#spine having bros solidarity

[batfoonery]

Dogsitter Dick! AU

Yes, another part of the ever-growing Flower Crown AU

So, it starts innocently enough. His neighbor in Bludhaven is going to be out of town for the weekend, does he mind feeding her cats? And cats basically look after themselves (plus if there's a problem his gremlin bro/child is basically a Disney Princess and can work his freaky pet magic).

And it becomes a regular thing. She leaves him $50 ($25 per day) and all is well.

But then she tells the old lady who lives on the second floor. And this is cool, totally manageable. Dick agrees to sleep over in her apartment to petsit her Yorkie with separation anxiety. Totally fine. It's not like he's far from home, and the dog is tiny and old.

Damian gives him a Look and snorts. Loudly. But Damian is also covered in baby bird down (the rescues are molting) and fake flower petals from his flower crown side hustle, so Dick elects to ignore him.

Barbara also gives him a Look and snorts. He also ignores her. It's easy money, and he can work it around his schedule. All in all, being a petsitter is considerably easier to maintain as a career when you're a vigilante than anything else he's tried. And if it's contained to the apartment building, it isn't a problem.

Except then the lady in 3A tells her friend at a complex a few blocks over. But whatever, it's still the same neighborhood, so Dick figures he can pull some overnighters there too. No biggie.

Everyone except Dick sees exactly where this is going. Duke and Tim both try to warn him and are promptly brushed off. Duke just shakes his head and pats the shoulder of an aggravated Tim.

Dick realizes that maybe he has a problem when he's on the other side of town, trying to wrangle a very mean rabbit. His name is Sir Oliver, and he's adorable, but even Dami can't get a pet in.

Sir Oliver's house becomes on of Dick's regulars. He can't say no, because the house owner is also his dentist and he's terrified of her.

The house has no wifi and a weird TV hookup that he can't figure out, so typically by hour 3 he's literally bouncing off the walls. They're conveniently located by a park, but one of the dogs (Lady Lemongrass) is an old English Sheepdog with hip issues so he can't walk her, one (Madame Margaret) is a Coton de Tulear who is too uppity to be permitted to walk on a leash, and the terrier mix (Fred) apparently has no idea how to walk on a leash. Dick stares at the park with deep longing. How is this his life?!

That house becomes both longed for (they pay well, he's able to charge them more than other clients because of distance, the number of pets, and also because they're rich white people who keep snubbing him so there's no emotional guilt) and dreaded. Especially when they decide that it's perfectly acceptable to have work done on the house while they're gone and not tell him more than an hour before the workers get there.

"I'm fine with the painters," he complains to Babs over the phone. "They're a group of sisters, and I could probably fend them off if needed, but I don't know if I feel comfortable being alone with an unknown male contractor."

"You're a vigilante, you routinely save the world. You'll be fine," she's quick to remind him. Dick decides she's soulless and clearly doesn't care if he goes missing. Dami would probably protect him, but he's in school and Bruce is mean and won't let him skip.

Instead, Dick slumps over the kitchen island, bored out of his mind as he sits and just.... does nothing, other than occassionally fidget with his phone to see if any new Pokemon have shown up.

Is is appropriate to leave your petsitting charges alone when there are workers over? He has no problem leaving people alone in his own apartment, but he has nothing of value and no pets. It feels morally wrong to do the same here. But he's out of snacks and coffee, and the dogs are locked away, so he sits and tries to look non-threatening and wishes he could go out to grab a nap in his own bed or fetch Dami from school so they can work on his flower crowns together. He's bad at putting them together, but he's great at cutting them up!

He does lose his patience when one contractor tries to get flirty with one of the painters, who is clearly not into it. But they're also quick to fall into line when he threatens to call the houseowner. They're known to be Karens, and nobody wants to deal with that.

"Never again," Dick says when he flops onto the bed, the four days of torture finally completed. He's nursing a bad bunny bite, and a migraine. Oh. And a backache, now that his spine is off of that way-too-soft mattress. His joints pop loudly in solidarity against this form of torture.

"Aren't you already booked for another long weekend in two weeks?" Jason points out with a smirk.

Dick groans. He really needs to up his rates.

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.6

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 6/20

Previously <- Chapter 5: Nine-years-old

Chapter 7: Catch -> Next

Chapter 6: Something about cats and bags

“And first place goes to the very talented and ever excelling Bakugou Katsuki! We look forward to seeing where you go from here!” The announcer stepped forward, her smell so sweet that it was nearly syrup on his tongue. She slipped the gold first place medal over his head, the ribbon scratchy against the back of his neck, before stepping back. “Let's hear another round of applause for our winners! What a great competition they gave us!”

The stands erupted in cheers all over again. Bouquets were thrown onto the ice, red and blue and yellow. Letters with his name scrawled across the front. Stuffed animals, several of which were bunnies. Bunnies like the ones people had come to associate with Izuku.

Katsuki had won first place in his first ever competition skating singles. He'd completely annihilated the other competitors. That was a huge accomplishment, especially after his abysmal show from last season. He should have been elated. He should have been proud. He should have been smug.

But all he felt was bitter. Bitter and frustrated and angry.

He shouldn't have been alone up on his podium. There should have been a tousle of green curls on the podium next to his.

There should have been someone for him to celebrate with.

When the photographers called, “Smile for the camera!” he could only manage a deeper scowl.

…..

Katsuki was, for all intents and purposes, distracted. Had been distracted from the moment they'd set up shop in the studio again, Midnight presiding over their training for the day. Midnight was and had always been her stage name. She specialized in Burlesque and pole dancing, but few people knew she'd been classically trained in ballet before finding her true passion. The addition of her specialties gave her too much insight into the body, but made her an asset in Aizawa's arsenal.

It also meant she had a rather... unique training style, to put it simply.

He enjoyed it, enjoyed the challenge her particular teaching style presented. After more than half a decade of training, people might have thought they'd get used to the rigor of her training techniques, but she never let them dwell in the same regimen for too long.

That day though he was too focused on how far she was getting Izuku to pull his leg over his head. Due to his injury when they were younger, she tended to make Izuku stretch out his hips more than anything else. And fuck, could they stretch.

Izuku's leg easily straightened out above his head with his hands wrapped around his ankle, and then Midnight put a hand on his shoulder to push him forward. “I've seen you pull some stunts, Midoriya, I know you can bend further than that! Test your limits! You will be the envy of all mates, and you and your future mate will both be thankful for your flexibility!”

“Midnight, please stop!” Izuku shouted in reply, cheeks and ears red, but there was also laughter on his lips.

'Omega mate. Omega mate. Omega mate.'

Katsuki wanted to tell his alpha to shove it and shut the fuck up, but he couldn't deny that Midnight had a point. They weren't mates, but fuck if Katsuki wasn't already imagining every position he could bend Izuku into. His mouth was watering.

He really was doing his best to discreetly stare, but just like the last time, he lost track of his surroundings after a few moments.

“Bro, stop looking like you're ready to rip out his spine! It's creepy!” Sero shouted right into his ear, startling Katsuki out of his reverie. His friends seemed to be really good at that nowadays.

Ashido smirked, elbowing Kirishima in the ribs and startling the other alpha out of where his eyes were trained on Kaminari beside Izuku as he tried and failed to mimic the omega. Kirishima had had a crush on Kaminari for the better part of five years, but the blond had been up Shinsou's ass since the alpha had joined their team. It was a little sad to watch how hard his best friend pined, but it helped that he also had the hots for Ashido. She was affable about the whole thing at worst and willing to experiment at best.

“What?” Kirishima asked, grinning abashedly as he scrubbed at the back of his head, “I, uh, wasn't paying attention.”

“Bakugou looking at Midoriya like he wants to rip out his spine. I think he's thinking about his spine, but for entirely different reasons, am I right?”

Kirishima, bless his dumb heart, looked completely lost when he looked back at her. “Why would he be thinking about his spine at all?”

Ashido's smirk only grew. “Same reason you'd be thinking about Kaminari's spine. It's that curve.”

“Stop. Just stop,” Sero pleaded as Kirishima's cheeks blushed the same color as his hair, “I don't want to hear anything else. That's just... Whatever's going on here, let's leave it for after practice.”

“What are we leaving for after practice?” Kaminari chirped as he dropped down between Sero and Kirishima, cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down his brow. He grinned and panted, “Midnight wants you next Bakugou. She's eager to get her hands on you, Shinsou, and the other leads today.”

“Fantastic,” Katsuki grumbled, standing. He was thankful though, thankful that he would be able to escape the conversation without having to contribute to it.

“Spines and how flexible they can be,” Ashido chirped back, cheeky smile firmly in place as Kaminari grinned back just as knowingly.

Again, Sero said, “Stop!”

Katsuki made his escape, leaving Sero and Kirishima to deal with the ensuing conversation.

…..

Izuku didn't notice that he was staring until Uraraka's elbow found its way into his side. Groaning, he glared over at her. “What was that for, Chako? It's supposed to be Omega Solidarity, not Omegas Against Each Other. Why would you hurt me?”

Uraraka smiled at him. Well, 'smiled' might have been a nice way of putting it. Smirked was more along the lines of what she was doing. “This is Omega Solidarity.”

Passing her an unimpressed look, Izuku continued to remove the tape from his ankles and toes. A second later though, he glanced up and found himself distracted all over again. His hands stilled as he watched Katsuki easily work through the exercise Midnight had assigned the leads.

Katsuki had been holding a handstand for the better part of a minute, and with easy grace, he tilted one leg down to touch the floor in front of his face while the other remained extended. With barely a push, he returned his leg to its original position before dropping the opposite leg on the other side of his body near the back of his head. It was a feat of athleticism that had Izuku hotter around the collar than he'd been in awhile.

In his chest, his omega chanted, 'Alpha mate. Alpha mate. Alpha mate.' He wanted his omega to shut up because it only made him long for Katsuki all the more.

When Uraraka nudged him again, he took a discreet sniff of the surrounding air, but luckily, his blockers were still working as advertised. People could already smell when he got anxious, he didn't want to imagine what he'd do if they could smell his arousal as well.

Leaning into him, Uraraka murmured, “You might want to wipe the drool off your chin.” She sat back with a laugh and watched as he stammered loudly.

“I-I-I- I don't have drool-! Chako!” Jumping to his feet, he shoved his feet into his red sneakers and everything else into his bag. He scrubbed a hand across his chin, but luckily, it was dry. “You're a menace!”

“I'm not the one slobbering everywhere!”

“I'm leaving!” he shot back, gathering his bag tightly to his chest, “I don't know why we're friends!”

“Because you love me. Tell Mirio I said hello!” she called as he darted towards the door that led to the locker rooms.

A quick glance back found Katsuki's inverted eyes on him. For the briefest of moments, they caught each others gaze, and heat sizzled beneath his skin. Immediately, he ducked his head and pushed out of the studio with a muttered 'goodbye'.

The walk to the studio where he recorded the podcast with his co-host was uneventful, but uncomfortable in the cold. It seemed like overnight the temperature had dropped from a comfortable 10 degrees celsius to something just above freezing. His breath plumed from his mouth, and he fervently wished he had a scarf and something warm to drink. He had neither though. He didn't even have his gloves or hat, both threadbare after nearly ten years of use. They'd begun to fall apart last year, but he still hadn't set aside the money to buy a new set, more focused on growing his collection of figure skating memorabilia and replacing the blades on his skates. Honestly, he thought he'd had more time before the cold really set in.

Instead, he just hunched his shoulders toward his ears and shoved his hands as deep into his pockets as they would go.

Stepping into the studio with a tremble, it was to the sight of his co-host already stationed in the recording booth with papers spread around him and their producer seated at the control panel. She pressed a warm milk tea into his hand after he'd shrugged out of his heavy coat. “You should have at least dried off before walking here. I bet your freezing.”

Izuku held the drink between his palms, sighing happily. “I am, but I'll be fine. Are we ready to go? Where's Tamaki?”

“Sick, and we sure are. Mirio's got a really interesting topic lined up for today.”

Grinning and stepping towards the room, Izuku said, “Can't wait.”

…..

If he had been smarter, Katsuki would have taught figure skating classes at his own team's rink. As it was, he hadn't been that smart when he'd started up the class. Instead, he'd been idealistic and allowed himself to be talked into doing them in the low income neighborhood on the other side of the city. He didn't get paid much for teaching classes, just whatever the recreation center could afford. Sometimes he didn't get paid at all, but he liked it. Liked working with the kids and watching them progress, and conversing with the parents to glean whatever information he could from them for whenever he had pups of his own.

Because he would have pups. There was no doubt in his mind about that. The question was with the 'when', but he was content enough to just wait for that to happen rather than seeking it out.

By the time he arrived, he was freezing and pissed about it. His fingertips had blushed a deep red despite the gloves he'd jerked on. At least his beanie and scarf had done their jobs, so he's just shoved his hands as deep into his pockets as possible. Glaring at the sky, all he could think about was that it would snow within the next two weeks.

All his alpha brain could do was worry about whether Izuku had made it to his next destination without freezing to death. 'Omega okay? Must keep omega warm. Provide warmth. Keep omega body warm to bear healthy pups. Provide for omega to provide for pups.'

Just inside the door to the small recreational rink, Katsuki growled and scrubbed at his forehead. He couldn't tell if his alpha was doing it on purpose or if the puppy fever was a sign that his body was ramping back up for a rut that was an entire month away, but he was over it. Ideally, he would have liked to get through the next few hours without thinking of Izuku at all.

Only if wishes were horses, he supposed.

As soon as his bag hit the bench near his students' parents, all ten of the tween gremlins' heads snapped around. They darted towards him, stumbling across the ice in their haste.

“Mr. Bakugou!” they shouted almost in unison, wide toothy grins pulling at their mouths.

“What? Can't I put my skates on without y'all bothering me?” he shouted back, sitting down heavily and pulling his skates free from his bag. When he glanced up, it was to every single one of them staring at him with wide eyes. “What?”

One of the girls, a little omega that had presented earlier that year smiled, canines small but sharp and lethal. One of her front teeth was missing. “Mr. Bakugou, we heard a rumor.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki returned his attention back to his skates. “Yeah, what was that? One of your teachers not really a beta?”

The kids giggled, and the same girl answered. “Noooo~” she sang, and something in her voice worried him.

Narrowing his eyes, he glanced back up at all of them. He didn't say anything, just waiting them out.

Finally, all of them still giggling, she said, “We heard you were skating pairs this season! We want to know who your partner is! Is it Mina? She's really pretty. Or is it one of the omegas?” She gasped. “Is it Uraraka? Oh! Or Kaminari, he's fun!” The gaggle of kids went off, tittering among themselves about who would be good enough to be his partner.

Before he could filter himself, he blurted, “How the hell did that get out so fucking fast? Jesus.” When the kids started to giggle again, he grimaced and glanced towards the parents, but he'd been teaching their kids so long that they seemed immune to his mouth.

“So it's true!” one of the boys crowed, “Who's your partner? Come on, Mr. Bakugou, tell us who you're skating with! Please!”

“I'm not tell you lot shit unless every single one of you can land your Salchow without falling!” Standing with a frown as they groaned, he marched towards the rink entrance. “Warm-ups! Get going! You're wasting my time and your parents'! Get going!”

Grumbling, the group pushed off the wall one by one.

…..

Across from Izuku, Nejire on the other side of the glass ticked off the seconds on her hand. When she reached 0, the On-Air sign flashed red and Mirio jumped in with a giant smile that only Izuku and Nejire could see.

“Welcome to another episode of the award winning podcast, Sharpen Your Blades! I am your host, Mirio, here to lead you through the intricacies of the figure skating world. With me, as always, is the beautiful, wonderful, underrated expert that is Deku. Tell us, Deku, how are you doing this fine evening?”

Grinning, Izuku theatrically groaned. “Well, I'm a little sore, Mirio. We were working with Midnight today, and I'm pretty sure she was trying to fold us into pretzels. I honestly come away from training with her feeling like under cooked pizza dough every time.”

“Sounds like my kind of time! So, training for the upcoming competitive season is going well then?”

Izuku snorted before he could stop himself. “It's going as well as it can right now. The beginning of a new season is always a little rocky, and I'm sure City Hall has already released the news that the skating division will be doing the spotlight for the Christmas Showcase.”

Something flashed across Mirio's expression, and apprehension wormed its way beneath Izuku's skin, making his smile falter. “Yes, yes, that's some big news. So, I have a question for you friend.”

Izuku said, “Sure. Shoot.”

“So, word through the grapevine, and I'm talking like a really trustworthy grapevine, is that you're going to be skating pairs this competitive season. Any validity to that statement?”

Mirio knew exactly what he was doing when he didn't brief Izuku on that question, and Izuku couldn't stop himself even knowing that it was the reaction Mirio had wanted from him. Silently, the other host let him stammer out unintelligible sounds for the better part of a minute before finding his words. “What are you talking about? Where did you hear that?!”

“I cannot, unfortunately, release the name of my informant as that would compromise their wonderfully convenient position! So, I take that to mean it's true. I can say that I am really excited to see you get back to your roots. Even if you don't stay on pairs, I think it'll be wonderful to see you in that vein of skating again. So, with that, care to let us in on who your partner will be?”

Instead of answering, Izuku groaned loudly and let his had smack into the table.

“Oh no, listeners! I think I may just have killed Deku. While he returns to the land of the living, I'll just continue on with this piece of gossip! And what a piece of gossip it is!”

[du-hjarta-skulblaka]

Oh that is really cool, I'm approaching my tattoos with a similar mindset (except it's things that I love instead of people). What are the stories behind their other tattoos?

Hiiloveyousomuch

So! There isn't as much meaning behind the others, they're just associated with specific people. Mostly my own ocs, but a couple are people I've rped with

Oldest is the crow on their left shoulder; when they were young they were in a gang with another woman named Ariaht, there's. A whole clusterfuck there, tbh. Tldr she's an ex, is now an old woman and has been trying to assassinate Sunny for a while lol. But it's a real messy love/hate thing. BUT when they were young, her nickname was Little Crow.

Next is the bear on their other shoulder, that's Mordenn. He's another of my ocs and was one of the first people to really help Sunny when they left their hometown (in wow continuity at least). He's this big grizzled orc veteran, very gruff but kind and they kinda. Connected? Sunny's actually older than him but rarely shows it so with him it's like, old person solidarity hours. He venerates an ancient bear spirit, so it's sort of a blessing as well.

Two interlocking gears over their left collarbone, Casey the engineer. Sunny met him as a kid escaping his abusive home and lowkey adopted him but, more like a little brother. He's an engineering savant and makes alot of their gadgets/tools

Black lipstick print at the base of their spine, right in the middle of a knot of scars. That's for Szae, thats another person's character and we rped them dating for a bit. The first night they were together she kissed them there as kind of a gesture that the scars didn't bother her.

Bouquet of lillies done in like a watercolour down their left side with sparks coming off them. That's for their best friend Naeci and his family, also rped by a friend. They've just been like...Best bros for years and his family motifs are magic and I thiiink flowers? I dojt remember exactly but. There's one flower for each member of the family when they got it (they keep. Having more fuckin kids Matt stop giving them kids)

Last one currently is a sigil on their neck, thats a bit different. A while ago me and another rp friend had this while arc where sunny was being hunted by thus...scary, void dude. Who was torturing them with nightmares and their worst memories. The sigil is like a protection rune against him, it hides them from him and burns when he's nearby, also helps them resist his magic and vaguely sense related energy, like an itch

[popculturebuffet]

House of Mouse: Mickey and the Culture Clash (Commission by WeirdKev27) or “What the Hell, Clarabelle?”

Hello, hello, hello... I wish I could say I was in good spirits but i’m tired, have covid induced chills running down my spine.. and oh yeah there was an armed insurrection i the captial last night that showed just how broken this country was. And while Monster Bash would still be relevant... I couldn’t do it. I admit to being unable to do an episode where the millitant racist nutjob who harms people runs off into the night, and does much worse in later episodes, while the people she harassed are arrested the night after a bunch of millitant, racist, sociopathic, selfish nightmares sieged the captial, killed a woman, raised the fucking maga flag over the buildling and took pictures like they were goddamn heroes.  We got a stark reminder, not a wake up call, not an opening a REMINDER of just how badly broken our country is last night, and it wasn’t till this morning I found out just how BAD it was. The deaths, the flag, the fact josh fucking hawley, MY STAT’ES SENATOR and registered piece of shit, raised  A FUCKING FIST IN SOLIDARITY, which gives me the crippling fear his stupidity and unabashed racisim and support of a cou could mean riots at best and attempted uprisings at worst and who knows what kind of hate crimes against those of color and those in my own queer community. I am afraid, tired, and I am pissed and I feel we could ALL use something wholesome, warm and far removed from the shit going on. And in my hour of need to figure out something like that to put on the schedule.. Kev brought up a wonderfufl idea.  Every month this month till the end of it Kev is going to comission one episode of a show near and dear to both our hearts that has it’s 20th birthday this month. House of Mouse. He was intitally going to request Pete’s One Man Show, which is one of my faviorites, but was ironcially one I already planned to cover next month to celebrate both the show’s anniversary and Pete’s Birthday. But since he was happy to wait till then to comission it, he instead asked for another classic and one with easily my faviorite character on the show: Moritmer Mouse. 

One of the best things House of Mouse did was bring back Mortimer Mouse. Introduced in Mickey’s Rival, Mortimer was an ex of minnies who showed up for one short to be a dick to mickey before running off and leaving Minnie at the mercy of a bull he pissed off. He also weirdly kept electrodes and a car battery in his pants. The short itself is.. not great mostly because Minnie dimissies Mickey rightfully being pissed someone is hitting on his girlfriend in front of him, making jokes at his expense, and generally being a pillock as being jealous... which yeah, yeah he is. Most of the time jealousy and supscison of your partner is ugly, gross and damaging to a relationship.  You should trust them unless you’ve been given good reason not to, and if your paranoidly jealous about every friend she has she could be attracted to.. get some fucking help. Seriously, I need to, not for this for various other problems, but get some therapy to help with your trust issues or if your just being the kind of dick who naturally assumes men and women or men and men or women and women or men and nonibinary persons, or women and nonbinary peeps and so on and so on cannot be friends if they could possibly be togehter romantically... grow up.  I say all of that because those are serious underlying issues and I didn’t want it to seem like for a moment I was supporting them... and because sometimes i’ts OKAY to be jealous, to either just feel a little jealous of someone, or to you know be irate because your girlfriend’s ex is hitting on her in front of you and she’s being entirely receptive to it. 

So yeah i’ts really hard to feel bad for minnie’s bull attack or find the ending sweet after Minnie was you know, what ramona said for an entire short. However my point for this rant, besides giving out about the short again because I clearly didn’t enough in my Mickey Birthday Special, is that Mortimer is still pretty great. He’s a frat bro in the 40′s sense sure, but the idea of a local douche hoping to swoop in and woo minnie away, who has an oddly specific sense of humor and a bizzare, memorable and wonderful walk, seriously the short is worth watching for mortimier’s “I got two car batteris in my pants’ walk, is a good one. While he’d naturally show up in comics and what have you Mortimer just sort of vanished. But clearly someone on the House of Mouse staff, and Mousewerks before it, agreed because Morty was made easily one of the best and most recurring characters in the HOM, and often more prominent than Horace or Gus. While he still tried his old “I’m gonna do your common law wife act” a few times he was mostly there to be an annoying douche when the ep needed one and to be taken down a peg by everyone in the house. And that VERY MUCH includes Mickey. That’s also part of why I love this show bringing him back: It gives Mickey someone besides pete to give out too on a regular basis. He’s still his charming self about it but it’s lovelyt os ee Mickey sarcastically roast someone. And I honestly attribute the main factor of his sucess on the show to VA Maurice LaMarche. While his original VA, Sonny Dawson, was fantastic.. it’s Maurice who very clearly made the character his. While others like Jeff Bennet have taken over since i’ts Maurice who gave him his signature “ha-cha-cha” catchphrase, swagger and signiture voice. And no i’ts not lost on me that one of Maurice’s OTHER best roles is another cartoon mouse.. and I now very badly want him to meet Pinky and the Brain. But yeah, Maurice just oozes the smarm that defines mortimer for me, oozes condescinon and assholery and he, is., glorious. He was a faviorite as a kid, he’s a faviorite now, and Disney needs to use him more.. and also have Maurice voice him for wonderufl world of mickey mouse, though Jeff Bennett is not bad at all I just prefer the master at the role. 

So obviously, after the nightmare of an evening america had yesterday, an episode not only about how wholesome mickey and minnie are but about Mickey teaming up with Mortimer was EXACTLY what i needed. So pitter patter, this is Mickey and the Culture clash. As always for house of mouse i’ll be chonking it up and since this one starts right with the wraparound, and sicnce you know I spent a godo few pagraphs going over mortimer and he’s only IN the wraparound this episode... let’s start there

Mickey and the Culture Clash: Don’t Go Changin, To Try and Please Me So we open the episode and the review proper with Mickey performing a banjo sernade for Minnie, their song in fact. It’s a really sweet scene.. that’s quickly ruined by Clarabelle being an asshole, who says i’ts a bit crude. Minnie counters that while “It’s not mozart”, it’s nice and she clearly likes it and the gesture. Instead of you know leaving it there like a good friend, like she’s SUPPOSED to be to Minnie in most continuities, Clarabelle.. takes the things she said and her having to run out to wrangle pluto out of context, painting it as her thinking he’s not sophisticated and then running out because of it. Oh and she tops it by pointing to a classified add from a MM looking for sophisticated companionship. 

It just paints Clarabelle not as Minnie’s friend or a chatty gossip, but as a heartless bitch who has no trouble implying one of her best friends would cheat on her boyfriend TO HIS FACE, and is fine wrecking a perfectly lovely relationship just to have more to talk about. Seriously she starts gossiping to everybody on top of it just in case you thought Clarabelle was a decent person in any shape this episode. She’s the one thing about this episode that dosen’t work despite being integral to it.. well two but hte other thing is a small, end of episode gag we’ll get to. This.. this is an integral part of the plot. It also relies on Daisy and Donald being absent for the episode for what I can only assume is their annual sex decathalon because otherwise the second she heard about her friend doing this, before reassuring Minnie, Donald would be holdiing her while Daisy beat the absolute shit out of her for hurting thier closest friend and not bothering to take a look into anything when leveling such a rough accusation at Minnie. In a really stellar, really well paced episode, Clarabelle being so heartless stands out. It’s also, might as well get this out of the way, teh final episode not inlcuding the two holiday specials.. and it’s a good note to go out on otherwise, I just can’t ignore the obnoxious cow in the room.. in both senses of the word. 

So yeah Mickey’s trying to be fancy, and Mortimer gets a good dig in about him reading “You having trouble sounding out the words”, but once he hears what’s going on, or rather once he realizes mickey things Mortimer’s personal add is in fact his girlfriend cheating on him, he decides to help Mickey. And to his credit for this con.. Mortimer actually thought things out on how to trick his rival, and his plan here is douchey as hell but incredibly genius: he offers to help mickey and while that’d normally be suspcious he offers a genuine, and very mortimer explination for helping him become a bit more sophisticated to win minnie back: if Minnie finds a handsome, sophisticated guy to date, what chance does MORTIMER have against that? At least with Mickey, in his deluded egocentric view of things anyway, he has a shot at beating him. 

So Mickey classes it up a bit, taking some sopshitcated stances when announcing and trying to woo minnie by talking in ye olde english. When that fails, she just finds it silly but charming, Mickey finds Jose.. hitting on her.

Just.. I expect better from you man. Woo ladies all you like as long as your respectful but I expect better than to hit on someone else’s girlfriend.. which granted he has but given the last time we saw him do that, he nearly got stabbed a bunch and the last time he agressively hit on a woman he got punched in the beak as he should, you’d THINK he’d of learned something. Seriously once again Donald is only missing because this time Daisy would be holding Jose down while Donald hit him. Or possibly they’d take turns. Point is Jose REALLY shoudln’t be doing this and knows better.. marginally. But.. it is in character enough so ti’s not as bad as Clarabelle the homewrecker. 

So Mickey tries being fancy and goes on to do poetry instead of letting O’Malley and the Alley Cats play.. which is a nice running gag the series does as they NEVER get to play.. which while funny is a shame since I love the Aristocats. So then we finally get what Mortimer’s been playing at, he swoops in, claims MICKEY dosen’t need HER, and uses the same personal add to trick her. See, while what Mortimer’s doing is vile.. unlike clarabelle I can repsect it at least. I don’t condone it and i’m glad he gets foiled.. but as a bad guy plan it’s pretty clever and for someone like Mortimer whose usually pretty incompitent.. it’s pretty suprising he could pull this off. It’s still pretty damn low and scummy, no question, but props to being able to outwit and nearly outplay two people who deal with your crap on a regular basis and still convincingly conning both.  Thankfully while he tries to take Minnie out Mickey, in a great visual gag, puts two and two together, and busts out their song, with Mickey and Minnie heartwearmingly reuniting on stage as seen above. Then we get that gag I mentioned not liking: Mickey gets Morty back by planting a false marriage proposal from Moritmer to Clarabelle, again under MM and he gets carried off.. HAHA HE’S BEING FORCED INTO A MARRIAGE HE DOSEN’T. LAUGH. LAUGH AT IT. The gag just really hasn’t aged well, as otherwise it’s clever Mickey used Mortimer’s own trick against both him and the person who caused all of this but really.. Clarabelle gets no real compuance. At worse sshe finds out she was tricked.. but she again you know tried to break up her close friends relationship for shits and giggles. But .. it’s at the very end of the episode and very easy to ignore, so it dosen’t really bother me too bad, and compared to some gags of the type i’ve seen, it could be MUCH worse.  Overall this wraparound is one of the series best and a good one to go out on. it has a simple premise, a brilliant antagonist plot, some great bits from all involved, and even a great Belle and Beast cameo. All in all a really good wraparound only hampered by a sexist and dated ending and Clarabelle being portrayed as ...

She’s the worst, in the world. Okay onto the shorts.

Mickey’s Piano Lesson: That was a Fun One

It really was. It’s a simple premise: Minnie wants MIckey to do a piano recital and he decides “I don’t need practice i’m mickey mouse. “ And it’s REALLY nice to have a short that has, rather than aw shucks mickey, shenanigans mickey. While thanks to the new shorts we’ve had tons, it’s still nice to get one in the House of Mouse era, and it’s just fun to see Mickey take the usual donald roll of letting his overconfidence punch him in the face> It fits both though: Both are everyman and while I lean towards the duck, to no one’s shock, Mickey is just as capable, and his lack of practice comes off less like the angry and hostile way donald would dismiss it and mroe just loveable procastination. And as someone who REALLY struggles with procastination I related to this short, as Mickey does everything else he’d rather do from bathing the dog to skydiving till Minnie, in a great bit informs him everyone from the president, to several dignitaries from other countries, to a televised audience will see. We then get two really great and really beatuifully animated bits as MIckey wrestles with the notes on thep age then fights with his piano as he performs, still pulling it off but destroying the thing and rightfully earning a glare form his girlfriend. Just a fun, slapstick short with a great premise. 

Dance of the Goofys: Scary Children Set to classical music, this one has a bunch of goofys as Fairy’s, who are making the flowers go and the one who sleeps in ends up saving the king from a horrifing looking little brat. He reminds me of Montanna Max a bit.. speaking of which Creer Summer recnetly announced Elmyra won’t be in the reboot. And while this does make me fear actually good characters like Fifi, Montana Max, and more will be cut like the animanics reboot and I do feel for Cree not getting to be involved and hope they find another roll for her as, given her status in the industry she deserves better.. THANK FUCKING GOD. I’ll go into this in another review I have planned for the future but unlike the cuts made to animaniacs this was a REALLY good decision i’m really greatful for. Thank you crew thank you. 

Back on topic, it’s just a fun, really beautifully animated short about the goofies and hteir shenanigans with a really great high concept. 

Maestro Minnie: Brahm’s Lullabye: Simply Irresitable Another simple but clever and lovely to watch one, and one I like quite a bit more. Minnie is conducting some living violins to Brahm’s Lullabye to get a baby Violin to sleep, and we get some really beautiful shots of her as she does so.. only to get comically interuppted by other insteruments turning up the noise. Not much to say on this one as it’s short and simple.. but sometimes short and simple is just what you need and the fun premise nad really beautiful especially for tv animation at the time visuals really sell this one.  ONce again, good stuff. 

Overall: This was a REALLY good note to go out on. While as I said the Clarabelle stuff can eat my entire ass, everything else is really damn good and I highly recommend checking this one out. Next time, in about a month, we’ll be looking at Pete’s spotlight episode for his birfday. While you wait tommorow we have my first look at legend of the three cabs. But for now, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye. 

[foradecision]

THE SLUMS, DAY 16 ; 8:19:56.

     "you have the antizin? where is it?”

     “lena ...”

     “please don’t tell me the son of a bitch broke his word. we need that medicine, kyle. tell me you have something.”

     “yeah, i — i got ...” crane starts, then stops. he’s fucking exhausted. he’s bruised and filthy and his circuits are completely blown, full - on, forget - about - repairs, this - shit - is - toast kind of blown. the jackhammer headache that started on his way back to the garrison hasn’t peaked yet, and his eyes feel like a watermelon rind stuffed with crushed ice.

     lena is watching him. waiting. expectant.

     he blows out a breath.

     “kyle,” she repeats, and he presses his lips together. 

     “i — i only got — rais, he — listen, he screwed us, alright? he only gave me five vials.”

     “only five? damn it. that’s hardly —”

     “i know, lena, okay? believe me, i know. i’m gonna get more, i promise, just ...” the words taper again. he pulls the vials from the pocket of his tac vest and hands them over. “look, for now, just take ‘em. give ‘em out to whoever’s next in line and i’ll bring you more as soon as i can. i’m — i’m workin’ on it, i swear.”

     she takes the vials and sighs. clearly agitated, but not angry with him. she gestures for him to sit down on one of the cots and when he doesn’t, she throws him a sharp look and reiterates, “sit.”

     “fuck,” he exhales. “lena — i’m fine. you think i would’ve made it all the way here in one piece otherwise?”

     busied with a tray of medical instruments, she glances at him over her shoulder, dark brows raised. “i do, actually. you’re stubborn like that. god, between you and brecken ...” she sucks her teeth, shakes her head. turns around a moment later with an injector in her gloved hand. “hold still.”

     “seriously, lena, i don’t need it. give it to someone who —”

     “oh, would you stop arguing with me for one minute? when was the last time you had an antizin shot, answer me that. do you want to start seizing in midair on your next run? hm? now, hold still.”

     he complies. tries to keep his muscles relaxed as he tilts his head, exposing the side of his neck. the shot is quick. barely a bee sting. she gives him a curt nod and sets the injector down, then faces him with hands on her hips. 

     “that wasn’t so hard, was it? go talk to brecken, he wants you upstairs.”

     crane frowns a little as he stands, ignoring the sharp pain that springs up from his injured ankle. he’d conveniently left that out. “why? somethin’ wrong?”

     “aside from the obvious?” lena says dryly. her expression darkens a moment. “talk to him. he’ll fill you in.”

     familiar faces nod at him in passing. brief greetings are exchanged. timur catches his eye at the elevators, lifts a hand from his rifle to loosely salute. 

     “hey, 31.”

     “you still on that?”

     “old habits. christ, man, you look like hell.”

     “yeah,” crane says, “i just got back.”

     brecken’s door is open when he gets to hq. jade and rahim are inside, the former standing with folded arms, the latter seated on a table and practically twitching with nervous energy. something definitely isn’t right here. another boy is on the edge of the couch, blond, new; peter, crane is pretty sure. fast friends with —

     it occurs to him who’s missing from the group. 

     “crane.” jade takes a step towards him, glancing between him and brecken. “did you get the antizin?”

     “long story. i gave what i had to lena. what’s, uh ...” another tour of each face in the room, and every one of them carries the same look of bleak concern. the scan finishes up on brecken. “what happened?”

     brecken pulls no punches. “nate’s gone. slipped the guards this morning, no one’s seen him since.”

     “wait — what?”

     “apparently,” jade continues, sensing the elevated pressure, the way brecken’s jaw goes rigid, “brecken had him on house arrest after he crossed paths with one of rais’ men. he was supposed to stay indoors, but —”

     “w— hold on, back up, when the hell was this?”

     “two days ago, while you were still in the field. they let him go. we didn’t know why, at first, but now we do. and that dipshit blake didn’t think to leave someone at the fucking post.”

     crane drags a hand down his face, palms the beard growth along his jaw that’s been untouched for almost a week. gone. one of rais’ men. they let him walk. his mouth is dry. it adds up. the connection is there, stark as a bright red line on a sheet of white paper. jade is still looking at him; from behind her, stiff in his seat, so is peter. 

     “fuckin’ hell, so the kid just — what, he just walked out the front door?”

     “he hates being inside.” that’s rahim, tight and terse as the set of peter’s spine. “must have run that stupid obstacle course fifty times this week.”

     peter nods, eager to contribute but clearly struggling to hold it together. “yeah, he’s always gotta be moving around. never sits still for more than, like, five minutes. no way a couple guards could keep him in.”

     “those guards still should have done their jobs,” jade counters. abrasive, but not directed at either boy; her eyes are on brecken again.

     brecken, in turn, is focused on crane. “jade and a few of the others have already volunteered. we’ll have scouts searching every bloody corner until we find him.”

     “no.” crane is shaking his head. “no, they don’t need to, i already know where he is. i’ll go get him.”

     “what?” jade rounds on him before anyone else can get a word in edgewise. “you want to rush back out there, right now, alone, when you haven’t slept or eaten in god knows how long? you were limping when you walked in here, crane. you should be in sick bay, not chasing rais’ thugs around the slums. we’ve got this.”

     “hey, if they took one of ours, i’m going.”

     “for fuck’s sake, kyle —”

     “brecken,” he pushes, to a huff of irritation from jade, “c’mon, you know i’ll be more use out there than in here.”

     “you’re no use anywhere out of commission because you pushed yourself too hard,” jade snaps.

     brecken looks at her for a long while, like he’s ceding the point. crane opens his mouth and he holds up a hand to cut him off. “she’s right,” he says. “but so are you. you’re one of our best, crane. we can’t afford to —”

     “jesus, brecken!”

     “look, we need all the help we can get, and if crane wants to go out there —”

     “we can handle it! god, if you could fucking trust me, for once —”

     “trust hasn’t shit to do with it, jade! we’ve —”

     “alright!” crane nearly shouts, sending the argument to a slamming halt. “that’s enough, both of you. jade —”

     “fuck this,” she bites back. she’s crossing the room, aiming for the door. 

     “jade, wait —”

     “let her go, bro,” rahim says. “she’ll cool off. eventually.”

     crane curses under his breath. the grimace he fixes on the doorway she’d disappeared through reeks of guilt. peter addresses him after a ringing pause. 

     “crane? you said, uh ... you said you know where he is, right?”

     “yeah. yeah, i know enough.”

     “are you sure?”

     the boy’s tone transcends worry and crosses the line into something else, something fierce and scared and about as fried as crane feels. he meets peter’s gaze and holds it for a few beats. trying to come up with reassurances. promises he doesn’t know if he can keep. trying to come up with something. rahim’s and brecken’s eyes are on him again, too. 

     shit.

     “i’ll find him, kid,” he says firmly, far more confident than he is right now. “whatever it takes, alright? we’ll bring him back.”

     peter swallows. nods. rahim hops down off the table, offering crane a fist in passing; he bumps it with his own and rahim’s gone like his sister a moment later. brecken approaches next, gripping crane’s shoulder for a second and giving him a wordless look of solidarity. 

     “i’ll find him,” crane insists. 

     “... 'course. yeah.” brecken’s hand drops. any heat in his voice from his quarrel with jade is gone. “i know, mate. keep in radio contact at all times. and if it turns out you’re right, about where he is, then ...”

     “brecken.”

     “no. listen. jade was right. you’re no good to us dead.”

     only, it’s more than that. he hasn’t been in harran three weeks, and these people have begun to rely on him in ways he couldn’t have anticipated. couldn’t have prepped for. this was a job, that was it. a job with a paycheck. contractually, it still is. but it hasn’t felt like a job since jade and amir saved his life the first day he touched down. he didn’t sign on with the GRE because they had a fancy logo and a potential for accolades — he signed on because he wanted to do some good. 

     so far, it feels like an uphill battle. endless collateral, more losses than wins. but brecken isn’t looking at him as a grunt, some mindless foot - soldier whose value is determined by his service. brecken is looking at him like an equal. 

     maybe circumstance is what got them thrown into this mess together; loyalty is what keeps them that way. 

     “... yeah, well,” he tries for a smile, or as close to one as he can, “i wasn’t planning on dying anytime soon. looks like you’re stuck with me, at least for a while.”

     an appreciative echo of the sentiment touches brecken’s expression. his chin dips, a single downward nod. 

     “holdin’ you to it, crane. and, hey —”

     that last comes when crane is halfway out the door. 

     brecken nods at him once more. his features are taut with emotion. 

     “thank you,” he says.

[birbleafs]

[fic] It’s A Matter Of (In)Convenience

Series: Saiki Kusuo no Ψ-nan || The Disastrous Life of Saiki K. Rating: T Genre: Humour, Breaking The Fourth Wall Character(s): Saiki Kusuo, Aiura Mikoto, Toritsuka Reita, Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, Nendou Riki, Yumehara Chiyo, Teruhashi Kokomi Warnings: None, save for canon-typical shenanigans Summary: Saiki Kusuo’s plan for a quiet Sunday spent shopping for desserts in an ordinary konbini is thrown into disarray when he runs into several… inconveniences, much to his dismay. A/N: I've been re-reading/re-watching Saiki K. during this quarantine period and I haven't laughed this hard since I was into Gintama. This series has given me so much ridiculous joy, it’s great for helping keep anxiety and existential despair at bay lol. Fic can also be read on AO3

_______

Saiki Kusuo could not say he dislikes commuting by public train but he’s not particularly a fan of it either. After all, it’s exceedingly more troublesome and vexing for someone like him, encumbered with psychic abilities beyond human comprehension. He’s unable to switch off his telepathy at will, so it’s no small feat being stuck in a packed cabin and trying to filter out the cacophonous thoughts of fifty-odd passengers buzzing incessantly in his mind throughout the long ride to the next town. Distance isn’t an issue today, however. Not that it had ever been an issue, mind you—he could teleport to almost any location he so wished. But Kusuo had long since mastered inconspicuousness into an art form, and teleporting to his destination and appearing seemingly out of thin air in the middle of a packed convenience store was sure to draw unwanted attention to himself. No, it’s not worth the risk, even for such a coveted goal at the end of his journey. Besides, Kusuo is a man of principle, one who does not easily succumb to using his powers for self-interest. He will do this the ordinary, pedestrian way.

In any case, travelling out of Hidariwakibara-chō to neighbouring Tonari Machi on a random Sunday morning would also mean the chances of him running into certain... inconveniences are very nearly zero. Forty-five minutes and twelve stops later, Kusuo beams in quiet triumph as he walks past the automatic sliding doors and into the aforementioned convenience store, barely registering the musical jiggle over the speakers. He steps through the sparse crowd, pausing midway through the snack and desserts aisle when he finally catches sight of the neat row of orange boxes with silver trimmings on the top shelf. Kusuo allows himself a tiny grin as he reaches for a box, eyes bright with anticipation as he gazes upon its wondrous contents—three cups of chocolate brownie and cherry parfait, infused with coffee jelly and topped with dollops of luscious cream and cinnamon sprinkles. A simple but unmatched delicacy right here in this nondescript konbini, he thinks, savouring the glorious moment a little longer. Still, as fate would have it, he would be reminded in less than ten seconds that his life is but an unfortunate series of daily disasters, and his current reprieve short-lived. And it comes in the form of a young woman who had waltzed through the crowd and is now latching onto his arm with garishly pink manicured nails, her wavy blonde hair already casting a dark cloud over Kusuo’s face. Aiura Mikoto, resident soothsayer and trendsetter gal. Inconvenience No. 1. Ah. So it begins. “Wassup, Kusuo!” Aiura chirps a little too brightly. Already two or three mob characters in the konbini are throwing scandalized looks their way, but to Aiura they’re nothing but background scenery and lazily drawn silhouettes. “Who woulda thunk we’d meet here like this? It must totes be our destiny as soul mates, fer sure!” Isn’t it more because someone is totes a stalker? Kusuo deadpans telepathically her way, even as he makes no real attempt to avoid Aiura’s smothering embrace. Instead, he fixes her with a stare as blank as stone canvas. This is an invasion of privacy. Also, what’s with the meta observation in the previous paragraph? Stop messing with the readers like that. “Man, you sure are a ray of sunshine sometimes,” Aiura pouts, before she breaks into a giggle and relents. She unlatches herself from him, putting some distance between them. “Anyway, can’t your BFF like, just accidentally bump into you while shopping for the same box of snacks you no doubt travelled all the way out here for?” So you admit you really are a stalker then, Kusuo counters drily, only to frown again at the sudden creeping presence of another aura. He feels the weight of another arm draping carelessly over his shoulder, followed by the brusque yapping of an over-eager and desperate hot-blooded young male in his ears. “Yooo, Saiki-san! What a coincidence!” Toritsuka Reita, the spirit medium and an exemplary specimen of the most depraved life-form, the lecherous scum. Also known as Inconvenience No. 2. Saiki Kusuo, a man most unfortunate, lets out a weary sigh. “I see you’ve got that accusatory glare painted all over your face.” Toritsuka wags an annoying finger before Kusuo. “Now, now. Before you also accuse me of stalking, Mister Doom and Gloom, let me just say that I’m only here for one thing.” He flicks a furtive glance towards a discreet corner of the magazine section. The shelves are filled with magazines wrapped in plastic, large R-18 stickers plastered across the covers and over the spines much like indecent warning signs. Toritsuka dabs towards the third shelf, waving a mini poster at both Kusuo and Aiura, and this sentence then abruptly proceeds to describe the close-up of said poster—a particularly titillating centre spread featuring a curvaceous model’s skimpily clad... assets. “Surely there’s no better reason to be here now than for the special compilation of EROmag’s Greatest Upskirts And Panty-shots Of The Month!” Toritsuka exclaims, echoing the thoughts of all resident perverts. “Ugh, grody to the max,” Aiura says, lips curled in utter revulsion. For once, the stars are aligned and Kusuo finds himself wholeheartedly agreeing with her sentiment. Before he can get a retort in edgewise however, he’s unceremoniously tugged closer into Toritsuka’s one-armed embrace, who then proceeds to thump a hand over Kusuo’s chest in a grand show of obnoxious male posturing and solidarity. “You women will never understand,” Toritsuka counters with an ingratiating smirk. “But Saiki-san and I, we’re bosom buddies, connoisseurs of refined aesthetics. Together, we’ll finally gaze upon those heavenly lace panti—A-ACKK!!” He hacks up a lung just as Kusuo nonchalantly drives a sharp elbow right into his solar plexus, causing him to stagger backwards onto the floor. Bosom buddies? Kusuo echoes ominously, glaring daggers at the pathetic writhing form before him. Pretty sure that ridiculous thump you just pulled is both an outrage and insult of my modesty. Hey, can I call the police? I’m calling the police. Aiura nods at that, lips curved into a Cheshire grin and looking extremely pleased with herself as though she’s the one to suggest calling the cops. “Delusional sleazebags should just crawl back into the garbage bin where they belong. Like the skeevy trash panda that they are, right Kusuo?” “Who are you calling delusional, huh?!” Toritsuka snaps, jumping back to his feet. “I’ll have you know that Saiki-san and I have been nothing but the most loyal, the tightest of all bosom buddies—” Refer to me as your bosom buddy again and I’ll crush your windpipe, Kusuo interjects without missing a beat, and the EROmag poster in Toritsuka’s hand spontaneously combusts into flames. “Argh, not the panties!!” Toritsuka yelps, watching in despair as the poster shrivels up in the blaze, only to catch sight of the eerie, voidless depths of Kusuo’s inscrutable gaze. The spirit medium pales at the split-second reminder of his fleeting mortality, sweat dripping down his nape as he carefully backs away from the precarious jaws of death. “B-B-Bros! I-I meant that we’re the best kind of bro-some buddies, ahahaha! T-That is to say, brotherly and wholesome—R-right, Saiki-san? So don’t get all conceited just because you’ve got big knockers, Tits McGee!!” “Pfft, brotherly and wholesome? As if!” Aiura scoffs, unimpressed. “You’re about as wholesome as your d*ck aura and a college frat boy’s porno stash. Just admit you ain’t nothing but a tiresome anime trope!” “Look who’s talking, Miss Fanservice. This is a wholesome shounen series, so how about you take those bazongas back to Hooters where they belong!” “Haaah? You looking for a fight, you raunchy racoon?!” “Bring it on then!” Kusuo scowls at the petty squabbling, exasperated at how easily his quiet Sunday was already going awry, much like the metaphorical train wreck poised for a manic spiral off its rails. He decides to take his leave then from the two inconveniences bickering loudly, making his way towards the self-checkout station near the entrance. He pays for his items, stealthily packing them away with a subtle flick of his psychokinesis, and is only a few paces away from complete freedom at last when the generic musical jingle blares from the speakers overhead. “♪~Welcome to F☆mily Mart Konbini, We Guarantee 99.9% Shopping Satisfaction! It’s A Matter of Convenience~! ♪” Kusuo frowns at the jingle. Why is it only 99.9% satisfaction? And really, a matter of convenience? Not when he’d already run into two inconveniences in a row and all in a convenience store. Is God conspiring with the universe and pulling a sick prank on him right now? What a horrible sense of humour. The automatic doors at the entrance slide wide open then, and in saunter three terribly familiar faces—Kaidou Shun, Kuboyasu Aren, and Nendou Riki. Inconvenience No. 3, No. 4, and No. 5 respectively. “What did I tell you, Aren? Not only did we manage to beat traffic, but this unexpected change in my Sunday routine would’ve thrown a wrench into Dark Reunion’s plans of attempted kidnapping. Too bad I, The Jet-Black Wing, am always several steps ahead. Heh.” “Uhmm, yeah I guess… Hey, Shun, look! There isn’t a queue for the limited edition Ginta-Man figurine raffle tickets here at all. Good thing you insisted we meet at the crack of dawn—Tch, Nendou, don’t dawdle around and block the entrance like that! What’re you looking at anyway?” “Oh? I thought I saw my pal just a few seconds ago...” “Huh, Saiki’s here too-?! Oh, you mean that. Don’t be daft, Nendou, that’s just a cardboard cut-out of that kiddie hero show, Cyborg Cider-man Mark II.” Seriously?? Kusuo curses irritably as he dives inconspicuously out of sight from the passing trio, right into the bath and shampoo aisle. It’s just been a series of inconveniences one after another this morning, the metaphorical train wreck already hurtling itself past the edge of no return. Good grief, what a pain. May as well have the rest of the cast show up next— Another cheesy musical jingle, another swoosh of the sliding doors, and— “Waahh, it’s really you, Kaidou-kun!” “Hello, what a nice surprise to run into everyone here.” “Oh, hey there, Yumehara and... Offu~! T-T-Teruhashi-san?!” Saiki Kusuo, ever the suffering protagonist, drags a hand over his face. See? God hates him. Two aisles over, he can still hear Aiura and Toritsuka’s voices drifting over: “Man, I’m sick of looking at your pervy mug. C’mon, Kusuo, let’s ditch this loser—Huh, where did you run off to, Kusuo?!” “Your petty squawking has given us all an earache and must’ve driven Saiki-san off as well!” Oi, oi, Kusuo flinches inwardly, seized by a helpless fear of watching his quiet Sunday careening off the cliff and further away from his grasp. Quit yelling out my name like that and throwing me to the wolves already! Too late. At the mention of Kusuo’s name, Nendou cranes his neck 270 degrees Exorcist-style like a hideously monstrous owl and rushes over to Toritsuka’s side. “Oh! Did you just say my pal is here?!” he exclaims happily, shaking Toritsuka by the shoulders like a dog shaking an unfortunate chew toy. “I knew I’d seen him when we walked in earlier!” Not to be outdone by Nendou, Teruhashi also leaps forward before Aiura with none of her previous composure, her unblemished, porcelain visage now dusted with a hint of rose, a conflicted mix of perplexity and (envious) shock pooling in her angelic eyes. “D-Did you say ‘Saiki’?! H-Hey, Aiura-san, you did say ‘Saiki’ and not actually ‘Kusuo’, right? M-My, I must have misheard things, right? R-Right?!” “What the heck is going on? Is Saiki really here?” Anxious, Kusuo grits his teeth at the growing clamour as his friends converge from all corners of the store towards the aisle where he’d been forced to hide. Guess there’s no avoiding it after all, he frets despairingly, and in less than a nanosecond, teleports unnoticed from the konbini to an empty street outside. Kusuo sighs, relieved to have finally escaped. Minor inconveniences aside, perhaps a quiet Sunday spent savouring chocolate brownie and cherry parfait in the comfort of his home isn’t beyond his reach yet. What? Didn’t he just use his powers for self-interest to teleport out of a sticky situation? Foolish readers, that was for self-preservation and completely acceptable, of course. He holds his shopping bag close, pleased that he’d managed to avoid a disaster, and begins to walk down the street—only to freeze mid-step when he feels a sudden splitting headache jolt through him… A flash of images appears: Aiura and Toritsuka crouching in fear together, Kuboyasu bracing his bleeding arm, Kaidou screaming shrilly as he shields Yumehara and Teruhashi from a masked man brandishing a gun, Nendou digging his nose with his pinky—That’s just disgusting, no one wants to see that, stop it!! The vision finally ends, and Kusuo lifts a hand to his face, massaging his temple to clear the precognitive fog from his mind. An armed robbery, huh. He lets out another resigned sigh. Good grief—What a pain, Saiki ‘I-don’t-(but I actually really do)-care-about-my-friends’ Kusuo mutters internally in annoyance, even as he yeets himself head-first into other people’s business and right back into the convenience store to stop a future robbery. Still he smiles, eyes soft with perhaps the slightest flicker of affection for this dysfunctional bunch of people in his disastrous life. Someone has to protect them and save the day, after all.

  –End–

[toshiyesri]

the real gay solidarity was the friends we made along the way

“Bakugo put his head in his hands.

His bros were going to go gay. For him. Collectively. This would be a trainwreck to watch. He didn’t know who was more to blame- Kaminari, or himself. Was there even a chance that this didn’t go badly?

More importantly, how many ways could this go horribly wrong?”

-

Bakugo was . . . nervous. 

It wasn’t every day he tried to come out to one of his best friends. He could already feel himself turning a guilty shade of red. A glance confirmed the hallway was empty. 

Still . . . 

Rolling his shoulders and releasing a shaky breath, he knocked on Kirishima’s door. The wood under his knuckles gave way almost as soon as he’d rapped a quick staccato tap tap. 

Kirishima. A furrow appeared between his eyebrows, clouding his usual obnoxiously sunny disposition. 

And just like that, he chickened out. 

“Want to study?” he asked, smirking. Like that had been his plan all long. Fucking hell. 

The furrow dissipated as Kirishima’s face broke cleanly into a broad smile. The sun was out again. 

How the fuck was he supposed to disappoint him like this?

-

After about a week of hounding Kirishima, Kaminari, and even Mina and Sero at turns, Bakugo was at a loss. Sitting in the late afternoon celebration with a stupid birthday hat on his head- it wasn’t for his birthday, they had decided to crown him for helping them all pass their midterms- he didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t working. 

“Hey, man, don’t assume he’s gay based on stereotypes,” Kirishima chastened someone- Kaminari by the looks of it- eyebrows radiating disapproval. They were on the couch on either side of him, having an argument through him. 

“Well I’m not going to assume he’s straight either. Anyone can be gay!” Kaminari said, clearly about to go on a long rant. His shoulder nearly jostled Bakugo into Kirishima. 

“I’m gay.”

Dead. Silence. 

Fuck. 

He really said it?

Well, why else would Kirishima be frozen in the middle of throwing him arms around, Mina stuck in a comical pose as she went to drop a can in the recycling, and Kaminari’s face doing . . . whatever the hell that was. The silence stretched on. And on. 

Not even Sero was cracking a joke. 

Oh, jesus fuck. He really said it. 

Bakugo could practically feel the color drain out of him. 

“See?” Kaminari said, waving an arm at Bakugo. Yeah, okay, he flinched. Kaminari didn’t even see it. “Anyone could be gay!”

“I’m just saying-” Kirishima started up again. 

Mina let out a war cry, stabbing the recycling bin with the end of a nearby broom. Perched on the trashcan, Sero was laughing at her. Probably for being a dumbass. There was no way another can was fitting in there. 

And if he let out one or two tears he hurriedly wiped away when he realized his friends didn’t care- because he had the worst, stupidest friends in the entire universe- or maybe the best, but he would never admit it-

Who gives a fuck?

-

“What are you doing?” Kaminari said, scandalized. 

“My best?” Kirishima said. 

Bakugo picked him up and set him on the other cushion, digging around for the remote. 

“Oh, hey, Bakugo,” Kirishima said. Over on the other side of the room, Sero was fielding Mina’s assault of questions over the girl that had asked him out from class B earlier during lunch. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Kanimari said, rifling in a bowl of chips. Out of fucking nowhere. He wasn’t even looking at him, the light of the TV painting his face different shades of blue. 

Bakugo scoffed. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. As soon as I’m not the only gay person I know.”

“You don’t know any other gay people?” Kirishima asked, as if that was so surprising. 

“Fuck no, I don’t. I probably would have come out a little bit differently if I had. They don’t exactly have coaches for people in the closet.” Why was this such a big deal anyway? He was out. That was good enough for him.

“That’s not fair. I know a lot of straight people,” Kirishima said, using his quirk to stab open a can instead of the pull tab like anyone else would. Soda dribbled all over his fingers. Bakugo rolled his eyes and changed the channel. 

“What are you suggesting we do?” Kaminari said, a thin edge of exasperation. “All of us become gay in solitary?”

Bakugo choked on nothing, head whipping around. He wasn’t serious-

Oh, but Kirishima was. And, god help them, Mina. 

“No, that’s a great idea! I always wanted to be a lesbian!”

“That actually sounds like fun,” Sero added. 

“No it doesn’t,” Bakugo said, coughing as he got his composure back. “And besides, you can’t just decide to be gay-”

“Why not?” Kirishima asked. 

Oh, god damn it. 

“Because-”

And fuck if Bakugo couldn’t think of a reason. Any reason at all. Even a bad one. Four pairs of eyes stared at him intensely. Bakugo sighed, speechless. They were really going to do this. 

“Forget it.”

It was going to be painful to watch. 

“What’s being gay like anyway?” Sero piped up. 

Heat raced up his neck. “I don’t fucking know. What’s being straight like?”

“Well, I think there’s kissing-”

Jesus

“-and probably sex, but not all people do that, so it must be something else-”

fucking 

“-well, dating, obviously is probably pretty important -”

Christ. 

“-I don’t think they’re totally comparable, I mean pride parades seem to be pretty important?”

Bakugo put his head in his hands. 

His bros were going to go gay. For him. Collectively. This would be a trainwreck to watch. He didn’t know who was more to blame- Kaminari, or himself. Was there even a chance that this didn’t go badly?

More importantly, how many ways could this go horribly wrong?

-

The answer surprised even him. 

- 

Bakugo made a mistake. 

He should have known that Mina never just asks to watch a movie at 6 p.m. on a Wednesday unless she wants to corner him for something. That’s his one day off from studying. Bakugo always says yes. Anything to cure his boredom. He had, naively, thought she hadn’t noticed. 

And when he opened the door to her room to spot multiple people wearing rainbows, he should have just turned around and left. Left U.A. entirely. Took a sick weekend. Camp out at Kirishima’s house and steal his food for a change. 

But no. He didn’t. 

And that second of hesitation cost him. Mina dragged him in by his arm, clicking the door shut behind them and practically tossing him on the bed. The bedsprings whined. 

Kaminari laughed at him, so he mimed something violently graphic while Mina crossed her legs and sat in front of the rest of them. The bastard didn’t even look intimidated, eyes crinkling at the corners. Even Sero was there, shiteating smile on his face. There was glitter on his cheeks. 

“Guys,” Mina said, pausing for dramatic effect. “I think I’m in love.”

“What, seriously?” Bakugo asked, sitting up. She looked like she had been chewed up and spat out by a lipstick factory. Not only was she skimpily dressed, but she was covered in sparkly shit and kisses. She still had some holographic tank top on and some glowsticks. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I met a girl,” she said, raccoon eyes wide and glittering with an intense feralness. Jesus, is that what love did to people? She looked almost angry about it. “She asked what hair condition I used and smelled like strawberries.”

A beat.

“Wait, that’s it?”

“Does there need to be more?” she asked, intensity vanishing and getting replaced by a more Mina-like baffled confusion. 

“Mina, I think you might be a lesbian,” Kaminari said slowly. Bakugo shoved him off the bed. 

-

And that’s how the next three weeks of his life went. 

On a Tuesday before a test, he woke up to Kirishima fervently knocking on his door, practically vibrating with nerves. 

“Remember how we were supposed to just be calling ourselves gay? I think, I uh-”

“Spit it out Kirishima.”

“I think, I might be bi?”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.”

Followed by Sero. 

“Do you have any advice on asking a, um, a boy out?” he asked, cheeks vibrantly red. 

“Are you bi, too?”

“I’m actually questioning-”

“Fine. Get in here.”

Bakugo yanked him inside and snapped the door closed. 

So, understandably, he was just tired when he spotted Kaminari. Nothing could surprise him, at this point. 

At least he had the decency to show up at a normal hour. 

“Let me guess,” he said, unlocking the door, finally comfortable with all the weirdness that had been going on lately. He’d coached not one but three people on how to come out to their parents at this point. Not that he had even told any of them that he still wasn’t out to his own, but it seemed to go okay anyway. Mina’s mom had baked a cake. “You’re not actually straight, and-”

Suddenly he was pushed against his own door, an armful of well worn band tee the first sensation he registered. Then Kaminari’s tantalizingly soft mouth ghosting against his own. 

Bakugo’s brain fizzled for a second. 

Kaminari, absolutely convinced one of the pro-heros is gay. 

Kaminari, sarcastically proposing they all call themselves gay. 

Kaminari, breaking the awkward silence after he came out. 

“Oh,” he said. 

Kaminari’s expression broke, but he covered it up quickly. He dropped back down to his heels. “For the record, I’m pan, so-”

Bakugo kissed him back, annoyed that he’d almost backed up out of reach. Like he really gave a shit. He had been in the middle of enjoying that, thanks. Kaminari made a soft noise before his hands cautiously settled into his hair. It was so distracting it took him awhile to remember the rest of what had happened. 

Kaminari, asking if he had a boyfriend. 

Bakugo grinned smugly into the kiss. 

Kaminari in the present gasped, and the sound sent a tingle up his spine as his own hand ran up under the stupid soft t-shirt to touch skin. The soft hum against Bakugo’s mouth in response made him feel warm and stupid. 

They could talk about all that boyfriend crap later though. The lock on the door clicked shut before he could even blindly grab for it. Seemed like they were on the same page about what they wanted to be doing right then. 

-

Yeah, okay, maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that could’ve happened. 

But it was still. Pretty fucking stupid. 

Fucking Kaminari. 

[clementherz0380-blog]

The The Best In Used Electriconic Game Accessories For Those Needs

Fun Online Car Games

With these choices you can get the game titles that you need for substantially cheaper charges. This outcomes in immense cost savings, enough to make heading by means of this route, perfectly really worth it. Santeria was launched in Cuba alongside with the enormous migrations of African slaves, in particular the ones of congo, carabal&iacute, and yoruba origin, whose beliefs blended with the mandatory Christian religions of the Spanish Crown. Right now, this syncretism is aspect of the Cuban people's cultural heritage and it really is existing in distinctive literary and aesthetic techniques of expression. It seems to be the Cuban result of the integration and cultural continuity of ethnic and religious factors of Spanish and African participants. Worships to Orishas or other African deities, predominantly Yoruba, are even now alive beneath worships to images of catholic saints. Along with Santeria, other components had been launched such as the myths, legends, traditions, chants, dances, recipes, and rituals that make up the Cuban lifestyle nowadays. Apart from the very well-recognised cult to the Orishas or "Regla de Ocha", Africans introduced to Cuba a new way of religious organization: the Key Abak&uacutea Society (created in the vicinity of the harbor and the piers, in particular in Havana, Matanzas and C&aacuterdenas, in the Northern coast of Western Cuba, integrated only by adult men), the only a single of its kind in America, representing a frequent phenomenon in Western Africa. An additional 1 was "Las firmas de los santos en el Palo Monte" or "Regla Conga", a religious cult of Bant&uacute origin practiced in the Island. Amid the Abak&uacuteas, there are a collection of organizing traits and they consist of small groups identified as "juegos" o "potencias". Solidarity is requested amongst the people (ekobios) of just about every "juego", as properly as the rivalry between various "juegos" which have developed bloody events. To the Abak&uacutea or "&Ntilde&aacute&ntildeigo", the feeling of honor manifests itself as manliness. Other game titles attribute heroes like Tarzan or Hercules. Popular Disney Channel stars like Hannah Montana and Zack and Cody can also be found on the website. All of the capabilities and game titles on the web site are exclusively in Spanish for people who converse this as their native language. Other things you can come across on the Disney Latino web page aside from game titles are informational pages about distinctive Disney exhibits and movies. Discover out all the historical details about each and every classic motion picture that Disney has set out or understand about the cast of the newest displays that are showcased on the Disney Channel this 12 months. Everything you want to know about Disney animation, as properly as the best Disney Latino games are appropriate right here waiting. You can even program a trip to Walt Disney World or Disneyland while surfing all over the site ebook a hotel and prepare your flights from wherever in the planet. You can order tickets for the parks at a discounted price from all those that are uncovered at the gate. You can even get a jump on your souvenir procuring on this great webpage. All of this is in Spanish, as a result generating it even easier for you to have an understanding of precisely what you are booking or purchasing.

Fun Online Car Games

Let's face it-you can merely go on so many dinner and movie dates before for you to do something new with your sweetheart. Thankfully, Ann Arbor offers many date alternatives to the same old routine. From highbrow theater to goofy sports, Ann Arbor's started using it all as well as it time you and your date checked it out. Be apt to mention my name to Greg. He won't will give you discount or anything, but he might give which you hug. Any pat. Well, he could look to you funny. Though they are running a buy-2-get-1-free deal on used PS2 games, which is fantastic for a PS2 nerd as i am. Think about all among the games that have been remade or rereleased in finally two several years. Resident Evil, Resident Evil 2, Resident Evil 3, Metal Gear Solid, Final Fantasy I, Final Fantasy II, Final Fantasy III, Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy Tactics, Star Ocean, Star Ocean II, Chrono Trigger, Castlevania: Rondo of Blood and Symphony of the Night, Valkyrie Profile, Tomb Raider, Super Mario Bros., Super Mario 64. Here may find car driving games where many improve your talent or games which will prepare you for your future test of driving ability. You will discover the rules, the signs and, most important, great learn tips on how to respect other drivers! For one, the advanced physics models in today's games several very good job of giving the feedback you've to to actually improve your skills.not to mention a person with a perfect deal of satisfaction once you execute the spine just privilege. In conclusion, Forza Motorsport 3 is best racing game I have ever played. I love the high quality graphics, extensive assists, and amazing control of one's car. In addition love volume selection of cars one could use. I, after much consideration, give cafe world a perfect 10 your own 10 megastars. It has a great gameplay, a nice multiplayer, as well as the career is difficult, yet much simpler than a single in Grand Turismo nearly four. This game is a definite decide on. You won't be disappointed. The family holiday at the weekend is actually a wonderful experience. Many different beautiful sights and outdoor activities, a self-driving trip is certainly able to add much fun in the life, so in retrospect it seriously popular if you want of leisure and recreational. In the following days, I for you to prepare another trip with my acquaintances.

Fun Online Car Games

With these choices you can get the game titles that you need for substantially cheaper charges. This outcomes in immense cost savings, enough to make heading by means of this route, perfectly really worth it. Santeria was launched in Cuba alongside with the enormous migrations of African slaves, in particular the ones of congo, carabal&iacute, and yoruba origin, whose beliefs blended with the mandatory Christian religions of the Spanish Crown. Right now, this syncretism is aspect of the Cuban people's cultural heritage and it really is existing in distinctive literary and aesthetic techniques of expression. It seems to be the Cuban result of the integration and cultural continuity of ethnic and religious factors of Spanish and African participants. Worships to Orishas or other African deities, predominantly Yoruba, are even now alive beneath worships to images of catholic saints. Along with Santeria, other components had been launched such as the myths, legends, traditions, chants, dances, recipes, and rituals that make up the Cuban lifestyle nowadays. Apart from the very well-recognised cult to the Orishas or "Regla de Ocha", Africans introduced to Cuba a new way of religious organization: the Key Abak&uacutea Society (created in the vicinity of the harbor and the piers, in particular in Havana, Matanzas and C&aacuterdenas, in the Northern coast of Western Cuba, integrated only by adult men), the only a single of its kind in America, representing a frequent phenomenon in Western Africa. An additional 1 was "Las firmas de los santos en el Palo Monte" or "Regla Conga", a religious cult of Bant&uacute origin practiced in the Island. Amid the Abak&uacuteas, there are a collection of organizing traits and they consist of small groups identified as "juegos" o "potencias". Solidarity is requested amongst the people (ekobios) of just about every "juego", as properly as the rivalry between various "juegos" which have developed bloody events. To the Abak&uacutea or "&Ntilde&aacute&ntildeigo", the feeling of honor manifests itself as manliness. Other game titles attribute heroes like Tarzan or Hercules. Popular Disney Channel stars like Hannah Montana and Zack and Cody can also be found on the website. All of the capabilities and game titles on the web site are exclusively in Spanish for people who converse this as their native language. Other things you can come across on the Disney Latino web page aside from game titles are informational pages about distinctive Disney exhibits and movies. Discover out all the historical details about each and every classic motion picture that Disney has set out or understand about the cast of the newest displays that are showcased on the Disney Channel this 12 months. Everything you want to know about Disney animation, as properly as the best Disney Latino games are appropriate right here waiting. You can even program a trip to Walt Disney World or Disneyland while surfing all over the site ebook a hotel and prepare your flights from wherever in the planet. You can order tickets for the parks at a discounted price from all those that are uncovered at the gate. You can even get a jump on your souvenir procuring on this great webpage. All of this is in Spanish, as a result generating it even easier for you to have an understanding of precisely what you are booking or purchasing.

Fun Online Car Games

[yes-dal456]

Kin By Mania: The Bond I Feel With Other Bipolar People Is Inexplicable

She moved like me. That’s what I noticed first. Her eyes and hands darted as she talked — playful, acerbic, digressive.

We talked on past 2 a.m., her speech breathless, crackling with opinion. She took another hit from the joint and passed it back to me on the dorm suite couch, as my brother fell asleep on my knee.

Siblings separated at birth must feel this way when meeting as adults: seeing part of yourself in someone else. This woman I’ll call Ella had my mannerisms, giddiness, and fury, so much so that I felt we were related. That we must share common genes.

Our talk went everywhere. From hip-hop to Foucault, Lil Wayne, to prison reform, Ella’s ideas branched. Her words were torrential. She loved arguments and picked them for fun, like I do. In a dark room, if lights were tied to her limbs, they’d dance. So did she, around the suite she shared with my brother, and later, on a pole in the taproom of a campus club.

When bipolar people meet, we find an immigrant intimacy, a solidarity. We share a suffering and a thrill.

My brother’s roommate gave me pause about myself. I found Ella exhilarating, but exhausting — bright but reckless, possessed. I wondered, feared, if this is how people felt about me. Some of Ella’s opinions seemed hyperbolic, her actions extreme, like dancing naked on the college green or flicking off cop cars. Still, you could count on her to engage. To react.

She had an opinion, or at least a feeling, about everything. She read voraciously and was fearlessly herself. She was magnetic. I was struck that my brother with his laidback, practical, frat-bro spirit, got along so well with Ella, who was excitable, artsy, and absentminded.

None of us knew it that night I met Ella in Princeton, but within two years she and I would share something else: a stay in a mental hospital, meds, and a diagnosis we’d keep for life.

Alone, together

The mentally ill are refugees. Far from home, hearing your mother tongue is a relief. When bipolar people meet, we find an immigrant intimacy, a solidarity. We share a suffering and a thrill. Ella knows the restless fire that is my home.

We charm people, or we offend them. That’s the manic-depressive way. Our personality traits, like exuberance, drive, and openness, attract and alienate at once. Some are inspired by our curiosity, our risk-taking nature. Others are repelled by the energy, the ego, or the debates that can ruin dinner parties. We are intoxicating, and we are insufferable.

So we have a common loneliness: the struggle to get past ourselves. The shame of having to try.

Bipolar people kill themselves 30 times more often than healthy people. I don’t think this is just because of mood swings, but because manic types often wreck their lives. If you treat people badly, they won’t want to be near you. We can repel with our inflexible focus, our impatient tempers, or our enthusiasm, that egocentric positivity. Manic euphoria is no less isolating than depression. If you believe that your most charismatic self is a dangerous mirage, it’s easy to doubt that love exists. Ours is a special loneliness.

Yet some people — like my brother, who has several bipolar friends, and the women I’ve dated — don’t mind bipolarity. This type of person is drawn to the chattiness, the energy, the intimacy that’s as intuitive to a bipolar person as it is beyond her control. Our uninhibited nature helps some reserved people open up. We stir some mellow types, and they calm us in return.

These people are good for each other, like anglerfish and the bacteria that keep them aglow. The manic half gets things moving, sparks debate, agitates. The calmer, more practical half keeps plans grounded in the real world, outside the Technicolor insides of a bipolar person’s skull.

The story I’m telling

After college, I spent years in the rural countryside of Japan teaching elementary school. Nearly a decade later in New York, a brunch with a friend changed how I saw those days.

The guy, I’ll call him Jim, worked the same job in Japan before me, teaching at the same schools. Sempai, I’d call him in Japanese, meaning older brother. The students, teachers, and townspeople told stories about Jim everywhere I went. He was a legend: the rock concert he performed, his recess games, the time he dressed as Harry Potter for Halloween.

Jim was the future me I wanted to become. Before meeting me, he’d lived this monk’s life in rural Japan. He’d filled notebooks with practice kanji — row after patient row of characters. He’d kept a daily vocabulary list on an index card in his pocket. Jim and I both liked fiction and music. We had some interest in anime. We both learned Japanese from scratch, among the rice paddies, with help from our students. In the countryside of Okayama, we both fell in love and had our hearts broken by girls who grew up faster than we did.

We were also a bit intense, Jim and I. Capable of fierce loyalty, we could also be detached, steely, and cerebral in a way that chilled our relationships. When we were engaged, we were very engaged. But when we were in our heads, we were on a distant planet, unreachable.

We are good for each other, like deep sea fish and the bacteria that keep them aglow. The manic half gets things moving, sparks debate, agitates.

At brunch that morning in New York, Jim kept asking about my master’s thesis. I told him I was writing about lithium, the drug that treats mania. I said lithium is a salt, dug from mines in Bolivia, yet it works more reliably than any mood-stabilizing drug. I told him how manic depression is fascinating: a severe, chronic mood disorder that is episodic, recurrent, but also, uniquely, treatable. People with the mental illness at the highest risk of suicide, when they take lithium, often don’t relapse for years.

Jim, now a screenwriter, kept pushing. “What’s the story?” he asked. “What’s the narrative?”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve got some mood disorder in my family … “

“So whose story are you using?”

“Let’s pay the bill,” I said, “I’ll tell you while we walk.”

The upside

Science has begun to look at bipolar through the lens of personality. Twin and family studies show that manic depression is roughly 85 percent heritable. But no single mutation is known to code for the disorder. So recent genetic studies often focus instead on personality traits: talkativeness, openness, impulsivity.

These traits often appear in first-degree relatives of people with bipolar disorder. They’re hints as to why the “risk genes” for the condition run in families, and were not weeded out by natural selection. In moderate doses, traits like drive, high energy, and divergent thinking are useful.

This doesn’t mean that mania brings genius. What mania inspires is chaos: delusional confidence, not insight.

Writers at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, like Kurt Vonnegut, had higher rates of mood disorder than the general population, one classic study found. Bebop jazz musicians, most famously Charlie Parker, Thelonius Monk, and Charles Mingus, also have high rates of mood disorder, often bipolar. (Parker’s song “Relaxin’ at the Camarillo” is about his stay at a mental asylum in California. Monk and Mingus were both hospitalized, too.) The book “Touched with Fire” by psychologist Kay Redfield Jamison retrospectively diagnosed many artists, poets, writers, and musicians with bipolar disorder. Her new biography, “Robert Lowell: Setting the River On Fire,” describes art and illness in the life of the poet, who was hospitalized for mania many times, and taught poetry at Harvard.

This doesn’t mean that mania brings genius. What mania inspires is chaos: delusional confidence, not insight. The ramble is often prolific, but disorganized. Creative work produced while manic, in my experience, is mostly narcissistic, with distorted self-importance and a careless sense of audience. It’s rarely salvageable from the mess.

What research does suggest is that some of the so-called “positive traits” of bipolar disorder — drive, assertiveness, openness — persist in bipolar people when they are well and on medication. They appear also in relatives who inherit some of the genes fueling manic temperament, but not enough to cause the ragged, swerve-y moods, the sleepless energy, or the giddy restlessness that defines manic depression itself.

Brother

“You’re kidding me,” Jim said, laughing nervously, as he bought me a coffee that day in New York. When I’d mentioned earlier how many creative people have mood disorders, he’d hinted — with a sideways smirk — that he could tell me plenty about that from his experience. I hadn’t asked what he meant. But as we walked up the nearly 30 blocks to Penn Station from Bond Street, he told me about his rocky past year.

First, there were the hookups with female colleagues. Then the shoes he filled his closet with: dozens of new pairs, expensive sneakers. Then the sports car. And the drinking. And the car crash. And now, the past few months, depression: a flat-line anhedonia that sounded familiar enough to chill my spine. He’d seen a shrink. She wanted him to take meds, said he was bipolar. He’d been rejecting the label. This was also familiar: I’d avoided lithium for two years. I tried to tell him he’d be OK.

She wanted him to take meds, said he was bipolar. He’d been rejecting the label. This was also familiar: I’d avoided lithium for two years.

Years later, a new TV project brought Jim to New York. He asked me to a baseball game. We watched the Mets, kind of, over hotdogs and beers and constant talk. I knew that at his fifteenth college reunion, Jim had reconnected with a former classmate. Before long, they were dating. He didn’t tell her at first that he was buried under depression. She learned soon enough, and he feared she’d leave. I’d written emails to Jim during that period, urging him not to worry. “She understands,” I insisted, “They always love us for how we are, not despite.”

Jim gave me the news at the game: the ring, the yes. I pictured a honeymoon in Japan. And hoped, in this too, that sempai had given me a glimpse of my future.

The family madness

Seeing yourself in someone else is common enough. If you’re bipolar, this sense can be all the more uncanny, as some traits you see can match you like a fingerprint.

Your personality is largely inherited, like bone structure and height. The strengths and faults it’s laced with are often two sides of one coin: ambition bound to anxiety, a sensitivity that comes with insecurity. You, like us, are complex, with hidden vulnerabilities.

Theirs is a family I’m proud to be part of: curious, driven people, chasing hard, caring intensely.

What runs in bipolar blood is not a curse but a personality. Families with high rates of mood or psychotic disorder, often, are families of high achieving, creative people. People with pure bipolar disorder often have a higher IQ than the general population. This is not to deny the suffering and suicides still caused by the disorder in people who don’t respond to lithium, or those with comorbidities, who fare worse. Nor to minimize the struggle still faced by the lucky, like me, in remission for now. But it is to point out that mental illness, very often, seems to be a byproduct of extreme personality traits that are often positive.

The more of us I meet, the less I feel like a mutant. In the way my friends think, talk, and act, I see myself. They are not bored. Not complacent. They engage. Theirs is a family I’m proud to be part of: curious, driven, chasing hard, caring intensely.

Taylor Beck is a writer based in Brooklyn. Before journalism, he worked in labs studying memory, sleep, dreaming, and aging. Contact him at @taylorbeck216.

The original article appeared on Healthline.com

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from http://ift.tt/2qG2c0U from Blogger http://ift.tt/2qGvkoL

[imreviewblog]

Kin By Mania: The Bond I Feel With Other Bipolar People Is Inexplicable

She moved like me. That’s what I noticed first. Her eyes and hands darted as she talked — playful, acerbic, digressive.

We talked on past 2 a.m., her speech breathless, crackling with opinion. She took another hit from the joint and passed it back to me on the dorm suite couch, as my brother fell asleep on my knee.

Siblings separated at birth must feel this way when meeting as adults: seeing part of yourself in someone else. This woman I’ll call Ella had my mannerisms, giddiness, and fury, so much so that I felt we were related. That we must share common genes.

Our talk went everywhere. From hip-hop to Foucault, Lil Wayne, to prison reform, Ella’s ideas branched. Her words were torrential. She loved arguments and picked them for fun, like I do. In a dark room, if lights were tied to her limbs, they’d dance. So did she, around the suite she shared with my brother, and later, on a pole in the taproom of a campus club.

When bipolar people meet, we find an immigrant intimacy, a solidarity. We share a suffering and a thrill.

My brother’s roommate gave me pause about myself. I found Ella exhilarating, but exhausting — bright but reckless, possessed. I wondered, feared, if this is how people felt about me. Some of Ella’s opinions seemed hyperbolic, her actions extreme, like dancing naked on the college green or flicking off cop cars. Still, you could count on her to engage. To react.

She had an opinion, or at least a feeling, about everything. She read voraciously and was fearlessly herself. She was magnetic. I was struck that my brother with his laidback, practical, frat-bro spirit, got along so well with Ella, who was excitable, artsy, and absentminded.

None of us knew it that night I met Ella in Princeton, but within two years she and I would share something else: a stay in a mental hospital, meds, and a diagnosis we’d keep for life.

Alone, together

The mentally ill are refugees. Far from home, hearing your mother tongue is a relief. When bipolar people meet, we find an immigrant intimacy, a solidarity. We share a suffering and a thrill. Ella knows the restless fire that is my home.

We charm people, or we offend them. That’s the manic-depressive way. Our personality traits, like exuberance, drive, and openness, attract and alienate at once. Some are inspired by our curiosity, our risk-taking nature. Others are repelled by the energy, the ego, or the debates that can ruin dinner parties. We are intoxicating, and we are insufferable.

So we have a common loneliness: the struggle to get past ourselves. The shame of having to try.

Bipolar people kill themselves 30 times more often than healthy people. I don’t think this is just because of mood swings, but because manic types often wreck their lives. If you treat people badly, they won’t want to be near you. We can repel with our inflexible focus, our impatient tempers, or our enthusiasm, that egocentric positivity. Manic euphoria is no less isolating than depression. If you believe that your most charismatic self is a dangerous mirage, it’s easy to doubt that love exists. Ours is a special loneliness.

Yet some people — like my brother, who has several bipolar friends, and the women I’ve dated — don’t mind bipolarity. This type of person is drawn to the chattiness, the energy, the intimacy that’s as intuitive to a bipolar person as it is beyond her control. Our uninhibited nature helps some reserved people open up. We stir some mellow types, and they calm us in return.

These people are good for each other, like anglerfish and the bacteria that keep them aglow. The manic half gets things moving, sparks debate, agitates. The calmer, more practical half keeps plans grounded in the real world, outside the Technicolor insides of a bipolar person’s skull.

The story I’m telling

After college, I spent years in the rural countryside of Japan teaching elementary school. Nearly a decade later in New York, a brunch with a friend changed how I saw those days.

The guy, I’ll call him Jim, worked the same job in Japan before me, teaching at the same schools. Sempai, I’d call him in Japanese, meaning older brother. The students, teachers, and townspeople told stories about Jim everywhere I went. He was a legend: the rock concert he performed, his recess games, the time he dressed as Harry Potter for Halloween.

Jim was the future me I wanted to become. Before meeting me, he’d lived this monk’s life in rural Japan. He’d filled notebooks with practice kanji — row after patient row of characters. He’d kept a daily vocabulary list on an index card in his pocket. Jim and I both liked fiction and music. We had some interest in anime. We both learned Japanese from scratch, among the rice paddies, with help from our students. In the countryside of Okayama, we both fell in love and had our hearts broken by girls who grew up faster than we did.

We were also a bit intense, Jim and I. Capable of fierce loyalty, we could also be detached, steely, and cerebral in a way that chilled our relationships. When we were engaged, we were very engaged. But when we were in our heads, we were on a distant planet, unreachable.

We are good for each other, like deep sea fish and the bacteria that keep them aglow. The manic half gets things moving, sparks debate, agitates.

At brunch that morning in New York, Jim kept asking about my master’s thesis. I told him I was writing about lithium, the drug that treats mania. I said lithium is a salt, dug from mines in Bolivia, yet it works more reliably than any mood-stabilizing drug. I told him how manic depression is fascinating: a severe, chronic mood disorder that is episodic, recurrent, but also, uniquely, treatable. People with the mental illness at the highest risk of suicide, when they take lithium, often don’t relapse for years.

Jim, now a screenwriter, kept pushing. “What’s the story?” he asked. “What’s the narrative?”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve got some mood disorder in my family … “

“So whose story are you using?”

“Let’s pay the bill,” I said, “I’ll tell you while we walk.”

The upside

Science has begun to look at bipolar through the lens of personality. Twin and family studies show that manic depression is roughly 85 percent heritable. But no single mutation is known to code for the disorder. So recent genetic studies often focus instead on personality traits: talkativeness, openness, impulsivity.

These traits often appear in first-degree relatives of people with bipolar disorder. They’re hints as to why the “risk genes” for the condition run in families, and were not weeded out by natural selection. In moderate doses, traits like drive, high energy, and divergent thinking are useful.

This doesn’t mean that mania brings genius. What mania inspires is chaos: delusional confidence, not insight.

Writers at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, like Kurt Vonnegut, had higher rates of mood disorder than the general population, one classic study found. Bebop jazz musicians, most famously Charlie Parker, Thelonius Monk, and Charles Mingus, also have high rates of mood disorder, often bipolar. (Parker’s song “Relaxin’ at the Camarillo” is about his stay at a mental asylum in California. Monk and Mingus were both hospitalized, too.) The book “Touched with Fire” by psychologist Kay Redfield Jamison retrospectively diagnosed many artists, poets, writers, and musicians with bipolar disorder. Her new biography, “Robert Lowell: Setting the River On Fire,” describes art and illness in the life of the poet, who was hospitalized for mania many times, and taught poetry at Harvard.

This doesn’t mean that mania brings genius. What mania inspires is chaos: delusional confidence, not insight. The ramble is often prolific, but disorganized. Creative work produced while manic, in my experience, is mostly narcissistic, with distorted self-importance and a careless sense of audience. It’s rarely salvageable from the mess.

What research does suggest is that some of the so-called “positive traits” of bipolar disorder — drive, assertiveness, openness — persist in bipolar people when they are well and on medication. They appear also in relatives who inherit some of the genes fueling manic temperament, but not enough to cause the ragged, swerve-y moods, the sleepless energy, or the giddy restlessness that defines manic depression itself.

Brother

“You’re kidding me,” Jim said, laughing nervously, as he bought me a coffee that day in New York. When I’d mentioned earlier how many creative people have mood disorders, he’d hinted — with a sideways smirk — that he could tell me plenty about that from his experience. I hadn’t asked what he meant. But as we walked up the nearly 30 blocks to Penn Station from Bond Street, he told me about his rocky past year.

First, there were the hookups with female colleagues. Then the shoes he filled his closet with: dozens of new pairs, expensive sneakers. Then the sports car. And the drinking. And the car crash. And now, the past few months, depression: a flat-line anhedonia that sounded familiar enough to chill my spine. He’d seen a shrink. She wanted him to take meds, said he was bipolar. He’d been rejecting the label. This was also familiar: I’d avoided lithium for two years. I tried to tell him he’d be OK.

She wanted him to take meds, said he was bipolar. He’d been rejecting the label. This was also familiar: I’d avoided lithium for two years.

Years later, a new TV project brought Jim to New York. He asked me to a baseball game. We watched the Mets, kind of, over hotdogs and beers and constant talk. I knew that at his fifteenth college reunion, Jim had reconnected with a former classmate. Before long, they were dating. He didn’t tell her at first that he was buried under depression. She learned soon enough, and he feared she’d leave. I’d written emails to Jim during that period, urging him not to worry. “She understands,” I insisted, “They always love us for how we are, not despite.”

Jim gave me the news at the game: the ring, the yes. I pictured a honeymoon in Japan. And hoped, in this too, that sempai had given me a glimpse of my future.

The family madness

Seeing yourself in someone else is common enough. If you’re bipolar, this sense can be all the more uncanny, as some traits you see can match you like a fingerprint.

Your personality is largely inherited, like bone structure and height. The strengths and faults it’s laced with are often two sides of one coin: ambition bound to anxiety, a sensitivity that comes with insecurity. You, like us, are complex, with hidden vulnerabilities.

Theirs is a family I’m proud to be part of: curious, driven people, chasing hard, caring intensely.

What runs in bipolar blood is not a curse but a personality. Families with high rates of mood or psychotic disorder, often, are families of high achieving, creative people. People with pure bipolar disorder often have a higher IQ than the general population. This is not to deny the suffering and suicides still caused by the disorder in people who don’t respond to lithium, or those with comorbidities, who fare worse. Nor to minimize the struggle still faced by the lucky, like me, in remission for now. But it is to point out that mental illness, very often, seems to be a byproduct of extreme personality traits that are often positive.

The more of us I meet, the less I feel like a mutant. In the way my friends think, talk, and act, I see myself. They are not bored. Not complacent. They engage. Theirs is a family I’m proud to be part of: curious, driven, chasing hard, caring intensely.

Taylor Beck is a writer based in Brooklyn. Before journalism, he worked in labs studying memory, sleep, dreaming, and aging. Contact him at @taylorbeck216.

The original article appeared on Healthline.com

-- This feed and its contents are the property of The Huffington Post, and use is subject to our terms. It may be used for personal consumption, but may not be distributed on a website.

from Healthy Living - The Huffington Post http://bit.ly/2rbtU9q