#and now it seems so obvious. profound yet simple. the makings of a classic

[coquelicoq]

The Four Placid Seas are as wide as the years are long. A wild goose flies over a pond, leaving behind a voice in the wind. A man passes through this world, leaving behind a name.

-poem recurring throughout Ken Liu's Dandelion Dynasty series

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 28: 2x20 Return to Tomorrow

Today’s ep was one of my sleeper favorites, Return to Tomorrow. Imo this one should be considered a classic, but I never really hear it talked about.

So we jump right into the mystery.

I feel like Kirk is very suspicious today. And of course he immediately turns to Spock to ultimately answer the questions, after everyone else gives him partial explanation. “Spock, figure this out for me.”

GHOST ALIEN. This is what sci fi needs more of: ghost aliens.

“We have to go down there and explore. Our primary mission IS to make alien friends, after all.”

“Your probes have touched me, Mr. Spock.” No comment but this a verbatim line.

“Captain Kirk, you’re our only hope.”

I can’t believe Kirk is trying to deny Spock the opportunity to inspect unknowns.

Sargon is clearly insistent that he meets multiple different types of alien.

And it was effective! Okay, Sargon, now make them date.

Scotty is complaining about his controls being “preset by some kinda alien” while standing next to an alien.

Sargon invites a lady on the trip in order to create a love triangle.

Honestly, I love Sargon already. A glowing orb full of pure energy that talks.

Kirk doesn’t like them being called “children.”

Hmmm, are they implying that Vulcans are the true descendants of these aliens? I feel like that line was stuck in there to lessen the blasphemous impact of implying Adam and Eve were alien colonists, while still keeping the cool idea of alien colonists.

You can tell that Sargon definitely still thinks of himself as a god.

“That is still Jim’s body.” Hmmmm, Spock hasn’t broken out the “Jim” in a while.

So he put Jim in the glowing ball? Weird of him.

Aw, poor dead glowing balls.

How convenient that Sargon’s wife just happened to survive.

Spock seems reluctant to let go of Jim, there.

Kirk is trying to be profound about his experiences with the alien and his complete trust in him and McCoy’s like THAT’S JUST DUMB.

I love how McCoy and Scotty are just so skeptical about this. McCoy really thinks the aliens can’t be trusted and the risk is too great, which is fair, but Scotty’s like “...this is too weird even for me, sorry.”

“Quite simple. Happens every day.” So sarcastic, Bones!

McCoy thinks this is kinky. (Idek what this note was about lol but I stand by it.)

A starship engine the size of a walnut was enough to convince Scotty!

I feel like Kirk is just the utter epitome of the ideal man of the future. He believes in progress, but also peace, in exploration, in adventure, in the best of man and the best of aliens. “But man did fly....would you rather man had not gone to the moon... Risk is our business!”

And at that time, man hadn’t even gone to the moon yet. He was really asking people that question: do you want to explore space or not?

Henoch is the bad boy of the aliens.

He wakes up and he is immediately horny lol. And Christine’s like “yes, finally a hot alien who’s into me.”

Meanwhile, with the other two aliens, we see yet another convoluted way of giving Kirk a love interest (=showing the male lead kissing pretty ladies) without actually ever giving him a love interest. “Sargon, you sure did pick a hottie to inhabit.”

This dialogue man: “I’m surprised the Vulcans haven’t conquered you.” / “The Vulcans worship peace above all.” McCoy getting to stand up for Vulcans. He’s always so quick to do that when Spock can’t hear him.

I also love Henoch trying to back track like “Yes, yes, we value peace too, I definitely didn’t immediately start talking about conquering, conquering’s not on my mind, I’ve very peaceful.”

“Spock” smiling is such a weird sight.

Henoch is awesome. I love him. Great villain 10/10. I feel like he’s an excellent example of why you SHOULD kill your enemies, actually.

I agree with McCoy, those three flickering balls ARE foreboding.

Henoch isn’t wrong about the android bodies. They’re a very sensible, practical, and humane solution. But they aren’t any fun, and they aren’t really going to replace what the aliens have been missing.

This plot is ALSO an excuse to have Spock be flirty, for all the audience members who’d been lusting after him for almost two years.

He’s so delightfully passive aggressive. “Oh, didn’t you know? This is your body, Thalassa.”

You can tell ALL these aliens are sneaky bastards at heart. Probably why they destroyed themselves.

Sargon? In my Enterprise? It’s more likely than you think.

“Jim, the receptacles!”

“You’ve killed...your best friend.” McCoy calling Spock Jim’s best friend always gets to me because, first, they really were perceived and understood to be best friends and that’s so lovely, but also, I don’t really think of them that way. I think of Spock as more his soulmate and McCoy as his best friend.

And Jim’s like “well,, that is unfortunate...now time to kill his body!”

I’ll say that I assume Kirk really did think Spock was dead, for the same reason that McCoy thought he was killing Spock’s body--to fool Henoch--but it’s possible he saw Spock transfer to Christine and thus never really thought he’d lost him. But he would have to lie to McCoy again, to fool Henoch.

“My friend, Spock.” Say it again.

This was like the best experience of Christine’s life. She got to share a body with Spock. I’m pretty sure that counts as sex in some cultures.

Well, that was awkward. The aliens suddenly departed and Kirk and Mulhall were still kissing. I feel like Spock was the most awkward about it.

And Christine loves the romance of it. And it is romantic!! But she looks to Spock and he’s like “yeah, whatever, I’m not jealous shut up.”

The only slight fault I see in this ep is there is a LITTLE bit of “well the aliens are just really powerful, so they can solve the plot holes with their Alien Powers” going on, but honestly... these eps aren’t that long for the ideas they put in them, plus, what’s the point of aliens if they can’t just do whatever you say they can do. Fairly small complaint.

But otherwise it had everything: a cool sci fi concept; classic alien tropes like Aliens as Warnings, Aliens Too Smart for Their Bodies, and Very Powerful Aliens; robots; Kirk being awesome and idealistic; the triumvirate; Christine having a good day; a lady scientist; the return of the colorful backgrounds; interesting and unusual ideas like that the aliens were waiting for their own descendants to come back and rescue them (and the Enterprise may or may not be those descendants); a romance; a villain; legitimately interesting relationships among the aliens and characterization of the aliens; and a fun story that moved along at a good pace.

Also I really, really feel like these are among the best characterized aliens/alien society in the whole show. Like maybe I’m just getting too excited about them but I really felt like they were real: they had these great powers but they weren’t just there to show humans how puny they were--they had faults but they weren’t villains--they had morals (Sargon in particular) but their good intentions weren’t good enough. You could see why they destroyed themselves but also why they might have been worth saving--and not just for what they could give to or do for humankind, but as intelligent, living beings in their own right. Even Sargon, who was so powerful he was a deus ex machina in and of himself, and really was genuinely moral and wanted to do what was right, and was never even tempted by the body, still had a certain obvious manipulative streak, and was quite paternalistic. His plan probably never would have worked. But it’s understandable that he wanted to try.

Anyway, as far as sci fi stories go in particular, this ep is one of my faves and it DOES hold up.

Next is Patterns of Force or The Enterprise Defeats Fascism.

[markwhitwell]

Mark Whitwell on How to Survive a Pandemic | A Soft Message for a Hard Time

Mark Whitwell shares his thoughts on dealing with such tough times.

For many friends around the world, ongoing lockdowns are causing chronic stress. In the U.K., psychologists are now reporting what they call ‘Lockdown Burnout,’ with more and more people suffering from overload and uncertainty. In the context of real suffering, it is heartening to see teachers reaching out to communicate the healing power of Yoga in their communities.

I was talking recently with a friend in the U.K. and she described how teaching Yoga was no longer a hobby or a job for her, but a matter of survival for her students. “Everybody is under so much pressure,” she said. “People are desperate for the connection, nourishment and the fortitude that Yoga gives. We meet on Zoom twice a week, practice together and then share in each other’s company. I have no choice but to be there for my students.”

Our conversation got me thinking about care and the function of the Yoga Teacher within the broader ecology of nurturing that holds society together. In the Vedic lineage of my teachers, Tirumalai Krishnamacharya (1888–1989) and his son TKV Desikachar (1938–2016), the Yoga teacher was considered essential to the health and wellbeing of the community.

Principally, the yoga acharya was there to help any person (no matter who they are) to merge with their body and their breath. Out of this daily merge, facilitated through a tailored asana and pranayama practice, come many gifts that are physically, emotionally and spiritually healing. Practice of intimate connection to body and breath is the Yogic means to enjoying intimacy with world beyond ourselves: our experience, our relationships and Life as a whole. There is no substitute for the regenerative power of breath.

“My father taught us more ways to approach a person in yoga than I have found anywhere else,” Desikachar writes. “Who should teach whom? When? And what? These are the important questions to be asked in beginning a practice. But underlying all these is the most important question of all: How can the power of the breath be utilized? That is something quite exceptional; nowhere else is the breath given so much importance, and our work has proven that the breath is a wonder drug, if I may use this term.”

At the level of physical health, the practice of deep, whole-body breathing coupled with body movement, cleanses and strengthens the respiratory system. It also improves all other vital functions of the body: the immune system, the health of the mind and digestion. On every exhalation, the lungs are emptied completely. On every inhalation we receive the refreshment of the breath into an expanded lung cavity. We empty what is full and fill what is empty. Or, we release what is old to receive what is new. There seems to be no part of the system that the breath does not influence.

The great gift of Yoga however it not just health for its own sake, but how it positively affects our relationships. In particular, the breath powerfully supports our ability to respond to difficulty and stress in our relationships in a caring way. Our daily delight of merging with our body and breath masterfully facilitates our ability to be intimate with our loved ones: to really listen, support and receive them no matter what is going down.

Deep in the traditions, it is understood that it is not what we experience but how we react to it that determines its effects. If we react to our experience and contract, then blockages or rubbish forms in the nadis and the muladara chakra. The prana can no longer flow unhindered through the system as it wants to. If, on the other hand, we merge with our experience, even it is disturbing or difficult, then prana continues to flow.

We all have difficulties in life and we all react from time to time. There is no idealism here, especially during a pandemic. When we notice reaction we can apply intelligent means to release the blockages that may have formed. In fact, “Yoga is 99% waste removal” Desikachar once said, and by removing everything that is not necessary, the natural energy of life, pranashakti, soon flows again. Ultimately, the goal of Yoga is to not react in the first place.

If you are put off by Sanskrit terms, the simple language of biology is suffice to communicate what our ancestors were talking about. The psychologist Maurice Hamington, for example, describes how our natural physiology is “built for care” — the soft feeling frontal line from crown, face, chest, belly and genitals, to our wonderful sense organs and our ability to focus our attention — are there to support us to receive. On the other hand, the strong base of the body — legs, pelvis, back and spine — support our capacity to give and take action in our relationships.

Yoga is nothing more or less than our participation in the relational intelligence of the whole body. We move and breathe in the polarity of strength (linked to the exhale and described in the traditions as the masculine principle of life) and receptivity (linked to the inhale and the feminine principle). All bodies, no matter what gender or sex, contain the union of strength and receptivity. To live out that union is enough to base life upon.

The beautiful insight of Hamington is that caring for one another implies the whole body. This becomes obvious when we think of what happens physically when we close ourselves off from other people and from life: our shoulders hunch, our chest muscles harden, there is tension in the face; we generally fold in as a body. Conversely, when we feel free and easy in our relationships our bodies reflect this with a physical openness and softness: our spine straightens, our chest opens and softens, our gaze relaxes, we are both more upright (strong) and softer (receptive) as we give and receive in the natural polarity of life.

Although many try, this is why we cannot force ourselves to be more caring or sensitive to another with mental ideals alone. More often than not, cultural ideals of love and kindness without the practical means to let these innate qualities flourish in the body-mind causes stress and disappointment. There is a gap between how we are and how we want to be. What we can do is our Yoga practice. In the traditions, it is known as sadhana: that which you can do. My teacher would say, just do your asana and just see what happens.

We are not getting out of life or away from others here. “Yoga is relationship,” Krishnamacharya would say, a statement that holds weight given his profound understanding of the religious cultures of India. It was the profound view of my teachers that relationship itself was the principle healing for the human life and the heart of a spiritual life. When I was speaking with my friend about her classes, she confirmed Krishnamacharya’s view and expressed how simply being with each other, within the bhavana (mood) of friendship and respect, generated its own nurturing influence.

“People often arrived with a feeling of heaviness or depression,” she told me. “But as we sit together and as they feel seen, listened to and loved, then something happens: a lightness enters where perhaps previously there was darkness or restriction.”

In my early life, I was able to observe Desikachar embodying this principle during private lessons. He would do many things: take the pulse of his student, enquire about the family, check on the diet, teach various asana, all manner of intelligent means. Yet, what made these tools truly relevant and alive for the student, was the context of friendship and care that they were communicated within. Students reported that it was the relationship itself that they drew the most sustenance and motivation from.

“This personal connection cannot be replaced by books or videos,” Desikachar said. “There must be a relationship, a real relationship, one that is based on trust (sraddha).”

I want to thank everybody out there who is teaching their hearts out on Zoom and in-person around the world, making sure that the mother’s milk of Yoga gets to all people no matter their race, religion or financial means. We pick up where Desikachar and his father left off and continue their mission of giving the whole world a Yoga education.

It is everybody’s birthright to breathe well and to be intimate with their Life. Sahana Vavatu. May we get the job done together.

If you feel curious or moved to learn more about home practice you can join me and my friends at the heart of yoga online studio for live classes and conversations from the heart.

Why is intimacy and relationship so neglected in the spiritual traditions of the world? Last year we put out God and Sex: Now We Get Both (2019) to examine this question.

Originally published here.

About:

Mark Whitwell is interested in developing an authentic yoga practice for the individual, based on the teachings of T. Krishnamacharya (1888-1989). He is the author of four books including ‘Yoga of Heart’ and ‘The Promise’ and was the editor and contributor to TKV Desikachar’s classic yoga text ‘The Heart of Yoga.’ Mark Whitwell continues to facilitate teacher trainings and workshops in the heart of yoga all over the globe.

[davidmann95]

Velvet's battle is a great choice, though I'll always have a special place in my heart for the fight against the Grimm Deathstalker and the Nevermore in Episode 8. That said, what do you think of the individual members of Team RWBY?

I decided to wait on this until I caught up on the series thus far, which I just finished doing the night before last in pretty much the only time in my life I’ve ever really properly binged anything other than comics, and…wow. I knew RWBY was a thing just as a matter of course from being on this site and Youtube, and from watching Death Battle, so I picked up some major beats by osmosis. But my main impression was that it was a charming pseudo-anime online thing of decent quality that unsurprisingly got heavier as it went along as such things tend to do, with extremely rad fights and music along the way; figured it’d be more than serviceable to watch while I was on the treadmill as a disposable distraction from the agony of propelling my wheezing, sweating, loathsome meat-scaffolding forward.

I did *not* expect it to eventually end up after growing pains a - while far from flawless - intensely engrossing story of all-consuming personal and generational pain and people who choose to love and do the right thing in defiance of that trauma and loss and hopelessness, where also occasionally a corgi gets fastball specialed at mechas. Though once it became clear that’s what it is, it pretty clearly sat at an intersection of a hell of a lot of my favorite things, especially when characters copped in-universe in both the main series and spinoff material that this is basically a superhero thing. My initial impressions re: the fights and music were on-point though.

I actually have quite a few thoughts on pretty much all the protagonists of note at this point (other than I suppose Oscar and Maria. Like them both though, and I do hope that nice boy’s brain somehow doesn’t dissolve into the blender of Ozpin’s subconscious), but I’ll just stick with the core four here as requested for now unless someone asks otherwise. Weiss is the simplest to get at the core of, I’d say: her arc is learning that fuck rich people, actually. She’s a seriously difficult character to get onboard for at first - especially if you’re watching those first episodes for the first time in 2019 - as the mean unconsciously racist rich girl who learns to be less mean and racist but still kinda mean. But after you’ve extensively seen the hideously toxic environment she grew up in, and fully understand her efforts to grow past the empty values it inculcated in her in favor of everything she was raised to think of herself as above, she becomes a hell of a figure to root for. Assuming RWBY is gonna go, say, a respectable 10 seasons given it was just renewed through 9, I could easily see the upcoming 7th be the climax of her arc with her return to Atlas and likely further reckoning with the consequences of her families’ actions beyond how they’ve hurt her personally.

Yang is also, in a certain abstract narrative sense, simple, in that she’s built around the very oldest trick in the book for characters whose main deal is ‘can punch better than absolutely anyone’: give them problems that cannot be solved by punching. Except in her case it’s less a material “well, this person is invulnerable to punching!” or “well, actually this other person can punch most best of all” issue blocking her path than “punching cannot solve depression, abandonment issues, questioning whether what she considers her purpose in life is one she’s truly pursuing for noble reasons or if she even has the resolve for it anymore after what’s happened to her, or PTSD”. Yet, while it may not be the kind that manifests in the form of punching people with a smirk and a bad pun anymore (much as she still definitely does that all the time) what ultimately drives her and defines her is still her strength: to move forward, to forgive, to let go, to do the right thing in spite of the risks. Which could easily come off as some unpleasant “you just have to get over your moping!” dismissal - there’s a bit with her dad that means it saddles riiiiight up to the edge of that - but there’s a weight to how her traumas remain a consistent factor in her life and have shaped her outlook even as her circumstances and day-to-day disposition improve that makes it feel thematically like it’s coming from a place of acknowledgment and endurance rather than denial, even if it’s not handled perfectly. Great to see her apparently recapturing some more of her joie de vivre based on the trailer for Volume 7, and how that’ll interact with how she’s grown should be interesting.

Blake is…tough, because you fundamentally cannot talk about Blake without getting into the Faunus, which is maybe the biggest aspect of RWBY that leaves it in the realm of Problematic Fave. It really, really wants to have something substantial to say about the proper response to racism, and every now and then it pumps out a “capitalism greases the wheels of systemic oppression and vice-versa” or “it’s perfectly reasonable for the oppressed to seek to fight back directly against their oppressors, and even the pacifist in the room can recognize that���s a defensible approach that deserves its place”. But then Abusive Boyfriend Magneto literally murders nuance in Vol. 5 episode 2, and it descends into some borderline “but what about black on black violence” respectability politics shit. It’s the classic X-Men setup - this persecuted race of often superpowered folks torn between pacifism and efforts to prove themselves to their oppressors, and those who think they should rise up and annihilate the flatscans - with most of the same pitfalls, but also we haven’t had over 50 years to get used to that just being how it works here, and it doesn’t have the excuse of having to expand as best it can on a metaphor that was originally devised before most of the people currently handling it were born. All of which would be rough enough, but given I watched this right as Jonathan Hickman’s been completely refining the entire X-Men paradigm outside that outdated binary, it especially grates. I’d love to be directed to any solid counterarguments - I’ve heard it might actually be an analogue, and a well-done one, for The Troubles, which I am one million percent unqualified to evaluate - especially since apparently one of the writers grew up in a mixed-race household, and at the end of the day I’m a white guy who may well be talking completely out his ass. But it sure comes off at a glance as some well-intentioned dudes stumbling through stuff that’s not their business, and that’s inextricable from Blake’s character when so much of her story is her navigating through that metaphor. Hopefully with new writers coming onboard this is something that can be navigated more insightfully in the future.

On a purely personal basis however, Blake’s a standout in terms of relatability when her story comes down to a pretty universal shared horror: how to climb back from having fucked up. She tried really hard to do the right thing, was taken advantage of and led into doing things she eventually realized were wrong, was so shaken that she couldn’t tell who to trust, and then the situation spiraled out of control on every possible front just as things finally seemed to be stabilizing. The way a single mistake - enabled and exacerbated by an abusive past relationship in her case - expands into a self-loathing far beyond the bounds of anything she could possibly be responsible for is brutal and completely understandable, and seeing her start put her self-esteem back together with the help of those closest to her and the power of her original convictions is arguably the single strongest, most clearly conveyed individual character arc in the series. I’m very curious where it goes from here: Adam’s finish represents a logical climax and the setup for a happily-ever-after with Yang (or Sun if they end up going that way after all) for her to coast through the remainder of the series on, but the way emotional consequences have played out in the series thus far I doubt her demons are going to be put to bed that simply.

Finally there’s Ruby, and I am contractually obligated to note up front: she is clearly not a Superman analogue. There is precisely zero percent chance that she was conceived as such or was ever deliberately executed in such a way that mirroring him was kept in mind. Though she IS a super-powered idealist raised in the middle of nowhere with a significant deceased parent who wears a red cape, flies, gives inspiring rallying speeches, has black-ish but primary color-tinted hair, and has a mysterious birthright that involves being able to shoot lasers from her eyes, plus she has a dog who also essentially has superpowers, plus she tells someone they’re stronger than they think they are, plus Yang basically quotes a bit from Kingdom Come regarding her in Rest and Resolutions. But it probably goes a ways in explaining why she works so well for me.

There’s more to it than that of course, though it does bring up the closest way in which she relates to the superhero paradigm: she doesn’t go through an arc in quite the same way as the others, instead being an already solidly-defined character who is simply illustrated by how she interacts with the people and situations around her. She learns and grows and matures, but her most basic motivations and goals and outlook haven’t really changed since the day she enrolled at Beacon. She’s a good, caring person, a leader archetype who still has more than enough personality to spare to keep from falling into the genericism that can often plague that role. A big part of the key I believe is that she’s the audience surrogate in a profound way beyond the obvious touchstones of her frequent awkwardness and self-doubt: the reason she does this is because she was inspired by stories. She’s a fan, ultimately, but one who learned all the right lessons, whether recognizing from day one the way reality falls short of the tales she was raised on but still believing in the ideals they represent, or openly holding up Qrow as a role model while being willing to call him on his shit when push comes to shove. It’s a romantic, hopeful perspective that stands out sharply from even our other heroes even as it mirrors their struggles, but as of yet there’s little to suggest it comes from a place of naivete so much as a belief that it’s the only way to bear the pain of the world and continue to believe in it. Bit by bit it’s clear she’s heading for a breaking point, but all signs point to that being a matter of her ability to withstand what she’s been through, rather than any doubt that it’s necessary, and should that time come she’s inspired plenty who’ll be able to help her back onto her feet the way she has for so many others. So while I understand her speeches apparently grate on some, as far as I’m concerned keep them coming, they’re the beating caring heart of the series and often the sole respite in the eye in the storm.

[deejadabbles]

Not Quite Unrequited Yami x Reader Chapter 2

Two: Closer Still

One //// Two //// Three //// Four //// Five //// Six //// Seven

Summary: Yami would do whatever it took to keep his friendship with you intact, even if it meant putting on a smile and pushing his love for you aside. You knew Yugi loved Anzu, but getting over your feelings for him was hard, especially when time made feelings for another best friend arise.

AU where Duel Monsters is just a (vastly popular) card game and Yami and Yugi are twins. This is a fic I’ve already posted this on my AO3 but I wanted to spread the Yu-gi-oh x Reader love here on tumblr.

A.N: I can't help but to think that Yami would be on the student council in a "regular" modern AU, maybe it's the leader/Pharaoh in him haha. Anyway this chapter doesn't have anything too amazing in it, just kind of a filler chapter to show your growth with both Yugi and Yami, hope you guys still like it though~

Months passed and eventually the pain inside you started to fade. The ache in your chest was duller now when you saw Yugi glancing longingly at Anzu’s turned back. The urge to reach out for him on the walks to school lessened with every day. Whenever Yugi was low on confidence you could give a simple, platonic insistence that he was more amazing than he knew alongside Jonouchi. Things were getting better.

Yami was different however, not in a major way, not even something permanent, but you just knew something had been bothering him recently. Whenever you asked him if something was wrong he would always just smile and say he was fine. You knew he was lying. You even started to become horribly paranoid that it was because of you, that coming to him about Yugi had crossed a line. It bothered you, this sudden and subtle change in the friend you held so dear.

Dreading the notion that it was your doing, you pulled him aside one day after class and asked him simple and clean if you had been in the wrong to go to him that day; already pleading a heartfelt apology if that was the case. His answer had been a hurried, emphatic no. So emphatic that it had startled you a little, so unlike it of Yami to borderline panic with words, even for a moment. He had recovered himself quickly with a deep breath, before repeating, more calm this time around, that you had not crossed a line. He had looked you in the eyes with that intense, yet almost serene, contained passion of his when he insisted that you could always come to him, no matter what. A profound relief had flooded you in an instant.

It was almost funny how, even before that particular conversation, the process of getting over Yugi had brought you closer to Yami. You started going out of your way to talk to just him more often, you sent him messages more frequently, you even found yourself thinking about him more. Yami had always been your friend in his own right, never just an extension of your closeness to Yugi, but Yami’s guarded nature had always made it hard to get close to him. Perhaps it was his slightly off behavior lately, maybe you had an innate need to make an even more personal effort with him in order to figure out or help him through whatever was bothering him, even if he didn’t tell you what it was. Yami did not seem to mind your increase in attention; he reciprocated and held your conversations, answered your messages and even started sending his own to you more frequently.

Actually, you started to wonder if this increase in your one-on-one time with Yami had been subconsciously influenced by Yugi’s sudden tendency to mention him when you two were alone. You had pulled away from Yugi just a bit as you got over your wounded heart, but you two still talked often, as it had always been between you two. You hadn’t even noticed this odd new reoccurrence at first. After all, it was not unlike Yugi to talk about Yami, the two were closer than close, but every time the older brother wasn’t around Yugi seemed to work him into the conversation somehow. You finally actively took notice to this when it hit you that he only spoke like this to you. He didn’t bring up Yami at every opportunity when talking to Jonouchi or Honda or Anzu, just you.

One of these conversations came about when you, Anzu, Jonouchi and of course, Yugi, were sitting together during your free period to play a hand of Duel Monsters. Yami was absent due to student council business, being the class rep and having more responsibilities to attend to.

While playing a Duel with Jonouchi, Yugi had once again brought the conversation around to his brother. “I keep telling him he needs to take on less when it comes to the student council, I’m worried that he’s been taking on more than he can handle.”

You almost failed to notice him glance at you from the corner of his eye, as if to gauge your reaction, almost. Never actually minding his turns in conversation you replied with a thoughtful sigh. “I can see why you’d worry, he can be a bit reluctant to rely on others even when he should. But it’s Yami we’re talking about, he could have the whole world on his shoulders and just say it was nothing so long as we were with him- all while giving us a thumbs up and a wink. I’m sure he’ll be okay, Yugi, if it starts to be too much, we’ll notice.”

The boy nodded his head, simultaneously claiming a small victory as his card sent one of Jonouchi’s monsters to the graveyard. He took on a bit of a smile as he added “You’re right. I’ve also been trying to hint that maybe he needs to make sure he puts aside time for other things besides friends and school.”

“Like what, Yug?” Jonouchi asked as he drew two cards to his hand.

“Well, you know, maybe to date?”

You and Jonouchi shared a bit of a questioning look, both of you thinking this was a bit out of the blue, at least in your eyes. Yami was always encouraging when it came to the romantic endeavors of his friends. Giving a thumbs up as Honda mustered up the courage to say hi to his blue-haired crush after class. Giving his blunt but somehow still heartfelt opinion on the obvious “more than just rivalry” tension between Jonouchi and a certain rich boy in their class. But he himself pursuing anything along those lines? He had never expressed any interest in dating or romance, at least not in your presence.

“Has he said anything about wanting to date?” you asked.

Yugi shrugged “A bit. I mean, he’s not the type to be interested in or even flirt with just anyone, but I don’t know, with someone special I think he’d want to.”

“Hm, I could see it” Anzu chimed it, chin resting on her hand as she looked at Yugi with a thoughtful expression. “Now the real question is: what type of person do you think he’d be interested in?”

“Well, they’d have to be someone kind and loyal. He can get a bit shy with himself when it comes to something as personal as romance would be, they’d have to be patient with him at first so probably someone he already trusts, someone he’s already friends with. I think someone funny or a bit quirky would be perfect for him, you know, kinda balance him out.”

Anzu gave a little giggle and glanced in your direction “You know, the more you talk the more it sounds like you’re describing a certain someone right here” she ended with a wink wholly aimed at you.

Heat flooded up from your chest as both Yugi and Jonouchi turned considering gazes on you. “Oh- oh come on! Yami would never go for someone like me.”

“Hey don’t sell yourself short!” Yugi was quick to counter “You’re amazing, you two could make a great couple!”

“He isn’t wrong, I could totally see it” Anzu agreed.

You crossed your arms and prayed the blush on your face wasn’t as bright as it felt- wait, you were blushing? Why were you blushing!? With an eye roll that would- with any hope, shake off their comments you replied “So what’s up with this sudden talk about Yami dating anyway, Yugi? Not like this is a topic we’ve talked about before.”

Suddenly looking more than a little flustered, like a kid who had been caught in a questionable shenanigan, he scratched the back of his head. “Oh! Well- you know…You just start thinking about these things sometimes- I mean… uh…”

Anzu reached out and laid a hand over Yugi’s, looking at him with a fond smile that calmed him instantly. “I think Yugi’s just got romance on the brain, because…well…We’ve been trying to find the best way to bring it up, but I think we should just come out and tell you guys that, Yugi and I are dating now!”

You and Jonouchi gave a variety of shocked reactions, the blonde opting for garbled shouts of “wha- how- when did- WHAT?!” and you going with a more classic gasp and hand-over-mouth combo.

Yugi gave a small shrug “It happened over the weekend, we just told each other how we really felt and…” he didn’t need to finish the explanation with words as he turned his amethyst irises on Anzu with nothing but pure love written in them. “Sorry we didn’t tell you guys right away, it’s just kinda hard to bring up with mutual friends, you know?”

“Nah, don’t sweat it, I’m just glad you told us now” Jonouchi assured, “It’s about time too, I was starting to worry you two would never get your heads straight and get together.”

They shared a laugh at the thought that he had been waiting for his friends to just ‘shut and kiss already’ for a while now. Then Yugi and Anzu looked to you, as you had yet to make an actual comment.

You gave them a smile, one that reached your eyes and came from the heart “Agreed, it’s about time you both admitted it! But honestly, I’m really happy for you two. You’re perfect for each other.”

The best part about that statement was not only that you wholeheartedly meant it, but that it finally did not hurt to think about a future with them together.

After class Yugi and Anzu announced that they were heading off together, their wording making you and Jou realize that they wanted some alone time. “It’s gonna be like this more and more now, isn’t it?” Jou had whispered to you as the new couple walked a few steps ahead on the way to the front gates. And yes, you suspected that this would be a common occurrence as time went by, but that was okay, you knew they would never shove their friends out completely.

“Oh, where did Yami run off to? He left before the bell even rang” you asked as you noticed he had yet to return, and would have to walk home alone at this rate.

“More student council business. He said it wouldn’t take him long but still didn’t want to keep us waiting” Yugi answered.

You paused in your steps, just short of halfway down the stairs to the ground floor. “Actually, I think I’ll go ahead and wait for him anyway. He’s had to walk home alone a lot lately and I don’t have any plans today.”

Jonouchi just gave a shrug to your words, but you did not miss the way Yugi and Anzu looked at each other hopefully before Anzu gave you yet another wink “Okie dokie! Make sure to text him that you’re waiting, k?”

And just like that, they were off, leaving you to sigh in exasperation before turning on your heel and walking back up the stairs. You found the student council room’s door agar when you came to it, and a peek inside said that they were just filing things away post meeting and that Yami was not there.

You gave a gentle knock on the open door, “Excuse me, do any of you know where Yami Motou is?”

“He said he had other business to attend to” the boy at the filing cabinet gave a dreamy sigh “He’s so responsible and cool, always going above and beyond.”

Ah, so the council assistant was one of Yami’s many ‘admirers’. You stifled a giggle as another assistant walked up to the boy, shaking her head and slamming the drawer in front of him shut.

“Quit daydreaming about your senpai and get back to work” she snapped.

Hiro, a particularly popular third-year boy who was his own class’s president, gave you a warm smile, ignoring his companions “To be more specific, I think he said he was going to the library.”

“Thank you!” you offered a quick bow before heading in that direction.

You passed no students in the hallway and it wasn’t a surprise when you got to the library and found it empty save for the familiar figure in the biology section, sliding books back into their rightful places. He caught you out of the corner of his eye and looked pretty surprised -though not unhappy- to see you.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

“Figured I’d wait for you so you wouldn’t have to walk home alone again” oddly enough, you thought you saw a hint of pink cross his cheeks when you ended on a warm smile.

“I’ll be here awhile, I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Giving him a shrug you closed the distance between you two and took half of the tall stack of books in his hands. “Then I’ll help so you get done quicker!”

He answered the kind gesture with a smile of his own. That was another noteworthy observation; lately he had been giving you actual smiles more and more, not just cocky and playful smirks, but genuine sweet smiles.

With that smile he gave a little bow of his head, “You’re too sweet, thank you.”

“So,” you began, working on your stack of books, “why are you here anyway? Didn’t think the library was on your list of school activities.”

“You know Miho from our class?”

“Honda’s crush from back in first year? Yes.”

“She’s the assistant librarian but she wasn’t feeling well today, so I offered to finish her duties so she could go home early.”

You let out an appreciative hum “Yami, I demand you retract your previous statement. You are the only one here who is too sweet!”

That deep, practically trademarked chuckle rose from his throat “How about we agree that both of us are worthy of the title?”

“I suppose I can consent to that” you had to walk past him to put away your next book, so as you said your last word you gave him a playful shoulder bump.

His typical smirk was back in place as he looked at you over his shoulder, watching you disappear with a wide grin behind the bookshelves. With you out of sight he finally let out the shaky breath he had been holding. Your grin, your laughter, your words, all of it sent him spinning. Pressing his forehead to the bookshelf he tried to calm his racing heart, though hearing you hum to yourself just kept the cute image of your smile fresh in his mind.

If you only knew what you did to him.

[awesomelogicflip]

Family Matters Chapter 3

Izumi Midoriya. I never got to know my Great-Grandma like my mother did yet her effect on my life was profound. I can honestly say that without her my mother and I would never have progressed as far as we did. Nor would we have known the cost of what we’d been given. It might be nice to eat anything you want and be able to stay trim with just a bit of effort, the heightened strength, the sharp senses, and all. Be that as it may, the bill for all of it had yet to come due and during that last hazy summer weekend while I was playing in the woods, my mother, as she told me years later, was having her world turned on its head. She come to Great-Grandma’s house to relax and yet got the worse shock of her life, one that was probably echoed by me when I had our family history explained to me.

I will not detail what I, and by association, my mother was told about ourselves in this book as that would counteract the point of this book. After all, I’m sure another scientist can explain the intricate nature of genetics and DNA in ways I cannot.

-Izuku Midoriya, My Mother The Warrior

Chapter 3

“So we’re going to Grandma’s house?”

Izuku asked the question through the slightly open backseat door as Inko put the second and last suitcase in the trunk. She was surprised with how light it felt or maybe she hadn’t packed as much as she thought. With a push, she closed it and went to the door, shaking her head but planting a kiss on her son’s forehead. “No, we’re going to your great-grandmother’s house.” She corrected gently. “She’s my grandmother. Now legs in and check your tail.”

And how odd is that to say? The tails weren’t inconvenient per say, hardly noticeable, at first. Yet, they were a detail that couldn’t be ignored since they’d basically had an extra limb. Being right at the base of the spine, underwear and pants required modification or else there was a constant sensation of pressure there. She’d done what she could in the time she had, cutting holes for them…but it was basic and haphazard work. The hole in Izuku’s shorts and her sundress weren’t cleanly done. Izuku’s shirt hid the hole and for her part, she just wore a long jacket for hers. She’d need to get a professional tailor eventually. One who worked with Quirks that forced wardrobe changes.

Izuku complied, sitting in the car properly and holding his tail close to his chest so that she could shut the door. As she walked around to get to the drivers side, she couldn’t help but feel baffled and a little awed, not only with how the week had gone but just...everything.

Everything that had happened, she’d spent most of the night telling her grandmother about it. The gasps of horror and the shocked silence came at the points where she’d expected them to. It was once she’d exhausted every last detail of what her week had been like that she’d asked if they could spend the weekend at her house. Her grandmother eagerly said yes, which lifted a weight from Inko that she hadn’t noticed until after she’d hung up the phone and went to bed.

In all honesty, the discussion to make the trip to her grandmother’s home in the country was about the easiest one she’d ever had made. Musutafu, the city she had been living in for years and had planned to raise a family in, suddenly seemed too loud, too big, and far too stifling.

She’d never noticed her neighbors before but when she’d gone to sleep, it had been an effort not to notice the sheer presence of bodies around her. Arriving home yesterday had been like walking into a closet, shutting the door, and then noticing only then that people were crowding around outside.

Yet among one more another unusual in a week of extraordinary ones, the fact she’d decided to drive to her grandmother’s house was probably the one that was the most unexpected.

They weren’t even that far from the train station and, in particular the most direct rail line to get there, five blocks if that. They could make it if the changed her mind right now.

She quickly shrugged off the unpleasant thought like an itchy coat. Daunting as a four hour drive was, though good sense told her the train ride would be faster on top of convenient, the idea of doing so was enough to make her inwardly cringe.

Whatever cabin fever had followed her out of the hospital yesterday clung to the back of her mind like a leech and refused to leave. It had been what had woken her up at 4:30 this morning and like an irritated nerve, throbbed at her to get up and do something.

So she took the time to pack for the visit, thinking that it would burn some energy.

It didn’t.

So she cleaned the apartment. There was no need to leave a mess to come back to later. It was actually the vacuuming at the end of her cleaning spree that had woken Izuku up. So once she’d wrapped up her work, she helped him pack everything he would need.

Still, it didn’t go away.

By the time they had left, she’d been seriously considering if running up and down the stairwell of the entire apartment building. At that point, it was obvious to her that she wouldn’t get through the trip by rail with her sanity intact. Just the bus ride to the garage where the car was stored had been enough to grind her teeth and the wait for the car had been even worse. Her husband had it in the biggest, most up-to-date garages in the city which was completely automated save for a single attendant in a booth near where the cars exited. The employee, a woman about her age with an exceedingly professional bearing, requested her name.

When she’d given it, the woman typed it into a computer and, smiling, confirmed that she was on the list and that the vehicle would be down soon.

The rapidity of the whole thing caught Inko so flatfooted that she had asked, in retrospect, some exceedingly simple questions since she barely knew anything about the place. The employee if they had been nonplussed or annoyed by them, they didn’t show it. In fact, she seemed all too eager to answer her, an attitude explained as Inko listened. Essentially, this garage used records given by the vehicle’s owner in order to know who was and wasn’t allowed to remove whichever vehicle they had stored here. And the car itself had the most meticulous record keeping Inko had ever heard of.

Nothing went unregistered or un-updated: times the vehicle was driven.

Who drove it.

How long the car wasn’t present in the garage counted to the second.

The current millage, before and after its return.

The psi in each tire.

The level of gasoline in the tank. Again, before and after it’s return.

And more that Inko was sure she was forgetting even now as she walked to the driver’s side door, being careful not to bush against the polished to a mirror-shine paint. She knew, just knew, she’d looked like a fish by the time the employee had stopped speaking. Mouth opening and closing, she had to ask what kind of garage was this to have such a level of meticulous care. She’d only been struck silent at the answer.

This garage was used by the rich and famous and everything from classics worth millions to the most recent hyper sports cars were cared for here. The reason for such a high level of service was because they paid for such an expense.  

An expense that Hisashi was clearly paying for. An expense that, when Inko asked about, opened up a whole world of questions she didn’t want to think about. Oh, her husband had an ever growing list of things she was going to get answered. For now though, this trip was her priority and nothing was getting in the way of that.

She left the man a note anyway so if he did show up… he wouldn’t worry. A kindness she hadn’t wanted to give, at first.

The door opened with a soft click and barely made a sound as she shut it behind her, her tail lying across her lap.

Still long drive or not, it would be a quiet and somewhat pleasant one. Besides, she knew where she was going. At the time of her first visit to her grandmother’s, there had been no tracks near where she lived. The choice back then was drive or get off at the nearest train station and walk for 2 hours. It wasn’t a hard choice. Even now she could still remember every sign along the trip, every turn to take, and the view from the backseat of…

She quickly swept that thought away.

While Inko didn’t drive often enough to self-justify the expense of owning a car, she was well aware of the quality of automobile she was seated in.

The two-tone black and gray Toyota Century was owned by her husband. The irony that she was now driving it wasn’t lost on her. Swallowing the bitter sadness that came with that thought, she looked over her shoulder at her son and smiled. “All buckled in?”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

“Then let’s go.”

The engine came to quiet attention as soon as she turned the key. Not even a hiccup or a wait for it to turn over.

Outrageously expensive with a service bill to match, she never understood why Hisashi bought it. Leaving out him never being here to drive it, this was the kind of car you hired a chauffeur for to get the most enjoyment out of it. Then again her husband’s tastes were odd and, as she was beginning to figure, not cheap. He’d even splurged for a crew to come clean and detail it once a week, a service the garage provided.

Closing her eyes, she shoved the subject of him out of her head like the glowing coal it was. The note had been left f if he did bother to show up. It was after a deep breath that she noticed Izuku’s voice. “Sorry, honey. Could you repeat that?”

Her son fiddled with the All Might figure in his hand. A light flush touched his cheeks and brightened his freckles. “Have I met Great-Grandma before? I don’t remember.”

“You have.” Inko said, putting the car in reverse. “Though don’t feel bad about forgetting. You were only two years old the last time we visited.”

“Really?” For some reason he seemed awed by that.

“Really.” Inko nodded. She grew concerned when an uncharacteristic look of determination came upon her son’s face.

“Then I won’t forget this time.” He made his statement with the conviction only a child his age could pull off.

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing as she turned the car out onto the empty street.

“Stop laughing, Mommy. I mean it!”

“I know you do.”

The first five minutes of the drive were all Inko needed to confirm that her instincts had been right. Pulling out into the street and right into city traffic, she felt that ever present itch for activity fade. While still fairly early in the morning, the traffic was already picking up as the city came to life. Inko didn't mind, a hurry was the last thing she was in.

She planned to make this as fun as possible and there was no point in hurrying since the goal of the trip wasn't the destination. While she did want to see her grandmother again and get out of the city for some peace and fresh air, the main reason was for her son.

Inko glanced in the rear view mirror as she guided the car to a stop at the red light ahead. Izuku was playing in the backseat, humming to himself and fiddling with the All Might action figure in his hands. Smiling, like Inko hoped.

This week, starting as horrible as any could, got worse and the last thing she wanted was her little boy to dwell on it.

Those two teenagers in the store had been killed right in front of him and then he'd been put in the hospital. Those things would be traumatic for any child but on top of that, his father hadn't showed up. It was that last thing that hurt Inko the most, she was still trying to come to terms with it herself. How do you explain to a child why their father didn't come when they were hurt? It wasn't a question to ask while you were alone in bed or, even worse, asked by a tactless child when you go back to school. It going to take some careful explaining, hopefully her grandmother could offer some wisdom.

However, that unpleasantness could come later. She focused back on her driving as the light turned green which took her mind off a great deal.

There was a heightened awareness she felt, a blooming of details from everything around her that centered her mind. While this car was all but a literal island of luxury, details from the outside were slipping through. The suspension was soft enough to glide over every bump and pothole in the road and yet she could still feel them, smoothed out as they were. The road noise, which should've been near impossible to sense, droned in her ears quite clearly. When she turned the radio on, she'd had turned the volume down low because it just seemed that little bit too loud.

Telling where cars were before changing lanes, noticing motorbikes in between the cars, even being able to feel the rising speed of the car and just being able to tell how fast she was going before she glanced at the speedometer, it was as if she'd been driving all her life instead of this being one of the few times she'd put her license to use.

One reason she didn't drive was because traffic made her nervous. It was difficult to focus when you were on edge because someone was riding your back bumper like they were glued to it. A nervous feeling was absent during her drive, no matter who honked or rolled in far to close at a light or sped by on a bike, she barely felt anything more than a slight bit of exasperation at the rudeness of one driver who flipped her off when she didn't immediately peel out at a particular light.

Her composure remained as they hit the freeway and quickly made distance between the city and them. It was only when the environment outside began exchanging urban buildings for more bushes and flat green scenery that Inko pulled off the road to an exit for a break.

It was about an hour and a half in but she nor Izuku had eaten breakfast that morning, so a quick rest was needed.

Parking at the first convenience store she saw, at first she’d bought just two sandwiches for them to snack on while stretching their legs. However, like when they first got out of the hospital the snack turned into a meal. She bought out nearly a quarter of the store before the edge was taken off their hunger.

Every sandwich, burger, and steamed bun was eaten in their impromptu picnic near the car. Finishing it all off with a sweet Onigiri for her and a jelly doughnut for Izuku before they continued on.

That was another thing to be addressed later, Inko knew as the pulled the car back onto the freeway. This increased appetite would become a financial problem later on. She’d never been able to eat like that before in her life, not when she was a teenager and not at her current 27. And Izuku, growing boy or not, really had no excuse for putting just as much down. Considering the idea, would’ve made her nauseous last week. Neither of them should’ve been able to attempt to do so, and yet they did it.

And had left room for desert, this time around.

Her son’s question came a little more than an hour or so after their meal, just as she was exiting the highway that took them out of the city proper and onto the back mountain route, she was all to familiar with.

“What’s she like?”

“Izumi Midoriya...” Inko didn’t really need to think long to answer. “She’s nice. Strong. Motherly like me.” ‘Motherly’ was far to light a word for the woman who raised her but simple was good for now.

“She’s like you?” Again, that tinge of awe in his voice. “Did you live with her?”

“Yes. I lived with her in a big house and played on land behind it when I was a little older than you.”

“Behind it? Like a backyard?”

“The biggest one you’ve ever seen. The biggest in all of Japan. With a garden where she grows her own food.” Again, she was practically trivializing the facts. Her grandmother had a backyard like Izuku had a slight interest in Superheroes and All Might in particular. True but far more to be told. If Inko ever met anyone who thought of 60 full acres of land as a backyard, she be shocked. Her grandmother had come into a lot of money decades before Inko had been born and used the money to build a house and buy the land around it.

Focusing back on the near bone-white asphalt as the incline began, she was reminded that once it had been pale gray so long ago and like catching the whiff of a favorite childhood dish, remembering the color also led to the last time she’d seen the road in this direction.

It had been after things had gone bad.

The road had been a pale yellow that night, illuminated by a pair of headlights so bright that in any other situation, she might have looked for familiar shapes as they past. But she hadn’t, her eyes hurt from crying so long and so hard and her vision was still a little blurry anyway. It was awful because she could’ve used the distraction from the other pains she was feeling. The road wasn’t smooth and it seemed like every bump in it went right from the wheels to the backseat to everything that hurt...and it seemed like everything had been hurting

Inko blinked, coming back to her present and rubbed her eyes clear of the tears building there. Thankfully, enthralled by the idea of ‘The biggest Backyard in Japan’ began rapid firing questions that not only had her bringing up the good memories but got so detailed that she had to think hard and dig deep on them. Hard enough that it kept her distracted for the rest of the trip.

Izuku’s questions were not a bottomless well and the car eventually lapsed into silence, right around the time they reached to outskirts of town.

As she turned the last bend, Inko was struck by a sense of nostalgia upon seeing The Crossroads, which she certainly hadn’t seen for awhile, not even when she’d come for a visit over two years ago.

The Crossroads were just a nickname that she and the other children had given the spot years ago. In actuality, the single road crossed nothing but split into three distinct directions.

One continued straight ahead, passing the town she’d grown up in completely and continued to go down the other side of the mountain. The left fork went further up and led straight into town. To the right, the road curved down in such a way that it was impossible to see what was on the other side from the road. However, she knew that it lead to a dead end not but a fifty yards from the crest, the isolated spot having served as a private playground away from adult eyes.

Turning left, she wondered if children in town were still using that road to gather. Driving through town was a trip down memory lane and she for the first time, felt like everything was finally okay. So many good times were tied to this place that just seeing it again had been like wrapping up in a warm blanket. She’d even go so far as to call it a salve to her soul.

One thing that stuck out in her cursory scan as they passed by was the General Store. Run by Mr. Riku and his wife, both had to be getting up there in age like her grandmother now that she thought about it, Inko couldn’t help but notice it was closed. Unusual for that time of day, especially since their joint-candy store right next door was clearly open.

Inko made a note to stop by and say hello before they left. Hopefully, they’d remember a little girl who’d spent far too much of her hard earned money from chores on junk like Pocky and Botan.

“Wow.” Izuku said, awed as he craned his neck to see further ahead.

“Yep.” Inko confirmed. “That’s it up ahead.”

They were about a mile and a half out of town when her grandmother’s house came into sight. The trees parting like a curtain to reveal the house, almost a mansion, in the distance.

It was a grand construction that was quite breathtaking from a distance which grew more so as they got closer. If memory served, her grandmother had said the style was ‘Queen Anne’ Victorian. Whatever style it was, it was an very loud one.

The woman had once joked that she should’ve been born European, she was so obsessed with Western culture. It was an obsessing that shined through, announced through every brick and beam of that house she’d built. In all honesty, Inko had always thought it a bit garish though she’d seen the place as a fantasy castle on the hill when she was a child. Even as she looked at it now, she couldn’t shake off the sense that the house, it’s owner, and the land around it was meant more for a fairy tale book. Something that Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty used as vacation homes, not a widowed retiree's residence in the mountainous Japanese countryside.

It was a building that was bursting with decor, from the green paint on the wood, the dusty pink of the bricks, and the intricate carved roof finials and cresting which Inko had lost hours staring at over the years, it was a home that not only stood out in its surroundings and, specifically one’s memory as it was not a place easily forgotten.

Inko pulled off the road and onto the long gravel drive which, once it reached the house, curved in on itself to make a circle so that someone could simply stop their car in front of it and not be further than a stride from the porch steps and then pull away to go right back down the drive without having to do a three-point turn.

Standing there, framed by the pearl white front door ready to greet them, was her grandmother, Izumi Midoriya.

The first thing Inko noted as she parked was how unbowed she was. Her back was straight and she stood tall and welcoming in defiance of her age. She had no idea if the hand of time was treating her grandmother exceptionally gently or if it was something in her lifestyle but for a woman pushing the better part of seventy, Izumi looked remarkably well. A fact exemplified by her clothing, or rather how well they fit her.

Dressed in a pair of denim pants and a blue long sleeved blouse, they hugged close to her body and pretty much told Inko that Izumi still took good care of herself and hadn’t slipped in her habits since she’d last seen her. Now that she thought about it, her grandmother always had a spryness that gave her the air of women half her age.

Her short hair, tied in a tight bun still had a few strands of green among the silver and her face, weathered but not worn, brightened as Inko got out the car and opened the door for her son.

She didn’t say anything at first. Grabbing and pulling her into a tight hug, she only spoke then. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her voice was equal parts relieved and happy and even though the embrace pressed into her wound, Inko hugged her back before stepping away.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“And this,” Izumi gasped, bending at the knees for a better look, “must be Izuku! Come, let me get a good look at you.”

Inko only noticed then that her son had tucked himself behind her legs, his previous excitement gone and his tail twitching in what she could tell was nervousness.

However, when she looked back to her grandmother, she recognized the mischievous gleam in the woman’s eyes and, smiling herself, she quickly stepped aside. “Come now, I won’t...”

“BITE!” Izuku barely had a chance to squeak before Izumi pounced. Both hands shooting out, she caught her great-grandson under the armpits and started tickling.

The four year old squealed, trying to get away but Izumi, refusing to be denied her due, swept him off his feet and into the crook of her arm.

Arms flailing, legs kicking, Izuku was helpless against the assault on his belly, sides, and neck as she went for every weak spot she could. Izuku would cover one, only for the experienced woman to go for another and Inko couldn’t help but be impressed that she still had the strength to hold him in place.

It wasn’t for very long though. The tickling finally stopped a few seconds later and Izuku, face flushed from so much laughing, wrapped his arms around her grandmother’s neck.

“Okay.” Izumi huffed, apparently equally worn from the effort “I’m gonna have to put you down now. You’re already too big for me.” Lowering him to the porch, she gave his nose a gentle pinch. “Why if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re almost an adult.”

The complement made Izuku flush a little brighter as Inko mussed her sons hair. “Not quite though, you have some growing to do, young man.”

“Mommy!” He said, trying to shoo away her hand, clearly embarrassed.

Her grandmother and her shared a laugh as they walked inside.

“I knew you two would be hungry, so I spent all day cooking,” she announced, kicking off her shoes before stepping onto the wood floor of the foyer. “And don’t tell me you’re not hungry.” Leading her son by the hand, Inko followed her grandmother who was already speeding down the hall, past the living room and towards...the dining room, if she was right.

She took her time, taking off her shoes and following at a sedate pace. Mostly for Izuku as her little boy’s head seemed to be on a swivel as he looked around with wide eyes at the pictures and antiques lining the wall, clearly trying to take in as much as he could. She giggled at that, since apparently Izuku forgot they were here for a whole weekend. The other reason she took, her time was...well, her grandmother was more right that she suspected. Their breakfast might as well have been yesterday’s memory, her stomach was already doing the mental equivalent of tugging on her sleeve for attention.

She went for her pocket, halfway through pulling out a cellphone she no longer had, and then once she realized what she was doing, checked her wristwatch instead.

11:39. Almost lunch.

With her son and her’s new appetite, she knew for a fact that even her grandmother’s prodigious portion sizes were going to be more a snack than a meal but they should eat something and she could explain to her grandmother later.

“You grew up here?” The awe was back and as Inko looked to her son, she could see a shine in his green eyes as if he’d been told his mother had come from royalty and only now was having it confirmed.

“Yes, I did. In fact, my-” She was cut off as Izumi’s voice, warm but stern. Her ‘You’re lollygagging and it will stop now’ voice.

“Child, you better get in here. I didn’t work my hands to the bone and sweat in front of a stove for this to get cold.”

“I’ll tell you later. Let’s eat first.” Inko said, picking up the pace ever so slightly. Her son must have been peckish too, since at the mention of food, he forgot his fascination with the house and was hot on her heels.

XXX

“Grandma...” Inko’s voice faded into stunned silence. Her son’s eyes again wide in shock but now edged in a bit of eager joy.

They’d stopped just before the sill of the open dinning room. Much like the house, it was huge western ideal of what a family gathering place was. A big room lined by large windows with a sliding glass door that faced west and lead out onto the porch and into the backyard. The massive solid wood dining table took up the entire middle space of the room, long enough to sit sixteen people with 8 on each side and wide enough for two people to sit on either end if they didn’t mind sharing elbow room, that wasn’t what had Inko struggling to find words to say. She’d lived here once, knew the table well. In fact, she even remembered the spot where she’d accidentally scratched the wood hard enough to leave a mark with her knife.

Although, finding it now would be a challenge considering that the table in question looked ready to fold under the weight of the food placed upon it.

Before them was a staggering number of dishes in exceedingly staggering amounts. Each main dish looked more like it was meant for a buffet than for any setting in a house. Even the side dishes were massive. The rice had so much prepared that it alone could’ve fed an entire family.

Not an inch of space was wasted or lacked something, the only spots left vacant were where three chairs sat scooted back from the table to give it’s would be occupant space between itself and the table to sit.

“I..uh.” With an effort Inko wrangled her tongue and looked and her grandmother, as bug-eyed as her son.”H-how? Where did all this come from?”

“Where did it come from?”Izumi echoed, frowning as if she’d just been asked the dumbest question she’d ever heard in her life. Standing next to a chair at the head of the massive table, she put her fists to her hips, an expression on her face that, for a brief moment, made Inko actually think her question indeed was as stupid as her grandmother thought.

“Where do you think, Child? From my kitchen.”

Inko shook her head, refusing to be put off. No warning of ‘Cooking all day’ explained the All-You-Can-Eat spread she was looking at.

“You cooked?” Inko stated flatly, pointing at her grandmother, who’s knowing grin had come back but now focused on her.

“All of this food, by yourself?” Using both hands, she gestured at the table in a motion that said ‘Look at what I’m seeing here.’

A nod.

“In one day? As in today?”

Inko put a great deal of emphasis in that last word and apparently that was just the thing she needed to get the impossibility of such a task through to her grandmother.

Izumi’s smile left her face, eyes widening slightly before she shook her head. “Oh no. No. No. Dear me, Inko.” She said with a laugh that rang through the room like a bell. “All day is just a turn of phrase, Child. You mustn’t take things so literally.”

Inko hardly thought that was fair and as she approached the table, she said as much. “Its not like you told enough for me not to take you completely at your word. I have to assume you meant exactly what you said.”

That got her another laugh.

Guess I’m a comedian today.

You know what they say about assumption. They make an a-” Her grandmother stopped, laughter dwindling to chuckles when she glanced down at Izuku, then back up to Inko and gave a conspiratorial wink. “Well, you know what they say.”

For Inko’s part, she gave a nod of gratitude and then turned to the food, breathing in deep. That single whiff almost had her falling upon the meal like a wild animal right then,

Smells of clean steamed vegetables mixed in her nose with hearty fatty meats. Fresh bread and sliced fruit combined with dishes of strong spiced curry and the tang of smoked sausage.

It stirred her appetite from an attention seeker to a near primal singular need to be satisfied.

Remembering herself, Inko seated Izuku first who was openly drooling and she couldn’t find it in herself to reprimand him on his poor show of manners. Sitting down, she focused back on Izumi, who was just about in her chair. “So who helped you?”

Her question got a raised eyebrow. “No one, Inko. All done by these.” She raised her hands and waggled her fingers in a surprising display of dexterity.

Now, she was confused again. “Then how did you cook all this?” The only explanation she could think of was that her grandmother had planned for more company ahead of time, but it had been made quite clear that this food was for her son and her. Leaving out that Inko knew Izumi Midoriya had never been one for parties.

Since the party idea wasn’t likely, then this meal should’ve been impossible. This visit was spur of the moment, an emotional decision to close out one of the most emotional weeks in her life. Coming here was meant to unwind both physically and emotionally.

In short, unless Izumi could see into the future, she’d need to have a fair warning to prepare this much, especially at her age.

Her grandmother clicked her tongue, picking up the empty plate in front of her and a pair of tongs that had been between the rice and spare ribs. “I started cooking the moment, I hung up the phone.” She answered.

If it hadn’t been for the armrests, Inko would’ve fallen out of her chair. “What?”

“It gets lonely for this old woman way out here. Not to mention boring. So I went a little overboard, I’ll admit.” She finished with a wave of her tongs, as if shooing away the idea that all this being cooked in such a short time was any big idea. “Indulge your grandmother’s want to provide for her granddaughter .”

Overboard, she says.

Inko had to wonder her a dictionary somewhere in the world had just cracked into pieces under the strain of such a massive understatement.

She was yanked out of her contemplation by the sound of chewing beside her. Izuku’s patience had run on and even her grandmother had started plating some food in the brief pause.

With a sigh of surrender, Inko began picking out what looked best from the table.

She’d planned on questioning her grandmother further after lunch but all it took was once bite of the still hot bread rolls and the lingering subject of how the food get here fled before the ravenous craving to eat as much of it as she could.

Though it did stick out even in her preoccupied brain just how normally her grandmother treated the whole meal. Not a look of shock, quirked eyebrow, or even a comment as she and her son tore into everything before them. Stripping every bone clean and clearing every platter like locusts to an unprotected field of wheat.

With her attention on her grandmother, she also managed to notice that she’d eaten quite a bit as well. Not as much as her but still, she’d put down two fairly full plates within the time they’d finished eating.

It was Izuku who announced the end of the meal. He leaned back in the chair, contented smile on his face and a deep sigh. “That was great. I’m full.” Inko, while agreeing that indeed the food had been wonderful as Izumi was a great cook, couldn’t help the smirk at the irony that there was nothing more to eat. The table, once a picturesque sumptuous smorgasbord, now lay heavy with empty plates, bowls, platters, and glasses.

For her part, her full belly had lifted a weight from her, a prickling that she had only realized now followed her out of the hospital as well. It was enough to dishearten her. She’d known the need for food was going to hit her hard financially but if it took eating this much then...Well, buying in bulk was an option but even that was more of a stop gap than anything long term. Could Hisashi even support them with just his paycheck… That question put a sour taste in her mouth that certainly hadn’t been there before. Of course he could. An expensive car that he barely used kept in an expensive garage for the elite with insurance and everything else. And if he somehow couldn’t, then she…

“What are you doing, child?” Inko jerked and realized with a jolt she was on her feet, hands gathering up the plates and silverware.

Her answer was instant. “Going to wash the dishes.”

It wasn’t a lie.

Her habit, one her grandmother instilled over the years she’d lived with her, was to clean after every meal. Dirty plates were hard to clean if the mess on them was left to dry and apparently even with her mind wandering out afield in her own world of worry and frustration, her body followed what was comfortable for her. Familiar was comfortable. That’s why she was here, after all.

“Oh, please. We can take care of that later.” Izumi motioned for her to put the stuff down. “Right now, I want to talk to  you, Inko.”

With that, her grandmother stood up as well and looked to her son. “Izuku,” she said, getting the four year old’s attention. “after you rest for a bit, why don’t you go play outside? I’m sure you’d like the forests around here just as much as your mother.”

“But, don’t go very far.” Inko cut in with a warning. She knew the forest well enough. Where the dead-end road had been the town’s private playground, the forests here had been hers. Every trip in there had been an adventure with tall trees to climb, creeks to splash in, and interesting rocks and bugs to find. “There are wild animals out there.”

Her son’s eyes grew wide, though not in fear. There was almost an anticipation to his look as if he wanted to see what kind of wild animals there were. She wasn’t sure why but it was unsettling enough that her first instinct was to go with him. A tiny pit twirling around in her stomach made her not want to leave his side, just in case he did run into something out there. Yeah, the more she thought about it, the more she felt she should be out there. Any beast that dared to try and lay a claw or tooth or paw on her son, would soon find themselves dealing with her. And she’d be more vicious than any-

“Yes, your mother is right.” Izumi nodded sagely, her voice snapping Inko back to attention. “Up to a certain point is a wire fence that keeps dangerous animals out. There is a tall pole with a red flag on it that marks where the safe zone ends. Wild animals are past it, so if you see it, go no further.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her grandmother smiled even wider and ruffled his hair. “Such a polite boy.” Izuku blushed slightly, freckles standing out on his cheeks and giggled.

Inko followed her mother out the room, hesitating halfway down the hall when she heard the sliding glass door open and shut.

Izumi, noticing she’d stopped after a few more steps, turned to her and beckoned for her to follow. “He’ll be fine, dear. I had the fencing upgraded last month and a couple of inspectors checked the property within to make sure we didn’t have some uninvited guests lurking around. Such young strapping men, too.” She put a hand to her mouth in a vixenish way that was so fake Inko had to laugh at the act.

“Oh, if I was just a few decades younger.” The lament was uttered with a sigh, with Izumi gazing off into space with a love-struck pout that was so out of place on her face that Inko laughed harder, just managing not to bend double and followed after her.

She knew where they were going right away. Located on the north side at the end of the hall was the biggest room in the building, the study which as they entered, she could tell it hadn’t changed. Save for the new desk and the computer  that was tucked in the left corner, taking up the final bit of vacant space along the walls. “Still dark as ever, I see.” She observed, looking around.

With each wall lined with near ceiling high bookshelves including two which covered the only windows in the room, the place was cast in shadows that were barely held off from the light coming from the hall and a series 4 of lamps, placed in strategic spots around. The only lamp that caught her attention was the one on the mantelpiece above the fireplace.

She walked closer towards it to get a better look. Next to the lamp which was on the far end were a row of pictures in variously sized frames. These hadn’t changed either. The first one was of a much younger looking Izumi Midoriya in a school uniform. Smiling and with a black tube in her hand, she was posing in front of a school’s grounds with a group of other girls, all of whom were smiling as well with a tube in their hand. Yet even if Inko would’ve somehow not been able to distinguish Izumi’s face which was impossible, the girl in the photo stood out.

A lot.

Out of all five girls who were doing some silly pose or had their head turned in some way, waving to the camera or the person behind it with peace signs, she was the only one who stood straight. Ramrod stiff, a statue standing proud among everyone else, her presence and propriety oozed through the frame.

The picture next to it was a different story altogether. Her grandmother, now a totally mature woman, wasn’t standing. Instead, clothed in a stunning white gown was being carried bridal style in the arms of a large man with sharp features in a black suit. Or was it a tux? Inko could never tell the difference and she could tell that the distinction wouldn’t have mattered to either. The picture had been snapped while they were both in mid-laugh and the joy on her face made the high school one look like she’d been grumpy during her graduation. Inko could feel it, she’d felt it when she’d gotten married. A twinge of sadness curled in her chest as she looked at the man, her grandfather, smile glowing and softening what would’ve been a hard countenance. Inko had never gotten the chance to know him but the stories Izumi told her painted a picture of dutiful, gentle soul who’d sooner kill you with kindness as hit you square in the jaw if you pressed his buttons long enough. And you really had to press them.

He’d died long before she’d been born and she’d never asked her grandmother how. She continued down the row but stopped at one that had been placed face down on the mantle, hiding the picture inside from sight. Inko didn’t lift it up to see, she knew what it was of and as she inspected it, a gratified ease at the thick layer of dust on its back made her smile.

“Come and sit, child.”

A massive carpet covered the wooden floor a safe distance away from the fireplace, upon which sat two well used linen armchairs with a small circular table between them. An electric kettle shared space with an antique lamp and two blue china teacups and saucers.

“Now,” Izumi sat down in the left chair, knees together and facing her as she took the much less worn right one. “How are you doing, Inko?”

She was in the middle of opening her mouth but whatever she’d planned to say was halted by her grandmother’s raised hand. Actually, that wasn’t quite right. The hand had been little more than a twist of her wrist. What did make Inko pause was the change that had taken Izumi Midoriya’s face. There was concern there but it was mixed with a hardness in the eyes that Inko had only seen once before, and she quickly averted her eyes.

Her desire to unload everything that had been on her mind warred with just wanting to keep it to herself, to talk about something other than about her. The weather... heroes... did Takumi; that drummer in town, ever get a break with the band of his? Some idle chatting like she was used to. Her leg tingled and her back throbbed like a nasty memory.

She wanted… needed something familiar. Too much had happened and too much had changed far too fast. Her apartment was too crowded, her husband was too distant, her body had become anomalous, she’d even grown a tail. A secondary quirk that she’d never known she had.

Inko chewed on her lip, having all this time to think and having no clue where to start. Her grandmother waited patiently while when she managed to compact all her thoughts down into into a single sentence. “I don’t know.”

Those three words were so factual that Inko was initially embarrassed that it had taken her so long to say them. She had no clue how she was doing and thinking back to every conversation and thought between waking up and getting here, she wasn’t sure if she ever would.

“In this one week, I’ve been hurt, nearly killed, could’ve lost Izuku and got a lesson in embarrassment and shame so thorough that I’d probably be able to teach a course on it at Todai,” she pushed forward, more words coming to mind as she simply let herself speak. Still not quite able to look straight at her grandmother, her eyes swept along the shelves around her. This place was almost like a university’s library. “But above all that, I’m angry. I’m so angry and I just want to...” A reluctant urge edged it’s way to the front of her mind and it was only then that she recognized she’d been clenching her hands together so hard her knuckles were turning white. She didn’t want to say it out loud, like if it was addressed the thing she was pushing back would leap out like a living creature. The urge wanted action, movement even. For her to DO something, anything.

“I guessed as much.” Izumi’s tone was equal parts sad and resigned. As if she’d expected as much. It was enough to make Inko finally look at her.

Now her grandmother wasn’t looking at her. She was looking away towards a shelf and the emotion in her eyes confused Inko more than anything else. With a sigh, she stood up and moved to the bookshelf she’d been focused on. “Inko, I’d hoped to never had this conversation and in that I failed myself and I failed you and Izuku.”

Her confusion only deepened but Izumi continued before she could ask what she was talking about. “I thought it would be best to keep it from you. You were living a safe and happy life and I thought the burden of our family curse had ended at… well, myself.” Pulling a book out of a line of unmarked ones, Izumi’s hand trembled slightly as if the novel-sized book weighed a great deal. Slowly, with a gaze akin to a judge about to deliver a sentence, she turned and looked at her. A building silence grew between them and Inko was sure that if her grandmother looked at her any harder the floor between them would catch fire.

When she did finally speak, her voice had such a melancholic tone as if she was just a step away from tears.

“Inko. You, your son, and I, are not totally human.”

XXX

A cheer split the air. It was a whoop of such joy and childish glee that it managed to drown out the cicadas whirring around. The air was thick with the sent of moist grass and the air pulled even more fresh scents of the forest into his nose as her rushed around.

Izuku being the shouts source didn’t notice nor care as any skittish animals nearby fled at his announced approach. The boy’s legs pumped hard as he crashed through the brush and weaved in between trees. This was the most fun he’d ever had.

Well… not as fun as playing All Might with mom but it was very very close.

He thought for a moment if they could play that again when he got back to the house. He barely began wondering if they could get Great-Grandma in on it then he saw a low branch on a tall tree. All thoughts flew and left just action.

He leaped for it.

For an average adult, it wasn’t that high, barely a struggle to reach but Izuku wasn’t an adult.

Normally, he would’ve bounced and hopped as hard as he could, missed and probably crashed to the ground or into another tree.

‘Normally’ no longer applied.

His jump carried him up and his arms reached, hands grasping. Catching it, he gripped so that he could swing up but his fingers tightened so hard that the branch crumpled with a few woody pops. The energy left over from his sprint did the rest and halfway through his swing, the limb snapped.

He was sent into a spin, falling towards the ground which came to a stop with a sharp tug from the base of his back. Held in the air and upside down, he got a perfect view of his tail hooked tight around a higher, shorter, but much thicker branch.

His tail had caught him! That hadn’t happened before, not even when he was showing off for Kaachan.

The boy giggled, giddy with excitement. It only took him two tries to pull himself up and from there, again without a second thought, began climbing up the trunk.

His little heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear but excitement. A rush ran through him like nothing he’d ever felt before. Injury and, what would be to anyone, the concerning and still growing height between him and the ground were the furthest things from his mind. His smile only grew as he ran out of handholds near the top.

Crouched on a limb, he looked around. To his right was a tree about as tall as the one he was on but the one after that had a trunk thicker and taller than either. In fact, it looked like if he climbed to the top of that one he would be able to see everything.

However, he could tell just by looking at it that there was no way he was going to make a single jump to that one. So, sighted on his goal, he aimed for the strongest looking branch on the tree between with a moment to bend just the right way to get the most out of his spring and went for it.

Catching by his tail, he made one full twirl around the tree limb and vaulted for his target. He was only as he’d already let go and was too far away grab for anything when he recognized the spot he aimed for had nothing to grab.

A wall of solid bark was coming to meet him.

Instinct took over and he spread his arms out wide as if going in for a hug and, on the moment of impact, dug his fingers in with every bit of strength he could manage.  A series of pops followed the sensation of rough wood around his hands and then the pressure of his own body weight.

That had been close.

Breathing hard, smile a little less wider than it had been a moment before, he hung in place and looked around the best he could. Just out of reach, up and to the left, was a branch he knew would hold. He made for it or tried to. His shoes dragged along the surface for a push but got the sound of crumbling and snapping bark for his effort. Even his tail waved frantically as Izuku’s sweaty hands began to slip out of their holes. He couldn’t risk letting go to reach.

Gravity was trying its best to pull him down, his fingers were starting to ache and in frustration he kicked the tree.

The impact was enough to bounce him off his hold… high enough to put that limb just within his grasp.

He reached as far as his arm would go and caught it in one hand, then the other. He quickly scrambled up and wrapped his legs around it as hard as he dared. Sweat streamed down his face and his breaths were hard and fast but after an extra long moment to rest after all his hard work, he looked back up the tree and, carefully this time, picked his next spot and continued up.

And up.

...and up...

XXX

Inko waited for the punchline and when none came, searched for that hint of humor that showed when her grandmother about to spring a joke. Nothing of the sort revealed itself, only a look of such grim seriousness that it actually make her shy into her chair. Izumi was only slightly taller than her, yet even from across the room, her whole presence loomed. The study remained hushed. A grandfather clock somewhere in the building ticked away, it's inner workings a hammer to the silence filling the air to every last crack of space.

She blinked and for the first time in her life, worried. Maybe all this time alone, near the forests had affected her grandmother. God forbid, that age was having its much more silent, much more awful, way with Izumi and as terrible as that was to consider, as much as it hurt her heart to think it, there was no other way she could reason to herself why her grandmother would say something so absurd and mean it.

“What are you talking about?” she finally responded, leaning forward to hear her grandmother better. Surely she hadn’t heard that right.

Izumi crossed back to her chair in two quick strides and lowered into it with a fluid grace that made Inko blink again. Before when her grandmother had walked around, her movements had been smooth but with a slow methodical care as if to be sure of what she was doing before being committed. Her walk firm to make sure her feet were stable, her sitting aimed right at the center so as to not bump her hips or place herself on the edge of the chair. Yet just then, her care left as if it had never been, replaced with a confidence and poise that Inko had never seen from her before.

Ever.

“I’m talking about that tail and what it signifies. What it means for your future.” Flipping through the book, Izumi’s answer came with no preamble to the build up. She spoke plainly with a certainty that made it clear to Inko that she was far from addled. “We aren’t completely human, at least my side of the family isn’t. And just in case you’re thinking of asking, no, I don’t know what we are. Our family has been researching this for generations, longer than you or I or even my great-grandfather, and even with modern science none have been able to agree if its genetic mutation, something supernatural, some unique evolution, or just straight up magic.”

“Oh lord, you’re serious.” Inko hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t meant to be rude, but the words slipped off her tongue as if they’d been greased.

If Izumi took insult though, she didn’t show it. Instead, she nodded opening the leather book that Inko now realized was much thicker than she’d originally thought. “I said something to that effect, when my father told me. Mind you, I was a child when he did so and if a child thinks you’re fibbing than how can an adult accept such a fairy tale as gospel? And I would still not have believed him, if quirks hadn’t suddenly appeared on the scene.”

Inko frowned at that last remark, quickly doing some numbers in her head. “Grandma, you do know that was twenty years before your time, at least.”

The amusement came back to Izumi’s eyes and for a moment she thought there was about to be a ‘I had you going for a moment, didn’t I?’ out of her mouth. Instead, she asked. “Inko, how old do you think I am?”

That was an odd question. “Seventy…sixty-eig-” Her mouth shut with a click. She knew her grandmother’s birthday, certainly but she was coming to realized that she actually didn’t know Izumi’s age. “You’ve told me before, right?”

“I have and I was lying. Mostly for the same reason I didn’t want to tell you about our family’s checkered past.” Her grandmother’s admission of lying hit her harder like a slap across the face. The shock at those words would’ve been total to Inko but like a boxer taking a viscous combo, her brain was already reeling and so didn’t have time to prepare for the follow up. “I’m actually one-hundred and twelve years old. My twelfth birthday had been less than a two weeks away when that historic case in China happened. Oh, the Chinese government tried to hide it, I’m sure, but no political body has the power to hide something like that unless they’re prepared for it.”

Inko sunk into the chair, its overstuffed cushions doing nothing to help with the pressure suddenly weighing her down. “That’s… th-that’s…”

“Impossible.” Her grandmother finished for her, pulling out a folded worn rectangle of paper from between the pages of the book. “Yes, I’m sure most would say that. But here.” The paper was passed over and Inko numbly took it, her fingers moving pretty much on autopilot to unfold it and it took a full minute of staring before she understood what was in her hands. An icy chasm opened in her stomach at the date on the page.

When it did, she gaped back at her grandmother. This couldn’t be fake, but it had to be. “Your birth certificate?”

A sardonic smiled touched the woman’s lips. “Got it for my birthday.”

Inko’s hands trembled as she passed it back. 112...the woman who’d raised her, the grandmother she thought she’d known better than her own parents, was more than a century old. Izumi would’ve looked great for a seventy year old woman. For someone more than a decade past their centennial, her looks were unnatural. There was no plastic surgeon that good, no quirk that could hold back someone’s age, no amount of good food and good air that could do this.

“However, this isn’t so much my proof.” Her grandmother, her over a hundred year old grandmother, picked the certificate between two fingers, folded, then tucked it back between the pages of the book. “This is me making my case, the proof is in you, Child.”

For the first time in her life, Inko flinched at her nickname. Izumi’s moniker for her now felt...patronizing and deceitful. So many questions marched through her head, all trying to force their way out like a mob rushing a single exit. Her grandmother’s statement made a path for one though. “What do you mean?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, Inko. Your reaction to my question said as much.”

“Noticed what?”

“Don’t avoid the subject, Inko. You may be an adult but I can still read you like a book.”

The confusion, what was turning out to be a constant state for her now, must’ve shown because Izumi, patiently continued. “I saw the look in your eye in the dining room, Inko. Izuku didn’t but I did. Tell me, did you want to go out there with Izuku?”

Inko nodded, slowly coming back to herself. Her brain, no longer dazed from surprise after surprise, finally changed into gear, “Yes, of course. There were possible animals out there.”

“And what would you have done if your son and you had happened across a dangerous wolf, lets say?”

“I would’ve fought it to give Izuku time to escape.” She wouldn’t allow anything, much less an overgrown dog, get near her son if there was anything she could do about it.

“Would you have done that a week ago? Fought the wolf, I mean?”

“Yes. With my bare hands if I had to.” She answered through clenched teeth, muscles in her jaw tight and fingers twitching for something to hold. To grab. To tear.

“That’s funny,” her grandmother said, looking back to the open book and rubbing her chin in thought. “because you didn’t mention anything like scaring it off or backing away or equipping yourself with some kind of repellent or even a knife. Not even picking up a heavy stick, just fight it with you bare hands.” Izumi focused on her as if viewing her through a scope with her next question. “Does that sound like something you ever would have done, Inko? You? Who wanted to be a housewife? The woman I remember leaving this house when she graduated, didn’t so much as tell off her own school bullies but now your first solution to fend off a wolf is using your hands?”

Inko was about to point out that it was only if her son was in danger, yet the sentence died before she’d breathed in to say it, gazing off into space. Back at the robbery she’d run, fully planning to escape. Just thinking about it, made her shoulder sting. Looking at it now, would I have run?

The idea she had to even ask herself such a fundamental thing was enough to form knots in her belly and ice on her skin. Worse, she couldn’t answer the very question she’d posed and the agitation left her like a deflating balloon.

Dread flowed through her thoughts, sliding over where confidence had been like oil and she looked to her grandmother who now was looking solemn again, all traces of humor gone. The book placed on the table between them.

“It’s as clear to me as the sun is on a cloudless day. It’s in your eyes. It’s in Izuku’s, though for him, he’s expressing this more as wanting to play around. For you, child, I bet before this conversation is over, you’ll be near to exploding out that chair.” She began, indicating the seat with nod. “You’ll be itching to climb a tree or run. Like a pot ready to boil over, you’ll feel ready to run half way across the world. Maybe a quarter if you didn’t sleep well last night. I can tell you now, it won’t help. I wasn’t being dramatic when I said it was a curse. While I can’t trace our family line back further than the late 1800s, I guarantee what you’re feeling has cost some of them their lives.”

Even though Inko knew the feeling, the odd sensation that had followed moments when she’d gotten angry, it was only when her grandmother said it that she truly had the words for it.

“The desire for battle, Inko. That’s what those tails mean. ‘Destruction and feral savagery,’ I think one ancestor wrote. It’s one reason why all the other branches of this tree are gone now, pruned by the rush to war or a duel or even some bar fight that has gotten plenty of them killed.” Izumi stated, her voice touching an edge that Inko would only recognize later as a sob. “This is why I beg your forgiveness.” Staring into her lap, hands clasped she turned to her grandmother. Unable to speak, she stared as her grandmother cupped her face in her hands, clearly ashamed. “My empty hopes for this never to happen doesn’t excuse the fact that I could’ve gotten you and your son killed.”

If Inko wasn’t already feeling like she was lost out to sea, she’d have been swept away by that statement. As it was she stood, more unfolding from the chair than rising out of it, and her grandmother jumped slightly as if expecting some violent reaction. Indeed, Inko didn’t know what to do. Emotions warred in her mind, crowding her thoughts until it felt that no words nor any amount of them would ever be enough. Even standing, staring blankly off into space was an effort to decide. What could she do?

Scream? Cry? Call the woman who raised her after the hell of her early childhood a liar and stomp out like an immature child?

For a many hard ticks of the grandfather clock, she was a living statue. Not moving, not sure if she was breathing and finally, said the only thing she could. “I need a moment. To think. And some space. To think.”

Without waiting for an answer, she spun and left the study. However, the hall wasn’t enough space. Her old home felt even tighter than her apartment, too much stuff on the walls and not enough open air. She continued to the front, throwing open the door and stepping out onto the porch, the Toyota Century still parked a few feet from the steps, it’s polished paint and chrome gleaming in the midday sun.

Still, it wasn’t enough. The house had a physical almost unnatural presence at her back, like it was going to fall upon her. She didn’t look back to it as she marched past the car and onto the drive. With how her week was going, she’d only be mildly peeved if she turned around to see the house teetering like a stack of papers near an open window. She didn’t so much a glance over her shoulder as she continued down the drive, gravel crunching with each step. There was too much to think about and if she had to listen to anymore of that… that… what even was that? Crazy, was what it was. Her grandmother had totally lost her mind, that explained it all. Extra insanity to top off the several helpings of it she’d gotten back in the city and there STILL wasn’t enough space.

Picking her pace up to a jog, she passed from the gravel and only paused long enough to take the direction away from town, and continued down the road. The muscles in her jaw worked as she thought, not even realizing face now had a determined glare. In fact, if this was true, how had no one found out about it? A family with monkey tails popping up would make news no matter what century it was. She’d have known about them, an old cousin or a grand-aunt or someone! Hell, this was something even he would have mentioned.

Oh great, now she was thinking of that man. A growl rolled from her lips and she picked up the pace even more. Still wasn’t far enough. She didn’t even want to see the trees around the house. The asphalt ahead of her passed by, the summer heat waves making the furthest point in the road seem ethereal and unreal. As if, when one reached it, they’d come to the end of reality itself. Inko was ready to take that challenge. Her pace rose, the wild storm of her thoughts the only opposition. The road was clear, a country lane on the weekend was sure to be lacking cars for miles and at that she moved from the side to the center of the road. Her run increasing to a full on sprint along the white line. Each step devoured the distance before her, one foot tramped in front of the other, arms working back and forth like a steam locomotive and eye glaring ahead but not quite seeing.

Quite literally running on autopilot, Inko ran for that insubstantial finish line, some illogical place in her brain telling her that if she could reach it then the world would suddenly be sane again. That her grandmother’s story wasn’t true. That a murderous criminal was already in jail. That Hisashi was here with her and not...who knew where. That the robbery had not ever happened, she’d bought that ice cream pop for Izuku, and left. She had sense enough to know she had much chance of making it to that haze as she did not having this week happen, but damn if she didn’t try.

XXX

“Wow.” Izuku could see the whole world from here, her was certain. He stood bent low, heels flat and body crouched on the thickest and tallest branch of the tallest tree he’d ever climbed, feeling the breeze cool and unrestrained across his skin. It was high enough that he could make out the red flag from here, his view clear above the canopy.

He was indeed quite a distance from it though, so far in fact that it didn’t looked like a flag pole but more like someone had stuck a gray toothpick with a tiny rectangle on the end, in some moss. The forest, green and unbroken, flowed with the shape of the land to the horizon. Shading his eyes with a hand, Izuku followed its contours. It was amazing. He’d never been this high before without being in a building. Taking a moment and combing a hand through his mossy green hair up to get his bangs out of the way, he leaned forward to scope out more details in the greenery before him. Tongue out and eyes squinted in concentration, the four year old focused as hard as he could, both on climbing tree and now trying to take in the forest and thus missed the nest of spotted brown green eggs tucked between the trunk and limb.

The harsh croak made his heart leap in his chest and he snapped his head around in time to see a crow swoop for his face. It’s black wings spread wide and flapping, it looked even bigger as it closed on him. He jumped, trying to ward the animal off then whirling his arms as his heels shifted just enough to put off his careful balancing act. Wobbling, Izuku’s internal gyroscope worked overtime to keep him from pitching over, feet shuffling. The crow in a series of outraged caws backed off for as long for it to reorient itself to buzz him again.

It didn’t get the chance. A deep low-pitched groaning of wood met his ears and made Izuku freeze. All too late, he figured that the branch, thick as it was, only stayed stable as long at the weight on it wasn’t being thrown around.

The Crack was like thunderclap to his ears and his stomach rose as the rest of him dropped. Tumbling through empty air like a stone, he desperately clawed for something...anything but he was too far from the trunk. Fear tightened his chest and choked any screams he would’ve made into small whimpers. Tiny noises which went silent as he crashed through thin branches, swatting at his body like whips hard enough to sting yet so weak they barely slowed his fall.

He yelped. A particularly firm branch struck him across the chest hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs before his momentum snapped it like a twig. It bounced him further away from the tree and stopped his wild spin, giving him a clear view of the rising ground and shrinking empty air in between.

He had to stop! His sharp eyes were able to easy make out the thin blades of grass sprouting between heavy roots and smooth moss covered rocks. Izuku was a smart child but even if he wasn’t, he knew hitting that wouldn’t be good. He needed to stop! If he didn’t-

The ground closed in on him like a wall ready to crush far too fast. The trees roots looking more deadly with every passing second.

The four year old threw his arms forward, palms forward to brace and as his breath came back, screamed as loud as he could. “STOP!”

By all rights, Izuku should’ve hit the ground and been lucky if he lived through it with just a broken arm. He was fully aware of that and, many years later when he thought back to this moment, remembered the fear, the near blind icy panic that pounded his veins and tightened his chest. He would indeed remember and be unafraid to look into the empty eyes of a threat much greater than the memory and try what he’d done again.

The scream ripped through the tranquil forest atmosphere like the crack of a gun and just before he hit the ground, the four year old felt a shock run through him from tongue to tailbone. An impact ran through his arms, a jolt the reminded him of the time he’d pushed on a heavy door just as it was swinging closed. The curtain of dust and dirt flung him and he felt his stomach twist slightly at the intimidate change in direction.

Landing at an angle and much slower speed, he hit the ground with a small grunt rolling to a stop a good distance away from the tree he’d fallen from.

Curled into as tight a ball he could managed, Izuku lay on the ground shaking, short panicky breaths making his voice squeak with each on he took. His head felt like it was bobbing in a tub, ears rushing, and seeing spots even though his eyes were screwed tight. The ground under him felt like it was turning slowly and he could feel his heart beating against his ribs, making his breaths vibrate in his lungs.

When he tried to stand, he was shaking so bad that his arms and legs wobbled like that jelly he’d eaten earlier. They gave and he fell onto his butt. “Ouch,” he hissed rubbing the sore spot

Should he tell his mom? He shook his head as soon as he thought about it. He shouldn’t have been in the tree in the first place and he didn’t want to disappoint her when explaining what he’d done.

He walked his way back to the house, stopping for awhile at a creek that he’d past in his headlong charge. He only planned to throw two or three stones in the water before leaving. That changed when he skipped his first stone, a smooth river rock, hard enough to clear the water in two skips and just barely miss the trunk of a small tree on the bank.

Trying again, the third rock grazed his target, going off to the side somewhere and into the grass. The fourth hit dead center and from there he made target practice of it, every stone tossed with a little more force behind it. By the time he felt it was time to go, the tree had so many stone stuck into it, he’d been forced to angle the last throw higher to avoid them.

As he left the riverbed and went back to his Great-Grandma’s house, with no clue of the depth of the crater he’d left near where he’d fallen.

The property inspectors would bring the ditch to Izumi’s attention a month later and theorize that maybe someone was breaking onto her property looking for something and that cameras might need to be set up near the boundary. The woman in question would smile sweetly, say she’d take their advice into consideration.

XXX

How far had she gone? Inko had no clue but gave no effort to guess. Her heart slammed against her ribs, lungs working like a bellows, and sweat had long past beaded on her skin and was streaming down her face, but she didn’t let up. Her sprint carried her further and further, trees passing by as indistinct blurs at the edge of her vision as she focused on the goal ahead. When her body began to ache, she powered through it. The muscles in her body tightened. Just a little bit at a time until, right as the sun began its journey from noon to evening, both legs folded under her.

Managing one step in an attempt to catch herself, she fell hard. Her body unable to keep up with the monumental strain she’d forced it through and barely managed to not smash her face into the road. Pain snapped through her arms as she caught her right elbow on the road. With a cry of pain, her one extra step and momentum carried her from the center of the narrow road and into a low ditch leading into a clear and open field.

She landed back first, her shoulder and thigh singing the high notes in the symphony of agony playing through her, and was left staring up into the sky. Blue with streaks of white puffy brushstroke clouds lazily drifted above. Sweat, soaked through her shirt, stung her eyes and made everything hard to see. Her hard heavy breathing was balanced on a knife point from hyperventilating, sounding both raspy and wet. Her temples throbbed and her skin pulsed, and her injuries were making her pay, the fire paving white hot tracks between her shoulder and thigh where supernovas seared their mark in her nerves. Her fingers twitched and she barely felt the cuts she knew were on her elbows. Was that good or bad, she didn’t know. What she did know was, right now she could barely move, was bleeding at the side of the road in a field with no cellphone and quite unable to crawl, much less stand.

That wasn’t why she began to weep though. The pain in her body couldn’t match the gaping hole of dread in her chest, the terrible certainty that her grandmother was telling her the truth. She cried for herself, for Izuku, for the end of their  simple lives. Inko mourned for it all because, she felt that itch in the back of her mind. A desire that, even with her in such a sorry exhausted state, reared in her mind like a ghost returned for the grave. It had been given a label by her grandmother and now, Inko truly understood the depths of her change.

Her grandmother was telling the truth.

Inko was sobbing so hard that she barely noticed the sounds of someone coming through the grass, the shape of a man leaning into her sight indistinct with her blurred eyes. “Jeez, are you okay, Ma’am?” The words dripped against her senses like light rain.

Her answer was to weep harder.

No. No, she wasn’t. Maybe she never would be again.

It took a great deal of convincing, once she’d gotten control of herself, for the man who apparently owned the land Inko had taken a tumble into, to take her, a strange injured, hysterically crying woman he happened upon to her grandmother’s house and not the hospital. Or to the local police. Thankfully, while the man didn’t know Izumi personally but being a neighbor of sorts, he knew where she lived and believed her when she told him she was her granddaughter. His concern clearly wasn’t eased since when he asked what happened to her shoes on the drive over, Inko had given him a confused look and with effort, looked down at her bare dirty bleeding feet.

All that running and it took a stranger for her to notice she hadn’t put her shoes back on before leaving the house. Upon arrival, the man knocked at front door and when her grandmother opened it, had a short discussion that ended with the man looking more mollified than before. Clearly, Izumi had put him at ease and held the door open as the man helped Inko out of his Daihatsu truck.

With painful effort on her part, Inko was helped to the upstairs bedroom, the guest one, not her old one. Once she was seated on the bed, leaning into the headboard for support her grandmother thanked the man, told him she could take it from here, and led the man out.

A short minute later, Inko heard her grandmother’s footsteps on the hardwood stairs, coming up fast and steady and entered the room. In her left hand was a green medical kit, a large one with the symbol of the red cross on its side and tucked under her right arm was a set of towels and washcloths. “First,” she began in a voice that spoke of experience and brokered no argument. It wasn’t angry, though that’s what Inko had expected. A scolding reprimand for doing something foolish and stupid. Instead, there was that kindness and patience that her grandmother carried like a wallet. “we need to get you out of those clothes and clean up your wounds before they get infected. Next, tomorrow you’re coming on a hike with me so we can cover the rest of what you need to know.”

The thought of doing anything tomorrow was enough to get a groan from her, knowing that her body was going to pay her back double but she refused to complain. She’d just given herself a hard lesson which luck had saved her from an even harder one. She would have still been out there baking in the sun and there was no point complaining.

Taking her grandmother’s hand, Inko was pulled to her feet and leaned against Izumi for support who barely seemed bothered by burden and helped her into the large guest bathroom. It was more than a little infantilizing to need her grandmother’s help to undress but not only did she accept the help, she was glad for it. Every limb and muscle barely cooperated when she wanted to do something. Twisting or bending was out of the question and trying to pull off her shirt had been more than difficult. So much so, that Izumi had to used the medical scissors to cut them off after the fifth failed try.

Once everything was off and she was seated on the bathtub edge, Izumi used a detachable shower head to began rinsing the dirt off. Starting at the feet and then up the body, making specific care of her elbows. To Inko’s relief, the fall had hurt much more than the cuts made. The lukewarm water stung where it touched, aggravating but clearing away the dirt and sweat, a murky runoff flowing down the drain. After it was all off, her grandmother opened the kit and with rubbing alcohol soaked cotton balls and a pair of tweezers, dabbed the open wounds.

Soon, even that was done and Izumi after rinsing out the tub, plugged the drain and began filling it was warm water. The bath was relaxing, quick, and once Inko dried off enough, Izumi dressed the cuts in gauze after one last rub down of alcohol. Then she left to bring in the suitcases from the car.

The whole affair had been silent, save for an exchange of yes-no questions like ‘Does this hurt? Do you think you can reach there?’ or instructions to follow such as ‘Bend your arm like this. Relax your hand, Child.’ Nothing more than that.

Inko spent it thinking and Izumi gave her time to think. The air wasn’t tense but vacant of inevitable discussion like two people at a dinner table knowing an unpleasant subject needed to be brought up but there was no need to ruin a good meal, it could wait until then. When Izumi came back into the bathroom with a set of clothes in her hands, Inko asked the only question she could as she put on her clothes, an exercise in trial and error to figure out what did and didn’t hurt. “How bad will it be?”

Her grandmother said nothing for a long moment and Inko worried that she wouldn’t answer. “It’s not going to be easy. For me it was like a craving, one that I worked hard to not to indulge but others in the past have described it as an addiction comparable to a drug and like a drug, you have to keep seeking more and more of to satisfy. If it’s like a drug, then I guess it depends of your willpower.”

Inko nodded silently. She only noticed the black book in her grandmother’s hands. Izumi set the book down on the end table next to the lamp. “Read this. You won’t get through it all tonight so I think you should start with my entries.” She said, making a point to tap the red bookmark inside. “They pertain to the more present issues and don’t read like some Shakespearean play.”

Inko nodded again and she nor her grandmother broached the subject any further. They both knew what had to be done and there was no point beating it in any further.

By the time Izuku had bounded back in, she’d managed to get back downstairs and had turned on the TV to some random channel. It was easy for her to put on a brave face for him as, after she got him to take a bath since he looked like he decided to roll down a few hills, he tried his best to tell her in a single breath how great the forest was.

“And the trees are so tall!!!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms up to give scale. His wild gesture caused him to bounce  on the living room couch a bit. While his enthusiasm was infectious, helping Inko smile through the sharp deep pains in her muscles, her chest ached. A mournful leftover for a past that was never going to come back and the fear of an unknown future tugging at her heartstrings. “You can see everything from up one of them.”

That got her to lift an eyebrow. “And how do you know that?”

Her son got very quiet, a shocked look on his face that steady turned guilty. “Just guessed, you know?” She didn’t believe him. Her son was bright but he never ‘just guessed’ anything. The lie was only made more obvious by the sudden clinical interest her son picked up in the few blank spaces of wall in the living room. Coincidentally, it also happened that the wall kept him from looking at her.

“Young man.” She said, putting just the right tone to it and her son jumped a little at her voice. “I’m going to let it go, but don’t lie to me again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

[kudamomo]

Top 10 Favorite Anime 

*Doesn’t contain spoilers (ㅅ´ ˘ `)♡

1. Michiko to Hatchin (2008-2009)

“Michiko to Hatchin,” may appear slightly flawed to the eyes of others, but I have fallen completely in love with this show for a plethora of reasons, both personal and critical. First and foremost, diversity is theme I am particularly fond of, fictionally and in the real world, so seeing an anime that takes place in South America was like a much needed breath of fresh air. On top of that, the soundtrack was completely on par with the gunslinger vibe the show gave off while still keeping the setting of South America in mind. Typically, in 24 episode long shows, such as “Michiko to Hatchin,” the show will begin to drag at some point during the middle. However, the director, Sayo Yamamoto, skillfully switches the show from being story driven to episodic as to keep the viewer entertained and when the time came, picked the story right back up where it left off. Ultimately, I bestow this show with the first 10 out of 10 on this list for its unique setting, characters, and adept pacing.     

2. Cowboy Bebop (1998-1999)

Arguably, not only Shinichiro Watanabe’s greatest creation, but one of the greatest anime shows of all time, is the iconic “Cowboy Bebop.” As to why this show is ranked so high up in this list, as well as any other top anime list, is fairly self explanatory. But to reiterate basically the entire anime community’s opinion on “Cowboy Bebop,” first, it takes place sometime in the far future and hubs on the misadventures of the bounty hunter, Spike Spiegel, and his partners as they search for criminals. Essentially, every aspect of the show is nearly or truly is perfect. The smashing soundtrack to the wonderfully cultivated characters to the attractively sculpted ending, everything, and I mean everything, about “Cowboy Bebop,” screams a 10 out of 10. 

3. Barakamon (2014)

“Barakamon,” is a light hearted, genuinely funny, comedic slice of life anime. It pivots on Handa Seishuu, a calligrapher with a tremendous ego and severe anger issues. After punching another renowned calligrapher, after he criticized Handa’s work for being comparatively lifeless and ‘textbook,’ essentially boring, he is exiled to Gotō Island to better himself and his works. In his duration on Gotō Island, he encounters outlandish Japanese village folk, such as a little girl named Naru Kotoishi. Sooner or later, Handa soon finds himself changing for the better as a result of his stay on Gotō Island. Personally, comedy anime have never been my cup of tea for the sole reason that they fail to make me laugh, but evidently “Barakamon,” came along. I mean, I fell so hard in love with this series that I own the first nine volumes of the manga for it is astoundingly beautiful and hilarious. “Barakamon,” is a soon to be classic for the next generation of anime fans and a simple 10 out of 10 that will surely get laughs out of any person to come across it. 

4. Mind Game (2004)

Made by the man, the myth, and the legend himself, comes debatably Masaaki Yuasa’s greatest work, “Mind Game.” “Mind Game,” is in fact a film not a single person could ever explain to you what it’s about. If anything could describe the film, is that it’s about the mind boggling experience of second chances and rebirth. If that doesn’t seem to have enough substance for you, then keep in mind, based off of Masaaki Yuasa’s track record of finely tuned character development and crazy animation, you’ll have to trust me when I say this, “Mind Game,” is a must see for it is nothing short of cinematic, surreal, masterpiece for I myself even own a copy of this movie. Conclusively, the irrefutable rating this film deserves is an obvious 10 out of 10.  

5. Mononoke (2007)

“Mononoke,” no, not the movie, is a spinoff of the 2006 horror series “Ayakashi: Samurai Horror Tales.” “Mononoke,” is an episodic series that focuses on a mysterious demon vanquisher, respectively disguised as a medicine seller, and the trials and tribulations he must go through in order to save the demoniac and surmount the demon itself. The first notable feature of “Mononoke” is its usage of color and perspective(s) that make each story within the show all the more captivating and exciting to watch. To go along with that, each story goes in massive depth with its characters, successfully inducing a very emotionally powerful relationship with the viewer almost every time. Yet, as the ending isn’t necessarily sub par, it leaves you hungering for more. Nonetheless, this show deserves nothing but a 10 out of 10.

6. Ping Pong the Animation (2014)

This being Masaaki Yuasa’s second appearance on this list, the only other work this position could've been gifted to is his masterful “Ping Pong the Animation.” Masaaki Yuasa, once again, is notorious for his stellar character development and this is it in its prime. Somehow, each character, no matter how insignificant, has a profound effect on the show and everlasting impact on the viewer. It’s almost unbelievable how a show about ping pong could be so relatable with the main characters inner struggles and their escapist hobbies whilst remaining an intense an interesting sports anime like any other. A facile 10 out of 10.

7. Kekkai Sensen (2015-2017)

“Kekkai sensen,” is definitely one of the more light hearted series on this list in which it’s about the supernatural monsters that now live alongside humans in places such as Hellsalem's Lot, formerly known as New York City. The main character soon finds himself leading out an extraordinary life in the said city as he joins the estranged group Libra after attaining the All-seeing Eyes of the Gods at the expense of his sister's eyesight. “Kekkai Sensen,” is a fun and witty show that any anime fan would enjoy. The visuals are eye-catching as well as the music being funky, making it quite the delightful series. Even so, as the finale approaches, it becomes unexpectedly emotional furthering the show’s greatest and superiority as well as establishing a great sense of character depth. Final rating, 9.6 out of 10. 

8. In This Corner of the World (2017)

“In This Corner of the World,” is a film that takes place in Hiroshima during World War II, which focuses on a young woman by the name of Suzu and her daily struggles during this time period. This seemingly drab movie in fact blossoms into something tragically beautiful and easily one of the greatest anime films ever composed, alongside the aforementioned “Mind game.” It unexpectedly tugs at your heart strings with magnificently animated pieces of Suzu’s art to display her interpersonal feelings when faced with particular situations, topped with an equally wondrous soundtrack. This film executes all the components, such as character development, pacing, and directing, of a good anime perfectly, making it optimal for critical and personal enjoyment. Final verdict, an easy 10 out of 10.

9. Neon Genesis Evangelion (1995-1996)

“Neon Genesis Evangelion,” is another iconic franchise that effected the anime community as well as the mecha genre itself as we know it today. “Neon Genesis Evangelion,” takes place in a post-apocalyptic era whereas humanity’s last hopes is in the hands of Nerv, a special agency ran by the United Nations. Nerv was founded in order to combat Angels, the species responsible for the destruction of Earth, using Evangelions. The show specifically focuses on the youth, Shinji, Asuka, and Rei, who pilot the Evangelions and their emotional reactions as a result of the responsibility being forcibly left on their shoulders. Although “Neon Genesis Evangelion,” is nothing apparent to reality, it feels exactly like real life. The emotional responses of the characters are ones you would witness in real people or rather experience yourself. The realism and psychology this show implements is absolutely groundbreaking and proved extremely influential on future mature anime. Thus, “Neon Genesis Evangelion,” is so deservingly awarded with a 10 out of 10 for the emotional levels throughout each episode. 

10. Shingeki no Bahamut: Genesis (2014)

Based off the “Shingeki no Bahamut,” card game franchise comes “Shingeki no Bahamut: Genesis,” as created by Studio Mappa. The show centers on a world of demons that are in constant war against angels and humans, but as the ancient dragon Bahamut appears before them and lays waste to their planet, the aforementioned races combined their forces in order to expel Bahamut and preserve life. However, thousands of years later, a mysterious woman by the name Amira appears in front of two bounty hunters, Favaro and kaiser, who ironically holds half of the key that is sealing Bahamut away. Simply, this show is nothing short of badass paired with a rock and roll soundtrack combined with quirky characters who you will fall in love with as they fall in love with each other. Final rating, 9.8 out of 10.

[recentanimenews]

FEATURE: How Pop Team Epic Breaks All The Rules of Comedy

  Six years ago today, the stars aligned and with the power of some cosmic entities, Bkub Okawa’s gag four-panel manga series Pop Team Epic began serializing on publisher Takeshobo’s website Manga Life Win. The series is available in English from North American publisher Vertical, all surreal goofs intact. However, Pop Team Epic notoriously defies neat categorization. In fact, the back-and-forth bickering of its two 14-year-old protagonists, Popuko (short and aggressive) and Pipimi (tall and mostly reserved) veers into the outright obscene. Violent, even. For as many memes and in-jokes Okawa’s manga has given us, what’s up with this simple set-up that absolutely drives everyone bonkers?

  For as eccentric and reference-heavy Pop Team Epic’s humor is, the basic premise is incredibly simple: Popuko and Pipimi hang out, have a weird conversation, and therefore weird things happen. Funny jokes about YouTubers or video games only go so far, though. If Pop Team Epic is anything, it’s a comedy of characterization and the matter of “getting it” when it comes to the delightful merits of being blunt and dumb on purpose. In other words, you might say Popuko and Pipimi are two trigger-happy jokesters enjoying life on opposite sides of the same coin: the straight man and the funny man.

  "Oh sorry, I was thinking about Hellshake Yano."

  Man, What's Up With Manzai?

  Two-person stand-up comedy is a long-established tradition. Manzai routines — Japanese comedy sets composed of two roles, the boke (the funny man) and tsukkomi (the straight man) — are not just entertainment, but a meticulous art form in itself. The same can be said of Okawa’s intent to write Pop Team Epic as a yonkoma (four-panel manga strip). To throw yet another term at you, most yonkoma follow a four-step punchline formula known as kishōtenketsu: introduction, development, unexpected twist, and of course, the punchline. If Pop Team Epic excels in a particular category of this structure, it’s making that third step — the twist, or “ten” part of the word kishōtenketsu — as monstrously absurd as possible.

    Did you notice it? Did you notice the twist?

  On the surface, the boke and tsukkomi roles seem two-dimensional. The boke is usually easily provoked, outlandish, and less put together. Let’s say it’s Popuko. This would make Pipimi the obvious tsukkomi, the person who at least tries to correct or mitigate the boke’s bold assumptions. The extent to which Popuko and Pipimi fully embody these roles, however, varies. If anything, these two only exist in the boke/tsukkomi duology spiritually, merely two wandering souls, stuck in liminal space thinking about beautiful Hellshake Yano, two hopelessly corrupted youth …

    War ... war never changes.

  Right, okay. Telling jokes.

  Mixing It Up

  In a 2018 interview with Animate Times, Pop Team Epic anime producer Kotaro Sudo explained his approach to adapting a popular three-volume gag manga into a fully-fledged series. After working with voice actress Sumire Uesaka on Uesaka Sumire no Yabai Maru Maru, a live-action variety show (with Okawa supplying the uncanny mascot design), Sudo explained wanting to use his newly acquired “know-how” on Pop Team Epic. Variety shows, particularly those airing during "golden time" often fall into a category of comedy routines with ensemble talent. “Because everyone read the [Pop Team Epic] manga at different speeds,” Sudo commented, “we made adjustments along the way to make it feel right.” This unique strategy allowed multiple teams involved to frankly, go ham, riffing on the original material rather than playing it straight. Pop Team Epic’s anime fully leans into the strength of its countless “twists” by never letting the viewer get too comfortable. How can you adapt a surreal, meme-rich yonkoma better than that?

  "Do you realize what you've done?"

  Pop Team Epic’s anime adaptation notably splices up skits from the original with new content, including plot-heavy skits like a murder mystery and managing an incorriguble idol group. This structure is not unlike the set up for popular programs like the M-1 Grand Prix, a major annual broadcast manzai competition, or the several television programs dedicated to the successful manzai duo “Downtown” consisting of comedians Hitoshi Matsumoto and Masatoshi Hamada. Groups like “Downtown” are in themselves part of a larger contemporary comedy scene called owarai, thriving on variety shows where groups are assigned tasks called “corners.” This trope is outright mocked by the crudely animated “Bob Team Epic” segment, where that tagline “new corner” is tagged atop the title card. Popuko even has a cooking show. While variety shows are quirky, in this world they exist solely to be parodied because of their strange staples.

  Do you need a hand? Hahahaha ...

  A Comedy of Comedies

  Unsurprisingly, the punchline is that Pop Team Epic isn’t just a comedy — it’s an ironic comedy about comedy. Popuko and Pipimi perform several skits where they begin a manzai routine that never ends right. In one skit, they perform as a “hand” and “heart,” making cringe-worthy puns about “needing a hand.” In a bonus episode, they perform a full routine that eventually becomes a serious drama about the Vietnam War. The manzai set-up clearly isn’t the point, it’s just the vehicle to get somewhere else. While Popuko and Pipimi loosely fit in the boke and tsukkomi archetypes, Okawa teases their friendship is more profound than just a few knocks. In a classic strip, Pipimi announces she is a god and will tell Popuko anything she wants. Popuko only asks how much she loves her, to which Pipimi says she loves her “a ... whole ... lot.” If Pipimi is too much of a straight man, then it’s only because she cares.

  Best. Friends. Forever.

  As maddening and strange as the girls can be, the Popuko and Pipimi dynamic works not because of strict ordnance to the rules of funny, but because their weirdness is sincere. If boke/tsukkomi routines work, it’s only because of chemistry. And the same can be said of even the most carefully constructed yonkoma punchline. It’s all about the delivery. If Pop Team Epic can teach us anything, it’s that once you get the basics down, the fundamental rules — and even your own publisher’s fictional evil headquarter — can be blown away into smithereens. Smash normalcy wide open.

  Now, if only everyone would stop “flossing” and let “eisai haramasukoi” catch on instead.

  "Hello! My name is Popuko and I would like to share with you the most amazing book"

    What's your favorite Poputepipikku gag? Let us know in the comments below!

      Blake P. is a weekly columnist for Crunchyroll Features. He is thinking about Hellshake Yano. His twitter is @_dispossessed. His bylines include Fanbyte, VRV, Unwinnable, and more.

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

By: news+feed@crunchyroll.com

[jemacfarlandgo]

Exactly 1 year ago today, on August 18, 2019 Leisa and Beau were supposed to say “I Do” at their dream venue, Castle Hill Inn. Instead, this bride to be spent her intended wedding day in the hospital recovering from brain surgery. When their second date got moved out due to the COVID-19 pandemic, this positive couple didn’t get the change get them down. Instead, they saw the opportunity to lean into love and appreciate every moment they get to spend together. Thank you dearly to Leisa and Beau for sharing their story with us!

“I’ve never been the type to believe in fairytales. Even as a high schooler, I never fully understood drooling over boys or the idea of soulmates. It felt so silly, so much like a waste of time to constantly wonder if he liked me, to imagine myself in a white dress walking down the aisle to a prince charming.

Perhaps, naively, I was far more obsessed with my aspirations. Don’t get me wrong, I was familiar with love, my parents a beautiful, real model of what I dreamed of, the hard work and deep reward of this favored topic of philosophers, poets, writers, and scientists. From their example, I felt like I knew love.

But it wasn’t until I met Beau that I finally understood love. Suddenly, I found myself daydreaming about a home with overgrown hydrangeas and a fireplace mantle dressed in photo frames showcasing those classic “happily ever after” moments of our wedding day. I wondered if I’d wear a veil? Would my dress be simple or intricately embroidered with lace? A silhouette fit or an A line?

With Beau, there were always questions I never had to ask. I never wondered if he would propose, if this was real. Because I knew, it just…was. The way he looked at me, the way he cared for me and made me stronger, happier, better, each and every day. The way he was patient when I was stubborn and a voice of reason when I was illogical. And the way it made me feel to be with him, to be accepted and cherished and chosen, always, as me. With him, I was home.

The night he hid my engagement ring in a pizza box and asked me to be his wife was nothing and everything like a fairytale, all at once. In fact, it was absolutely opposite of what I had imagined, yet everything I wanted, slow dancing with him to Alexa playing Frank Sinatra in my comfiest pajamas — an Ohio State sweatshirt shriveling at the collar from being worn far past its obvious expiration date — and a bare face, clean after my nightly scrubbing of all the day’s makeup residue. I was unpolished, unmanicured, and completely over the moon with child-like excitement to start calling my parents and sister, text our entire families to make the announcement. I remember reaching for my phone and him gently grabbing my hand, insisting on one more dance to internalize, relish the moment. He said, “Once we start calling, it’s everyone’s moment. So let’s just wait, one more song, maybe a glass of champagne? Let’s just be together to keep this moment ours.”

Wedding planning quickly ensued. We chose August 18th at Castle Hill Inn in Newport, RI — the first place Beau and I had ever taken our own romantic getaway. As if from nowhere, my mom began pulling out magazine clippings that she seemed to have saved in her own closet for years and emailing me every picture she found on Pinterest that might possibly align with what I envisioned for bouquets and table settings. My future mother-in-law suggested Kleinfelds and I booked an appointment. I must have tried on 30+ dresses in total before going back to the first. When I opened up the fitting room door, my mom was an adorable mess, tears streaming down her face. Beau’s mom cried, too. But when my sister started crying, I knew I had found the one.

On July 26th, Beau left for his bachelor party in Costa Rica. I had an early appointment with an eye doctor before work, and although I wanted to cancel, I had made a new commitment to myself to stay attune to my health. My mom had recently been diagnosed with cancer and it instantly became clear how I needed to stay up-to-date, to be whole, to be strong, to be there for her. So I kissed Beau goodbye and told him to return in one piece, making him promise that he would come home on Monday exactly as I had left him — no cuts, scrapes, viruses or broken bones. He told me that August 18th was going to be the best day of his life.

What I expected to be an easy appointment turned quickly into an inconceivable nightmare. From the doctor’s office, I was directed to go to the hospital immediately for an emergency CT scan. From there, I was strapped and transported in an ambulance to another hospital for an MRI, my heart shrinking in fear. I just wanted Beau.

The next morning, two people in white lab coats walked into my hospital room and my heart collapsed into the depths of my stomach. Within moments, I was officially diagnosed with a Meningioma brain tumor. We talked for what seemed like forever, me firing questions as swiftly as my mouth could eject the words, all the while my fingers swiping the unending tears flooding my cheeks. After probably the seventh time of receiving the same answers to the same questions, I gathered the courage to finally ask — What about my wedding in two weeks? The neurosurgeon, composed yet soft, promised me he would be as careful as possible and only shave the necessary sections of my skull, but if I didn’t have the neurosurgery immediately to remove the tumor from my brain, I would likely be showing up to my wedding blind.

The instant we hung up the phone, Beau booked the first flight home and my dad immediately jumped into his car and drove 13 hours from Ohio to New York. My sister was taking her bar exam to become a lawyer and my mom was awaiting her own surgery. I was in the hospital for the entire month of August recovering from the drastic procedure (as well as an additional 25 seizures) and spent the whole month of September rehabilitating with therapy, as well as overall healing. I am now blind in my left eye and a small section of the tumor remains in my brain (a certain percentage of the tumor could not be removed, as its elimination would risk additional damage/harm to my nerve and blood vessels), meaning that I will likely spend a great deal of my future monitoring the tumor with the help of my neurosurgeon, neurologist, optical neurologist, and endocrinologist.

To be forced into postponing our wedding and spending our “big day” in the hospital, trying desperately to reignite my short-term memory and regain my strength is not something that I would wish upon any couple. It was heartbreaking. And yet, I felt blessed to be on the road to recovery, reinvigorated with a new gratitude for life, for family, and for love.

As I started to make significant progress and show positive signs of returning to the person I once knew myself to be, Beau and I began to again become excited for our new wedding date: May 10, 2020.

A little over a month ago, our second attempt at a wedding was abruptly halted, this time due to a global pandemic — the profoundly unthinkable place we, as a world, find ourselves to collectively confront. This time, the cancellation was attributed to a reason that was bigger than us — much bigger. An unsettling circumstance of heavy-hearted uncertainty. Subjecting our loved ones and jeopardizing the safety of our families, our vendors, the venue, the world, was so trivial in the grand scheme of things, and associating our special day with that surmount sense of fear was just not an option.

However, I must admit, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t devastated, remembering all that we had been through to finally reach the cusp of our vows. I spent May 10th imagining what Beau and I would have looked like, standing before our entire family in front of the gorgeous Castle Hill arbor, clocking the beginning of the ceremony, the start of cocktail hour, and anticipating the toasts that would have been shared at our reception. I repeatedly imagined the smile I had fantasized, over and over, overcome his face while I walked down the aisle, to him.

Regardless, I still felt thankful. We were healthy and safe and in love. That night, Beau sat with me on our bed and asked me if it would be okay if he started referring to me as his “wife” as opposed to his “bride,” because that better resembled who I was in his heart. How could I not be filled with gratitude?

Of course, Beau and I wanted a wedding and will still be in absolute adoration for the celebration if it comes (prepare for a wild party), but truthfully, at the end of the day, the depth of our love, tested through so many unpredictable, perturbed times, IS the fairytale. My prince is a punk rocker and has stood, anchored by my side through the toughest, scariest, most severely unforeseen moments of my life, again and again, making me feel always like his center, his universe. Sure, I may never get the exact celebratory moment I once dreamed of, but I can state, without a single breath of hesitation, that I am with the man I always dreamed of.

If I’ve learned anything in the past five years, it’s that love — an inexplicable, yet tangible, tender force that when strong enough, truly cannot be smothered. A wedding, in so many ways, feels like a fairytale. But Beau has taught me, unknowingly, purely by example, that real magic lives in our everyday life, in the beauty staring directly at us at all times, often in the crevices of routine normalcy, in plain sight; in the small, conjunctive moments that weave each of these minutes into sequence that, when noticed, make us feel complete. Simple moments like snuggling on the couch or hearing his laugh that make the ordinary extraordinary.

And that, this, us, right here and now, is the realest fairytale I could have ever imagined.

To all of our family and friends, thank you for your patience, understanding, and profound support throughout these challenging times. We love you all so, so much.

To all of the brides who currently feel hurt, sad, even betrayed that their special day was stolen, please know that the celebration will come, but the gift, your personal fairytale, is still right beside you.”

  Leisa and Beau’s engagement photos got postponed due to COVID but the couple did an impromptu photo session in their backyard with a phone on a tripod and the perfect barefoot backyard slow dancing. In case you needed a reminder today, every moment we get to spend with the ones we love is precious. Embrace the moments you get and take every opportunity to show love.

When a brain tumor and a pandemic stood in the way of "I Do" this couple choose to lean into love despite the challenges Exactly 1 year ago today, on August 18, 2019 Leisa and Beau were supposed to say "I Do" at their dream venue, …

[gibsongirlselections]

How Intellectuals Cured ‘Tyrannophobia’

Almost 400 years ago, English philosopher Thomas Hobbes wrote a book scoffing at tyrannophobia—the “fear of being strongly governed.” This was a peculiar term that Hobbes invented in Leviathan, since civilized nations had feared tyrants for almost 2000 years at that point. But over the past 150 years, Hobbes’ totalitarianism has been defined out of existence by apologists who believe that government needs vast, if not unlimited power. Hobbes’ revival is symptomatic of the collapse of intellectuals’ respect in individual freedom.

Writing in 1651, Hobbes labeled the State as Leviathan, “our mortal God.” Leviathan signifies a government whose power is unbounded, with a right to dictate almost anything and everything to the people under its sway. Hobbes declared that it was forever prohibited for subjects in “any way to speak evil of their sovereign” regardless of how badly power was abused. Hobbes proclaimed that “there can happen no breach of Covenant on the part of the Sovereign; and consequently none of his subjects, by any pretense of forfeiture, can be freed from his subjection.”

Hobbes championed absolute impunity for rulers: “No man that hath sovereign power can justly be put to death, or otherwise in any manner by his subjects punished.” Hobbes offered what might be called suicide pact sovereignty: to recognize a government’s existence is to automatically concede the government’s right to destroy everything in its domain. Hobbes sought to terrify readers with a portrayal of life in the “state of nature” as the “war of all against all” that made even perpetual political slavery look preferable. John Locke, in his Second Treatise of Government published a few decades later, scoffed at Hobbes’ “solution”: “This is to think that men are so foolish that they take care to avoid what mischiefs may be done them by polecats and foxes, but are content, nay think it safety, to be devoured by lions.” As Charles Tarlton, a professor at the State University of New York in Albany, noted in a superb 2001 article in The History of Political Thought, Hobbes “despotical doctrine” rests upon “an absolute and arbitrary political power joined with a moral demand for complete, simple and unquestioning political obedience and, second, the concept that no action of the sovereign can ever be unjust or even criticized.”

Hobbes’ treatise succeeded in making “Leviathan” the F-word of political discourse. In the century after Hobbes wrote, there was rarely any doubt about the political poison he sought to unleash. David Hume, writing in his History of England declared that “Hobbes’s politics were fitted only to promote tyranny.” Voltaire condemned Hobbes for making “no distinction between kingship and tyranny … With him force is everything.” Jean Jacques Rousseau condemned Hobbes for viewing humans as “herds of cattle, each of which has a master, who looks after it in order to devour it.”

Hobbes’ views were derided as long as political thought was tethered to the Earth. Unluckily for humanity, philosophers found ways to sever ties to both history and reality. The most influential political philosopher of the 19th century may have been Germany’s G.W.F. Hegel. Hegel proclaimed, “The State is the Divine Idea as it exists on earth” and is “the shape which the perfect embodiment of Spirit assumes.” Hegel also declared that “the State is … the ultimate end which has the highest right against the individual, whose highest duty is to be a member of the State.” Hegel had a profound influence on both communism (via Marx) and fascism. Political scientist Carl Friedrich observed in 1939, “In a slow process that lasted several generations, the modern concept of the State was … forged by political theorists as a tool of propaganda for absolute monarchs. They wished to give the king’s government a corporate halo roughly equivalent to that of the Church.”

By the twentieth century, as Tarlton noted, “Hobbes’s interpreters and commentators had worked to make Hobbes’s appalling political prescriptions more palatable.” Experts scoffed at “tyrannophobia” because they believed tyrants were necessary to “fix” humanity.

Hobbes’ revival in America was aided by John Dewey, probably the philosopher with the most impact on public policy in the first half of the 20th century. In 1918, Dewey shrugged off Hobbes’ affection for despotism: “Undoubtedly a certain arbitrariness on the part of the sovereign is made possible, [it] is part of the price paid, the cost assumed, in behalf of an infinitely greater return of good.” And why presume “an infinitely greater return of good”? Because the government would be following the prescriptions of Dewey and his intellectual cronies. Two years earlier, Dewey championed government coercion as a social curative: “No ends are accomplished without the use of force. It is consequently no presumption against a measure, political, international, jural, economic, that it involves a use of force.” Dewey declared that “squeamishness about [the use of] force is the mark not of idealistic but of moonstruck morals.”

Two decades later, Dewey discovered utopia during a visit to Moscow and proclaimed that the Soviet people “go about as if some mighty, oppressive load had been removed, as if they were newly awakened to the consciousness of released energies.” Dewey had no qualms about the artificial famine that Stalin caused in the Ukraine that killed more than five million peasants. Perhaps Dewey agreed with Stalin: “One death is a tragedy, a million deaths a statistic.”

President Franklin Roosevelt never invoked Hobbes but his Hobbesian approach to power made FDR a darling of the intelligentsia. In his first inaugural address, FDR called for a Hobbesian-like total submission to Washington: “We now realize… that if we are to go forward, we must move as a trained and loyal army willing to sacrifice for the good of a common discipline, because without such discipline no progress is made, no leadership can become effective.” The military metaphors and call for everyone to march in lockstep was similar to rhetoric used by European dictators at the time. Roosevelt sometimes practically portrayed the State as a god. In his 1936 acceptance speech at the Democratic National Convention, he declared, “In the place of the palace of privilege we seek to build a temple out of faith and hope and charity.” In 1937, he praised the members of political parties for respecting “as sacred all branches of their government.” In the same speech, Roosevelt assured listeners, in terms Hobbes would approve, “Your government knows your mind, and you know your government’s mind.”

As governments throughout the western world seized vastly more power, British professors took the lead in consecrating Hobbes. In 1938, on the eve of World War Two, British philosopher A.E. Taylor wrote an influential book that bizarrely proclaimed “that, in spite of his absolutist leanings, what Hobbes is trying to express by the aid of his legal fictions is the great democratic idea of self-government.” Eight years later, Michael Oakeshott, one of favorite British philosophers of American conservatives, hailed Leviathan as “the greatest, perhaps the sole masterpiece of political philosophy written in the English language.” Oakeshott assured readers that “we need not greatly concern ourselves” about critics who warned of Hobbes’ dark side because Hobbes’ vision “could never amount to despotism.” Signaling the total vanquishing of classical liberal interpretations, a major academic review of recent writings on Hobbes declared in 1982 that “seeing Leviathan as tyranny is now only to be found in new editions of old books.”

In the United States, many liberals display a Hobbesian love of vast government power.

University of Chicago professor Stephen Holmes gushed in his 1995 book, Passions and Constraint: On the Theory of Liberal Democracy: “It now seems obvious that [contemporary Statist] liberalism can occasionally eclipse authoritarianism as a technique for accumulating political power…. For good or ill, liberalism is one of the most effective philosophies of state building ever contrived.” Holmes hailed Hobbes as a “pre-liberal”—which makes as much sense as touting Hitler as a “post-liberal.”

“Leviathan” has long since lost its onus among the academic elite. In 2012, Princeton University professor John Ikenberry’s Liberal Leviathan: The Origins, Crisis, and Transformation of the American World Order was published. The publisher, Princeton University Press, summarized the book: “In the second half of the twentieth century, the United States engaged in the most ambitious and far-reaching liberal order building the world had yet seen. This liberal international order has been one of the most successful in history.” Tell that to the Iraqis, Afghans, Libyans, Somalians, and many other victims of U.S. foreign policy. Writing recently in the Washington Post, DePaul University political science professor David Lay Williams hailed Leviathan as “perhaps the greatest work of political philosophy ever written in English.” DePaul is finishing a book titled, The Greatest of All Plagues: Economic Inequality in Western Political Thought, so perhaps he favors tyranny as the cure for inequality.

Especially since 9/11, America has suffered presidents who acted entitled to Hobbesian-levels of unlimited power. Bush administration lawyers secretly decided that neither federal law nor the Constitution could limit the power of the president, who was even entitled to declare martial law in America at his whim. President Barack Obama promised to restore civil liberties but vastly expanded illegal surveillance, bombed seven nations, boosted drone attacks by 500%, and claimed a prerogative to kill American terror suspects without a trial. President Donald Trump proclaimed earlier this year, “When somebody is President of the United States, his authority is total.” Trump neglected to clear his statement with the ghost of James Madison, the father of the Constitution.

The issue here is not the reputation of one long-dead philosopher but the seachange in verdicts on tyranny. The more powerful government becomes, the more homage Leviathan receives from professors and pundits. Will average citizens recognize the folly of a bunch of intellectual lemmings plunging over a cliff?  As Professor Carlton warned, “The theory of Hobbes is a theory of unadulterated despotism, or it is nothing.” Is it too much to ask the champions of despotism to cease pretending to be friends of liberty?

James Bovard is the author of Lost Rights, Attention Deficit Democracy, and Public Policy Hooligan. He is also a USA Today columnist. Follow him on Twitter @JimBovard.

The post How Intellectuals Cured ‘Tyrannophobia’ appeared first on The American Conservative.

[creativeconmans]

The Batman Rant

It’s always a bit embarrassing to have your first blog post. Especially if it’s a rant. Moreso if you catch yourself trying to be profound in doing so. With this bit of self-observation out of the way, I’d like to talk about something that has happened some time ago: Batman #50.

Now, I shall do something horrible and assume that everyone reading this knows the arc and issue in question – and all the rest of you people don’t care enough to be hurt by any and all spoilers this post may contain.

I have, living in Russia, discovered the whole arc of the Batcat wedding only recently. The stories precluding the wedding were… different, though not too meaningful, soap opera in DC Universe, which is more or less standard, wrapped up in some of the best art I have seen in popular media. Thanks for that trend. And then came the issue of a wedding that has been built up for a year not happening, that began with a series of very, very questionable choices by both characters, which turned out to be a catastrophe instead. That is, by the way, how I found out about the existence of Tom King and that spoke volumes to me about his writing.

But if that was all, I don’t think it would really merit blogging about it. I have studied some threads – what few I could find – where the fans stated their own reactions not to the spoiler (I actually think this could have been damage control from DC – spoil the issue so that people don’t crash too hard), but to the story. Only three points emerged throughout, and that was that

a.       People loved Tom King and his writing (apparently)

b.       People thought that DC considered marriage toxic

c.       People think that breaking the Bat has been done so many times it’s not even remotely funny. Not even in the Joker’s terms. Although, perhaps…

There were a couple of less frequently encountered points – and one of them was that a fulfilled – if not happy – Bruce Wayne would be, in fact, far more effective at stopping shit from happening that a permanently hurt fellow who needed his crusade to keep functioning. I sort of second that - a fulfilled Bat would have systematically empowered Gotham police and call upon his resources – League resources – to ensure specifically that threats were deconstructed on a more or less permanent basis.

But also throughout – and I may severely aggro the larger crowd now – there is, I think, a vast misunderstanding of two things. First is the fact that writers who keep dishing out the ‘No Bat without pain’ mantra severely misunderstand the character of Batman. In fact, in the King’s run, even his closest friends and family misunderstand Batman.

The second – is the fact that the writers aren’t in it to tell good stories. The game of writing has long since been forcibly changed.

At first, stories were made to convey meaning, from deep moral truths to memes to hitting your neighbor on the head with a sword and laminating his women being a good idea.

Then the stories were made to entertain at least, and at most - to force people to actually think before they act – and this is how the stories since circa 200 B.C. were written. Whether it is the classic Chinese epics or the cornerstones of French literature, or the Greeks or the Romans – this is how you normally find your story.

And then come the more recent times, and the invention of the printing press, and the proliferation of both basic literacy and paper. Suddenly there is more and more opportunity for more and more people to write – to tell stories for a living. They write, they draw, they paint, they make moving pictures. And a few of them find themselves in large collectives that are so stable that they can finally create a lasting mythos.

What would you do, if you suddenly found out you could create something that would – quite probably – outlive you and your children? What if it turned out to be so influential, even while being regarded as insignificant, that people would want more and more of it, would pay dearly for it? And what would you do, if suddenly control of such legacy, built well before you were born, fell into your lap?

Regardless of the answer, in our case the ever-winning pragmatism and child-like directness of people in power would dictate they would make money off those who believe in the legacy and want it continued.

That practical, inevitable decision suddenly makes everything else fall into place. One sees the audience not as your followers to be respected, nor a herd to be guided, nor even a crowd to be pleased, but as an opponent to be taken advantage of. And against an opponent you must arm yourself.

And with this opponent that is a renewing, rotating group of people, you have two specific goals in mind. One, to make your opponent pay for your product more than once, and preferably – for all your products. Two, to make sure your opponent is never destroyed, never pays too much, never stops – in short, never, ever hurt your opponent so much he won’t come back for more.

The shortest route to achieving Objective One is – forgive me for belaboring the obvious – to force your opponent to buy your product. Now we all know that under current labor market conditions men with tommy guns are a bit expensive to hire, too troublesome and can be creatively undirected – in the sense that they are as likely to sell your product to yourself as well as the target audience and then pocket the money. So if actual violence is impossible, our weapon of next resort is trickery and lies.

Now, it can – and, I’m sure, has been – successfully argued that people would enjoy being lied to, provided the lies were good and entertaining enough and told with a straight face and never weighed any on their pocket. The whole history of storytellers seems indeed to prove the point. Hence, the people of creative foundry in general seem to have adopted the tactics of lies.

So okay, people are lying to you. Some of them are even telling lies so that you, while listening or reading those, can arrive to a certain truth, perhaps even something deep. Or even profound. Where is the harm in that? Even if, in time, they start lying for the sake of you paying, and nothing else.

But there is a downside to a lie, and that is, once it has served its purpose it can only be discarded. No one will ever believe a lie told twice – or three times. No matter how you dress it up, people who have encountered it twice or more will recognize it, and react accordingly.

And so we come to a dilemma – we either tell different lies and change the legacy until we run out of believable lies, or maybe we stop telling lies, which would put us out of work and out of money.

This is where the nature of the target audience throws storytellers a rope. Storytellers, have easy times dealing with the young and the naïve, people who have not yet been duped many times, who keep having hopes and dreams of getting something out of every deal, every truth, every lie – everything. And their supply is replenishing, what with new people being born daily and all.

But telling old lies to new people only gets you so far – they can be easily inoculated by the older crowd who we have already lied to, successfully or not. Furthermore, the Internet and its propagation makes it harder and harder to peddle the same thing. You suddenly find that your consumer has collectively evolved and simple trick work no longer – they have already been seen and done and examined and analyzed to death.

You therefore must expand your repertoire of tricks and lies, and this is where the con comes into it. The long con.

Modern writing involves playing with your audience – in fact, running a long con on your audience. There is, in writing and drawing and filmmaking – in storytelling in general – an implicit promise. The promise is that a story will take you places, and that the world you heard about would change, and probably you yourself might change with that. It is that promise and hope of its fulfillment that makes one read a new story (barring professional readers, but those aren’t really a large crowd), invest time and emotion into it and its characters, willingly suspend disbelief as it comes. And it is that promise that is, in modern days, routinely and completely broken.

Which is where the long con comes into play.

A modern writer’s job is to make a script that fulfils the following objectives by any and all means:

1.       Make people want to read what’s in their hands

2.       Make people want to read the next one

The first objective is normally achieved with good graphics and composition and a story that is not entirely moronic, but mostly it is helped by the fact that once you buy a book – or a comic book, or whatever – it’s normally a waste not to finish it through (That has happened to me once or twice, though).

But the second one – that one’s a doozy. The term ‘plot hook’ now defines something that has evolved past simple hooking and into something that more resembles ‘plot anchoring drill’. Or whatever it is they anchor floating oil rigs with.

The original plot hooking mechanism worked on two simple mechanics – one, creating a gestalt that, by design, cannot be completed, until and unless the next piece of the story is experienced,  two, promising that it will be completed in the next piece of the story in a satisfactory manner.

The actual execution of the scheme have long been any and all variants of a cliffhanger to a varied degree, but unresolved plot points also work towards the same goal, provided the main story is not concluded (i.e. the narrator isn’t planning to stop talking).

So where is the con?

If you analyze so many stories in the comic books of the Big Two – which is what actually prompted this post – you realize there have been supposedly radical changes throughout the comicbook universe, except they have amounted to nothing much. It is like a soap opera (Santa Barbara, perhaps), where everything keeps happening and nothing ever gets really resolved, because nothing ever really changes. Least of all, the direction.

In that regard, the canonic Batman suffers perhaps the most, both as a comic line and as the character. Every single positive influence that anything can possibly have has been for the recent years disintegrated either by some random villainous plot or by some immature and questionable choice of his own – except it really was the writer’s choice in every occasion.

But you know – you know – it will turn out okay in the end, right? Except it won’t. There is, for comicbook characters, an extremely specific baseline which determines what they are, and they aren’t allowed to be pretty much anything else. One thing that Batman is not allowed to be, for example, is efficient.

Another thing is apparently happy, but I have always – or at least since I started thinking about it – that it betrays either conscious manipulation on the writers’ part, or their complete lack of understanding of Batman as a character and as a man. We have been sold the ‘Happy man cannot be batman’ idea several times by now, but the rationale behind it is very, very questionable.

Let’s set aside for a moment the fact that Batman as a character is a paradox – anyone who has the sheer amount of will and determination to become as prepared for most conceivable situations could not have neglected his own emotional maturity, or lack thereof.

It is unrealistic that the man behind the cowl still has the same things and thoughts driving him fifteen years – and four Robins, and a tragedy, and a son, and several lovers, and countless instances of severe psychological ordeal and heartbreak after he had first started his crusade.

His personal trauma was the driving factor at the start of his career – and it was believable there and then. But after all these events – if the man is a living, sane creature not bent on self-loathing or self-torture (and such a person would have broken right about two world crises earlier) – he would want to be changed.

Which was in part why the idea of the Batman finally marrying Cat of all people (and which guy, exactly, hasn’t had a girlfriend not unlike the Cat in his life?) was sold very well. Depicting the romantic intimacy masterfully helped quite a bit. But the final ingredient, as it were, the core of all cons, was the hope. The hope that this time, this fellow who has survived chaos, murder, trauma to his loved ones, countless assaults on his sanity, couple of deaths in the family, psychological torture and continuous work well past the point of human endurance (mental and physical) deserves some happiness, especially where he had only to make a step to do it. The readers’ hope that finally everything would turn out right in the damn imaginary world that has seen too many wrongs. And it took a very long time and many plot arcs – not all of them particularly good – to settle the plot points and prepare the world for a transition…except the said transition never happened.

The number of gestalts formed throughout the arc numbers in dozens, all of them hitting a very specific group of emotions within the readers. Each and every marriage prelude pointed towards some serious character growth and a fulfilling resolution, despite the fact that Bruce Wayne is no Oliver Queen (but we know from the Arrow series that Ollie wants to face just as many sadistic choices as Bruce). And then it all gets spectacularly destroyed, all the gestalts incomplete.

With each incomplete gestalt the reader has formed comes a need – of varying power and degree – to see that gestalt completed, to see the resolution, and more specifically – the one resolution that has been pointed at and that the reader is hoping for. Some writers go so far as to push the hopes of readers into a specific direction, only to tear the gestalts in two later on.

And they do it consciously. The unfulfilled needs create a certain drive in the reader – or viewer. And the very first place where a frustrated reader will look in hopes of fulfillment and proper gestalt completion is the same place where the gestalt was created. Translated into consumer behavior, it means that #50 has virtually guaranteed a psychological need in its target audience to buy issues #51-#100. You can even see Tom teasing the audience with flashback pictures of Bat/Cat romantic scenes taken out of context, fueling the fire and bolstering future sales of hopeful, young, naïve and emotional consumers.

But the real bitch of it is, the con works if you emotionally invest in the story. In fact, it will work even if you take specific steps to prevent your own emotional investment. An unfinished story means an incomplete gestalt, and it is a micro-trauma for one’s psyche far more often than not (I believe there are times when implied completion of the story – and gestalt – is far more scary and traumatic than incompletion, but you’d have to talk to a practicing psychologist to be certain of that).

And so to the point. After #50 it has become clear that all Batman readers have been conned by Tom King et al into believing there was a chance of change. Especially those who missed his earlier statements about breaking the Bat – because, you know, the Kult didn’t do that (despite the series specifically stating it to be so), and Bane didn’t do that, and the Joker didn’t do that already.

And even as that is apparent, people – me, admittedly and regrettably, included – continue to hope for a better resolution, for Bat/Cat pair to drift back together and at least be no worse off than where they started… forgetting for the moment that the only real thing that could repair feelings on both sides is an actual consummation of marriage, impossible as it sounds. And since it is the only way to really repair the Bat/Cat pair, it probably won’t happen.

Nevertheless, people won’t stop forcing themselves to hope, because to lose the hope in good resolution would, for the hapless reader (also ‘punter’ or ‘sucker’ in this instance), be to lose hope of satisfying his own emotional needs – even if they originated – or became actualized – in an utterly fictional story.

There are worse conmen on the market of creative writing than Tom et al – one could probably write a short book on those – but this is probably the first time since the con has been ran on people with this much deliberation, for this long, using this particular base spectrum of emotions, and with such a long-term sales plan in mind.

 So I postulate here and now, that the creative writing industry has finally become its own dark apex – it has necessitated manipulation and traumatization of readers through proxy of characters and it will, if left unchecked, have very serious and detrimental influence on both the readers and on writers. It will, if left unchecked, become a one-sided war of educated psychologists versus uneducated mass consumers. And, if left unchecked, it will by necessity upgrade the writers from creators of monsters into monsters themselves.

Not all writers are creators of monsters. But it has been something of a trend that so many of them are, and are lauded for it.

All we can do, perhaps, is educate ourselves and our young to fight, to perceive stories as means of manipulation and traps, to search for truths in a more profound way than what the mass industry offers.

Or maybe we can do nothing - but hope.

[ultralifehackerguru-blog]

New Post has been published on http://lifehacker.guru/the-13-best-movies-you-didnt-see-in-2018/

THE 13 BEST MOVIES YOU DIDN'T SEE IN 2018

LAST YEAR, FOLKS in the US spent $11 billion going to the movies. Yet the bulk of those people, and those dollars, went to the mega-blockbusters—the Panthers, the Venoms, the Avengerseseses. Even though indies are getting a renaissance thanks to streaming services, there’s just not the same thriving middle-class that there was in decades past, and a ton of legitimately great films still don’t get in front of as many eyeballs as they should. So, fine, you let some smaller gems slip by; now’s your chance to make things right. Got a few free evenings over the holidays? Queue up these 2018 unsung heroes first.

Suspiria

Amazon Studios’ art-house horror flick did modestly well in its small theatrical run, but limited distribution meant it didn’t get the attention it deserved. Directed by Call Me By Your Name‘s Luca Guadagnino, the film is, on the surface, a remake of Dario Argento’s horror classic of the same name. But it’s also much, much more than that. (Star Tilda Swinton, who actually plays a few roles in the film, went so far as to refer to it as a cover version of Argento’s original.) Beautifully shot, with an appropriately haunting performance by Dakota Johnson, this Suspiria goes beyond the tale of a witch-run dance school by digging its nails into the many ways the past will forever haunt us. It’s not for everybody, but if you have an itch for something truly gruesome and mind-bending, this’ll scratch it. —Angela Watercutter

First Reformed

Here’s a sentence I never imagined myself writing in 2018: Ethan Hawke gave one of the best performances of the year. It’s not that I didn’t think he was capable; I just didn’t see him showing up in a dark eco-conscious Paul Schrader film wherein he plays an alcoholic priest trying to keep his sanity and his congregation together. And yet, here we are. Moody, existential and even a little bit ethereal, First Reformed is one of the year’s craziest headtrips—right down to the ohshitwhatthefuck? ending. It got a very limited theatrical run but has been playing free to Amazon Prime subscribers for a while now (as well as Kanopy). If you happen to be one—or even if you’re not—go watch it immediately. —A.W.

Shoplifters

I’ve tried half a dozen times to explain director Hirokazu Kore-eda’s teleportative tale—about an ad hoc family living in near-poverty in urban Japan—and failed in each instance. So instead, here’s what Shoplifters is not: mawkish (though it is deeply moving); downbeat (despite its character’s increasingly desperate turns); nor needlessly twisty (though the family’s backstory is full of slow-building surprises). Instead, it’s a lovely, quite funny accounting of ordinary people staring down extraordinary circumstances with pragmatism, wits, and sporadic joy. And, in a year full of movies that viewed tough realities with deep empathy—from Roma to First Reformed to First Man—it’s the denizens of Shoplifters that have lingered in my mind the longest: Wondering where they are now, hoping everything turned out OK. —Brian Raftery

Mandy

You know what sucks? The fact that so few movies today are confident enough to feature coked-out demon biker gangs, strange Jesus cults, and a truly off-the-leash Nicolas Cage. Luckily, though, there’s Mandy—director Panos Cosmatos’ movie starts with that grand trifecta and goes about a thousand steps further. Shot using lush nighttime colors that would make the Stranger Things crew jealous, the revenge tale follows Cage’s Red Miller as he goes searching for his girlfriend who has been taken in by the aforementioned cult. Explaining it any further would ruin the fun (it’s also kind of impossible), but rest assured it has one of the best eviscerations of fragile masculinity ever put onscreen. —A.W.

Miseducation of Cameron Post

If you were an indie movie fan in 1999, you remember a delightful little film called But I’m a Cheerleader. It starred RuPaul as an instructor at a gay conversion camp and Natasha Lyonne and Clea DuVall as two of the unfortunate souls sent there for “treatment.” The Miseducation of Cameron Post, based on Emily M. Danforth’s novel of same name, is a much, much less campy version of that. In it, Chloë Grace Moretz plays the titular Cameron, a teenage girl who gets sent off to a conversion camp after getting caught in the back of a car with another woman the night of her prom. Heartwarming and heartbreaking, director Desiree Akhavan’s adaptation of Danforth’s novel is as vital and necessary as Cheerleader was in the late-1990s. It just has fewer laughs. —A.W.

Matangi/Maya/M.I.A.

The last time you heard from (or about) agit-pop hitmaker M.I.A. it likely had something to do with her flying her middle finger at the Super Bowl or the term “truffle fries.”That was years ago, and a lot has changed in terms of how the public, and pop culture, treats its female artists. Well, maybe not a lot, but there’s been progress—and in Steve Loveridge’s documentary, the ways in which Maya Arulpragasam was mistreated and misunderstood couldn’t be more obvious. Built on archive footage and personal footage shot by the Sri Lankan artist over years and years, it creates a fuller picture of M.I.A. than any magazine profile or online hot take ever could. It might be a little late, but it’s also right on time. —A.W.

Shirkers

The set-up for Sandi Tan’s autobiographical Netflix doc sounds like something out of a pop-culture thriller: In 1992, Tan and two other bright, outsidery teenage girls decided to make a semi-surrealist feature film in their home country of Singapore. They were aided by a mysterious older American man who absconded with the footage—and then all but disappeared from their lives. Yet Tan’s story doesn’t involve tidy resolutions or shocking twists. Instead, Shirkers is actually something infinitely more compelling: A gorgeous-looking self-interrogation about creativity, power, and the strange twilight zone between adolescence and adulthood. It also contains the most succinct one-liner about ’90s alt-teen life I’ve ever heard: “When [we were] were 14,” Tan says of her pals, “we discovered unusual movies and unpopular music.” Decades later, they all reunited for a film more unusual and profound than they ever intended. —B.R.

Tully

Here’s the thing about Tully: It builds up to one really great twist. I won’t reveal it here, and maybe you’ll guess it before getting to the end anyway, but it’s a gut-punch. Before that happens, the setup is fairly simple. Marlo (Charlize Theron), a mother of three children, hires hip twentysomething Tully (Mackenzie Davis) as a nanny for her new baby. Over the course of weeks, Marlo and Tully become close and Marlo begins to yearn for the life she had when she was Tully’s age. Sounds dry, but this is a project from director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody, a pair that has wrung blood, sweat, and tears out of domestic dramas (Juno, Young Adult) twice before—and does so double-time here. The quest to prolong youth while also raising children has never been so cuttingly portrayed. —A.W.

The Favourite

I truly thought that nothing could top Suspiria for the most haunting final moments of any film in 2018. I was wrong. Director Yorgos Lanthimos’ film about the love/hate triangle between Queen Anne of England (Olivia Colman) and her companions Lady Sarah Churchill (Rachel Weisz) and Abigail Masham (Emma Stone) ended on a note so unsettling, I’m still not done processing it weeks later. (I won’t spoil it, but I will say I’ll never look at rabbits the same way ever again.) Much like with his film The Lobster, Lanthimos’ latest lands somewhere in the gaps between drama and farce. It is, instead, a crooked glance at humanity’s relationship to power—the things people do to get close to it, to claim it, and to throw it away. In Lanthimos’ askew version of history, when Sarah’s relationship with the Queen is threatened by the arrival of her cousin Abigail, she does what she feels she must do to wrest back control and steer Queen Anne’s War to her liking. Anne, sensing the manipulation, grows closer to Abigail, only to realize her intentions might not be much better. It’s an unparalleled study in the utter lack of trust that accompanies being in charge, in the dread that comes with knowing those who seek your favor may never have pure intentions. It’s as bleak as it is laughable—and one of the most wonderfully weird tales to hit the screen this year. —A.W.

Annihilation

Director Alex Garland‘s adaptation of the first book of Jeff VanderMeer’s Southern Reach trilogy was easily one of the best dystopia films of 2018. It was also one of the year’s finest specimens of female badassery, featuring Natalie Portman, Tessa Thompson, Gina Rodriguez, and Jennifer Jason Leigh as a team sent on a expedition to find out why nature’s rules seem not to apply in the mysterious, government-protected space known as Area X. Haunting, unpredictable, and science-y (someone turns into a plant!), it was a whirlwind head trip—and a weird examination of what it means to exist. —A.W.

Eighth Grade

Even the title strikes fear in the hearts of anyone who didn’t have the easiest time walking the halls of their middle school/junior high. In writer-director Bo Burnham’s film, that uneasiest of times is compounded by the fact that it takes place in the modern world, where all insecurities are reinforced by un-Liked Instagram posts and unreceived Facebook invites. Heroine Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) knows she’s on a pretty low rung in her school’s social hierarchy and with each new YouTube video she posts full of advice she doesn’t take, her story becomes more and more poignant, more and more real. And whether you grew up in the social media age or not, it’ll punch you in the heart—and make you glad you survived adolescence intact. —A.W.

Leave No Trace

Debra Granik, who every reviewer will remind you made a star out of Jennifer Lawrence with her film Winter’s Bone, pulled off another wrenching look at a family on the edges with this year’s Leave No Trace. When Will (Ben Foster) and Tom (Thomasin McKenzie)—a father-daughter pair who have been living off-the-grid outside Portland, Oregon for years—are arrested and put in the system, it tests their bond in new ways, and exposes Tom to a life unlike the one she’s lived with her father. Granik’s latest is almost deafening in how quiet it is, but its message about finding one’s place in the world is loud and clear. —A.W.

Three Identical Strangers

Were you surprised by the twist? What about the one after that? These are kind the kinds of questions folks ask you after seeing this documentary about three identical triplets who discover each others’ existence in their teenage years. At the time they found each other, they became America’s latest talk show feel-good story and national intrigue. Everything that happened after that, though, is so unbelievable it pushes all boundaries of credulity. It’s a Can you believe? story that quickly becomes an examination of heredity and (possible) corruption that goes beyond unbelievable into truly mind-boggling. —A.W.

(C)

[osiathletes-blog]

WORKING WITH OUR FEAR

By Michael Smith, Program Director & C.O.O.

If you’ve spent any time around us as coaches, you know we like to talk about optimal experience, or what is commonly referred to as “flow”. Understanding this concept can have a profound impact on our approach to outdoor sport and our entire lives. The truth though, is that concepts like this often feel like they fail us when facing the reality of an experience. In other words, it’s great to think about being in our sweet spot for learning, but then the moment comes and you’re actually frustrated, bored, or scared and it can feel really helpless.

This week we want to go from concept to action and start sharing some ideas for tips and tools that can help you find your flow. Specifically, in this post we want to look at what we can do when we are beyond “flow” and into the realm of fear and anxiety. Before we do it’s worth understanding a little more about the learning process.

Learning is a neurological process, and without getting bogged down in the science, it’s important to understand that information tied to a strong emotion creates stronger learning. A strong emotional stimulus releases a flood of neurotransmitters and the result is that synapses fire faster and make it easier to commit things to long term memory. Too strong an emotion, like when we cross from flow into fear, and stress hormones take over, ultimately inhibiting learning and even damaging neurological structures.  So a learning environment that is too stressful isn’t just creating a negative experience, it’s actually working against us.

How do we know if we are “freaking out”?

Before we go any further it’s worth taking a moment to talk about how we know if we’re scared. That seems obvious right? Not always…

Observe - First, it sounds simple but we need to pay attention. Not always, but often we display obvious signs of stress without being aware of it. Perhaps we become very talkative, or very quiet. We might start asking a bunch of questions in an attempt to relieve our growing anxiety, or we might check out. Simply paying attention to our breath can tell us a lot about how we’re actually feeling. Are our breaths suddenly shorter and shallower? Are we maybe not even breathing at all? These are natural signs of stress or even anxiety from our nervous system that we might not even be aware of.

The trick here is that being scared, especially in a new environment, can often present as something else such as indifference, agitation, or feeling sick. This is because we might not have any context for what we’re experiencing, so it gets replaced with something we do know. When it comes to outdoor sport, not everyone is familiar with what it’s like to try something that feels scary. Biking

through the woods, paddling a rapid, or skiing down a hill can carry with it a sense of physical threat that in our typically-comfortable lives we just don’t regularly experience. So the sudden onset stomach ache can feel like a real physical stomach ache to us, but the cause may be emotional.

Check In With Yourself - Second, it’s okay to ask ourselves if we’re feeling nervous, anxious, or scared. Taking a moment to develop some self-awareness can be hugely beneficial.

Of course it’s also possible that we know we’re scared, especially if we’re petrified or in tears. Obviously we’d love to avoid this, and like to think we wouldn’t ever be in that place. The reality is, though, that we are complex creatures and we don’t always know what is going to set us off. Sometimes we can hide our feelings, even from ourselves, until it just bubbles over. We may think we’re 100% okay, only to later realize that just showing up that day had us near redline.

I can still vividly recall going to my first swimming lessons as a little kid. I was scared to death, and would be almost petrified with fear just sitting in the car on the way to the pool. The instructor literally had to coax me out from behind the bleachers on the pool deck. So while I’m sure his progression of skills was totally appropriate, just being near the water had me too scared to function at first.

(I’m happy to report, by the way, that I got over my fear of the pool and the water…but I’m still a lousy swimmer.)

How can we help ourselves when we’re scared?

Okay so we’ve got some tools to help us be more vigilant about our emotional state, but despite our best efforts and awareness we find ourselves scared. Now what?

Own It – First and foremost, it’s incredibly helpful just to acknowledge what we are feeling, and make it okay. Fear is one of those emotions that we tend to work really hard to avoid, and understandably so. With fear can also come an unnecessary feeling of shame or embarrassment. We can unintentionally reinforce those feelings when we’re told “you don’t need to be afraid”, as if being afraid is wrong. Instead I like to talk openly about fear, and identify when I feel scared, and how much fear can be functional, even useful, versus debilitating. The reality is that fear is a tool we can use, but first we have to welcome it and understand it, not try to stuff it away. I try to avoid telling people what they should and shouldn’t find scary as a way to put them at ease, and instead help them identify what they do and don’t find scary and why.

Change the Environment – In our formula for flow, it takes matching opportunity with capacity, or another way to think of it, matching environment with skill. You’ve probably heard the example of a pro skier getting bored on the bunny slope, and a novice getting terrified on a double black diamond trail. If we’re dealing with later, one of the easiest things we can do is seek out a mellower environment. You might think you picked the perfect place to work on downhill step turns on XC skis,

but maybe any amount of downhill is too much for where you’re at. Can you take it back to the flats and start there?

Simplify the Task – Alternatively can you make the task easier at first? Maybe that downhill is what you need, but you should start by sliding with parallel skis, or even sliding on your butt, before trying to step around a corner.

With whitewater kayaking, one of the ways I often simplify the task for someone who is feeling fear is by taking away the paddle and just having them float downstream. You might think that would increase anxiety for someone, and it might if the environment isn’t right. The goal though is to bring them back to basics, in this case just focus on taking calm breaths and looking around. The paddle can be a place where new paddlers focus energy and anxiety and in turn make things harder for themselves. By removing it, I’ve simplified what they need to focus on, and in turn it helps them actually find more comfort in the environment. It’s worth noting, though, to do this requires making sure we’ve selected the right environment where a person can just float in the current. If we haven’t, we’ll need to revisit the previous concept above.

Remember, You Have a Choice – Few things can make us feel more scared and anxious than feeling like we have absolutely no control. If we’re in the red zone it might be helpful to remember that we have a choice. We don’t have to do the thing we’re attempting right at this moment. There’s power in choice, and reminding ourselves about that can help us make the choice to step back, or make the choice to recommit and work past our fear in that moment.

Take a Break and Come Back Later – As stated earlier, learning is neurological. And neurological processes take energy and can be exhausting. Add in strong emotions and we can get incredibly fatigued. Sometimes the best thing to do is decrease the dosage and give ourselves more time to get comfortable with what we’re experiencing.

What Not To Do?

This discussion wouldn’t be complete without mentioning some of the approaches to working with fear that should be avoided.

Operate Scared – We’re all familiar with the classic Hollywood storyline of someone overcoming their fear and discovering a personal sense of strength and power. We may want this for ourselves, but the problem is that desire of ours can obscure what we actually need to be successful. We might know there’s positive benefit on the other side of the fear we are feeling, but forcing ourselves to do something when we can’t focus and perform well isn’t the answer.  All this does is reinforce a physical and emotional pattern where we equate being freaked out with performing. Instead we want to be able to focus and relax to find our best performance.

I might be nervous looking at a line I’m about to paddle, ski, or bike, but those nerves should fade away the moment I make my first move. If they don’t, I’m dealing with too much fear, and it’s not a productive space to improve in.  This is a difficult yet critical lesson to learn as we progress as athletes.

Do It For The Social Media Post – This goes right along with operating scared. It’s worth mentioning though that the boost of energy or motivation you might get from thinking about how cool something will look online doesn’t actually override your fear. So again, if you can’t find focus and relax into the task you’re performing, you’re not reinforcing a physical and emotional pattern that will help you improve. And no amount of likes or comments is going to help you perform the way you want.

Don’t Give Up On Yourself – If you spend enough time learning outdoor sports, eventually you’ll experience fear and anxiety, and struggle to work through it. Sometimes despite our best efforts, even with all the approaches outlined in this piece, it can feel like we’re hitting our heads against a brick wall. It’s easy to think “maybe this sport isn’t for me”.  The reality is you might not decide to pursue every sport you try, and you don’t need to. The most important thing we can do for ourselves though, is to be honest about where we’re at, be patient with our progress, and be okay with stepping down a notch or two if we’re dealing with too much fear.

It’s easy to be freaked out about an activity and decide we won’t go far with it. The real fun starts, though, when we discover our fear and lean into it.

[jamiekturner]

Book Cover Design: Ideas, Layout, Fonts, And How to Create One

In this article, we’ll learn about book cover design. It’s an important design project that you’ll surely end up in the future.

You wouldn’t be honest if you said that you don’t judge a book by its cover.

If a book has good graphics, good quality covers and an eye-catching font, it’s bound to sell more copies.

Despite what some might say, book covers aren’t actually in decline.

And, with the internet enabling effective and fast exchange of documents, feedback and ideas, people are sharing their favorite book covers across the web.

The concept of book cover design

Before you even begin with the book cover ideas, before you get into designing a book cover, you should be aware of the message you’re sending. What’s the book’s value proposition? What will the target audience look for in the book? Success and achievement, passion and romance, revenge and murder?

When you’ve got the motivation, emotion and incentive figured out, you can easily generate a lot of book cover ideas, or visual metaphors that will determine the typography, colors, imagery and the book cover layout.

If you want to design your own book cover, or if you just want to add a few things to it, below are a few book cover design ideas and things that you should keep an eye out for.

Read the content, and understand it

This might seem obvious to some, and pointless to others, but this is actually a crucial part, and many book cover designers will agree. Of course, life might get in the way, and you can’t always get your hands on the manuscript, or you can’t afford to read all 500 pages before the brief is due. In these situations, do your best to try to understand the content.

If available, Google synopses, read reviews, and try to figure out what is happening in the novel, as well as the themes, characters etc. You should have as much information as possible, because you can’t go and design a book cover without it.

Identify the content’s key areas

Now that you are pretty much familiar with the content, you should pick it apart. See what are the key characters, motifs, ideas etc., and see how you can visualise them when you’re figuring out how to make a book cover. Think about it – was the book noir-like? Maybe a monochromatic palette is suitable here. Do you have a recurring symbol or object that you can visualise?

A few book cover designs tips

Grabbing attention and generating excitement is the main goal of any cool book covers. The cover is one of the best, if not the best, tools in your arsenal. Therefore, you should create something that will create interest and stop people in their tracks. The cover is the hook which helps you promote your book.

The genre is important

When you want to create a book cover, it should show the genre of the book. A good book cover will talk to the readers through the choice of book cover fonts, the book cover background, and the metaphor.

If the book is a non-fiction, the cover should communicate the tone. The book cover explaining the scope of the book is actually a very cool thing, and it allows the reader to manage his or her time.

Minimalism in book cover design – less is often more

The minimal style is timeless, from an old book cover you may run into, to modern book back cover ideas, it’s everywhere. Put a title that’s big and easy to read. Your cover will usually be seen on a screen first, rather than the shelf. This is a very well-worn cliché of cover design.

Review a thumbnail image of the cover as well. Does the book cover size fit here? A lot of people buy books on a Kindle or mobile device, so the cover should be clear no matter where it’s viewed. Anticipate the look in grayscale as well.

Don’t use Comic Sans or Papyrus, anywhere. These fonts only work for a humor book, or if your goal is to make a cover that professionals will be laughing at. Avoid special styling and font explosions as well. A cover shouldn’t be using more than two fonts, and you should steer clear of using caps, italic caps etc. Avoid shaping the type as well.

Using your own, or your children’s artwork is another major ‘no’. There are only a couple of exceptions here, but you shouldn’t be counting on them, and this will very likely turn out to be a horrible idea. Avoid cheap clip art as well, such as the things that come free with Microsoft Word or other similar programs.

Go with quality stock photography if you really have to. And, don’t stick an image inside a box on the book cover, as it looks very amateurish. Gradients are another thing you should avoid, especially if you have a cover with a rainbow gradient. Garish color combinations won’t work either, as they will make everything look freakish instead of capturing people’s attention.

Know your reader before designing a book cover

All books are written for a target reader. If it’s a murder mystery, then the reader would be a murder mystery fan. However, in all genres, there are various readers.

You should be targeting the reader that is most likely to buy the book, that is what matters. Knowing the demographic of the reader lets you create a cover that has type and graphics that grab the reader’s eye, and sends the message that the book is right for them. This might seem like a no-brainer, but it’s much more difficult to do than say.

For example, putting a graphic, instead of a photograph, on a Photoshop book, is a mistake. Amateur Photoshop users will want to work with a photograph, and using a graphic instead might be a mistake with them. Keep that for an Illustrator product.

See if you have a central image you can use

Do you have an image or symbol that’s recurring? Find a way to incorporate it into the cover. Whatever was profound enough to make it into that many pages, will be profound enough to get on the front of the cover.

Look for metaphors when creating the book cover design

If your theme is about failing, then trying again, why not represent that on your book cover design? Your background can be a crumpled piece of paper that is flattened smooth for a fresh start. Your readers can immediately reflect upon the theme before they even open the book.

Focus on a single image

If you have plenty of symbolism, or more themes, don’t get carried away by trying to represent everything. Less is often more, and that will undoubtedly apply to your book cover design. Space should be used wisely, and be cautious with simple imagery. Keep the focus on a single image, as you don’t want to be overwhelming or confusing.

Choose colors that fit well with your story

Is your story actually a dramatic thriller? Bold red, deep ocean blues and sinister black are the colors to go. Is it a read that can be taken to the beach? Use jade greens and cool blues to give it a laid-back vibe. There’s actually a whole science behind color psychology, and you can make use of it for your cover design.

Use contrast for an eye-catching cover

If you’re having problems with your color scheme, try to take it back to basics and go with black and white. A classic contrast will help your cover pop, and is both classic and timeless. The monochromatic color scheme can result in a great way to keep your words and fonts at the front, and the image will become a part of the background.

Text is important, and you shouldn’t forget that

Just like the color that represents the story should be chosen carefully, you should choose a font that matches it as well. Do you have a mostly-female audience? A scripted font with a feminine flair is the way to go. Men prefer a bold, simple text that is easy to read. The biggest factor in the success of your book is actually the audience, so your cover should be tailor made to appeal to them.

Reviews matter

Do you have a good review from someone who is well-known in your field? Just put it on your cover! Even if it simplifies your book cover design in other aspects, having the popularity of someone who is well known verify that you have a good story or content is well worth it. Their name will lend credibility, especially if you’re a first-time author.

Add a teaser or subtitle in the book cover design

A good way to attract attention is to give your readers a short glimpse of what they’ll find between the covers, and that is easily done with a teaser or short subtitle. It takes much less time to read than the synopsis, and immediately draws in readers. The text should be smaller than the title, yet clear. It should be easy to read, but shouldn’t jump out at readers.

Consider the format

Different designs work better for one format than the other, and using the same cover for your print version as the one for your eBook is a mistake. For example, the eBook cover is often viewed in a thumbnail, meaning that the title and image should be clearly visible.

One genre might emphasize certain things more than the others, but you should keep a main focus that the browsers can easily spot when they’re looking at a small-scale version of your cover.

The print covers, on the other hand, give the viewers an up close view of the design, and thus require a different, more delicate approach. This shouldn’t mean different images for both versions, but you should tweak some elements to better suit the format.

Show, don’t tell

This is a piece of advice for writers, meaning that they should show through words, feelings and senses, instead of going with too much exposition. So, how do you apply this to design? Simple, just don’t be too blatant and too literal.

The depicting of antagonists, protagonists, faces, etc., is a common thing with old cover designs, as the designers wanted to illustrate the characters in a scene from the book. Your cover should be thought of as a movie trailer.

Sometimes you’ll see the trailer and go away, because you saw all the plot points. However, if the trailer is a bit more mysterious, you’ll want to see more. That’s how the cover should look like, without giving away everything. There are a few tips on how to achieve that.

Use symbols in the book cover design

If you want to avoid being too literal, experiment with symbols that represent a larger concept or idea. Set the mood and tone for your book. When you walk into the romance section at a book store, how do most of the book covers look like? Now imagine the crime novel section and ask yourself the same.

There’s a major shift in the use of typography, imagery and colors. The genre is very important, and it gives the consumers a glimpse of what they should expect when they open the book.

Be open minded and general

The more general your idea is, the more likely you are to create a professional design. If the idea is too detailed, creating a professional design may be difficult. For example, if you want a woman and a man on the beach, that’s pretty general and can be used very well. However, if you want them to be of specific ages, hair color, clothing and ethnicities, things get much more tricky.

Manipulating the images to an extent is possible, but keeping things general is a good idea. Try to be open minded too, and come up with more than a single design concept. This keeps your designer’s options open, and lets them go for a design that can suit everything best.

Don’t show your character in too much detail

Showcasing your main character on the cover is tempting, but it is seldom a good idea. A lot of readers would prefer using their imagination for this, and it might be very difficult for your designer to find a stock image that will match your expectations of your character’s looks.

If you think this is actually important, consider using a silhouette, or show them in a small part, or from behind, as this doesn’t reveal the whole character. These are all alternatives that will spark interest, and not limit the readers’ imaginations.

Be strong, simple and symbolic

A specific scene is often difficult to assemble when you’re using stock images, so refrain from this. The front cover is the first thing most, if not all, readers will see, and without the proper context, it might not make any sense even if you have a specific scene.

Being iconic or symbolic is much better, and coming up with a simple idea that is easy to understand is much better. Most people will see your book as a tiny picture, or out the corner of their eye if they’re in the bookstore. Regardless of which one it is, a strong, symbolic cover will grab their attention easily.

Browse stock images and research at your local book store

If you’re finding it hard to come up with an idea, do some research. Go to your local bookstore and take a look at books of the same genre. This may give you ideas or suggestions for your own design. Once you have an idea, browse for stock images on the web.

Don’t forget about the technical details

There are a few technical things to keep an eye out for. Copyright issues are something you should be aware of. If an image is copyrighted, using it without written permission isn’t something you can do. This may delay the production of your book, and choosing a licensed image, or an image you have taken yourself, is much easier.

The images must be in a high resolution as well, usually no less than 300 ppi if you’re using it for the cover, and they must be in a size suitable for their use. If you’re submitting a finalized design, production delays can be easily prevented by submitting it in a layered Photoshop or TIFF file, where the text is on a separate layer from the images.

The back cover is informative, pay attention to it

Even though the front cover is a great eye candy which tells your reader that the book is worth a second glance, that second glance is at the back cover. It should be an infomercial that validates the excitement the buyer’s feeling, and assures him that the book is well worth the investment.

How to do a book cover design wrong

Looking at bad designs is a good practice too. There are a lot of them, and you can see what are some of the things you shouldn’t be doing. Overthought and overwrought typography is the main offender here, but using stock imagery is another close contender. Be careful with the fonts and images.

Showcase of book covers

Harry Potter book cover

To kill a mockingbird book cover

Twilight book cover

Pride and Prejudice book cover

The hobbit book cover

Frankenstein book cover

The outsiders book cover

The great Gatsby book cover

Divergent book cover

The hunger games book cover

Lord of the flies book cover

Alice in wonderland book cover

1984 book cover

Fahrenheit 451 book cover

Lord of the rings book cover

Romeo and Juliet book cover

The fault in our stars book cover

Ending thoughts on book cover design

Few people think about how the book covers come into life, most of them just thing you’ll call an artist and he’ll get it done.

Authors themselves, or family members or friends may also get it done, but for a successful and effective cover, you need expertise.

You’re visually representing the whole book in a single image, which is a hefty job to take on. Keep these things in mind.

If you liked this article about book cover design, you should check out these as well:

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Book Cover Archive

The 10 Best Book Covers of 2017

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