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kuroo-shitsurou · 3 years

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Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

#genshin xiao #genshin impact xiao #xiao imagines #genshin impact #xiao x reader #genshin impact x reader #gi #genshin #xiao

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tmnt-mags · 4 years

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Raphael x Fem!Reader

Reader is April's little sister and meets the turtles through her. I changed the ages and timeline a bit just because I don't feel entirely comfortable writing the turtles as 15 year old kids. SO the turtles are 18 the reader is 17 nearing 18 and april is 27.

Warnings: some mention of parent death, but nothing else!

Part 1/ ??

Im still pretty new at writing fanfic and have only done a few and this is my very first tmnt one. Constructive criticism and nice things only please!

I didn't remember my dad. My mother gave birth to me a month before his death. I didn’t remember him but my big sister April did. She told me everything she could about him, all kinds of stories and old home videos. It's almost like I know him but I don’t. Sometimes it's sad and I wish for nothing more than to have some memories with him, but I’ve had a good life and have a great family. I’ve lived with my sister since our mom passed 2 years ago from cancer. I miss her a lot, but I like living with April and I love our apartment.

We both have a deep love for media. She is a reporter with Channel 6 and I started making youtube videos right around the time mom died. It was like a video diary back then and has since turned into something completely different, though there are the occasional personal diary type videos.

I was wearing my favorite oversized sweater. It was a deep forest green and nearly reached my knees. It was worn and a bit tattered in some places, but it was the coziest thing ever.. I was barefoot in the kitchen listening to April talking about the latest Foot Clan activity and thinking about the questions she was planning for some guy who worked on the docks. She had convinced her camera guy Vern to take her over there before they shot her morning segment.

“You’re gonna be late!” I called into the living room while putting some breakfastt in a container for her to take on the road.

“Thank you shorty,” She rushed in and gave me a kiss on the cheek as she grabbed her breakfast and rushed out of the kitchen again to grab her bag “I’ll either be back for dinner or late!”

“That's really specific April,” I mutter as a lean in the kitchen doorway and watch her check her purse. “Do you have your touchup bag and your toothbrush?”

April let out a small gasp and rushed back to the bathroom. She came back out with a bag, gathered her things and blew a kiss as she ran out the door. I let out a laugh and went to eat my own food.

I spent the day editing a new video. I just hit 700k last week so I was making a special video to celebrate. It had some songs that I had covered laid over a video of me painting a portrait of my mother and father. It was taken a year before he had died and they had gone on a weekend getaway in the Appalachian mountains.

I didn't look up until April burst through the door. It was already dark out and I hadn’t even noticed.

“I just witnessed a Foot Clan attack!” she called as she walked through the apartment.

“What? Oh my god! Are you okay?” I practically jumped up and followed her as she began pacing around the living room. “April? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! There I was at the docks trying to get some answers and then BAM! They were there!” She went on about the attack and then started about some kind of vigilante that fought them off.

“Vigilante? Are you serious?” She didn't answer, she just went into her room. I sat back down on the couch and tried to process what she had said. In the end I shook it off and went get some dinner ready.

Over the next few days April was hard to find. She seemed to be constantly on the move and didn't answer her phone. She came home talking about dad's old experiments and giant turtles, and over the next 2 days seemed to just be gone. The spire on the Sacks building fell and The Shredder, who was the leader of the Foot Clan, was arrested and Eric Sacks was revealed to have been working alongside him the whole time. It was a wild time for New York, and April was suddenly quiet about the vigilantes.

Time began to move on and April started talking about these 4 new friends she had that were brothers. They seemed like a fun nice group, and the stories she shared were great.

“So,” I started as we sat together on the couch, “when do I get to meet the brothers?”

April choked on her glass of white wine. “What? Meet them?”

“Yeah, You talk about them all the time! I would like to meet them. They’re all you’ve been talking about for like 3 weeks.” I said as I pushed her with my foot.

“Ummm,” April stopped to think and had a vague look of concern on her face, “I'm not sure actually. They’re pretty busy guys.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Uh-huh. If you don't want me to meet them just say so. I was just curious.” I turn my face away from her.

“No it's not that, It's just they’re kinda shy. They don’t really like meeting people.” April's face said that she was telling a lie.

“Okay.” I left it at that clearly something is bugging her about me meeting her friends.

April-

April went to spend some time with the boys, but couldn’t stop thinking about them meeting her little sister. How would she react? She thought to herself, ‘I fainted when I met them, and there are still times when it kinda freaks me out a bit. I don’t want my baby sister to get scared and I don’t want the boys to get hurt because of it.’ They had tried to act like April’s reaction didn’t hurt them, but she knew it did. ‘I just want everyone to be happy.’ She was sitting in the lair watching the boys fight and Mikey brought up their Christmas pop album again. She smiled, (y/n) loved music and often performed covers on YouTube. She was really good at it. She had even written her own songs but at this point refused to release or talk about them on her channel.

“April, is something troubling you?” The brunette turned, surprised to see Master Splinter.

“Oh it’s nothing really.” She paused, “Actually could we talk? I am having some trouble.” Splinter nodded and gestured for her to follow. Not answering the questioning looks of the brothers, they went into Hashi.

“The boys avoid this room as much as possible,” Splinter said with a chuckle, “they will not listen in in here.”

“Makes sense,” April laughed and sat down on a mat with Splinter while looking at the odd structures in the room, “I’m having some trouble with my sister.”

“Oh yes, little (y/n) she had only just been born. I believe your father brought her down to the lab twice in those last weeks.” He thought back fondly on the small soft baby that looked so tiny in the arms of her father but so big compared to him then. “ what is it that is wrong?”

“She wants to meet the brothers. She doesn’t know that they are turtles, but she knows I have new friends.” April said looking down, “ we are very open. We’re the only family we have left so we always know each other's friends. It’s a safety thing I guess.”

Master Splinter hummed and looked at April, who continued.

“She wants to meet them and honestly I want her to too! I think they would all get along so well and I think the boys would adore her. It would also be nice to know that there are 4 ninjas who would look out for her.” April sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

“I just don’t want the boys to get hurt. What if she is afraid of them? What if she screams and calls them monsters or freaks? What if she passes out or cries. It would hurt them so much, and I don’t want to see my sister frightened anyway.” April’s shoulders slumped and she lowered her face to look across at Splinter.

“You know your sister well? Do you think she will react this way?” The rat questioned.

“I don’t know. This isn’t exactly a situation that has ever come up before or one I ever thought I would be in.” She played with her fingers in her lap and she watched him stroke his beard.

“I think you know your sister well and know what would be the best course of action.” He smiled, “I think the trouble now will be convincing the boys to risk meeting her. I have no doubt that it will be a split crowd.”

April nodded and gave a kind of exasperated smile. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Mikey and Ralph would agree, Donnie was iffy, but Leo would say no.

“Thank you Splinter. That does actually help. Do you mind if I stay in here a bit longer?” She asked.

“Go ahead child. Take your time.” Splinter got up and left the Hashi.

April sat and thought about what he had said. She thought back to everything she knew about her sister and what she knew of the boys. If her sister could be accepting she knew that they could have a great friendship. The boys were half a year older than her and they didn't know anyone their age. It would be nice for them to have that she thought. She knew Mikey would be super friendly right away, maybe even too friendly. Donnie would be polite but wary at first and a bit excited. Raph would be happy just to meet another person, but Leo would be cold. She feared that he would be distant and unapproachable and she knew her sister well enough to know she wouldn't be able to handle that.

She took her time and eventually rejoined the brothers. She brushed off their questions with a simple: “I needed advice.” She sat down with them as they all talked and joked around. Finally Donnie brought up the perfect opportunity.

“April you're lucky you don't have brothers.” He said as Mikey bombarded him with insane ideas for gadgets.

“Well I don't have any brothers but I do have a baby sister.” The turtles all turned towards her clearly shocked by this news. “She's actually about 4 months from turning 18.”

“Woah Angelcakes, We didn't know you had a lil’ sis. Is she as beautiful as you?” Mikey said while batting his eyes at her.

“I think she is absolutely gorgeous, and she sings and does art. She’s about to be a senior in high school.” April said while leaning closer to mikey. “Shes shorter than me and has curves for days. She used to be on the dance team actually.” April laughed and Mikey threw himself back and fanned himself with his hand.

“Why haven't you mentioned her?” Leo asked.

“You never asked if I had any siblings. She was born a few weeks before my dad died.” April smiled sadly at that “She actually asked if she could meet you.”

The boys seemed to freeze at that, and suddenly all eyes were on her.

“You told about us?”. Raph asked.

“Kinda. I might have left out the part about being ninja turtles, but I told her about my new friends and she wants to meet you guys.” Raph scoffed at her answer.

“So you didn't actually tell her about us.” He almost snapped at her.

“Cool it Raph.” leo warned.

“I don't wanna be looked at like a freak. She won't want to meet us when she sees us.” he stood up and walked off. April looked at the others who all looked like they wanted to disagree and agree with Raph at the same time.

“Sorry angelcakes, I'm sure baby angelcakes is great though.” Mikey shrugged.

April sat in disbelief that they all basically said no. The lair was quiet after that and she left after they ate some dinner.

She got home only to remember her sister was spending the night at her friends house. So she had the place all to herself. She let out a sigh and poured herself a tall glass of wine and sat on the couch thinking about the events of the day. She came up with a plan as she finished her cup and decided that by the end of the week they boys will have met her baby sister. She grabbed her phone and invited the boys to come hang out at her place for once this upcoming weekend. They didn't even ask if her sister would be there.

(Y/N)-

April had gone out to pick up some pizza for a late night dinner. I had school, homework, and some video editing to do and forgot to cook. April came home late and said not to worry about it and would grab some pizza. Her new favorite place didn’t offer delivery so she went to go get it. I decided that a nice hot shower sounded good and went in. I got out as I heard the front door open and close. I made my way to my room about to throw on my favorite green sweater only to remember that It had been washed and was in the dryer. So, I wrapped my towel back around me and opened my door to head out into the living room. I walked out and looked up only to meet with 4 pairs of eyes.

“Oh my bad,” I said, turning to go back to my room only to stop and turn right back around. “Ummmm…” I trailed off not sure what to say as I stared at 4 very large, very green, oddly human like turtles, all while in a bath towel that left most of my left hip exposed.

“Oh hi (y/n). I forgot to mention I had friends coming over.” April said walking into the room. “You might wanna put some clothes on though.”

“Yeah…” I said not able to look away from the very large turtle creatures sitting in the living room.

#tmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt imagine #tmnt 2014

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pandoraborn · 4 years

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DAY 13 BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT. || oxygen mask. ||

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So much for trying to print up ‘Missing’ posters for Erin. Between the printer jamming and the tea almost burning because of their worry, there are now four people in Henrik’s living room, most of them covered in blood. Jameson’s jumping to his feet, dropping his cup of lukewarm tea onto the carpet, spilling the liquid everywhere with his hands flailing, signing his confusion at a rapid pace. Henrik pauses briefly, wanting to demand answers, but the sight of Jackie unconscious and bleeding profusely has him already turning on his heel to storm off toward his lab. Priorities: Jackie first, everything else second.

It makes no difference if people show up by ambulance or portal, he’s going to ask no questions, he’s just going to bark orders for Amon to follow him down to the lab. Inside, he pulls a bed out and clears it for Amon to set Jackie down. Henrik gets to work, poking at Jackie and figuring out where all the injuries are. There’s hardly a spot on Jackie’s body that’s free of blood or any sort of marking, so Henrik mutters to himself in German as he rushes around, grabbing things he may need, or even may not need, but might find use in anyway.

As the sole medical staff present, he feels a burden he doesn’t like feeling, like Jackie’s fate is completely in his hands. It’s overwhelming, his mind racing with thoughts of trying to save Jackie and thoughts over Erin missing. Come to think of it, it hadn’t just been the kids going missing, Marvin and Jackie had turned up missing as well, and had been for a few days now. Henrik sucks in a few deep breaths as he tries to focus only on the task at hand.

One thing at a time.

He grabs his portable oxygen tank and drags it over. Placing the mask over Jackie’s face, Henrik makes sure it stays in place before rummaging through his cabinets for drugs, anesthetics, and anything else that’ll help numb the pain. He wishes he had better equipment to help stabilize Jackie’s breathing, because the flimsy mask is barely doing anything.

Don’t panic. Just focus.

His movements are methodical, calculated. He hasn’t realized he’s even stopped speaking completely as he drags the syringes and bottles back to Jackie’s side. Stitches. Surgery. Coma? Maybe. Probably needed.

Next is a blood bag. Jackie’s going to need a blood transfusion. He has the blood for it. Not a whole lot, but a couple of bags for Jackie’s blood type should be enough to help, until he can get more. The hero also needs stitches. Surgery might be needed, to reset and fix splintered bones. Henrik knows he has synthetic materials for that very purpose.

What he wants is a team.

No, no, no time. He grabs one syringe and fills it with an anesthetic. He’s going to have to put Jackie in a coma in order to do everything he wants to. He gets about halfway when Marvin jumps to his feet, cluing in on what Henrik’s doing.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Marvin protests. He gets up, as if to stop Henrik, but Chase throws an arm out to block him. “I can help-”

“Nein, Jackie needs medical attention. He’s suffered too much damage to his body. I need to put him in a coma, I need to perform surgery, I need to do so many things to heal him. Where were you?” His own voice is short, temper barely kept at bay. He’s not angry at Marvin, he’s angry at Jackie. He’s angry at himself. He’s angry at this entire situation in which he’s left out of the loop and has a child missing.

“I was with him!”

“No you weren’t,” Amon whispers. “You were outside your apartment.”

Marvin feels like his head is going to burst, along with his heart. Seeing his husband in critical condition, barely clinging to life already aches, but now that Amon is throwing digs at him, it’s even worse. Marvin is struggling to breathe as he tries to keep the tears at bay. “Jason...Jason he…”

“Enough. I do not need to know details,” Henrik snaps. “Jameson, please take all of them upstairs so I can tend to Jackie. I need to concentrate!” He leaves it unsaid that he’s not going to let them distract him; he refuses to lose Jackie right here when Jackie’s in his hands.

He washes his hands and puts gloves on, just as Jameson gently guides the other three out of the lab and back up the stairs. He watches them leave, before carefully injecting Jackie with the anesthesia, purposely giving him a higher dose than normal, to ensure he stays asleep for awhile. He knows Jackie can handle the dosage.

“I’m sorry for the coma, mein Freund. But I’d rather you not feel pain anymore.” He wipes his own eyes with his sleeve before grabbing all the tools needed to operate on Jackie to make sure he lives. On top of all this, he’s worried for Erin. All the kids have been missing for days, and Henrik and Jameson had no idea where everyone had gone off to. He feels like he missed something important, but hopefully Marvin can offer the missing pieces when Jackie’s stable.

Upstairs, it’s quiet. Marvin still feels like he’s going to burst, and no one’s looking at each other. Amon especially is avoiding his gaze, so Marvin just gets up and walks outside, a little relieved to see Jameson following him.

{I know you’re distressed over Jackie, Marvin. But we’re going to need answers.}

“I... Everything’s a mess, Jameson. The kids are still missing, Vin’s missing, Jackie’s dying, and I just. I feel alone and helpless. I don’t know who all is doing what anymore, and I can’t breathe.”

Jameson mulls those words over for a minute before shaking his head. {I’ll start off by reminding you you’re not alone. But I need more to go off of than that, please. Erin is my son too.}

Marvin sucks in a breath, dabbing at his eyes. He murmurs a quiet thank you when Jameson offers a handkerchief, and blows his nose into it. “Jason captured Jackie and me, held us captive. He spent the whole time torturing Jackie, and I managed to escape when Jason’s back was turned. I didn’t have enough time to grab Jackie too, and my hands were bound-”

{Yes, I can see the markings around your wrists, and I could see the condition Jackie was in. What about Erin? What about Nebula and Alphie?}

“We think Jason got them too. I don’t know. You can ask Amon too, he and Chase might know something.” Marvin winces when he realizes how bitter he sounds. Is he subconsciously mad at Amon for blaming him? Marvin doesn’t know anymore.

{Amon isn’t my concern right now, you are. You showed up covered in blood. It doesn’t matter if it’s Jackie’s blood, you’re clearly not handling things well right now. I’d like to help, and please don’t tell me I can’t.}

“No, you can help. I’m so used to-”

{You and Jackie being the protectors, I know. Henrik and I know how to fight as well. Maybe not as well as you, but we have our own ways of outsmarting an enemy. I would like to know who that enemy is. I’d like my son back.}

Marvin nods absently. “You’re right. You’re right, I’m so stupid.” He lets out a quiet sob, leaning against Jameson for comfort. Jameson wraps his arms around Marvin, giving him the comfort he clearly needs right now. They both remain silent as Marvin cries for a long while, letting most everything out. He’s not sure what scares him more: two people he loves losing faith in him, failing as a parent, or just feeling utterly helpless at this point. It’s too overwhelming.

{We’ll figure out everything together. We need to be a team now. Can you come back inside and tell us everything we need to know? I don’t want to lose more sleep over worry.}

Marvin nods and pulls away, dabbing at his eyes with a clean corner of the handkerchief. “Yeah, I’ll tell you everything I know.”

He falls quiet again as they head back inside, where he sits down again. The scene is much the same: with Amon and Chase sitting on the couch together. Chase is staring at the floor, playing with his hat, and Amon is purposely ignoring Marvin. Marvin sits down in a chair and slumps back, fighting the overwhelming urge to sleep. He hasn’t slept in days, he’s aware, but he knows if he tries now, he’ll fail.

{Start at the beginning, please.}

“Danielle has the kids somewhere,” Amon pipes up. He’s sitting up straighter, wings folded around his torso again. “At least, I think she does, or at the very least, played a role in taking them. One of her lackeys said as much when I was trying to escape out a collapsing building.

{Where was this building?}

“Middle of the city. She drugged me with something to make me vulnerable to smoke and debris, so I barely got out with my life. Jumped timelines to get Chase’s attention and help.”

{Ah, I was wondering.} Jameson manages a small smile. {It’s lovely to meet you, Chase. I do wish it was under better circumstances.}

“Likewise.” Chase returns the smile. “Amon took me back here and we ran into Marvin unconscious in front of his apartment. He had shackles around his wrists, so we took him inside. I had ‘ta saw them off.”

{Marvin, what happened when Jason had you?}

“He had Jackie and me locked up in some dungeon-esque room.” Marvin shrugs, letting his head fall back so he can stare at the ceiling. He doesn’t do that forever, because he’ll still need to communicate with Jameson, after all. “He shackled me to the wall and kept me silent with a gag so I couldn’t perform magic on him. He spent the entire time torturing Jackie by poisoning him, shocking him, kicking him around. At one point, he made a taunt about the kids, so I assumed he had something to do with it.”

{That’s two different people who have a role in where our children have gone. Something doesn’t seem right here. Would they be working together?}

“Doubtful,” Chase says. “I don’t know this Jason, but I know Danielle, and she’s really calculating. If she’s working with someone, it’s because she’s drugged them into complacency.”

“Jason doesn’t seem like the type to let someone get that close to him,” Marvin points out. “Chase, is there anyone else from your timeline that Danielle might know? Or anything that might connect her to Jason?”

Chase hesitates, setting his hat back on his head. “There…is someone else.”

Amon nods. “It’s Cian. I didn’t get a great look at him, I only saw him from a distance. But I saw Vin with him.”

{Pardon, but who is Cian? Isn’t Vin-}

“Vin is Marvin, yeah,” Chase says. “Cian is a fae, but not like your average one.”

“Let me explain this,” Amon says sharply. “Think of your worst encounter with someone. Imagine them to be a fairy. Now this particular fairy doesn’t just steal your name or is averse to iron, he’s deadly and dangerous. He doesn’t care about petty tricks, he actively seeks to cause chaos and strife. Hell, wouldn’t put it past him to be influencing us right now, especially if he’s in this timeline.”

Jameson’s expression turns into a worried one. {This can’t be good. Isn’t there a way to stop him?}

“The best we can hope for is to try to find where he’s got Vin.”

“What if Vin is working for him too?” Marvin asks. “He was corrupted awhile ago.”

“No,” Chase snaps. “Vin’s smarter than that. I know my best friend, I know he’s not about to fall for some stupid demon or otherworldly creature’s stupid magic twice. No, if he’s with Cian, it’s not by choice.”

“So. Then we need to find where Cian might be. If we find Vin, we could probably find the kids, too.”

“If a dark fae wants to have his way, there’s only one place he’d store a prize for all eternity, and it’s not a place I want to think about going to.” Amon wrinkles his nose. “It’s going to be deadly and we need a ritual to open the portal.”

“You don’t mean-” Marvin lurches forward, mouth agape.

Amon nods. “Better get some sleep, Marvin. Eat some god damned food because you’re going to send me to Tír na nÓg.”

---

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#whumptober2020 #no.13 #oxygen mask #jse community #septic egos #fic #ego shipping #long post #miishae writes

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vulcan-highblood · 4 years

Text

Group Project

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Gen

Summary: Iruka didn't realize that a baby (6-year-old) joining his class was the herald to the end of his pranking days in the Academy. But when their teacher assigns Itachi and Iruka a group project, it becomes clear that Iruka's going to have to learn how to cooperate with the little smarty-pants Uchiha. The only problem is, he's not sure Itachi's willing to cooperate with him.

Read it on AO3

Group Project Sharingan-Stealer Iruka - Part 1

There was a new kid in class, Iruka noted absently as he eased his hand under his desk, pressing a small wad of what looked like chewing gum there, fighting to keep a straight face. At the front of the classroom, Aki-sensei was scribbling on the blackboard and babbling about this… Iruka paused, doing a double take. They were getting a baby in their class!

Okay, not a literal baby, but he might as well be! He was barely half the size of everyone else in the room, with big dark eyes, soft black hair, and chubby baby cheeks. Iruka fought not to laugh - what was this kid doing in their class? They were going to graduate in a few months, why on earth would they be moving this kid into their class now?

“I hope you will all be welcoming to Itachi. We have high hopes for him - for all of you -” here Aki-sensei paused to glare at Iruka, “to pass your upcoming assessment and graduate to Genin-rank.”

Iruka didn’t bother to hide his scowl at that. He’d been held back during the last assessment because of his poor written marks. And his poor practical scores. Also probably because he’d skipped the first half of the test to try and drop water balloons on the ANBU standing outside Hokage Tower. The real trap had actually been trying to corral them into tripping a wire that would send a ink-filled balloon at them from a completely different direction, but, like all the other times he’d tried to pull one over on the ANBU, it hadn’t succeeded.

He had been scolded pretty soundly by two of them, and then frog-marched back to the Academy, only to realize that Aki-sensei hadn’t reminded them about the test the day before, so he hadn’t known to show up on time. Or maybe she had reminded them, and Iruka had slept through it? Anyway, he’d missed most of the graduation exam, and Aki-sensei wasn’t about to let him forget it. Other than harassing him about tests, though, she had precious little to say to him that wasn’t critical and honestly just obnoxious, and Iruka got enough of that at the orphanage, so was it any wonder that he tended to tune her out?

“Hey Iruka,” Mizuki whispered, “check out the new kid. He’s an Uchiha.”

Iruka rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I noticed.” It was hard to miss the fan shape on the kid’s shirt, after all. Did Mizuki really think he was that dumb? He may not be great in school, but he knew the clan crests! At least, the important ones. Mostly. Anyway, Uchiha was an easy crest to recognize because it looked like a fan.

“No, idiot, I mean,” Mizuki shot back with an irritated grimace, “He’s an Uchiha. I heard they’re the ones responsible for… you know.”

“I don’t know,” Iruka replied, frowning. “Responsible for what? They’re the military police, I’m sure they have a lot of responsibilities.”

Mizuki glanced back and forth like he was going to tell Iruka a secret, and then whispered very loudly, “They’re the ones who caused the Kyuubi attack.”

Whispers rippled across the room as eyes turned to land on the new baby in their class. They didn’t have any Uchiha kids in their year, or hadn’t, but Iruka had seen a couple of Uchihas around the academy in some of the lower classes. They didn’t seem like the sort of people to be letting nine-tailed demon foxes loose in the village, but what did Iruka know? The Uchihas mostly stuck to their own compound, except when they were in school, and Iruka couldn’t recall ever meeting one outside of school. He scowled down at the kid. If his family was responsible for that night… Iruka swallowed hard. It had been two years since that night, but sometimes his throat still burned like he’d never stopped screaming.

Slowly, he forced his eyes away from the tiny kid in the front row. What his family had done wasn’t his business, anyway. As long as he didn’t bother Iruka, he didn’t have a problem with the little kid.

Itachi Uchiha was starting to get on Iruka’s nerves. It wasn’t like the kid was

trying

to annoy him necessarily. At least, that didn’t seem to be his intent. But his very existence felt like a splinter stuck under Iruka’s skin that he couldn’t seem to dislodge, setting him on edge. And then,

then

he’d started to actively get a rise out of Iruka. It wasn’t just the way that this

tiny baby child

had waltzed into their classroom and

immediately

risen to the top of the class in test scores, or even the way he managed to

always

master everything in their practical skills work. It wasn’t even the way he was

always

raising his hand in class to answer questions, or

worse,

ask

questions, which would lead Aki-sensei on a tangent when Iruka just wanted to

go outside

and not sit at a desk and listen to a boring teacher blather on about boring rules. No, the thing that made Iruka genuinely irritated was the fact that Itachi kept

ratting him out.

It had started on the very first day. After Mizuki had made his not-so-subtle announcement about the Uchiha clan and their supposed connection to the disaster from two years ago, Itachi had taken a moment to turn and glance back at the rest of the room, his gaze sweeping over the class before frowning at Iruka. Or, more specifically, the ‘gum’ under Iruka’s desk. Then, he raised his hand.

“Yes, Itachi?” Aki-sensei said, pausing mid-lecture. “You have a question?”

“Not exactly,” Itachi answered, his dark eyes drifting back over his shoulder to peer at Iruka. “Are exploding tags allowed in this classroom?”

Iruka was going to strangle him. He’d planned this out to the letter, and now this tiny kid was going to ruin it? He gripped his pencil so hard it almost broke, widening his eyes at the little Uchiha as if to say “don’t you dare,” but the little kid seemed totally unmoved.

“No,” Aki-sensei said, her eyes drifting from Itachi up to where he was staring: Iruka’s desk. “They are not. Iruka?”

Desperately, Iruka tried to salvage the situation, lifting his hands in the air. “Look, I don’t have an exploding tag, my hands are empty-”

“He was sticking it under his desk while you were writing on the chalkboard,” Itachi interrupted. “I saw him hide it under the gum.”

“It’s not an exploding tag!” Iruka barked back, irritated.

“Oh?” Suddenly, Aki-sensei was across the room, standing beside his desk. One of her eyes twitched as she stared down at Iruka, a dangerous gleam in her stare. “And if it’s not an exploding tag, then what is it?”

… he should have seen that one coming. Iruka glared furiously at Itachi, who had already turned around in his seat and didn’t seem to notice the enraged look Iruka was tossing in his direction. If Iruka knew how to radiate a killing intent, he would have, because what was this kid’s deal? It wasn’t like he was going to be personally affected by a little stink-bomb, especially not one as weak as the one Iruka had thrown together this morning by modifying a stolen exploding tag from the training grounds. It was set to go off at a specific trigger, specifically exposure to chakra, which would probably be when Aki-sensei peeled the gum off the desk at the end of class, because he’d used some chakra to stick it right at the edges, and Aki-sensei wasn’t one for finesse, so knowing her, she’d just blast the whole thing with chakra to peel it off, and then… boom! The room would be filled with the smell of rotten eggs. It wouldn’t have bothered anyone else, just smelled up the room and probably also Aki-sensei. To match her stinking personality, because she hated Iruka and never bothered to hide her disdain, so why should anyone care if she smelled as stinky as her attitude?

“...it’s just a stink-tag,” Iruka groused.

Aki-sensei scowled down at him, folding her arms over her chest. “If it’s just a…” she made a small confused face, “…stink-tag…” she shook her head at the unfamiliar phrase before continuing, “then, I suppose you know how to remove it without setting it off?”

Iruka nodded slowly, his mind already spinning as he re-evaluated his options. He fought to keep his expression neutral as an idea occurred to him. Really, Itachi had brought this on himself with his meddling. If he hadn’t said anything, the only person who would have been affected was Aki-sensei and her nasty attitude.

Aki-sensei was watching him with her sharp gaze. “Honestly, Iruka, sometimes I wonder why you even bother coming to class at all,” she snapped, “if all you’re going to do is make trouble, you might as well not be here.”

Iruka agreed, in a general sense. He didn’t want to be in Aki-sensei’s classroom any more than she wanted him there. But he wanted to become a ninja, a great ninja, like his parents, and that meant he had to graduate from Ninja Academy, even if it meant putting up with mean people like Aki-sensei. “Yes, sensei,” was all he said, reaching under his desk and minding his own chakra, making sure to keep it well away from the ‘gum’, peeling the sticky substance away from the desk to reveal the small tag he’d altered that morning. Then, with a smirk, he turned to face the front of the classroom, and shouted, “Hey, Itachi! Catch!” and pushed a tiny bit of his chakra into the tag as he threw it at Itachi’s head. The tag exploded before it reached the kid, really almost as it left Iruka’s hand, but it was the thought that counted, Iruka decided. The odorous smoke trailed across the room, covering mostly Iruka and Aki-sensei, but also quickly filling the entire classroom with a horrible stench.

Despite the urge to gag, Iruka had to admit the tag had worked well. Next time, he’d have to figure out a detonation timer, or distance trigger for it. It worked basically the same as a regular exploding tag, but with less concussive force and more smell, so he was fairly confident he could get it to work. He grinned, even as Aki-sensei grabbed his shoulder and shook him hard, scolding him about whatever. He wasn’t listening. Instead, as their classroom was being evacuated, amidst the coughing, choking, and streaming eyes, Iruka caught Itachi’s cool, dark gaze, and winked at him. The Uchiha looked away. Heh. Score 1: Umino Iruka.

Iruka’s detention after school to air out the classroom and scrub it top-to-bottom was worth it, he decided. Maybe next time Itachi would think twice before selling him out.

…he did not.

~~*~~

In the weeks that followed, Iruka discovered a few new facts about Uchiha Itachi.

Fact one: Itachi was a rules guy.

He didn’t particularly care what the retaliation would be, if he saw Iruka breaking a rule, he would say something and it would suck. Iruka was usually able to get away with a few pranks here and there just because Aki-sensei couldn’t prove it was him, but with Itachi’s eagle-eyes following him everywhere, it seemed like he was getting detentions nonstop. At this point, Aki-sensei had taken to making Iruka stand in the corner of the classroom and stare at the wall for a few hours after every prank. Then she had the audacity to get mad when Iruka would come in the next day without his homework! He was an older kid in the orphanage, he had chores to do, and he was spending detention staring at a wall! Maybe if she let him do his homework instead of standing around doing nothing, he’d actually be able to finish it! Not that he bothered saying as much - she would have just accused him of making excuses.

Another fact about Uchiha Itachi: He was a genius.

It was more than just how good at everything in school he was, he was also good at catching Iruka when Iruka was trying to pull a prank. He was better at that than his teachers, even! In a way, Itachi reminded Iruka of the ANBU around Hokage Tower, able to somehow spot every trap he was setting up and avoiding every piece of it as if it was nothing. Itachi seemed capable of effortlessly noticing, dismantling, and alerting the adults whenever Iruka tried to pull something, and he took it as a personal challenge. Iruka stopped caring so much about pranking Aki-sensei, who at this point had taken to ignoring him all over again. Instead, he started trying to get Itachi.

A lot of the classic pranks didn’t pan out, and Itachi just reported him to Aki-sensei, who had him stand in a corner until after dinnertime, which usually meant he’d get back to the orphanage late and have nothing to eat and still an hour or two of chores before lights-out. So after a few failed attempts, Iruka moved on from that, but he didn’t give up on the idea. As much as it sucked to go without dinner for a night here and there, he had Itachi’s attention, and he felt like maybe this was a prime way to practice his ANBU traps without alerting any actual ANBU to his early attempts. As he took his time coming up with new pranks, part of Iruka even wondered if Itachi might be enjoying himself, too. It was hard to tell.

This tied into fact three about Uchiha Itachi: He reacted to basically everything in a calm, methodical, mild manner.

Since he never seemed to respond to anything, his lack of reaction to the pranks seemed fairly normal to Iruka. Itachi never seemed especially surprised or angry, and he only really smiled when he was talking about his baby brother, Sasuke. But Iruka thought that maybe Itachi enjoyed the challenge of spotting his pranks, of reporting him to Aki-sensei, almost as much as Iruka enjoyed trying to think up new ways to get him. If he didn’t, then why would he keep doing it? Surely it was easier to just let Iruka do what he wanted.

Things continued on in this way for about a month. Iruka would set a trap, Itachi would spot it and report him to Aki-sensei, Aki-sensei would make him stand in the corner, and Iruka wouldn’t turn in his homework the next day. It became almost routine, until Aki-sensei told the class they would be doing a group homework project. Instantly, everyone started trying to grab their friends and pair up - but Aki-sensei cut them off, saying that everyone would be drawing names from a bag, instead. Starting at the front of the room, she had the students pass the bag to the student beside them, writing down the student pairs on the blackboard as they went.

At least, that’s what she did until Itachi fished out the name of his partner and read it aloud. “Umino Iruka.”

Whispers danced across the classroom. A few of the more dedicated students in the front rows whispered variations on “ouch,” and “tough break!” and “glad I’m not you!” to Itachi, who, as usual, didn’t seem to react at all.

Pressing his lips together to keep from yelling at the other kids about how he was glad he wasn’t them, Iruka clenched his fists. He knew he wasn’t a good student. He knew nobody wanted to be paired up with him when it had to do with studying. He knew that. But it still hurt to hear them say it.

Aki-sensei, meanwhile, was standing at the blackboard, her chalk hovering over the spot where she should have been writing Iruka’s name next to Itachi’s, verifying them as homework partners for the project. Instead, she was frowning. “I don’t normally do this,” she said, “But, if you’d like, Itachi, you can pick a different partner.”

Iruka felt his stomach clench. If he’d like? Of course he’d like! No one wanted to be paired up with Iruka for homework, even Mizuki had scooted over to ask someone else to be his partner before Aki-sensei had brought out the name bag. Iruka stared down at his desk, willing his face to stay neutral, not to show emotion. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to work on this project anyway, so it didn’t matter that no one wanted him. They were right not to want him, it’s not like he wanted to work on this project with anyone anyway.

“No,” came Itachi’s soft, measured voice, “I’m fine with Iruka.”

Iruka hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until it escaped in a whoosh. His head jumped up and he stared at Itachi, baffled. Why would Itachi agree to work with him if he had another choice? If it hadn’t been Itachi, Iruka was pretty sure that Aki-sensei wouldn’t have offered, but she liked Itachi, and hated Iruka. She looked even more shocked than Iruka, still standing in front of the blackboard, chalk in hand, the space next to Itachi’s name still blank.

“You’re sure,” Aki-sensei said, reluctance clear from her tone of voice.

“I am,” Itachi answered, passing the bag of names to the student to his right. “My partner is Iruka.”

And despite the fact that Iruka couldn’t stand Itachi, he felt a small bloom of something warm in his chest. Itachi hadn’t tossed him aside, even though literally everyone else in the class wouldn’t work with him unless they were forced. But Itachi had not only not been forced to work with Iruka, he’d chosen to work with Iruka even when given the alternative - encouraged to take the alternative!

Iruka, who had up to this moment intended to do nothing on the project, found himself wondering if he could clear up some time after school to work with Itachi. He’d probably miss dinner again, the orphanage was pretty strict about mealtimes. But he wanted to do something to show Itachi that he was glad not to be tossed aside, for once. It felt nice. He knew, intellectually, that Itachi hadn’t specifically requested Iruka, but after two years of being avoided, ignored, and actively rejected by most of his classmates when it came to academics… well, he didn’t want to give Itachi a reason to reject him next time.

Slowly, painfully, Aki-sensei turned and wrote Iruka’s name on the board next to Itachi’s, making a face like she’d taken a big bite of raw lemon, rind and all. Iruka grinned. He’d show her. He and Itachi would make a great team.

~~*~~

“Hey! Itachi!” Iruka called, chasing him down after class let out. “Hey,” he puffed, slowing to a walk, moving more sedately than usual to account for Itachi’s shorter legs. “When do you want to start on that project?”

Itachi blinked, turning to look up at Iruka. “What do you mean?”

Iruka frowned. “The group project. The homework assignment. The one Aki-sensei assigned today?”

A hint of red dusted Itachi’s cheeks, and his eyes dropped away from Iruka’s to gaze ahead. “Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t planning on working with you at all.”

Iruka felt his chest clench sharply at the words, and he froze in place, his feet seeming rooted to the ground. “What?”

Itachi stopped too, turning to look at Iruka with a vaguely baffled expression. “You never do your homework,” he explained slowly, “and I’m perfectly capable of finishing the project on my own. You don’t need to do anything.”

Iruka felt his face growing hot. “Just because I don’t turn in my homework doesn’t mean I can’t do it!” he protested. “This is a group project! I can help!”

Turning, Itachi continued walking. “I have no way of knowing that based on your current record.” He waved a hand dismissively as he continued, “It’s fine, Iruka. I’ll take care of the project, and we’ll both get a good grade for once.”

Iruka gaped at his receding figure, unable to find words amidst the maelstrom of emotions clutching him. All he could do was stand there and watch as Itachi walked off, probably heading home to his mom and his dad and his brother and all of the other things that Iruka didn’t have that Itachi probably took for granted. He didn’t need Itachi’s help to get a good grade for once, he just needed time. Furious, Iruka spun on his heel, stomping toward the orphanage with so much force that his feet were hurting by the time he arrived.

He got there in time for dinner after all, only to find that he wasn’t hungry.

~~*~~

The next morning dawned bright and early, and Iruka was peeved. It was the weekend, and usually he used his free time to dream up a prank or two for the following week, gather supplies, and run a few preliminary tests to make sure everything worked out the way he expected. Instead, as he lay on his lumpy futon in a room too full of kids that nobody wanted, he grappled with the fact that he wanted to do his homework.

He wanted to do it. He wanted to prove to Itachi that he could do it, that just because he didn’t usually do his homework didn’t mean he couldn’t. He had a copy of the instructions, how hard could it be to just do it?

Several hours later, one bout of frustrated tears, an ink-filled water balloon and some angry shouting later, Iruka realized that homework was a lot harder to finish than he’d anticipated. It wasn’t his fault that he didn’t have any reference materials! He’d lost library permission for probably the rest of his life after using one of the library books in a prank that had gone vastly underappreciated, so he couldn’t look up any of the information he needed. And he didn’t have the money for notebooks, he always borrowed paper from Aki-sensei when they needed an extra sheet of paper, so he didn’t have any notes from class to look over, either. Even his prank supplies came by way of his sticky fingers, and he had a feeling that if he tried to steal reference books from the bookstore they might not like that, so much.

So, he’d cried a little, filled a water balloon with ink, snuck out, and dropped the ink bomb onto an unsuspecting passer-by on their way into Hokage Tower. Of course, the ANBU on duty weren’t entirely pleased, though one of them did tell the Chunin who’d been entering that he needed to be more aware of his surroundings, if someone like Iruka could surprise him like that. Iruka took a bit of offense at that - he was pretty good at hiding and catching people off guard, the ANBU were just even better at noticing things.

After the angry Chunin had marched off to wash the ink from his hair and the ANBU on Iruka’s left had finally let him stand up instead of holding him folded over at a 90-degree angle to ensure his apology appeared more or less sincere, Iruka turned to leave. He didn’t feel any better, and his homework still wasn’t even close to finished. He dug into his pocket, pulling out the assignment and glaring balefully at it. Maybe he could hide in the back of one of the bigger bookstores and try to read a few books before they kicked him out?

“Hey kid,” said one of the ANBU who had made him apologize to the ink-covered Chunin, “What’cha got there?” The other ANBU elbowed them in the side and hissed something, but it was too low for Iruka to hear.

“...homework,” Iruka answered the first ANBU, ignoring the second. “But I can’t go to the library, and I don’t have any books or paper at the orphanage.”

“What about your textbook?” the ANBU asked, cocking their head to the side in a manner that implied genuine curiosity.

“When I’m in class I just borrow one of the classroom books, but after I… uh…” Iruka shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m not allowed to take the textbook out of the classrooms anymore.”

The second ANBU snorted at this, and the first ANBU turned to look at them with what Iruka imagined was a withering stare, although the mask did somewhat disrupt the effect. After a moment, the first ANBU turned back to Iruka. “Lemme see what you’ve got to work on,” said the ANBU, extending a hand. They unrolled the assignment, straightening up a little as they read. “Oh, well, you’re in luck, kiddo. This is a group project, so you can probably just share materials with your partner.”

Iruka wanted to sink into the ground. He swallowed hard, willing himself to lift his eyes to meet the dark space behind the bright white ANBU mask. “My partner doesn’t want to work with me,” he said, his face heating as he explained. “He said that, since I never turn in my homework, he’ll just do it all himself. But I don’t want him to do all the work! I can do it! I just wish he’d given me a chance…” Iruka said, trailing off. He swallowed hard, feeling a prickling at his eyes. Oh no, no, he was not going to cry in front of these ANBU.

“Hmm,” said the ANBU, considering the scroll. “I bet if you asked Sandaime-sama, he might let you use some of his reference books.”

Now it was the second ANBU’s turn to stare pointedly at the first. The first ANBU did not seem affected whatsoever by this reaction.

Iruka blinked, considering the suggestion. Usually, he only visited the third Hokage when he was invited over for tea, about once a month. He’d never considered asking for anything else, or stopping by when it wasn’t their monthly tea time. “You think he would let me do my homework up there?” Iruka asked, pointing to Hokage Tower.

The ANBU nodded slowly. “What do you say we head on up together and find out?”

“This is ridiculous,” the second ANBU protested, “I’m sure the Hokage is-”

“Deeply invested in the education of our new generation of shinobi, yes, I agree,” the first ANBU interrupted sharply. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

The second ANBU sighed, and returned to their post at the door. “Fine. You go on up. But for the record? I think this is-”

“Thank you for your opinion,” the first ANBU interrupted again, one hand on Iruka’s shoulder as he guided him through the door. “I’ll be back out shortly.”

The second ANBU huffed, but said nothing more.

Iruka and the ANBU walked in silence for a few moments before Iruka felt compelled to say, “You didn’t have to interrupt ANBU-san back there. I know nobody wants me around.” He forced a grin even as his stomach twisted uncomfortably. He glanced up at the ANBU, whose grip on his shoulder had tightened incrementally at the words. “I’m a nuisance. Everybody says it, it’s no secret.”

“You’re a kid,” the ANBU replied, their grip loosening slightly as they continued walking, “All kids are nuisances at one time or another. Nothing to worry about.”

Iruka had a feeling most people would disagree with that assessment, but he liked the thought that maybe it was okay to be a nuisance, at least sometimes. He’d never felt that way before, or at least, no one had ever bothered to say as much to him. “Do you really think the Hokage will let me use his books to finish my homework?”

“I don’t know,” the ANBU said honestly, “but it’s worth asking.”

Iruka nodded, and the two of them continued down the corridor in comfortable silence.

~~*~~

As it turned out, the Hokage was not only willing to let Iruka use his books, he also told him that if he ever needed reference materials, he should go to the Sarutobi residence and request access to the clan library.

“You’re welcome to use those resources any time you need them,” the Hokage told him seriously, “...so long as you don’t draw funny moustaches on all of the pictures in the scrolls,” he added with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Iruka agreed, face heating as he realized the Hokage had heard about how Iruka had ended up with a probably-lifetime ban from the community library. After the two of them looked over Iruka’s assignment together, the Hokage sent him off to the Sarutobi residence with a list of four or five references to find and bring back. “We’ll work together,” he said. “I’ll do my paperwork, and you can do your homework. When we’re done, we can have lunch together.”

Accustomed to a five-finger-discount lunch on the typical weekend, Iruka brightened considerably at the idea of a hot meal. “Great! Thanks!”

“If you wouldn’t mind accompanying Iruka to the Sarutobi compound, ANBU-san?” the Hokage asked, turning to raise an eyebrow in the direction of the ANBU that had brought Iruka up to his office.

The ANBU bowed. “Yes sir.”

Iruka grinned as he followed the ANBU back down the stairs and across the village towards the Sarutobi compound, clenching his fist tight around the assignment. He’d show Itachi! He’d walk into the Academy on Monday with the best homework assignment of the whole class!

~~*~~

When Monday rolled around, Iruka strolled into the classroom like he owned it. Grinning wide, he walked right up to Aki-sensei’s desk and set his assignment beside the small pile of assignments that several other students had dropped off on their way into class.

Aki-sensei glanced down, her nose wrinkling slightly as she looked at Iruka’s submission. “What is this?” she asked, lifting her eyes to stare at Iruka with suspicion.

“My homework,” Iruka replied belligerently.

“But Itachi already submitted your homework,” Aki-sensei said, glancing at the dark-haired, dark-eyed boy who was in his usual front row seat, staring at them like Iruka had grown a second head overnight.

“He submitted his version,” Iruka clarified with a grin, feeling almost excited. “This is my version.”

Now Aki-sensei looked downright worried as she picked up his assignment using only the very tips of her fingers. “Is that so?” she sneered. “So if I open this, it will contain your research project, and not, say, a stink bomb?”

Iruka scowled. “No, there’s no stink bomb.”

“Some kind of dead animal?” Aki-sensei prodded.

How uncreative! As if Iruka would do something so obvious. “Of course not,” he scoffed, insulted by the very idea.

“Of course not,” Aki-sensei repeated, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t seem particularly convinced. “What did you do to this?” she finally demanded. “Where’s the punchline?”

“There is no punchline,” Iruka said, the sick feeling crawling back into his stomach as more and more students were walking into class, dropping their assignments on the desk, and heading to their seats. What was the big deal with his homework? Why did she have such a problem with it?

“Right,” Aki-sensei scoffed. “Well, I suppose, if there’s no prank, then you won’t mind if I do this,” she said, crushing the paper between her palms before throwing it into the wastepaper bin.

“No!” Iruka cried, taking an involuntary step forward.

“Iruka,” Aki-sensei said sharply, “This was a group project. I will only accept one submission for the assignment. Did you really think I would take yours over Itachi’s?”

Iruka felt like he’d been hollowed out from the inside as he shook his head weakly. Of course not. Nothing he did would ever measure up to Itachi. Why had he even tried?

“Take your seat, Iruka,” Aki-sensei said sharply, “You’re holding up the class.”

Numbly, Iruka shuffled to the back of the classroom, sinking into his chair and staring ahead without really seeing anything. He didn’t fall asleep, but by the time classes were finished for the day he still hadn’t managed to focus long enough to recall a single thing from Aki-sensei’s lecture.

He moved like he was in a fog, slipping his worn school bag over his shoulder and shuffling out the door, barely able to remember to keep putting one foot in front of the other. What was the point? Why should he try at all, if it wasn’t even going to make a difference in the end?

He kept trudging his way across town, and was nearly back to the orphanage when he heard someone calling his name.

“Iruka! Iruka!”

He turned, expecting maybe Mizuki, or Anko, or one of the other orphans who stayed in the orphanage and just wanted some company as they headed in together. Instead, he saw Itachi jogging towards him, holding a crumpled piece of paper. Iruka’s heart sank. Perfect. The last person he wanted to see after today. Why was he here? What was he doing with an old paper, and why was he chasing after Iruka, waving it around like a flag?

“What do you want?” Iruka demanded, hating that he was losing to a kid half his age, half his size, and twice as good as him at literally everything.

“I wanted to apologize,” Itachi answered, not even a little winded from his run. Showoff.

“Apologize for what?” Iruka asked, frowning a little. For being so perfect at everything?

“I underestimated you, Umino Iruka,” Itachi said, his little face drawn into a look so serious that it just ended up looking cute. For a moment, Iruka almost forgot how much he couldn’t stand the kid.

“...how so?” Iruka finally asked, sticking his hands into his pockets and staring down at this nuisance of a kid. Well. Nuisance to Iruka, anyway. He wasn’t surprised that he’d been underestimated, that was pretty much his entire life story at this point.

“This is really good work,” Itachi explained, still with that adorable serious look on his face. He extended the crumpled paper in Iruka’s direction, at which point Iruka finally realized that it wasn’t any old crumpled paper.

It was Iruka’s homework paper. The one he’d slaved over for hours. The one he’d spent almost the entire weekend in the Hokage’s office working on. The homework that Aki-sensei had crumpled up and thrown out without even bothering to look at it. “Give me that!” he snapped, his fingers closing around the paper, tugging it out of Itachi’s grasp.

The kid let it go without a fuss. “It’s really excellent work,” he said. “If you submitted work like that every day, you could probably be near the top of the class.”

“If I had time to submit work like that, maybe,” Iruka snapped back. “Some of us don’t have that luxury.” he jerked his head in the direction of the orphanage. “I have to go feed some kids and clean the bathrooms now, so…”

Itachi tilted his head, a confused look crossing his features. “You feed kids? Are they your siblings?”

Iruka laughed at that. “Nah, but they don’t have anyone else to feed them,” he answered, thinking of little Nanako with the big brown eyes and frizzy black hair who hated vegetables, of Haru, who should be able to eat on his own now but still made a huge mess when he did, and even … Naruto … the living embodiment of his parents’ killer. It was awkward, sometimes, being that close to the vessel of a monster, but he was still a kid. It was weird, but Iruka didn’t mind it, not the way some people did.

“Oh,” Itachi looked surprised. “I feed my brother, sometimes. When mom and dad aren’t home.”

Iruka considered Itachi. “Sasuke, right? Your little brother?”

An actual smile bloomed across Itachi’s face at that. “Yeah,” he said. “Sasuke.”

“Cool,” Iruka said awkwardly, crumpling the homework assignment back into a ball and shoving it into his pocket. “Well, I’m going to go… feed. Kids.”

“Okay,” Itachi said, nodding. “Oh, and Iruka?” he added, just before Iruka turned to walk away.

“Yeah?” Iruka asked, feeling his shoulders stiffen almost involuntarily. “What?”

“Next time we have a group project…” Itachi’s gaze wandered, resting on the orphanage, the trees, the sky, anything but Iruka, “Maybe we could work together?”

Iruka felt something inside him melt at that, the tension he’d been carrying all day finally loosening as he felt a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. “Sure,” he said cautiously. “Thanks.”

Itachi nodded once to acknowledge he’d heard before turning around and gliding away, most likely heading for the Uchiha compound.

Iruka watched him go, not quite sure how to feel. Relieved that Itachi had acknowledged his effort? Frustrated that he hadn’t trusted him to do the work in the first place? Annoyed that Itachi was the one who got to decide whether or not they’d work together on a group project in the future? With a sigh, he decided it wasn’t worth worrying about. He had bathrooms to clean and toddlers to feed. Whatever else was going on in his life, he could worry about it later.

As he turned to face the orphanage, he frowned, considering the new homework Aki-Sensei had assigned today, crumpled up in his school bag. Maybe, after dinner, after his chores, he would head over to the Sarutobi library for an hour or two and see if he could at least get some of it finished by nightfall. Sure, it might be lights-out by the time he got back to the orphanage, but Iruka had gotten pretty good at sneaking past wards, and he was pretty sure he’d have no problem sneaking back into the orphanage after lights-out.

That decided, Iruka grinned and marched up the front steps of the orphanage. This time, it wasn’t a group project, so Aki-sensei would have to accept his assignment. He couldn’t wait to see the look on her face when he handed it in.

#umino iruka #uchiha itachi #iruka fic #sharingan stealer iruka #itachi fic

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eponymous-rose · 6 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E32 (August 28, 2018)

Tonight’s guests are Liam O’Brien and Sam Riegel!

Announcements:

No Talks Machina next Tuesday, but they will be back the following week to discuss episode 33 of CR. Next Tuesday, instead of Talks, they’re filming something very special for the new channel. Sam: “You are? Oh, god.”

Handbooker Helper premieres tomorrow at 10 AM Pacific Time at youtube.com/criticalrole! The first episode focuses on dice basics.

There’s a new charity drive for the Pablove Foundation, dedicated to research toward ending children’s cancer; they’ve already hit the first $20k benchmark, which means Sam will be DMing a game of Crash Pandas! The next goal is $50k, which will be used to establish a research grant.

@critrolestats for this episode:

Nott has successfully disguised herself 12 times since the campaign started.

Caleb’s most-cast spells (in order): Alarm, Firebolt, and Identify.

The party has spent 55 of their 81 days together on the road.

Gustav’s sentence in Trostenwald lasted 77 days. He averaged about 7 gold, 8 copper per day of work.

Is Nott freaked out after her adventure with Jester went so badly? “Nott is always freaked out to do anything, but is starting to loosen up a bit and trust that-- at least up until this last episode-- trust that her friends could get her out of most scenarios. Maybe she’ll be a little more hesitant in the future.” She might “take one of the responsible ones along, like Fjord or Caleb.” Liam: “Yeah, you should bring someone sharp and level-headed, in case you need to go to a hospital...”

Caleb loves that a fan points out the parallels between Caleb’s similarities to the protagonist in the Dark Tower books: “Caleb wants to do really specific things, and he is not done with that. They’re potentially harmful, and I think that before he started traveling with these people, the main thing was getting them to trust me, and form a working relationship, but the bigger problem now is, does their friendship become a problem? Do I want to get close to you if I know potentially that I’ve got to walk away from you at a bad moment?” There’s another element he can’t talk about yet where he took more direct inspiration from The Dark Tower. He’s not sure yet which way Caleb will end up veering, and whether there’s a point where he’ll prioritize his friends over his long-term goals. “For all characters, there’s what he tells himself is the deal, and what’s really the deal. I’m enjoying not knowing where the hell it’s going.”

“Nott doesn’t really much care about Gustav, but also does not give a shit about money. It’s a means to an end for her.” Other than providing a little security for herself and Caleb, “the other stuff is way cooler, the little buttons and stuff.” When the opportunity came to pay so much for Gustav’s release, “she was like, ‘Yeah, sure, great.’”

Sam and Nott both wanted to know more about Molly’s past. Liam wanted to know, but Caleb didn’t care. Especially since Molly emphasized not caring about his past, and they didn’t know each other too well, Caleb was satisfied to just take that at face value. Molly’s experience was also interesting as a complete opposite to Caleb’s own experience of being completely consumed by his past.

Sam and Liam talk about how they both think about the show constantly throughout the week. Liam: “And I also spend 10% of my week thinking about Vax, too.”

Gif of the Week: Caduceus learns how much money 400 gold is. There may or may not be a live voiceover version of the text.

Why does Caleb still use fire? “Caleb feels like he needs to work through it, ‘cause fire’s not going anywhere. Maybe something that will come out eventually is the reason that fire is his first and he has a real affinity for it now. The fire is natural progression. The Fireball is something that Caleb got just from leveling up, so I took that for him to be understanding what he can already do and magnifying it. It’s the strongest weapon in his arsenal. He needs to master the misery and the pain so he’s ready to deal with facing his ex-teacher someday, or other people.” On Beau being the one to bring him back each time lately: “He likes that. It’s a flawed friendship, it’s not affectionate the way Caleb and Nott is, but that’s okay. The instinct to bet big and tell her everything came from a sense of shared interest, and shared point of view. They’re still very different, but there’s a lot in common there.” A lot of the things she does has been reaffirming his choice to take a chance on her.

Nott’s aware that she’s been more and more powerful, and so she’s been drinking less in battle situations. “She’s still skittish and gets nervous about stuff, but they’ve survived and succeeded in enough fights now that she’s becoming a little more brave.” Liam asks if Nott knows how gifted she is. Sam: “She’s aware that she can do things better than other folks in the group, but she probably would not think those things are the most spectacular.” Liam talks about how Caleb and Nott are “two different kinds of gifted weirdos.” Sam: “Just like us. Except for the ‘gifted’ part.”

Caleb was impressed by Caduceus’ approach to the Ettin encounter.

Sam: “Something that I just decided about goblins: they have short lifespans, and they’re also super brutal and just attack and they’re mean and get hungry and all this stuff, so I just thought, maybe goblins are just like unrestrained id.” A lot of Nott’s character came from that thought.

It felt really strange for Nott and Caleb to be welcomed by Alfield when they arrived. Caleb’s concerned about their amplified visibility in the Empire, which isn’t sitting well with him. At least when they’re affiliated with the Gentleman and the criminal element, it keeps the visibility away. Nott’s hesitant to be in the spotlight, but has also realized that cheering means fewer thrown rocks, so that’s good.

Fanart of the Week: Jester and Caduceus strolling through town.

There’s a brief foray into autoerotic asphyxiation. As you do.

Liam, Taliesin, and Marisha have all met SideBySamuel. The mystery continues.

Caleb on the dodecahedron: “It’s a little too perfect.” It confirms what he believes---that it has to be possible to manipulate time---and drives him forward. He wonders about the source that this thing is a splinter of. He’s also wondering if the Academy’s project is one and the same. “Time travel is good. It definitely does not endanger present reality.”

“What is Talks Machina, Brian?”

Brian: “We have to put a stop to this.”

Sam: “On the surface, Nott noticed that Caleb mentioned Astrid and probably just thinks that it would be nice to have a young lady in his life.” Dani: “I called your ex-girlfriend the other day, and we’re having lunch.” Sam: “I hear she’s a doctor...” Liam: “I’m tired of coming over to these dinners, ma.” Sam: “I hear the wizard down the street got married...”

Liam on Astrid: “That would be bad stuff. Bad news. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but it’s complicated.” Sam: “Astrid has got to be either super bad guy now, super dead, or something else we don’t know about.” Liam: “One of the many things Caleb wonders about every night before he goes to sleep, about both his friends. He doesn’t know. It’s been 16 years since he saw them last.” He’s 33 now. The fire happened when he was about 16, he was in the asylum for 11-ish years, and then he was traveling on his own for about five.

Nott worries about Caleb “about the same” in battle, but she’s definitely noticing the others stepping up, especially Beau, to watch out for and protect him. Sam points out that Liam’s strategy has been excellent lately to keep Caleb out of danger. “Nott always has an eye on Caleb, and Sam always has an eye on Caleb.” Liam: “That’s what Vax did. I would override common sense consciously because I thought it was in-character.” He still has to suppress his first instinct to have Caleb fling himself into danger for his friends.

On the surface, Caleb knows it’s not a good thing for Nott to be so affectionate toward him, but deep down, Caleb really appreciates Nott’s affection. “With Beau, there’s no affection, but he feels like he should be called an asshole and a shit, and he feels like he deserves it. It will keep him sharpened and on task.” He likes, on an unconscious level, what he gets from both of them for different reasons.

Which pet does Nott want to eat first? The weasel. Definitely. Sam ventures a theory that the pets represented the members of Vox Machina. The truth is out there, Sam.

To Caleb, it felt a bit wrong to turn his back on the Empire given everything that’s happening right now and everything that has to happen there in the future.

Talks Machina: After Dark: When It Gets Dirty (Big Dick Peanut Butter Energy)

Liam brings out both his Speak-n-Spell voice and his ~Cuddlefish~ voice. He also does a Nott impression. Sam: “You sound like Miss Piggy on acid.”

Nott’s not looking forward to the beach. Caleb’s interested in the beach in a Death in Venice kind of way. Brian ventures a guess that they’re going to discover that Caleb’s just inexplicably super ripped.

What tricks do they want to teach the pets? Liam: “Maybe ‘Die Instead Of Me’.”

Does Beau secretly have a gooey center? Sam and Liam, in unison: “Ask Keg.”

Nott feels safe with the M9 around, not because they protect her, but because they protect each other. “She’s always relied on Caleb for protection, and now I think she’s relieved more than surprised that she doesn’t have to put that burden on Caleb, or each other. That they have a support group of people that can help them and keep them out of danger.”

Nott expects Jester’s mom to be a “real sweet, fine, fancy lady.” Liam: “Caleb had good parents, and everything that Jester describes does not sound great to him.” He doesn’t say anything to her about it because he doesn’t feel like he can give advice. Dani: “My parents that I killed were awesome. As a child of great parents, that I murdered...” He keeps asking about her childhood, and he’s fond of her, so he’s dismayed about what he hears, but he feels like he can’t say anything about it.

Liam: "My least favorite thing about Sam is how much of a fucking food snob he and his wife are. It’s unbearable, mostly because I want the food.” Sam: “The thing that I love most about Liam is that he’s a gentle love, but he’s a kind soul. He wants to help people. But he can’t because he’s too busy.” Liam: “True, true, true. What I like about Sam is he’s the living embodiment of Shakespeare’s Fools. He’s seemingly a buffoon, but if you know him well, you know that there’s no end to the depth and soul of his character. He is skating on talent and wit.”

Liam: “I don’t know how cameras work.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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christimesteele · 3 years

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Transcript - Time Talks Ep 37 - Felicia Rose Chavez on Poetry, Dismantling Patriarchy, Anti-Racist Writing Workshops, Mutualism, Building Power, and Grief

chris time steele 00:06

Welcome to Episode 37 of the Time Talks podcast part of the channel zero network. This month I had the opportunity to speak to Felicia Rose Chavez, along with being an educator and professor, Chavez is an activist, writer and author of the book The Anti Racist Writing Workshop: How to Decolonize the Creative C lassroom. In this episode, Felicia Rose Chavez spoke about poetry, dismantling patriarchy, anti racist writing workshops, mutualism, building power and grief. Thank you to awareness for the music. And here's a brief jingle by fellow channel zero network member.

Silverthreads 00:41

still walking, still waking is co hosted by me carla bergman, and me Eleanor Goldfield. This is where we interview long term organizers and radicals about their watershed moments, what they've learned along the way and how they maintain their hope on this path, dreaming and building emergent worlds for a present and future anchored in justice and freedom for all because there are forks in the road. But they all lead us home to the fight to the build

chris time steele 01:38

You wrote about the influence of June Jordan's Poetry for the People. I wanted to read an excerpt from it because I feel your book does this just so much as well and your writing. I read all of your, most of your short stories and essays that I could find online as well which were just so powerful. She writes, "poetry is a political action undertaken for the sake of information, the faith, the exorcism and the lyrical invention, that telling the truth makes possible. Poetry means taking control of the language of your life. Good poems can interdict a suicide, rescue a love affair and build revolution in which speaking, and listening to somebody becomes the first and last purpose to every social encounter." And building on top of this, I was wondering if you could speak on a transformational moment. I don't know if this goes back to when you went to Albuquerque Academy, or after it or before or maybe it's a process, a moment that radicalized you to interrogate the white supremacist capitalist patriarchy further, but to also fight against it, but also building outside of it?

Felicia Rose Chavez 02:48

That's a powerful question. I don't believe that it's any one moment. I mean, I think there are shocking moments that we lived through, that we can point to and remember, by the narrative that I've had the opportunity to reflect on is one of consistent lived experiences that I like to think of as splinters right, they just kind of splinter under the skin where you're like, something's not right about that. That's not, is it just me, am I being crazy? Am I being overly sensitive, or why being too critical? And it happens again, and again, and again, until something's just like so much in your face that you can't, you can't deny it anymore. And you have a choice to make, you know, do I, you know, shake my head walk away, talk about it later, rant privately with my friends, my parents, my partner, or do I take action against it. And I think it took me many, many years to finally commit to that action. First through proper channels. You know, like in graduate school, I was petitioning for change and working on academic committees, working with faculty to create my own class. And nothing happened as a result of that. I mean, it was a lot of extra labor with no real fruit. So it took me writing down my own experience on the page and being vulnerable, and saying, hey, you know, I'm going to I'm going to count these splinters, I'm going to take them out one by one. And that started as early as, you know, elementary school where you're like, ah, why am I being treated differently as a student of color, you know, and then throughout middle school in high school, as you said, I went to a private predominantly white school in Albuquerque, New Mexico. And by that senior year, I was furious. The context of college changed everything. You know, when I when I saw how easily my peers kind of transitioned into higher education, as though it were all laid out for them. And it was, you know, it was it was predestined. And for me it was real work, something I had to kind of claw for, and hang on to. So, you know, I guess the ability to articulate what it is that was wrong, presented itself in my teenage years. But it wasn't until later in life in my in my 30s, really where I was able to put it down on the page in a way that felt like I was doing it justice.

chris time steele 05:36

Your thoughts about that moment were really, blossoming. When you were in Iceland, going back to when you said, when you were in elementary school, I remember you mentioning, in the book or a talk when you handed your husband, something from the third grade, where you were really,

Felicia Rose Chavez 05:54

He was like, really, we're going all the way back? And I'm like, yeah, we're going all the way back. But that experience of reading, the very earliest rendition of the book was a 10 minute speech, where I just spoke to what I experienced at the University of Iowa as an MFA graduate student in creative nonfiction writing. And then a list of practical strategies that I do now kind of pivoting, from the way I was taught and embracing a new way to teach creative writing in the classroom. And I cried during that speech I stood up and just cried and cried. Because I was saying it. I was, it was my testimony, I was testifying to the people I went to school with and the people who taught me they were in the room. And I was, I was really summoning the courage to say what I experienced out loud, I think so many of us don't, we don't have that opportunity to go back and say, listen, this is what happened to me here. And we need to change so that this doesn't happen again, to your current students and your future students, it was a powerful, powerful moment that I think emboldened me to move forward to write the book.

chris time steele 07:12

And I really thought the Iceland story was so powerful, because you said in, in one moment, you were so emotional, and cried, because you felt like you were betraying some of these people. But at the same time, when you when you did that, you found that you had so many people on your side, you know, when people were passing around the paper and trying to dismantle the systems that you spoke about was so violent.

Felicia Rose Chavez 07:39

That was the great surprise of this book. And it happened twice. So once in Iceland, where I'm sobbing, because I think, what are they going to say, you know, and then I get this glorious response as you said from, from both the people of color in the room and the white educators in the room who said, we don't want to, we don't want to replicate this sort of harm. So what can we do to help? You know, like, can we have a copy of your speech? Send it to us, you know, and I thought, well, I could do more than a speech, i'll write on this, I'll really give it everything I have. But in the process of writing, I can't tell you. I mean, it was two years of constant paranoia, I mean, really awful, agonizing moments, day and night, where not only am I dredging up, hard to confront moments from my past and trying to make art out of it, trying to make a message out of it. But at the same time, I'm thinking, this person from graduate school is going to call me a liar. This person who taught me is going to is going to, you know, say that I got it all wrong. This person, I mean, I just was constantly thinking of strategies of defensiveness and dismissiveness and denial that has been the signature moves of white supremacy throughout all of our lives, right throughout history, and so I thought how many people are going to shut this down before he even has a chance to speak to anyone? Luckily, before it was published, as we were in the editing phase, a group at the University of Iowa called Black at Iowa Writers came forward and started calling out faculty members by name, specifically one faculty member John Degotta(?) and spoke out against their unfair treatment in the nonfiction writing program. I wasn't hip to it, a friend kind of nudged me to check out this social media account and I cried and cried. Then too, I mean, just out of pure relief, that it was real, that this experience was shared, and that someone was bold enough to come out before me and do this work. And then in an, in a sense, hold my hand and walk me through the process so that I could be brave enough to do it next.

chris time steele 10:08

Thank you for sharing that story. That's, that's really powerful. And it really shows you that when you have the courage to stand up, that others are going to stand with you, even though they feel so alone. And that vulnerable moment,

Felicia Rose Chavez 10:20

Absolutely, they didn't know, no one knew that I was working on this manuscript, it wasn't like I kept in touch with the alumni committee. You know, like, you never know, you never know how your work is going to impact someone, how your story, just sharing it aloud, it's gonna impact someone to, to go on and share their own story. And that's the power in in storytelling, right. And so, that was such a relief for me to feel supported in that way and less isolated.

chris time steele 10:55

I think, another part of your, your writing that has such a liberatory and powerful effect is that you call out these systems as they are by using bell hooks, white supremacist capitalist patriarchy. It's, it's right out in the open is, it's not something that some writers try to hide it by talking about systems and things like this and something so refreshing about your work. And you explicitly tell your story, which I feel calls out patriarchy as well. You mentioned how a colleague had to leave, and someone said we don't want to mother, these students and I loved how you reformatted the language. And you made it so powerful of talking about how we are multitudes mothered again and again in rhythm and time. And you talk about in the piece Color Lines about the coop living situation and the racism and patriarchy you had to endure there. From your story, the Brown Line, which just, which would be a simple walk for a man is this horrifying event for you. And for a woman that shows that inside your house, you have sanctuary but you should have that outside as well. It should be your sanctuary, your stories make these be so apparent. And was just wondering if if these tools to dismantle these systems like patriarchy? Is it just in the writing? Or what are some strategies you use to help dismantle or show these systems with students or more in your own writing?

Felicia Rose Chavez 12:30

Well, first of all, thank you, I feel so heard and seen by that quick analysis. That was really that was wonderful for me. Thank you for, for that quick overview of different works that I've put out in the world. That was really special. Yeah, I think that it takes this reorienting, we're so accustomed to, especially within our educational journeys to say the right thing, to be what ever the person in front of us teaching us needs us to be in order to move forward, move on, get the grade, whatever it may be, right tune out. My practice, at heart, it's about tuning in, it's about doing the opposite, right? It's not about the authority in the room. It's about becoming our own authority. And the more that we can tune in and quiet everything around us, and listen. And the first step is to listen to our fears, and to listen to our insecurities, because that's just another iteration of white supremacy in our brain. So it's just another form of manipulation and control to say, you can't do this, you're not any good at this. Who do you think you are? Right? And sometimes these are the voices within our own families from internalized racism, right? This is who you know, who do you owe your fancy? Who do you think you are? Right? So, so these are, these are the voices that haunt us, but they live there and they're not going away? We just got to acknowledge that that's what that is. And then we move forward and we say, Okay, if I can move past fear, right, what do I want to try? What do I want to risk and failure's okay. So if we just accept the failures, okay, what do I want to try? And when we attempt something, whatever classroom it may be, it doesn't have to be a creative writing classroom. My goal was the anti racist writing workshop, is to couch it in creative writing, but like, please extend it. Right? I'm working with science teachers, I'm working with math teachers and working with history teachers, like extend it beyond, let's activate our imaginations to see how much we can empower students across the academic curriculum. And so we we embolden our students to try something that they're afraid to try and, and then as they're doing it, we ask them to listen. How's it going? check in with yourself? What are you proud of? What, what's really hard for you? What do you want this to be? But it's not yet, right? And we ask questions, encourage students to ask questions of themselves to be their own assessors. And then finally, how did it go? Right? What do you think about what you produced? What do you want to change, if you had an opportunity to change it, go on and try it, right? until they're able to tune in and say, I trust my own voice, I trust who I am, my gut, whatever we want to call it right to be able to go inward and say, I'm going to tune you out right now and listen to me. And I think that is so powerful for all of our students, but especially our students of color, and especially our young women of color, who can say, okay, now I can trust me, I'm going to listen to that voice that tells me this is an unsafe situation. I'm going to listen to that voice that says leave now. Right? I'm going to listen to that voice that says you cannot talk to me. No, thank you. Don't talk to me that way. And I'm going to trust that voice. And I'm going to act on it. So it is, as I said, it's couched in creative writing. But the whole gist of it is, how can we truly embrace our own voices and exercise those voices to create change in our culture?

chris time steele 16:28

Yeah, I love that answer. And you really talk about boundaries in your in your book as well. And how were you when you were turning 30. And you talked about the trust in yourself and the power of No, and how this helped you fight back against educational and academic trauma that you were experiencing?

Felicia Rose Chavez 16:46

Yeah, that that was the turn for me, was becoming a mother. And it was a really hard time period in my life. My husband, I was a new mother. And I don't consider myself maternal. And there are some women who are like that I've since learned, you know, are we like, you know, I changed the diaper for the first time when I changed my son's diaper. It was on on the job learning. And, and I had I experienced postpartum depression, probably as a situational and hormonal kind of situation, we had just moved to a new town, my husband took on a new job, he was traveling a lot, I didn't know anybody. And I just remember being in the house a lot. There was this huge wildfire. And so we weren't allowed to go outside for weeks because of the smoke. And so it was just like, contained. And and this, not a good recipe for mental health, for a new mother especially. And it was then that I start I knew I had to speak up. Like I knew I had to start saying what I wanted, what I needed. And so that was a that was a big turn for me. Again, intricately linked with with being a woman.

chris time steele 18:05

I was wondering on my next question, Is this the kind of two questions they may relate I notice a lot of mutualism in your writing in your pedagogy? How you talk about deep listening, it also reminds me of some of those Zapatista teachings of asking, we walk kind of that we, we learn as we go, and we reflect as we go. But we don't get paralyzed by that fear. I was wondering if if there's a relation with mutualism, with your inspiration for your writing. And it also sees this ties in with Audre Lorde on quote you used, the way we can do is by creating another whole structure that touches every aspect of our existence at the same time as we are resisting it.

Felicia Rose Chavez 18:51

I mean, that's, that's the difficulty that presents itself, right is that we're on a learning journey together as educators, those of us who are invested in doing the work, and I'm doing facilitations now all over the country, with elementary, middle, high school, undergraduate and graduate teachers, who are eager to learn that the question comes up again and again, is this the right place to do this work? Can we do this work within the institution? How do we, how do we flourish when the structure is set up so that we fail? And it's a tough question? It's a question that's keeping me up at night. Especially when it comes to our younger students like they're so they're held to a particular learning standard, right? Very strict learning standard. And there's no collapsing that system yet. As one brilliant educator just shared with me the other day on a meeting. He said let's do it anyway. With our with our kiddos with our little ones, let's just do it. Let's Let's lead them through an anti racist writing workshop curriculum. And then they'll become the next generation to overturn the standardized tests and the learning standards that they've been held prisoner to, for so, so long. And I thought that was really exciting, exciting way to think about it, right? How do we, how do we learn along the journey to change the restrictions that we face on a daily basis? Right. And it's, it's reminiscent of that last letter that I include in the book, which is addressed to the reader? And it's something like how do we live racism and mourn racism and fight racism all at the same time, it feels impossible, sometimes it's just, I'm just gonna lie in the bed, be useless, because I'm so overwhelmed by all of this. And then there are other days where you can take on the fight and try to change the system within so

chris time steele 21:03

are you referring to the Letter to Close? When the police officer was blocking your driveway? This, this may lead to my my next question. And you may have already answered it with I really liked that answer. We're planting the seeds, and the students in the next generations to fight the threat to blossoming that is in academia or just education systems. And this question is of the do you worry about your book being co opted by liberal institutions? As an example, after George Floyd was murdered, we saw many businesses and colleges make statements about white supremacy and racial justice. But at the same time, there's been so many murders since then, of people of color Black, Indigenous communities and Black trans communities. And also with the recent killings of Daunte Wright and now Adam Toledo. My academic institution has been silent as well. Do you worry, the term anti racist writing workshop will be branded but still reproduce the violent and toxic problems that you wrote about?

Felicia Rose Chavez 22:11

I mean, likely? Likely, I mean, look at, you know, these schools that I'm working with now, quite a few of them preempted, you know, before the book preemptively took on this anti racist initiative. Right, Colorado College, whom I work for, has taken on an anti racist initiative college wide. They're attempting to do the work. I feel, perhaps more so than some of the colleges that I kind of, you know, step foot in, and then and then exit. When I do these facilitations. They're at the very beginning of this initiative, whatever they label it is true anti racist work. I wouldn't call it that. Right. I think that's the term that's popular at the moment. But hey, that's a lot further than what we were three years ago, right? No one was throwing around that term at the college and university level, to the extent that they are now, again, co opting is the right term. I think that they're putting out fires. Because students are demanding again and again and again, that there's change. So I think it's a gesture to address those concerns. The real work happens daily, and college wide. And that's where we get into trouble. Because I think the attitude of many faculty members is, oh, well, we'll just have to wait on so and so's retirement in order to stop implementing harm. Because we all know so and so is, you know, horribly terrible, right? There's this 10 year old system where we have folks who are irresponsibly educating their students, it's hard for me to enter into the Zoom space and do these facilitations when I can see the dismissiveness at play sometimes with faculty. This isn't to say that it's always this way. Sometimes they're very sincere groups who are asking a lot of questions that are very engaged. Sometimes people turn their turn their bodies away from me, they'll roll their eyes, they'll sigh they're clearly doing something else, right. they're required to be there to hear me out or tune me out, whatever it is that they're doing. The University of Iowa just brought me in to do a panel and a public reading, which was a surprise for me, and it was one of the worst couple of weeks I've had since the book came out. I was not eating well, I couldn't sleep. It was reliving a trauma that I hadn't anticipated would be so difficult. For me, and it truly was, and I think that was also damage control. Right? I think it was putting public facing events out to the world to say, Yes, she, you know, she writes about her experience. So look, we're listening to her, will there be change that comes as a result of that I'm not facilitating workshops with those faculty members. And I'm curious if that does happen, right? I don't know. It's disappointing a lot of the time, and I get a lot of hate mail. And you've talked about the gendered politics of this all I mean, there's horribly sexist, as well as racist. And it's discouraging. It's disappointing to hear echoes of these hate messages out of the mouths of professors who are responsible for generations of students, you know, quick to dismiss and deny that racism even exists. It's scary sometimes.

chris time steele 25:58

I think you made a great point of many awesome points, that just having an anti racist workshop, even if it's not being lived up to it lays this great foundation for it to be called out and put back into place, when it's not being used correctly. By as you said, these students who seeds were planted in optimism of this?

Felicia Rose Chavez 26:20

Absolutely, I do a facilitation called self advocacy for students. And that's my favorite one to do. Because it's, it's how to hold one another as peers accountable and how to hold our educators accountable. Every time I talk to educators, I say you need to explicitly say it. I teach an anti racist writing workshop, I teach an anti racist econ class, I teach an anti racist history class, like, How can you be so explicit, so as to empower your students to hold you accountable, right, because if you just come out and say it, now you've got to follow through. And, and I want all of our young people to be able to exercise their voices in that way, where they were their reminders, constant reminders to one another, and to their, to their teachers, that they deserve better.

chris time steele 27:17

I also loved throughout this book that you call out gatekeeping even with, not just within academia, but within these writing groups that these workshops, there's often a lot of gatekeeping that goes on, and I like the you talk about gaslighting, and also the importance of language, all these different things that really cause so much violence, and how you call out words like literary and classical, which are another synonyms for gatekeeper. And I just really love that you I just wanted to highlight that this is so important what you bring out. And when I was teaching political science and history, this was something I was trying to change in my department to stop using words like slave and using enslaved, I had a big fight with my department when I tried to get rid of a Pearson textbook, and try to add Roxanne Dunbar Ortiz, The People's Indigenous History of the US.

Felicia Rose Chavez 28:14

Wow, that was a fight?

chris time steele 28:16

Yeah, then they told me because I didn't have a PhD. I didn't know about scholarship, that the book was against America and all kinds of things is so horribly racist things and it really reminded me of your story on Shakespeare, but not being a play that was highlighted for just not one time, which became an outrage.

Felicia Rose Chavez 28:37

Yeah, yeah. I mean, I just just earlier today I, a board member at the creative writing studies organization, I just joined, and they put out a call for proposals for conference panels. And I just read the call and noted language in there, like, you know, you must have, you must cite other sources, scholarly sources that support this work, you know, this, this is the same old rhetoric that that we offer one another to maintain this, this domination over who gets the control of the narrative, right. And to me, that's no different from our officers saying, you know, there was a meme that I posted, you know, it's a package of Skittles, it's a gunm a cell phone, it's a gun, a sandwich, it's a gun and then a taser? Oh, no. Right. I got confused. I didn't have you know, a gun is a taser like it's, it's control of the narrative. So, so it extends across our culture. It's not just within academia, but it is shameful, how we use that as as a standard to enforce white supremacy without having to use those words.

chris time steele 29:56

Definitely. Thank you. This is probably my last question, I want to be mindful of your time, along with your amazing book which I have already recommended it to so many people, the Anti Racist Writing Workshop, I'd like to talk about your other writings as well. And I love Femme Fatal. the great frat boy in the sky, your other writings, how they deal with a field to deal with a lot of grief, Anatomy of a Life is one, the Mindful Birthing. I love that one. I was wondering if you could talk about the piece Memory Loop, which I found extremely personal and powerful and vulnerable. Wondering if you could talk about the process for this piece of was it therapeutic to write? Did it reopen wounds? Or did it help to heal wounds? Or was it a combination?

Felicia Rose Chavez 30:49

That's That's the one. I feel like all the other writing was just practice, right. I mean, it was just fun. Well, not always fun. But but more experiments. You know, I wanted to try different things with my writing. But that was the very first piece I ever wrote. I taught writing for many years as a way of supporting myself. And I taught writing because I was such an avid reader. And so I think the two go hand in hand and in that I was able to share strategies that appealed to me, as a reader, and relay that but not necessarily coming from a place of a writer speaking to another writer, I thought of myself as a teacher for so many years. And it took needing to relocate to Albuquerque, from Chicago, to go back home and serve as a caretaker, to my parents, my dad specifically, that motivated me to say, well, I'll try. I'll try graduate school, I'll try a writing program, let me dedicate some time to writing. So I showed up for a two week period, I showed up every day, a little bit early to work. And I wrote, you know, maybe 20-30 minutes per day in my little cubicle. And I would write and cry and write and cry. And what I created, I didn't edit I just sent out. And that was the very early version of memory loop. It took me between 10 and 12 years to return to that piece over and over and over again, I did so many different versions of that piece. I mean, the bones are still the same, but I tried reordering it, retitling it, like I mean, I just just adding a ton of research, taking it out. It was the, it never felt right. And once I achieved the draft the current draft, I thought I just knew it. It's like the body knows. It just I just knew it was almost like a sigh of relief. Like I finally did it. And it was, I think, transitioning from this is what happened to me, right, which I think is what we all come to the page as an act of like, release, right, this is what happened to me, I was witness to this, then, you know, this is, let me try to get inside the head of my mother who had experienced great depression. And it's kind of a stunning, shocking depression, which felt out of nowhere, when in truth was years long in the making, once I stepped out of her experience and into my own and really owned my own my own actions, like I'm complicit in this story, I'm not just there watching it happen. I'm involved, and I need to point the finger at myself as well, it needs to be, you know, like, it needed to be way more complicated than I was initially prepared to make it because I had to, I had to process it first. So to make something of it took many, many years. And it taught me something I learned about myself in writing that and coming to terms with my own guilt, as a you know, a participant in in the story. And in that in that few years, you know, 10, 5 years of my mom's life. And I'm really grateful that I didn't settle for that first draft. I'm really grateful that I did that work and went back again and again. Because I think that I needed to teach myself something in that writing.

chris time steele 34:22

Wow, thanks for sharing that process it's such a powerful piece, you switch from narrative so smoothly. You know, some writers have to use the three stars to show we can do the scene as a new narrative. And then your piece went to so many different avenues that was just so powerful. Thank you for explaining that process. Thank you for listening to this episode of the time talks podcast. Please check out some other shows on the Channel Zero Network. Thanks to Awareness for the music, please support his music on Bandcamp and please pick up Felicia Rose Chavez's his book out on Haymarket, the Anti Racist Writing Workshop, and check out her other writings. I'll link them in the show notes. See you all next time and free Palestine.

#anti racism #channel zero network #Haymarket Books #patriarchy

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brightlotusmoon · 7 years

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While writing a fic, I keep misspelling Y’Gythgba’s name, especially since I’m switching between that and Mona Lisa for Reasons (Gaia calls her by her real name, Raph calls her by her nickname, she doesn’t mind either way), and then I think about all my friends with names that can be super hard to pronounce in English and I want to hug them. (Okay, see, you know the CFR Mind Games fic I’ve been putting previews of here because demiboy Mikey gets his hands on glitter and there is a main plotline with April discovering Asexuality? I never covered how the team dealt with the aftermath of meeting the Salamandrians in any of the CFR Ouroborous stories. This is my chance. Since Gaia has the longest telepathic range of anyone on Earth, she finds a way to establish a mental bridge so Raph can reach Mona in sort of the same way she creates the family’s individual therapy sessions in the astral plane. April becomes Raph’s confidante, since he’s having astral sex with Gaia and he’s in love with Mona, and for the purposes of this AU April had read Mona’s thoughts and learned that many Salamandrians naturally had multiple lovers, because they did so much trade with aliens. Sal Commander has, like, three girlfriends and a boyfriend, one of them is another species. So I just realized that my Cold Fire Rising AU can expand even more and that no, I probably cannot just end it, because *counts* at least three people will want me to continue. Also, I just learned from reviews on Cold Fire Rising that a couple of new readers are super confused about the altered timeline. Fugitoid had given them six months but in this AU he stretched it out another three months, and that was mainly because my betas, all athletes, wanted me to be realistic about Mikey’s recovery time. I’ve honestly considered changing it to fit the canon six months but I’m not sure how it would affect the overall story. Six months is a long time, and canon never showed us every day. Those six months could have been filled with So Many Things. And Mikey’s newly acquired psionics could have sped things up a lot more, right? So now I have to decide if I want to trim it all back to fit within the canon six months or keep the extended AU nine months. Oh, also also, Leo is Gray Ace Demisexual, Raph is We’re Not Sure But Damn Is He Kinky, Donnie is Panromantic as fuck somebody stop him, Casey is Yeah, Sure. Being out in space changed them a lot. Splinter just smiles and reminds them to keep it down. He’s a much better ratdad here than in canon. PS, all of Mind Games takes place after “Tokka Vs Earth” but I don’t allow “Requiem” or “Owari” to happen because I am determined to keep Splinter as a father who actually parents his kids and makes mistakes and tries to not favor the oldest. I do plan on doing a story about Mike and Casey’s ordeal with The Military Capture, because that is still super fucked up, as well as The Elevator Scene. AU Mike may be a telepath but his critical thinking still isn’t that great and sometimes his powers don’t work when he’s scared.)

#tmnt 2012 #psionic mikey au #cold fire rising #fanfiction #myfics #my OC has my disabilities #telepathy and telekinesis #asexual April O'Neil #pansexual mikey #polyamorous mikey #genderfluid mikey #everyone is bi #splinter the dad

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chadnevett · 7 years

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Random Thoughts (March 18, 2017)

* It's been a week... Michelle and Ryan are out of town, so I've been taking the bus to and from work, which, given that we decided to buy a house on the complete other side of town has not been tons of fun. Plus, we've been short at work, so I've been working extra, both at the office and at home. Just... tired. Not trying to complain, because the week actually went much better than I had anticipated coming into it. Lots of things broke my way. Just saying that I'm tired and, as much as I miss my wife and son, the fact that they're not back until tomorrow night is lovely. Some time to rest up and relax. For now, that means just typing out these random thoughts...

* Last Sunday, I watched Captain America: Civil War and Star Trek Beyond (I still have Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice for later today). I enjoyed the latter much more than the former. As I said on Twitter, Star Trek Beyond was a dumb movie that didn't try to act like it wasn't; Civil War was a dumb movie that thought it was a smart movie. I mean, fuck, it was incredibly dumb. That's not a bad thing. That's what giant action movie tentpole flicks are. But, it's amazing to me how, over the course of the last few years, they managed to build to Civil War in such a way where the natural sympathies are completely reversed from the comics. I said it after Age of Ultron, but a possible weakness of these movies that no one probably thought about ahead of time is that actually seeing this level of destruction changes the way you view these heroes. They're destroying cities and killing people and, yeah, they didn't mean to, but... Plus, they weren't exactly setting up Cap as sympathetic when his main goal was making sure his old buddy who's a brainwashed killer isn't arrested -- and, then, at the end of the movie, basically locks him away himself... And everyone fights and changes sides and it's all over the dumbest shit. I guess it's a bit more realistic that way, because people are stupid, but it's just dumb to watch. Star Trek Beyond, on the other hand, started with the best premise ever: "Thank god this isn't a TV show anymore, because we're three movies in and already bored!" But, they stop being bored by riding motorcycles, which you can't do in space usually, so, good on them. I also dug how they didn't even bother to give the main villain a plausible story until there were, like, ten minutes left in the movie and, even then, it was just "His ship crashed and he can't war anymore and he's gone crazy."

* On the music front... three new albums for me over the past month or so: Prisoner by Ryan Adams, Solidarity by Bill & Joel Plaskett, and Wild Cat by Danko Jones. Prisoner is tops of that list for me. It probably says nothing good that, for a while there, "Breakdown" by my favourite song. Tough week that week, y'know? It's the sort of album that I need when I want something a bit quieter but with some rock -- whereas Wild Cat is what I need when I want something loud and kinda dumb in places. I mean, the two spots where I tend to sing along are the lines "Come over here, baby, and let me love you like man" (off "Success in Bed") and "Revolution... but then we make love!" (off "Revolution (But Then We Make Love)") I mean, it's Danko Jones... it's dumb cock rock with lyrics that you're sometimes embarrassed to sing along to, but it rocks. The Plaskett album is a collaboration between father (Bill) and son (Joel) and seems to follow a folky sort of root based on blue collar/socialist ideas. I'm a fan of Joel's and wasn't sure what I'd think of this one going into it, but it's rather good. "Blank Cheque" is the track of choice here. Good albums so far this year.

* A week or so ago, I finished reading 4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster. It's a big book, especially for Auster, who usually is more of a 150-300 pages kind of author (with the former being more common than the latter). It's, what 866 pages. It starts with a prologue chapter, of sorts, detailing the grandparents and parents of Archie Ferguson prior to his birth. Then, he's born, and we get four versions of him, depending on which town in the same region in New Jersey his parents pick to live. Every chapter goes through the cycle of each Ferguson in order as we see their differences and similarities and all of that. It's an interesting book that takes a while to really get into a groove with as it takes a while for all of the different details to sink in. You almost need a little chart to remind you which Ferguson is dating Amy, which Ferguson has her as a cousin by marriage, and which has her as a step-sister -- which is autobiographical Ferguson, which is reporter Ferguson, which is prose Ferguson, etc... Auster denies the autobiographical elements, but they're hard to miss. At least in broad ways. The details are no doubt fictional, but the broad experiences of growing up in New Jersey, longing for New York, going to Columbia, being a writer, going to Paris, etc. are all from his life. Even the types of writing the different Fergusons do seems to be the various types Auster has done over his life/career and each one given to one of the Fergusons. It's like he splintered himself to a degree and then added a lot of "What if...?" type stuff to it. Which is what a lot of fiction is anyway. For such a long book, I never really felt like it was a slog. A lot of critics harp on Auster's prose style, but it's such easy-going... writing that encourages you to keep reading. It's a pleasant experience. My only complaint is that I'm not sure any of the Fergusons would have made a strong novel on their own (maybe #3?). Much of the power each narrative has is in comparison/contrast to the others. I mean, that's the gimmick of the book, but I guess I would have liked it if they stood on their own a bit better. But, I could also see me waiting a decade or so and, then, reading each Ferguson narrative on its own to see how it stands up. (I've considered doing something similar with James Ellroy's Underworld USA books... just because...)

* Watched all three Major League movies this week, because baseball is coming. Conceptually, there's a lot that I like in all three. I could see a remake being done of the first one where it's not an owner tanking to move the team, but a front office tanking as part of the rebuild process -- and how the players react to that concept. The sequel looking at the effects of success and budding stardom on players was interesting. The part that really stuck out to me was when Willie Mays Hayes comes back form the offseason bulked up a bit and looking to be a power hitter instead of the leadoff guy and the manager just berates him about knowing his role and not deviating from it. We're supposed to side with the manager, but I found myself siding with Willie. Find another leadoff guy -- if a dude can hit for power, you don't hold that back. Especially because he later showed that he still had speed. That sounds like a guy who just added another dimension to his game.

* For reasons that only make sense to me, I'm in the middle of rewatching everything Randy Orton did in 2009 that I have on DVD. I will write about it. Shit, I should go watch some of that, because I haven't all week. With the extra time on the bus and working and being TIRED, I haven't wanted to do this... I think I left off with Ortin beating Triple H in the awful Three Stages of Hell match at the Bash. Onto the next night on Raw for a Gauntlet match against Evan Bourne, Jack Swagger, and Mark Henry...

#books #music #ryan adams #danko jones #joel plaskett #paul auster #movies #wrestling #randy orton #baseball #random thoughts

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