So keep in mind that the length of time it takes to do something isn’t all there is to the price or value of a thing! This is a good blog post of tips for setting rates btw -- it also covers that tricky realm of $/hour versus flatrate!   Essentially, your flat rate is based off what you’d consider your hourly fee + wiggle room and managed for an assumed time of work done and correspondence and all those other experiential variables. If nothing else, there’s taking the 8 hour work day and multiplying that by an hourly fee. You may not TAKE a full 8 hour day to do it but that gives you a baseline of sorts if you’re totally lost. Again, most clients like a flat rate -- they know what the total pricetag is at the get-go -- and it can be to your benefit (though like that article mentions you can also find yourself doing hours of work that results in you having worked for less than minimum wage.)

Anyway, all those things in mind give me a price idea and help me out when the client emails me back with his budget because if he comes back nowhere NEAR either the industry standard or what I’m willing to work with, the decision’s made for me. If he comes back close to let’s say the industry standard of $200 -- let’s say $190 -- and I’m wanting closer to $250 because I’m doing this outta my free time but I recognize I have limitations and am willing to meet him halfway then I may be willing to say “hey, I understand budgets can be tight, but for what you’re asking I’d have to charge a bit more” and maybe raise him say $240, basically the haggle process. Which is its own art because you want the business but you don’t wanna screw yourself and have it be more trouble than its worth but it at least helps to have an idea of what industry-wise you deserve and also what you personally are willing to work for.

IDK I hope that doesn’t suck. If I were good at running a business as a freelancer I probably wouldn’t work my crummy exhausting dayjob and could actually afford my stupid dumb top surgery and obviously neither of those things are true SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO take everything I say with a grain of salt. That’s just how I do things and TBH it’s a flexible process.

[tanuki-kimono]

Japanese folk tales #38 – Like horse and deer

Find my tales tagged here or visit my blog for both english and french versions.

Wish me to cover a special youkai or subject? Contact me, I’ll try to accommodate ❤️

Once upon a time, a bride and her mother-in-law lived under a same roof. Both were women with fiery tempers, quick wits… and tongues to match.

Since the bride had married her son and moved in, the mother-in-law kept snarling, muttering under her breath how things had been much better before that girl joined their family.

Without missing a beat, the bride always talked back, hurling barbs at her with fake deference about how old her new mother was and how tired and how useless she must felt.

The two women quarrelled from dawn to dusk about the pettiest things.

The son and his father had sure tried to calm things down. But after some nasty fights – and claw marks, the two men had hastily retreated. And they now stood aside, careful to not be caught in those heated crossfires.

The shrews did all they could to annoy one another. As the mother-in-law liked her meals very hot, the bride always served diner just mildly warm, saying:

– Here mother, it will be good for your sensitive old stomach.

And as the young woman loved hot baths, the older one always took all her time pampering herself, fakely apologizing when getting out of the bathroom:

– Oh the water is cold! Sorry, I must have fell asleep in the tub!

And this went on and on.

One day, as the bride worked in the kitchen garden, under the grumpy watch of her mother-in-law, she saw a horse prancing in a field. Fed up with the old woman close scrutiny and mute disapproval, the bride said as carefree as she could:

– Mother, see over there? This horse is so funny!

Yet her sly smile said: come on old hag, make a fool of yourself!

The older woman, always ready to contradict her, did not even throw a look at the field. She only scorned haughtily:

– And they say you have young eyes! Look again, this is no horse but a deer!

The bride barked:

– A deer? With no antlers nor spotty coat? A horse it is, look closer!

The mother-in-law let out an exasperated sigh:

– Many deers have not antlers girl! A deer it is!

And once again, the fight escalated quickly. By the time son and father came home from work, the furies were spitting at each others faces:

– Horse!

– Deer!

They suddenly turned to their men, pleading with fake tears:

– Husband, again your mother can’t utter a simple truth!

– Clearly the wench can’t admit when she’s wrong!

and finished in perfect unison:

– Tell her I’m right!

Father and son exchanged a dumbfounded look and answered, voice shivering with embarrassment:

– But we weren’t there, how could we know for sure?

All Hell broke lose.

– You never take a side!

– You useless bastard!

In a matter of moments, the two women were yelling at the top of their lungs, throwing nasty words at their men as much as at each other. What had started with a sly remark had now turned into full domestic warfare.

That night, not a soul in their neighborhood was able to sleep a wink. The bride and mother-in-law quarrels had reached a peak. Fed up with them, their neighbors decided it was more than time to act. And they called for a local judge to settle their argument, once and for all.

Before the hearing, the old woman quietly approached the magistrate:

– Please, tell everyone that what we saw was a deer. If you don’t, my daughter-in-law will become even more insufferable!

The judge only close in eyes for a second.

Moments later, the bride came as secretly and whispered to him:

– Please, tell everyone that what we saw was a horse. My mother-in-law will just turned even more tyrannical if you say she was right!

The judge only had a small gesture.

When the torn family arrived in the audience room, the two women were gloating, each sure they would win.

The judge took his seat and look at them thoughtfully. Finally, he said:

– I have heard your complaints. Now listen carefully: the beast you saw was no deer.

The mother in law looked like she had swallowed a lemon. But before the bride could exult, the judge went on:

– Yet it was no horse either.

The young woman turned sour as the magistrate rose. He throw a stern look at the two couple standing in front of him:

– No horses nor deers, but idiots! Yes ladies, only idiots would argue about such a foolish thing!

And as the father and his son smiled, he added:

– And you don’t look so proud, you are as big idiots as your wives for letting the feud spread! Go home and make peace, this case is closed!

The four of them hastily went back home under their neighbors’ laughs and jeers. And they say the bride and her mother-in-law, ashamed for good, never ever bickered again.

Notes:

In Japan, household has been a feminine realm for long. Today still, it’s not unusual for salarymen to be handed daily pocket money by their wives, old souvenir from a time where women had to manage their homes with an iron hand, tending to daily chores and important business alike.

If it was not the rule during ancient times (like in Heian period), by Edo era it had become customary for brides to settle in their husbands’ families. There, they were expected to take care of the whole household, and obey their father and mother in law, following a strict etiquette (like who could bath after who).

Many tales stress the abusive behaviours of some families. Some stories side with the poor bride, others with the unfortunate mother-in-law, but I have found few underlining the stupidity of those family feuds as clearly as today’s one.

Like with all societal subjects, stories has to be taken with a grain of salt. If wives were supposed to live with their husbands, many different situations existed, especially among the lower classes (freer than nobles and samurai). Divorce was a common thing, as was adoption of adults in a new family, and women could also return living with their parents without causing a fuss.

Knowing that, the stupid behaviour of today’s characters becomes truly obvious… and humorous!

[pictures sources: 1 / 2 / 3]

[notfro]

Media Bias - introduction

You know what I’m talking about.  Regardless of whether you agree with me or not, you know exactly what I’m talking about.

Fox News - Conservative

MSNBC - Liberal

CNN - Center/Liberal/MissingPlaneBiased

Most of you stop there.  Some of you go further and talk about the more obscure: HuffPo, Breitbart, NPR, Limbaugh, Olbermann, etc. Or you might go bigger: “THE Mainstream Media” (aka Liberal Media; i.e., CBS, ABC, NBC, CNN, MSNBC, Bloomberg, The New York Times, The Washington Post, Your Local Paper, Comedy Central, Oprah, Ellen, Celebrities, Hollywood, Europe, Society, et omnia).

But we all know what “media bias” means: a person or persons with a platform to comment on the news of the day, doing so by filtering/shaping/distorting information with (and because of) their previously held political beliefs.  Basically, we have people using the news as way to add to their “narrative” of what is happening today. A headline becomes a glued piece of paper to the vision board of their political world view; the news they report becomes evidence for their argument, instead of cold, hard facts that accurately describe what happened.

The first consequence is division; we each go to our little niches of the media and only hear about the news from people we already agree with. The second is lack of trust in the other faction(s); conservatives don’t trust liberals on TV, liberals don’t trust conservatives on TV, moderates don’t trust anyone on TV.  The third consequence is loss of truth in the debate over it: is climate change real?, is universal health care a good thing?, can we prevent gun crimes?, do poor people deserve to be poor?

The ultimate consequence is ugliness without direction: a political division that grinds government to a halt and segregates citizens by ideology.

But is the media to blame? Is it not just a reflection of who we are and what we’ve become? 

Do our political divisions speak to deeper conflicts of race, gender, and economic standing, education level, the unequal distribution of opportunity?

Yeah, I mean . . . probably, right?  We’re all just people who make mistakes. So I wouldn’t put it past our institutions to make mistakes also.

BUT STOP FOR A SECOND. This could be about big stuff.  This could be about little stuff.  So I need some focus. Direction, if you will. 

Do I talk about this from a purely outsider’s perspective? Like I don’t have strong political beliefs? Is that the best way to reach people? Withhold my views, so that I could reach those who disagree with me about points that they should agree with but otherwise wouldn’t if they simply knew what my opinions were? Would I just be a empty vessel of thought? Wouldn’t it limit what I could talk about? Couldn’t I just be honest and appeal to people’s sense of humor, or curiosity, or irony so that they will listen to me? Wouldn’t it be more dishonest to say I don’t care when I do and defer to those who choose to lay themselves bare, come of the closet with their political beliefs? Have you already guessed right or made up your mind about my political beliefs that my pretending to be unbiased is an uncomfortable ruse that no one wants? Are you seeing what I’m doing here?

I care about the truth. And I know, bold statement, right? But my point is that I don’t care when people on TV get political, even and especially if I disagree with them.  I savor the moments I get to listen to someone I disagree with because it makes me feel connected to the world. Exclusively hanging out with likeminded people, only talking to and living with people who are just like me SCARES ME.  I don’t wanna be a symptom of a broken, fractured society.  I can’t be. (I can be, but I won’t!)  I will fight for the opportunity to have an honest, open discussion because I know it’s the best way we all can fix this problem of division.  Allowing ourselves to respect and trust in those we disagree with can be the medicine we’re all looking for.

So, here’s the truth: I’m a liberal.  Call me a progressive, you don’t have to. I come from a family of conservatives.  I don’t consider myself partisan or a Democrat, but I do vote for them.  Bernie is my guy, but I’m not one of those guys who didn’t vote for Hillary. I will go so far as to say that I badly wanted Hillary Clinton to become President. I will go even further to say that Donald Trump will be dangerous for this country, and that he is the last person I would put in charge of making toast for Americans let alone making executive decisions for them.  But I do not root against him because he will be our President and that is more important.  I am open minded and curious, but I have passion and the courage of my convictions.  And I care about the truth. 

My goal is not to distort information or use it to merely support my argument. Which means I will talk about things that I disagree with, giving justice to the argument that is not my own.  But at the same time, I will always give my thoughts on everything I bring up.  

To establish that, my next post will be about why I shouldn’t have been honest and why journalists should shut up about their political beliefs when reporting the news.

To conclude, I wanna say something that I never hear other people say: take my words with a grain of salt.  Now, that is not to say “don’t trust me.” I would like you to trust me. But it is a way to establish a definition of TRUST, which I think is critical to my perspective on this entire issue.  Trust (at least when it concerns those in the news media) should not be about blindly believing in every word a person says; trust should not be faith. Trust should be about knowing a person to be honest but also capable of being dishonest at times and acknowledging your own responsibility of your reaction to their honesty or lack of it.  I know that’s oxymoronical and confusical, but just think about it. A single lie should not disqualify a person from being trustworthy because c’mon . . . we all have told a lie. And more importantly, believing in a lie is not just the lie-teller’s fault because believing in crazy shit . . . makes you crazy. To keep a very long story short, I have had many experiences in finding out about lies that I believed in, ones that even shaped my world view, but over time, I have found the only way to protect myself from that was to question my own beliefs.  “Maybe I’m wrong.” “Maybe I don’t really know what’s happening or what I’m talking about.”  Having doubts in your beliefs is not wrong, it’s insurance.  Sooooooo, be vigilant.

With a grain salt,

Bryan