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starlightinhumanform · 4 years

Text

Midas

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ship: Romantic Loceit, Background Platonic Logincality

Summary: Greek myth tells of King Midas who could turn anything he touched to gold. Damian hates New Years but when his friends drag him to a party, he meets a man makes everything around him just a little better.

Warnings (in order of strength): A lot of drinking/alcohol mentions/partying (none underage), Mild language throughout, (please tell me if anything needs to be added)

Genre: Fluff, Mild Angst with a happy ending, Human (college) AU

A/N: Deceit’s name is Damian in this fic :) ALSO I know there’s quite a few younger kids in this fandom and if you’re reading this (first of all, hi I love you) please please PLEASE do not take this fic as an inspiration to abuse alcohol. Underaged drinking/partying can be extremely dangerous. Ok enough being serious!! I hope you enjoy! Love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link Fic Masterpost Fic Request Info

Damian wasn’t a fan of New Years. It shouldn’t mean anything- he knew that. It was just another random day; the fact that people liked to put special significance on it didn’t actually do anything.

But all the talk of new times got into his head, made him think. It made him think about how many things had changed- the friends he had lost, the goals he had once held dear now thrown away. It made him think about how little he had grown- the bitterness he held onto, the stagnation that had settled across him. He was in his third year of grad-school; soon he would be shoved out into the real world with no academic purpose to shelter him.

“New Year, New Me.” Damian didn’t even know who he was.

If there was one thing he hated more than New Years, it was New Years parties. He would go so far as to say the things were the bane of his existence. The music was bad, people got loud and overly exuberant, and strobe lights were used were used far more than ever reasonable. Alcohol always floated around with disturbing prevalence. He hated how fuzzy it made his head- throwing off his balance and slowing his thoughts- but at least it made the party easier to handle.

Damian threw back a shot of cheap, bight blue tequila and winced as it hit the back of his throat. Disgusting. Just because he was trying to get drunk didn’t mean he lacked class.

He set the glass down on a table behind him so he could pretend he hadn’t touched the repulsive thing. He was sitting on a sofa tucked against the back corner of a living room in a house he had never been to before. Next to him, someone was already passed out. They would be starting their new year with a killer hangover.

Across the room, he could see the friends who had dragged him to the houseparty. Roman and Patton were dancing in a crowd of other students, broad grins painted across both of their faces. At least they were happy.

A young man weaved his way through the crowd and threw himself onto the sofa next to Damian with a mixture of disdain and defeat. Damian had seen him around a few times; they had a philosophy class together the last semester. What was his name? Lucas? Landon? Bradon?

“Hey,” Lu-nd-on elbowed him in the side, “You want some champagne?”

Damian raised an eyebrow as he turned to face the man, “Excuse me?”

He pulled a bottle of champagne from somewhere in his coat. The gold foil at the top was already ripped away and he popped the cork off with ease, taking a swig before offering it.

Damian tried not to stare incredulously, but it was a difficult task when his brain was short-circuiting, “Did you just drink out of a champagne bottle like it was a beer?”

“Sure. Why not.”

Damian reached out hesitantly to take the bottle. He was beginning to doubt that this actually was the guy he had shared a class with. That one looked like the type who wouldn’t have been caught dead at a party. The only similarity was the way they dressed- round wireframe glasses, a corduroy jacket over a black button down, and black skinny jeans. His hair- dark brown and pulled into a long ponytail- was the same too.

“Did- did we have a class together?” He took a drink. It was good- expensively good.

“Historical philosophy. You probably don’t remember me- my name’s Logan. You’re Damian, right?”

“Yep. I hear I’m kind of hard to forget,” Damian waved his hand at the dark red birthmark that stretched messily across the left side of his face.

“No. Well, yes. That is, I remember you for a different reason.”

Logan stared at him like he was supposed to understand what that meant. Damian stared back, hoping to convey the fact that he, in no way, understood what was going on.

“So, uh,” Damian searched for something to keep the conversation going, “can I ask about the champagne?”

“You’re asking why I have it?”

Damian nodded, “I am, yeah. Also why you pulled it out of your jacket?”

“As for the first question: people seem to have made a tradition out of getting wasted on New Years Eve and I decided to join them this year.”

Damian had never heard someone speak so matter of factly about getting drunk. He shook his head, laughing, “So you bought an entire bottle of champagne? There are easier methods, you know that right?”

“If you’re referring to the blue monstrosity everyone keeps offering, please know that I’m not a heathen.”

“Oh, so you tried one of those awful things too?”

Logan rolled his eyes with a ruthful smile, “I may have made that mistake.”

Damian handed the bottle back to Logan who took another drink before locking his gaze on Damian’s eyes. He stared like there was a problem in them and he just couldn’t figure out how to solve it. Damian was used to people staring, but not like this. Usually, they would take one look at him and their eyes would glaze over. Whatever the conversation might be, they would always be partially focused on the splatters some god had painted on his face long before he had a say in the matter. It wasn’t that Damian disliked his birthmark. He just hated the way people always saw it instead of him.

But Logan. He was looking at him. Into him, through him. He had no idea what to do with that.

Damian laughed nervously, “What are you looking at?”

Logan cleared his throat and stared out into the crowd, “Anyways I had it in my jacket because these people are all animals and I’d prefer they didn’t rob me of my 35 dollar champagne.”

Logan had handed him the bottle back and Damian choked on the mouthful he had been trying to drink, “I’m sorry, what? So let me get this right: you bought a champagne bottle which is worth more than I usually spend on food for a week. And now you are sharing it with me of all people?”

“Why not you of all people?”

Logan was staring at him again like answers to all of these riddles were obvious.

Damian blinked back, feeling more lost than he had in years. Even that stupid Advanced Geometry course he had decided to take in his freshman year hadn’t screwed him over this badly. Maybe the alcohol was finally getting to him. It would explain why he couldn’t hold a single coherent thought and why he was so hypnotized by the pale freckles that dusted Logan’s nose and cheekbones. They were so light they nearly melted into his skin and seemed to be phasing in and out off existence as the dim lighting played against Logan’s face. He had never noticed them before. Then again, he had never gotten this close before. It was a shame; Logan was mesmerizing. Damian wished he could get closer.

“So what are you going to do after we get out of here?”

It took Damian a moment to realize Logan was asking about a career and not what he would be doing after the party once they left- apparently together. That would have been strange; it was weird his brain even jumped to that conclusion. Maybe he should stop drinking that damn champagne.

He sighed as his mind returned to the actual question. He wanted to make something up, hide behind a lie of certainty and determination. But it was too much work to weave that fabrication together. Especially on the spot. Especially with how his head was feeling. Especially in front of Logan. He hung his head, “Honestly I have no clue. I’ve always been interested in social sciences but beyond that... no plan, no clue.”

A beat of silence played out between them.

“So what about you?” The forced brightness in his voice tasted fake and bitter in his mouth.

“I want to teach sciences,” Logan’s eyes glittered.

“A college professor, huh? I could definitely see it,” Logan handed him the bottle and Damian threw yet another swallow back. Didn’t he say he was going to stop?

“High school level, actually.”

“Really? That doesn’t seem-“ Damian pointed at the champagne bottle in an attempt to remind Logan of what a bougie, extra bitch he was, “ -sophisticated enough for you.”

Logan shrugged, “I kind of have a fascination with high schoolers-“

“Ok, that’s creepy.”

“Not like that! I mean the culture, the slang, the way it’s its own little society interacting within a larger one!” Logan’s face had split into a grin as he talked, waving his hands excitedly.

Damian didn’t even resist urge to smile back. Seeing Logan like this, well, there was something contagious about it. He couldn’t help but feel slightly in awe of the passion he saw in Logan, “You really like this stuff, don’t you?”

Logan nodded vigorously, “Do you know the new word high schoolers today have invented and are using?”

“Hmm?” Damian prompted. Anything to keep Logan talking like this. Damian wasn’t sure why he wanted to keep Logan talking. It had something to do with the way warmth was spreading out from his core in a way that was far gentler than anything drinks could do.

“Yeet.”

In the adjoining room Damian could see two groups standing on opposite tables chanting “Yeet, Yeet, Yeet, Yeet” as they tossed a smaller student (who looked like they were having the time of their life) back and forth.

“Uhh, I think college kids use that too,” Damian didn’t want to burst Logan’s bubble but he felt like he was losing his mind. At any moment he was going to start cackling.

Logan paused, giving him a pointed stare, “Maybe you do.”

Damian broke. He collapsed forward, glad he had handed the bottle back as he wrapped his arms around his shaking body. He could hardly breathe but he couldn’t stop laughing either. His head was light and buzzing warmly. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but as tears started streaming out of his eyes, he knew he was officially drunk. Who gave a shit? That had been his goal, right?

He fell all the way down, letting his head land on Logan’s knee. He still couldn’t stop laughing even though it had developed solely into wheezes at that point.

Damian felt a hesitant hand tap on his back before actually settling there, “Are you ok?”

Damian sat up and wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of his eyes, “Bro, you’re so judgmental.”

Logan’s face shifted from concern into a scowl, “Oh. Sorry.”

The heavy bass of whatever song was playing took over the space between them. Damian kept thinking about destroying that gap. All he would have to do would be lean over, rest himself against Logan, maybe fall asleep. Maybe it was the overpriced buzz in his head talking, but he felt safe around Logan.

Out of the blue, Logan stood up, adjusting the hem of his jacket as he turned to face Damian, “Well, I won’t be bothering you anymore. Maybe I’ll see you around campus sometime. You can finish that if you want.”

Damian looked down by his feet where Logan was pointing to the champagne bottle, “Wait, I don’t understand. You’re leaving? Where?”

Logan glanced around, looking anywhere but Damian’s face. Damian was used to that but this felt different. Logan was different. At least under usual circumstances, he knew why people so adamantly refused to acknowledge his existence. He made them uncomfortable; he didn’t like it, but he got it. Here, he was absolutely clueless.

Logan finally managed to make eye contact. He was trying for a smile but as an expert liar, Damian could see straight through to the grimace beneath, “Oh, I’m sure I’ll find someone else who will tolerate my presence for a few moments.”

“Hey,” Damian acted on impulse. After all, Logan’s hand was just hanging there. It was far too empty. And at the moment, reaching forward to grab Logan’s wrist was Damian’s only way to insure that Logan wouldn’t walk away. He knew Logan was a smart guy and would probably see his honeyed whines as deception, but he had to try, “You’re really just going to get me drunk and then ditch me? Who knows what could happen?”

Logan’s eyebrows creased but he didn’t say anything. He looked like he was in pain, eyes sharp and teeth clenched behind a grimace. It was enough to make Damian drop his hand.

“Logan, it’s entirely your choice but if you would like to stay with me, I would enjoy that very much,” Truth wasn’t his strong suit, but he figured it was worth a try.

Logan squinted at him, confused or at least doubtful, “I thought you disliked my judgmental attitude.”

Damian groaned, “Dude... I didn’t mean it like that. I thought it was funny. I think you’re funny.”

“Oh,” Logan looked like he was having a hard time processing Damian’s words. It made him wonder just how many of those tequila shots Logan had thrown back before walking over. He had to be drunk. It was the only way to explain why he was acting so strange.

Damian reached out again and slowly pulled Logan back. He was hesitant but didn’t resist. Logan sat down next to Damian as if he didn’t understand his own actions. His eyes picked Damian apart like he was looking for the fine print.

“You’re sure you don’t mind me?” Logan’s expression was completely open. He was looking for the truth and Damian didn’t think he’d be able to lie if he wanted to. It was a good thing he didn’t need to.

He smiled, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Oh. Ok,” Logan settled back into the couch but his eyebrows were still weaved together. Apparently his programs finished running because he suddenly turned to Damian, grinning brightly, “I’m glad.”

Damian smiled back. He was happy to see Logan with that sparkle back, if a little confused as to how he had caused it, “You’re glad... I don’t mind you?”

Logan nodded, “Some people think I’m a little strange.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Damian winced and tried to rush out his next words, “Not, like, I think you’re strange- I think you’re really cool. I just mean people think I’m strange too.”

Damian swore he could map constellations in the stars floating in Logan’s eyes, “You think I’m cool?”

He shrugged, “I mean, yeah. You always seem to have it all together and you have determination and goals and it’s so obvious that you’re going to reach them. That passion is rare to see any more. I mean, I don’t have any of that. You don’t know how much I looked up to you in that class.”

Logan blinked at him like a deer in headlights for a moment before he began frowning, “But you’re incorrect.”

Damian looked up from where had been trying to see how much champagne was left in the bottle, “What do you mean?”

“You obviously have passion. You always had points to bring up during discussions and it was clear you had deep interest in the topics. You don’t know how in awe of you I was. You always found the least likely angle to take and still managed to make a convincing argument,” Logan took the bottle out of Damian’s frozen hands and took a drink, “It was art.”

Damian opened his mouth but all memory of speech had escape him. He looked away, trying to find something safe to stare at while he tried to gather his thoughts. His head was full of fragments, dulled glass shards that floated through fog and bumped against the edges of his mind. It hurt to try to put them all back together into one piece.

So Logan had noticed him in that class. And had remembered him; quite clearly it seemed. Except the way he was talking... nobody had ever spoken to Damian that way before. He was tempted to ask Logan if he had mistaken him for someone else.

He found his eyes wandering down to the space between them. More accurately, he was staring at how little space there was between them. When Logan had sat down the second time, he had done so right next to Damian. Like, right next to him. Now their legs were pressed together, hips and knees bumping together every time one of them shifted. Damian marveled at the fact that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Damian?” He looked up into Logan’s concerned face. God, they were so close, “Are you ok? Your eyes kinda glazed over.”

Damian laughed. It sounded breathy and far away, “Yeah, I’m good.”

From another room, someone started yelling, “LAST 15 MINUTES OF THE YEAR!!”

Logan squinted down at his watch before glaring in the direction of the voice, “There’s only five minutes left.”

Damian chuckled, watching the lines of Logan’s frown as he grimaced at the sea of people around them. There was something endearing about the blunt disdain Logan had for the idiots around them. It was nice to know he didn’t fit into that group, that he had- by some miracle- managed to fit into Logan’s bubble.

“So... you usually celebrate New Years like this?” Logan had suddenly become quite fidgety, wringing his hands in his lap. Damian tried to ignore it. He was having a hard enough time working on his own thoughts; he couldn’t even begin picking apart Logan’s thoughts.

Damian shook his head, “You mean a party? Nah, I usually don’t even celebrate. What about you?”

“Same. I don’t generally go to parties at all.”

Ah, so Damian’s original impression had been correct, “So what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Logan deftly avoided the question with a smirk. Damn, he was good at this.

Damian rolled his eyes, “Some friends dragged me here. Now you tell me what a straight-laced nerd like you is doing in a place like this.”

Logan snorted, “Don’t remember the last time anyone described me as straight- anything.”

“What?”

Damian wanted to shake his head like a dog getting out of water. Maybe then, the pieces would fall into some sort of pattern he could recognize. So Logan wasn’t straight. Why did that make him so happy?

He ran his hands through his hair and tried to gain some composure, “Ok, so what is someone like you doing in a place like this?”

Logan looked out across the crowd, his mouth a tight line. On the other side of the room someone took a running start and flung themselves on a pool table that had currently been in use. The thing cracked in half.

“I was-,” Logan paused, hands tapping quickly against his leg, “-convinced.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “I’ve never heard someone talk so ominously about going to a party; what is that even supposed to mean?”

Logan winced. His hands were doing full cardio now, clenching into fists over and over again, “I was told someone was going to be here. I just really wanted the chance to talk to him again.”

“But you’ve only talked to me.”

“Yes,” Logan gave him that stare again like Come on, dude, the puzzle pieces are right there- just put them together. He rubbed his eyes in his hands, “Maybe this was a mistake. I didn’t mean to get you drunk. I thought you’d still be able to figure out-“

Click.

Damian’s mouth fell, “Wait, I’m the one you wanted to talk to?”

Logan gave him a small smile. It was the first time Damian had seen him look unsure of himself, “Well, yeah.”

“Oh,” Damian’s head was swimming. He could have blamed it on the champagne or how late it was or the way the lighting had began strobing, flickering between bright neon shades. But he knew that wasn’t it. He couldn’t lie this time- not even to himself.

Logan’s eyes were wide, staring into Damian. Not into his eyes- him. It was unnerving in the best way possible. The shifting light played across his irises, making them every colour of the rainbow.

“Is that ok?”

Logan’s voice startled him back to the present. He had leaned forward, supposedly to be heard above the shouting that had started. Amongst all of the raised voices, Logan’s had only gotten lower. His breath played against Damian’s ear.

Damian looked up, startled slightly but smiling, “Yeah, yeah, that’s good. That’s great.”

Logan smiled, “Yeah? Great?”

He was definitely leaning forward.

Damian huffed out a sigh but smiled even wider, “Shut up. I’m pretty sure you’re drunk.”

Logan scoffed, “And you’re not? You’re a total lightweight.”

“Shut up.”

“TEN!”

The entire house shook as the ridiculous number of students began screaming in unison

“You know, it’s also tradition to kiss someone on New Years,” Logan looked infuriatingly smug.

“NINE!”

Damian usually hated this part, everyone around him creating one huge voice- everyone but him.

Damian raised an eyebrow, “Are you asking to kiss me?”

“EIGHT!”

What he always hated most was the way the entire world seemed to be celebrating- without him. The whole damn planet filled with joy for one tiny moment and he could never figure out why.

Logan smiled like the Cheshire Cat- except the Cheshire Cat had just won the lottery, “Maybe.”

“SEVEN!”

At this point, his heart rate usually would have been spiking, feeling the pressure of “new opportunities” pressing all their expectant eyes on him.

Damian laughed, “Did you come over to talk to me just so you could get a kiss tonight?”

“SIX!”

There was always a part of Damian that would scorn him for not being happy, question why he had turned out to be such a sad, useless lump while everyone else was happily looking forward to the future.

“No,” Logan set his jaw like a stubborn toddler, “I came over here to talk to you so I could get a kiss from you tonight.”

“FIVE!”

No matter what he did, the New Year would plague him. His whole apartment complex would rattle as chanting counted down. The first hours of the year would often find Damian wandering through empty streets, desperate to escape the celebration.

Logan slid his hand onto Damian’s knee, “So can I? Kiss you?”

“FOUR!”

The whole event was just one monstrous reminder. It was an ugly mar on the calendar that whispered Look at all the things you’ve ruined. Look at how far you’ve fallen. Look at how little your future holds.

Damian nodded dumbly. His heart was pounding in his ears.

“THREE!”

New Year made him think of his parents. He always put on a bright mask for them, feeding them lies of empty aspirations and opportunities that didn’t exist. How would they feel to know their son was barreling headfirst into a dead end?

Damian was learning he didn’t need alcohol; Logan was intoxicating enough. The shine in his eyes, the self-satisfied tug to his lips, the way he kept getting closer and closer- it made Damian’s thoughts slow to a halt and everything around him lose focus.

“TWO!”

Every year, the day after would be exactly like the day before. Everyone else seemed to be determined to make themselves better. As much as he searched, Damian could never find the ways to change. New Years was usually taunting, reminding him that he would always be broken and would never be able to fix himself.

Logan’s hands played across his chest, smoothed over his shoulder, ran through his hair. His eyes found Damian’s soul. Damian couldn’t remember how to breathe.

“ONE!!”

Damian had always hated New Years.

Logan leaned all the way forward and his lips were on Damian’s. It was deeper than Damian was expecting, both of their mouths slightly open. Logan kept surging forward with his whole body, destroying the few inches left between them. Damian happily followed his lead, mindlessly falling into synchronous rhythm as Logan kept moving his lips. Except it wasn’t just his lips; Logan kissed with his whole body. He leaned against Damian and his hands were always roaming, leaving little touches as they danced over Damian’s body.

Sure, Damian had kissed other guys before. But he was pretty sure this was the first time anyone had kissed him.

One of Logan’s hands found its way to Damian’s face. His fingers tapped lightly across his birthmark. Damian remembered the kids who stared without shame, the eyes that would dart away as soon as they saw him, the way he could never hold a conversation without his birthmark joining as an unwanted guest star. Logan hadn’t done any of that. Damian had no words to describe what that man was but he liked it.

Damian broke away, completely out of breath. He had no idea how long they had been kissing- it could have been hours for all he knew- but his lungs didn’t have the same luxury of losing track.

Logan’s chest was heaving as it pressed against Damian’s side. His eyes were wide and glazed, staring a million miles away.

“Hey, Logan?”

Logan’s eyes regained their sharp focus. He smiled brightly, “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“You’re a dork. But really,” Damian sighed, “thank you.”

Logan gave him a puzzled smile, “What for?”

“I’m pretty sure this is the first New Year I’ve ever actually enjoyed,” Damian snuggled himself closer to Logan, smiling when he felt an arm wrap around his shoulders.

Logan spoke with measured, careful words, “If you like, we could, you know, make our own New Years tradition out of this.”

Damian could feel his eyelids falling and rising every time he blinked like the great velvet currents of a theatre. They were heavy and he was warm and his head was a vague haze. He yawned widely and wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, “I don’t think we have to wait until New Year to do this again.”

He fell asleep listening to Logan stuttering out some happy response. Maybe New Years wasn’t so bad.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist just send me an ask or reply to this post :p

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive ~

#loceit #loceit fluff #loceit angst #loceit fic #loceit human au #loceit fanfic #loceit fanfiction #logan x deceit #deceit x logan #sympathetic deceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #sanders sides human au #sanders side college au #ts logan #ts deceit #romantic loceit #starlight writes

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bat-lings · 5 years

Note

Opinion on Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne relationship as a father-son?

ALRIGHT the human rambling disaster that I am struck again

Jump to the conclusion if it’s too long!

It’s just really hard discussing anything about Jason without acknowledging the sheer mess that DC’s whims made of him. To take that inconsistency into account let’s consider his relationship with Bruce from three angles:

Before Jason’s death / during his Robin days as portrayed before Starlin;

Before Jason’s death / during his Robin days as portrayed since Starlin and up until Jason’s resurrection, through mentions & flashbacks;

Post-resurrection.

Sadly enough the first era is the only one that bothers to portray a father-son dynamic with enough content to have a real opinion on, but I’ll take what I have. And what we have then is pretty great.

Jason’s Robin days

We’re in the 80’s, and Jason & Bruce’s relationship is the most ridiculously pure thing to have graced our poor souls. It’s soft and good.

They have great interactions, a real proximity, and overall bring a lot into each other’s life. Alfred and Bruce are happy to have another kid at home, and Jason is as much in need of guidance & of a family as any other kid. Jason doubts himself a lot and Bruce does his best to reassure him. He’s also is a teasing little shit and that’s great.

[Batman #377 || Detective Comics #579]

[Detective Comics (1937) #573]

JASON YOU’RE TOO CUTE. Also the tired dad feel is strong in that one lmao. Jay, lad, my son, my life,, what have you done to the newspaper,,,,

Ahem right, less gushing more commenting.

As you can see, Jason and Bruce’s relationship before his death/resurrection is pretty peachy. The slice of life sequences strengthen their father-son bond into the reader’s mind. We’re shown they’re father and son rather than just told so.

At some point Bruce’s custody of Jason is temporarily threatened, and that arc is a vivid telling of how strong their bond is.

[Detective Comics #542 || Batman (1940) #377]

Just. That whole speech. “Only Jason is real.” Definitely one of my favorite papa-bat moments.

And as Robin? Jason is clever, often brings valuable insight during cases, and respects Bruce’s teaching and authority. Bruce makes a good job at addressing Jason’s insecurities and guiding him, both through his training and by honing his moral compass.

(Note that I said honing, ‘cause Jay’s moral sense is very much present well before he meets Bruce. He was cool with stealing to survive but Ma Gunn’s school was too much for him.)

He’s initially nothing like the violent angry kid he’s now known as. Pre-Starlin, the only times Jason acts brashly is when confronted with his father’s killer. When Bruce addresses the matter, it’s not about blaming or judging him. ‘Cause he gets it, but it’s also his job to make sure Jason’s not compromised.

[Detective Comics #580 & 581]

And when Jason promises to keep himself in check, it’s all it takes for Bruce to take him back on the case. That’s how much he trusts him. Read the end of the issue and see how Jason proves himself worthy of that trust.

Not only does Jason understand Bruce as much as Bruce understands him, but he’s very perceptive in general. He tends to be straightforward with what’s on his mind… at least when it comes to calling out Bruce lol

[Detective Comics #579]

(They’re talking about Leslie on the last one btw. She was Bruce’s surrogate mom after his parents’ death and they have a great dynamic. Another pearl straight outta the 80′s!)

They get each other, they trust each other, they respect each other. Honestly Bruce’s relationship with Jason was the most healthy he’s had with any of his kids.

We can kiss all of that goodbye after Starlin has his way with Jason. And since Starlin’s “““characterization””” is the one that crossed the years, of all things, we can consider Jason’s initial portrayal pretty much retconed— and his relationship with Bruce with it. Shame, huh?

Of Flashbacks and Victim-Blaming Robin days, 2.0

From the 90’s to the reboot there is… few material about Jason’s relationship with Bruce. Or about Jason outside of his death/Robin.

Whether Jason is mentioned or appears in a flashback, the goal isn’t to recall a father-son relationship. It’s to drive through the point that Jason was reckless and violent. That new portrayal has its predictable impact on their relationship, and that’s pretty much all there is to say.

[Gotham Knights #43]

Obviously Bruce doesn’t trust Jason, since Jason is now a “reckless angry kid who likes to inflict pain on criminals”. Beatty delivers cool stories, but if you read that arc you’ll see that he lies it very thick when it comes to victim-blaming Jason.

Depending which writer/comic book you’re reading, it’s implied or affirmed that Jason is Bruce’s son. You’ll probably have a line about Bruce’s unending guilt, or Jason’s (*sigh*) recklessness. Mostly Jason’s a cautionary tale addressed to either Tim (who never gave much of a shit about Jason btw) or Cass (Batgirl #7 is a rare instance where it’s done without victim-blaming because Pucket is da bomb).

But there’s legit no material about Jason’s childhood in the Manor, or how him and Bruce acted around one another, what they talked about, Jason’s personality aside of “angry”, how Bruce addressed his son’s self-doubts – oh right modern!Jason is an arrogant brat who claimed the Robin mantle for himself so that’s out.

DC rolled with Starlin’s portrayal, and didn’t bother to construct anything else between Jay & Bruce to replace the parts they chose to erase.

[Batman (1940) #645]

The point is: Jason and Bruce’s father-son relationship before Jason’s death is barely spoken of. We don’t know shit about how Jason was as a kid. Bruce loved him but didn’t trust him since his “mean streak” made him sooo dangerous and unmanageable. That’s it. Jason is the bad Robin first, the dead Robin second, and Bruce’s son last.

Resurrection and onward

Jason and Bruce’s relationship post-resurrection is complicated, for obvious reasons, and has interesting potential. My main problem with it is that it’s seldom addressed after Jason makes his dramatic return in UtH & the arc is closed.

For all that I have a love-hate relationship with Winick’s writing, and for all that I don’t like everything he’s done with Jason, his narrative is mostly coherent (and a good read overall!).

Winick doesn’t talk outward about Jason and Bruce’s bond before Jason’s death, but enough is implied. Jason’s damaged psyche centers around Bruce and what wrongs Jason considers to have suffered from him. He reorganizes his entire identity and actions around Bruce.

It’s not only consistent with Jason’s mental health at this stage, it’s telling of Bruce’s importance for him. The same way Bruce must have been his world after he took him out of the streets, Bruce is still very much his world when Jason is on a vengeance frenzy.

Killing Bruce, taking revenge against Bruce, making a point to Bruce; everything is about Bruce. It’s the whole “the opposite of love is apathy not hate” thing. DC could’ve expanded on that and made it evolve into whatever, but they just, y’know. didn’t.

[Batman (1940) #650]

I like Under the Hood and Lost Days well enough except for the Jason/Talia ugh. Problem is, DC obviously had no idea what to do with Jason after that, so his relationship with Bruce stays at a status quo.

Post-resurrection Jason isn’t so much estranged family than an antagonist who makes some cool appearances here and there— when they’re not so terribly written that they make me cringe.

There are some other interesting things here and there, giving depth to Jason’s estrangement from Bruce & the batfam…

[Green Arrow (2001) #72]

… but those elements are few and far between, and fail to establish a solid construction/development of any kind between Jason and Bruce. UtH!Jason put on some interesting bases but afterwards? Jason as a character is stagnating, and so is his relationship with any member of the batfam.

And then there’s the n52 & Rebirth I guess. It obviously wants to deliver a father-son narrative, but doesn’t do great job at it. Again, aside from a few cute scenes, the “he’s my son but he does baaaad things” eternal dilemma, and Jason’s newfound proximity with the batfam coming out of nowhere (especially with Tim wtf), I didn’t find much content to have a solid opinion on.

(Salty) conclusion

My opinion of Jason & Bruce’s father-son relationship is that it’s hella cute pre-Starlin and that Winick’s version of it makes sense within his Under the Hood & Lost Days narrative (I personally cut out “bad seed Jason” and keep most of the rest).

I think we lost a lot of potential when Starlin’s work became the reference. I think the Red Hood and his baggage with the whole fam could’ve been richer and more interesting if Jason’s initial characterization was kept in mind.

Yes, Jason and Bruce’s initial relationship could’ve used some more tension/conflict in between the sweet moments but… as far as I’m concerned Starlin’s writing wasn’t the way to go.

I think the only way to build a coherent interpretation of Jason & his relationship with the fam is to make a patchwork of canon elements and to fill in the blanks yourself. Thus what I have on Jason & Bruce that takes the Red Hood into account isn’t so much an “opinion” on canon material than a personal construction.

I’m sorry Anon, I bet that’s not what you expected when you sent that ask, but it’s all I have to give :’) Hope the answer is still okay & thanks for the ask!

#jason todd #bruce wayne #batfamily #batdad #batfam #red hood #batman #robin #dc comics #meta #dick grayson #barbara gordon #zae chatters #asks #my stuff

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machiyuu-wishes · 5 years

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The reason Sharing Can certainly Power the Future of Marketing

Advertising and marketing have always been regarding the sharing in addition to spreading of ideas, so that the mediums we want to communicate with have got changed, consequently has the dynamics of expressing. Bryan Kramer’s insightful plus perceptive e-book, Shareology needs a broad forward-thinking look at the aspect of giving in the get up of existing trends inside communication, technological know-how, and people psychology and enables extrapolate the impact these adjustments will have in marketing. He's already produced a label for himself with his very influential perform in the electronic digital marketing room and his starting of the #H2H business movements (inspired simply by his prior book There is not any B2B as well as B2C: It is very Human to Human #H2H). Despite his or her busy schedule, Kramer was sort enough to resolve a few questions relating to his ebook and provide also deeper perception regarding locations I thought all of our readers could be particularly considering. As expression continues to enjoy a bigger and even bigger function in the way online marketers interact with stakeholders across programmes, understanding new ways to make your content and company more individuals will become more and more important. Kramer has prevailed in developing a book that may be both an easy task to connect with together with well worth selling.

1. Once you say “being human implies being shareable, ” exactly how do you think a new reality will probably influence advertising and marketing specifically?

Enabling employees to express with their own experiences externally (not just re-tweeting or advertising company-sponsored content) can be potent. We know just how shareable tips are, and allowing people to share their particular stories independently channels for your brand, product or service, or customs is an impressive form of the briefing. It’s trustworthy content that you simply don’t have to generate and it may be in your backside pocket! In terms of employee remonstrance, company market leaders often inquire the wrong query about negative feedback and sociable: “How will i get very own employees to share with you my tips? ” The particular question they should be asking will be, “How am I able to help them show their own material? ” A lot of people want to aid but will just be inspired whenever they feel their particular company stock shares a vested interest in these. Your individuals can be your very best advocates; they will care about your personal brand and also share their very own experiences, however, need guardrails to be sure these are definitely safe, hence setting up sharing guidelines as well as making it possible for them to promote safety is important.

2. Inside the section called “Being a pacesetter in the Individual Economy, ” you go by all of the features required, which usually of these can you find vital to setting up leadership on the new H2H economy?

Completely, most importantly top quality is agreement. Empathy: To be able to understand the over emotional makeup associated with other people; talent in treating people today according to all their emotional side effects. I forecast that emotionally charged intelligence can be increasingly beneficial as your society moves along with robot technology. Regardless of how sophisticated systems get, it will probably never manage to emulate often the miracle in the human brain as well as the ability to prove the features listed above. More specifically, it will never ever be able to exhibit human agape for a contextual moment.

3. “The our economy’s progress will be stagnated by ‘business as usual’ until buyers (en masse) force companies to improve outside their whole comfort specific zones. ”

How would you see that panning out at the moment? What aspects of marketing will probably be most considerably affected by these kinds of changes? The online world of Stuff is a scientific shift here is taking place right this moment where bodily devices are increasingly being digitally attached to create more style. According to Gartner, there will be practically 26 tera- devices online of Factors by 2020. Technology leaders like MICROSOFT and Alternate have been working away at this for quite some time. In fact, Picón even should go so far as in order to call the following evolution the exact “Internet regarding Everything. ” I chatted to Blair Christie, primary marketing official of Cisco, about this in an of this is my company PureMatter’s Substance interview. She referred the concept, while in the context of value, and how that changes the facial skin of enterprise and our life as a whole: Online of Anything is basically another wave. It has how consumers, process, records, and everything is connecting in a fashion that hasn’t taken place before. As an example, we think we’re connected nowadays, but lower than 1 percent of the world is in fact connected to the Net. Today that certainly is less than a couple of billion people. By 2020 it will be near 5 billion. Right now something like 20 to twenty-five billion the drinks is connected to the Internet— by 2020 close to 55 billion items will be attached. That’s impressive! We’re previously having machine-to-machine or thing-to-thing doing lots of interacting, still, we will be discovering more people-to-machine, Machine-to-people, and also people-to-people hooking up and supplying more value because of connection as compared to we’ve ever before seen just before.

you may also be interested in content sharing sites

4. Exactly why do you think it truly is that makes have this kind of a hard time getting “human? ” How might that they best get over these obstructions?

Consumers are puzzled. With an enormous 93% involving communication according to nonverbal body gesture, that results in just 7 percent left to clarify verbally everything we really necessarily mean. So why cannot we ensure it is simple for those to understand what precisely we’re offering, so they can quickly share most of their experiences as well as the value many people felt together with others? More to the point, why is it this what we will marketing frequently does not arrange to true consumer activities? I don’t care everything that language everyone speak, who also your company is or simply what communication you’re trying to send, most of us need to communicate more real human. Too often most of us complicate what we’re attempting to say. As luck would have it, as the world becomes a lot more customer-owned along with socially empowered, we keep seeing difficult, redundant, over-technical, and over-thought mass information getting forced out ~ and shed – in the ether. Can it be really having harder to be able to stand out, with so many facts and information on the market or will be the answer in order to clearly point out what you signify, in clear human words and phrases? The fact is the lines can be extremely far confused now involving the “B2C” (Business to Consumer) and “B2B” (Business for you to Business) promotion segments of which it’s challenging to differentiate. I actually can’t let you know how many gatherings I’ve held it's placed in where acronyms are used frequently that my brain ultimately ends up spending a great deal time wanting to decipher whatever they mean as opposed to focusing on typically the thoughts seeking to be presented. Acronyms get their place, although not when they change communicating information to somebody else who may well not understand your individual world packed with capital words. We all must think just like the consumers we could, putting themselves in the attitude of the customer instead of trying to get rid of.

5. Through the book one talk about the importance of brands to behave more like normal individuals, but on page 147 you interestingly speak about that people may also be becoming similar to brands:

“[The study] incorporated something many of us don’t assume about—that your definition of doing it yourself (their personal brand) includes a large effect on what these shares. ” Are those two factors specific or do you imagine they are converging on several new positions towards a new middle surface? Building an individual brand certainly is not just essential celebrities in addition to high-profile business people. It’s very important for businesses to realize that strength among their employees and to nutriment it. To get a brand to do something more human means adding their individuals out the entrance. We can achieve this task much more for our companies once we empower every individual within those to build a private brand plus share from that. But we are not quite presently there yet. It’s going to “take your village” to really make the mindset move necessary for organizations to adopt this concept. Still as completely, new technologies continue to keep shape just how we hook up and talk, we’ll observe this take place on a bigger scale.

6. Is there virtually any room regarding traditional, top-down, broadcast mass media in this innovative democratic way of life of spreading; or could new participatory and decentralized methods of connection edge you're old protect of marketing entirely?

We are now living in an omnichannel world. All play a role at most touch issue. How we ingest media changes, but the human being sensed will usually need to be achieved in the very same ways some people always have (i. e. noise, sight, feel, smell). The promotion will not alter overnight, but eventually, it will certainly become more concierge-like where folks will assume immediacy and will get personalized recommendations more quickly from men and women they rely on. Support can happen much more swiftly en masse thru Watson-like unnatural intelligence. Yet one thing will continue to be; the shareable contextual times where most people experience thoughts (i. at the. joy, frivolity, sadness) is only going to be produced by us human beings. It’s most of these moments that will make marketing crucial now including the future.

#advertising #marketing #sharing #internet #content sharing sites

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public-benches · 6 years

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To Live a Life That’s Free

to: @jennywin

from: ya girl pb <3

notes: i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it! sorry about the abrupt ending–consider it a “to be continued” ;)

To Live a Life That’s Free

For all the time he spends working to keep criminals off the streets, Ryousuke feels like the only person he’s ever really imprisoned is himself.

It’s a dramatic way to think about things, for sure, but he does a plenty lot of thinking about things that aren’t so ironic these days and if he doesn’t entertain the extremities of his mind every now and then he worries he’ll lose his sense of humor. (That’s a joke: as if he’d ever lose that sharp-tongued core to his personality.)

In all seriousness, though, working for the government doesn’t exactly promote what he considers a healthy amount of self discovery. Sure, he was hired for his particular skill set. Ryousuke knows he can offer things few others can, and he can stomach even more than any of them, he’s sure. He and his team have seen the worst of what humanity has to offer and he’s seldom so much as flinched. But he didn’t join Japan’s Asset Force to stagnate, and he didn’t work this hard just to put away serial criminals, rewarding a job as that is.

Then his skull cracks back against a brick wall, and he’s forced to resign himself to the fact that for now, he’s just going to have to settle.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” The masked woman before him hisses with a smile, turning his head to the side forcefully as she pins him back against the wall. “I could make hundreds off you, with the right buyer.”

The fog in his head following the collision doesn’t make it easy, but he goes for a clever quip anyway. “Not quite your demographic, am I?”

“Not my type, no, but I know plenty of people who would put you up for a good amount.”

“I’d suggest a raincheck, but something tells me in thirty years when you get out of prison I won’t be the top of your list anymore.”

The woman’s lips curl into a sneer. “You haven’t caught me yet,” she taunts, lifting him by the collar and shoving him back against the wall again.

Ryousuke lets his head fall to the side. “On the contrary,” he says, his eyes shifting to a spot over her shoulder.

She looks back instinctively, and Ryousuke takes that opportunity to slip his second gun from its concealed holster and dig the barrel into her abdomen. She freezes at the sound of the revolver clicking into place. “You run, I shoot,” he hisses in her ear. “You attack, I shoot. If you understand, step back with your hands up slowly.”

She huffs a laugh, raising her hands and turning slowly, her eyes shadowed by the mask. “That might work on your usual customers, Doctor,” she says. Ryousuke’s finger weights against the trigger threateningly; her fingertips start to glow. “But you’re forgetting that I don’t need a weapon to take out cheap assets like you.”

Before either of them can fire, an explosion of sound thunders through the alley, and suddenly the woman is gone.

Scratch that–the woman is on the opposite end of the alley, pinned up against a wall with her hands cuffed behind her back, gritting her teeth against a mouthful of cement as Kuramochi burnishes the side of a building with her cheek. “Lady, you gotta death wish or something? What part of gun-to-the-gut don’t you understand?”

She snarls in response as the district’s law enforcement catches up to the scene, and Kuramochi hands her off to the head neutralizer. Ryousuke sighs and reholsters his revolver, walking a few meters over to where his standard issue pistol sits on the asphalt. As he bends down to pick it up, a firm hand comes down enthusiastically on his shoulder.

“Check pyromaniac-human-trafficker off the bucket list of crazy people I’m glad we put away,” Kuramochi chirps, shifting his weight side to side to rid himself of the excess energy that’s undoubtedly still in his system after his impressive show of speed. “You know, I feel like pyrokinetics always end up on the insane spectrum somehow.”

“‘Insane’ is a strictly legal term,” Ryousuke replies, looking over his coat for tears or stains. One of the too-common side effects of working a gritty job like the JAF. “But if you’re referring to how a high percentage of pyrokinetics tend to end up as arsonists, you should take into consideration that adolescents have a tendency to start accidental fires that skew the data meant for fires ignited with intent.” Looks like his clothes have been spared this time, if not his skull. That’s fine; bruises heal for free–clothes cost money.

Kuramochi shakes his head in fond exasperation. “Don’t suppose you know the exact percentage, while you're at it?”

Ryousuke straightens his collar, and Kuramochi falls into step with him as he sets off down the street. “Do you mean the fact that 42.65 percent of property fires occur within an average .5 mile radius of a pyrokinetic as of 2017, or that only 67.821 percent of those were legally designated intentional acts of arson by the judiciary?”

Kuramochi scoffs. “Right. Why do I even try anymore?”

Ryousuke offers him a sideways smile. “I’m not sure what you take me for, Kuramochi.”

“Most days? A pain in the ass.”

“I think you mean the one who saves your ass,” Ryousuke quips, folding his hands behind his back. They leave the alley and exit onto the main street, slipping through the police blockade and into the throng of civilians watching anxiously. They garner a few stares; they’re not the most discreet duo of assets, with Ryousuke’s pink hair and Kuramochi’s electric glare, but they’re thankfully nowhere near as popular as someone like Tetsu. The ‘Man of Steel,’ as he’s called, is a high-profile asset and the functioning captain of their team. Assets like him can barely walk down the street without someone recognizing them.

“In what world?” Kuramochi replies with a laugh. “She would’a toasted you back there if it wasn’t for me!”

“You know a gun works just as well, for disarming people,” Ryousuke reasons. “I don’t need to be able to shoot lightning from my fingers to stop a criminal.”

Kuramochi wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You make me sound so cliché,” he says.

“That’s because you are cliché,” Ryousuke answers. “The only person more cliché than you is fire-hands back there.”

Kuramochi sniffs as they reach the bus stop. Ryousuke pulls out his phone, checking for any word from Kataoka. “Whatever,” he grumbles. Then he glances up at the bus schedule and groans. “We gotta wait eight minutes just for this thing to show? You know I can get us back to base in less time than that, right?”

Ryousuke hums acknowledgement. “No offense, but I don’t really feel like getting my synapses fried right now. Thanks for the offer, though.”

Kuramochi rolls his eyes. “Suit yourself, Doc. I’ll see you back there, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer to bolt, burning the air with the smell of ozone in his wake. Ryousuke takes a deep breath, savoring the tingling sensation that raises the hairs on his arms every time Kuramochi does that.

He’s relieved to be left alone. Not that he doesn’t enjoy Kuramochi’s company–they’ve been partners for a year now, and that kind of time tends to build a codependent fondness between people–but sometimes the constant jump from criminal to criminal wears him out socially, and he just needs a moment to breathe.

It can be exhausting, keeping up with assets all the time. Nobody makes a big deal out of it anymore, but when he first joined the team some people had their reservations. It’s not every day that someone with no special ability joins Japan’s special forces, much less the distinguished Asset Force. But he’s worked to get here his whole life, and he’s not about to start complaining about things being hard now.

It’s still debated whether an eidetic memory can be considered an asset rather than an irregularity, or if speed reading really counts as an ability. One thing that can’t be debated, however, is that Ryousuke has used both to get himself where he is today, and with two PhDs to his name, he can safely say he’s doing a little better than ordinary.

He slouches into a seat on the bus as soon as it reaches his stop. There’s a headache behind his eyes that he’s been staving off all week, and now that the adrenaline of his encounter earlier is starting to wear off it finds itself at the forefront of his attention once again. He closes his eyes and leans his head back, enjoying the white noise of the bus in motion. He sighs through his nose. He could really use a day off.

His work phone vibrates in his pocket, and he suppresses a groan as he pulls it out to check the message.

Kataoka: Good work subduing the subject. I have Takako on paperwork–you and Kuramochi have another debriefing in an hour.

Of course. There’s never a day off with this job. Well, okay, there are days off, but acknowledging that detracts from his preferential execution of hyperbole, so he’ll pretend there aren’t. But rhetorical devices can only do so much to improve his mood, and he knows from experience he’s better off sucking it up and getting over it. At the very least, he hopes their next investigation goes by quickly.

–– ––

Youichi kicks his feet up on the conference table, nearly toppling Miyuki’s coffee in the process. “Watch it, man!” Miyuki snaps, snatching the cup up off the coaster before it spills. Jun’s binder isn’t as lucky, precariously perched on the edge as it is, and it topples, throwing his case files everywhere.

“Oh, shit,” Youichi mumbles. Jun whirls around as if on instinct, a shout of outrage already halfway out his throat, only to find the papers suspended in place. In the seat next to Youichi, Miyuki shoots him a smirk. Slowly, the toppled binder reverses its fall, the papers re-aligning themselves into their respective folders. Jun calms himself, shaking his head with a growl.

“No matter how many times I see it, I’ll never get used to it,” he mutters.

Miyuki adjusts his glasses with a grin. “Time’s a tricky thing,” he replies coyly. Jun snickers, and Miyuki glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Speaking of,” he says, looking up around the office. “Where’s your boyfriend? Weren’t you supposed to be babysitting him on that case?”

Youichi frowns. “Not my boyfriend,” he snaps, “and I don’t babysit him.”

Miyuki presses his lips together, raising his coffee to his mouth. “Could’a fooled me,” he says just before taking a sip. He, Jun and Youichi exchange a series of raised-eyebrow glances. Youichi breaks the silent conversation with a huff and a shake of his head.

“Whatever dude. He wanted to take the bus back to base. He’ll be here in like, fifteen minutes.”

Miyuki glances at his watch again. “Well, your briefing starts in ten, and it’s kind of his job to be here. You know, in the office. With the intel.”

Youichi’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, and it’s also his job to be out there, in the field. You know, with the bad guys.”

Miyuki gives him the sort of not-so-nonchalant nonchalant shrug that tells Youichi just how much Miyuki agrees with him. Youichi frowns, folding his arms and eyeing Miyuki across the table. “Why do you give so much of a fuck whether he’s on time or not? You ‘n Sawamura are late every other day. For a guy who can manipulate time, I’d say that’s a pretty ironic problem.”

Miyuki heaves a sigh at the thought of his less-than-professional partner. “Sawamura’s got his own share of excuses to go around. I’m stuck cleaning up after him half the time. Do you know how many times I’ve had to rewind after he’s blown up half the building? You should all be grateful you don’t remember it.”

“I’d be even more grateful if you two would stop bickering so I can work,” Jun grumbles, turning a page on his report.

Miyuki snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you,” he jokes. Jun shoots him a glare to shut him up.

Ryousuke shows up five minutes later, somehow defying the bus schedule and arriving on time like he always does. Miyuki shoots him the innocent smile-and-wave combo he always uses to conceal the fact that he’s been saying asshole things, and in return Ryousuke gives him the standard thin-lipped-narrow-eyed grin that says all the scathing things he’s preventing himself from saying in a professional environment.

“Any idea what this case is on yet?” Ryousuke asks, sitting down next to Youichi and pulling out a small, pocket-sized copy of some foreign novel.

“None,” Youichi admits with a sigh, leaning back in his seat. “I’m thinking we deserve a break after this one, though. Brass has been running Squad A into the ground.”

“It is in our job description to be ready for dispatch at all times,” Ryousuke points out, but the weight behind his comment lets Youichi know that he could use a break too.

“Still, you'd think they'd let B and C Squads pull their own weight every now and then. What are they even paid for anymore?”

“Fortunately for you,” another voice chimes in from the doorway, surprising Youichi into swinging his legs off the table and sitting up straight. “B and C Squads do the majority of your paperwork, so you can be ready for action at any time.”

“R-right, of course,” Youichi says, bowing his head in embarrassment. Oh god, of course Kataoka walks in right as he says that.

Next to him, Ryousuke’s suppressing a laugh. (Maybe it's not all so bad.)

Miyuki and Jun recognize their cue to leave as Kataoka turns on the projector and leans against the table. Takako ducks in a moment later with manila folders for the three of them. Youichi opens his up to discover a copy of files from the Tokyo police department, paperclipped to several crime scene photos. Kataoka pulls the same photos up on the screen.

“Alright everyone,” Takako sighs, looking tired as she observes the gory images on the screen. “Let’s get into it.”

— —

Ryousuke wishes the mission read more cut-and-dry. Drug cartel jobs featuring poor assets typically wind up being the simpler cases: easy to find, easy to prove, easy to stop. But for all the information the collective Tokyo Metropolitan PD has gathered between districts over time, Ryousuke and Kuramochi really don’t have much to go off of.

“You’d think they’d’ve caught the guys by now with how many informants they’ve got undercover in the field,” Kuramochi says as he flips the turn signal on the government-issue SUV they’re in.

Ryousuke crosses his leg over the other as he turns to read the too-broad list of possible offenders. “Well, if they have to call us, I’m not surprised. You know how the police get when dealing with assets. It can be terrifying without the proper tools or training to go up against someone with unknown abilities.”

Kuramochi hums a concession, taking a right turn too fast (not that Ryousuke really notices his constant speeding anymore). “Fair enough. Still, they could’a narrowed down the suspect pool a little. I hate having to do their job.”

“Makes two of us,” Ryousuke sighs, turning to the crime scene photos. What caught the attention of the government initially were the serial murders that later became associated with the case. Three victims, two men and a woman, all lying face down in public areas without any indication as to how they got there in the first place. Takako had pointed out something that got him thinking in the debriefing room. He twists the ring on his little finger absentmindedly. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kuramochi’s gaze flicker toward him.

“What’re you thinking?” he asks, speeding up to catch a yellow light. Ryousuke stops turning the ring as soon as he becomes aware of the action.

“The victims are all missing the little fingers on their right hands. The third victim is missing her ring finger as well.”

“Yeah, I know that,” Kuramochi replies. “Takako said that’s most likely a yakuza habit, right?”

Ryousuke frowns. “Yes, but yubitsume tradition dictates that the left hand’s little finger is shortened first, then the right. The left hand is avoided altogether here, moving right onto the ring finger on the right hand in the woman’s case.” He studies the bloodied stumps as well as he can in the grainy photos. It’s no use; he’ll have to stop by the coroner later. “I’d say this is more of a cheap adaptation of yubitsume, tailored to a modern-day purpose.”

Kuramochi checks his mirrors as he changes lanes. “Which is..?”

Ryousuke furrows his brow in thought. “If I had to make an extremely well-educated estimate,” he starts, earning a snort from Kuramochi. “I’d guess that all of these people are right-handed, and that the fingers are cut off to make it harder for them to hold a handgun, as opposed to a sword.”

Kuramochi nods slowly. “That makes sense,” he says. “So it’s not yakuza?”

Ryousuke shakes his head. “We shouldn’t rule anything out completely, but I doubt it.”

They fall into thoughtful silence as Ryousuke continues to look over the file for any more telling information. It’s been a while since the two of them have worked a serial case. Every now and then Jun or Tanba or someone will ask for his input when they’re out of ideas, but it’s a little different to be the head investigators. Not that Kataoka doesn’t have his reasons for keeping the two of them on call instead of on the front lines lately.

The ring on his little finger feels warmer than usual.

Almost like he can read his mind, Kuramochi speaks up just then. “Ryou-san,” he says, carefully, like there’s something lying underneath the quiet between them that he’s worried might shatter if he speaks too fast. “You know you don’t have to prove anything.”

Ryousuke pretends not to understand him. “Of course not, Kuramochi,” he says haughtily. “Miyuki’s full of hot air, and I know I’m good at my job.”

Kuramochi takes the hint and doesn’t correct him. Ryousuke’s grateful, because he doesn’t think he could get into it with Kuramochi right now.

He doesn’t understand; Ryousuke does need to prove himself. Not to Miyuki, or Kataoka or any of the others, but to himself. To his family.

To his brother.

–– ––

They make it to the most recent dump site half an hour later. Youichi cuts the radio and turns off the ignition. The weather’s hot and sticky out. Youichi hates summers in Tokyo sometimes. Not that Chiba was much better, growing up, but there’s something different about being in a crowded city rather than in a poor apartment building in a small rural-ish town. It’s like the mugginess in the air comes from smog more than actual humidity. Disgusting.

The body has since been removed, but that’s alright–they’re not here to do the investigators’ jobs. Well, not all of it at least. There are things that only assets like him and Ryousuke are able to pick up on, by both nature and specialty. For all of his earlier complaining, he can’t really blame the standard investigators for getting stumped on this one.

“This is a pretty big intersection,” Ryousuke notices, observing the traffic backed up along each road. “No way anybody normal dumped a body here and made off without anyone seeing.” He compares a photo to the scene, then kneels beside the space where the body had been found. “I'm thinking illusionist or time-walker. Maybe a breacher, but that’s more of a super-unlikely worse-case-scenario.”

Youichi nods along, trying to keep up with all of Ryousuke’s branching theories. “Yeah, knowing our luck that’s probably it,” he scoffs. The corners of Ryousuke’s mouth quirk. Youichi’s chest tightens. He clears his throat. “So like, statistically, what’re our odds here?”

“Statistically,” Ryousuke starts, standing back up and straightening his files in his hands, “It’s most likely an illusionist. There are about twice as many of them as there are time-walkers, and almost six-times as many as there are breachers. Unfortunately, from a reasonable standpoint, the drug cartel has a near-equal chance of employing all three, since all would make it easy to obtain and deal illegal substances, as well as get rid of a body without leaving any trace.”

Youichi groans, running a hand through his hair in distress. “Great, so we’re back at square one.”

Ryousuke steps around him, moving to observe the shiny-new iron fence beside the crime scene. “Not necessarily,” he says, pulling a latex glove from his pocket and reaching forward to flatten back weeds poking up through the sidewalk around the base. “Almost every form of asset leaves some disturbance, if you know where to look. Time-walkers leave temporal ripples that other walkers can sense, but illusionists and breachers both have one tell in common.” He shifts sideways to make room for Youichi to see what he’s looking at. Youichi crouches beside him, and he notices the rust clinging to the bottom edges of the iron bars. He can hear the smile in Ryousuke’s voice as he says, “Both of them drastically raise the levels of oxygen in the environment momentarily, and most of them don’t even realize it.”

He and Youichi lock eyes. Youichi grins, biting back a laugh that he’s sure wouldn’t be considered professional. Youichi knows that look–the self-satisfied one Ryousuke gets after he’s made yet another kick-ass deduction with almost nothing to go on. It makes Youichi feel breathless; there’s something about his unwavering confidence that makes Youichi feel infallible.

–– ––

Kuramochi’s reluctant to follow Ryousuke into the morgue. “Hey man, you know me. Investigation’s your thing. I'm just backup muscle.” So Ryousuke mercifully leaves him at the car and turns to enter the coroner’s office on his own, promising to be out in at most a half hour. Kuramochi says something about running to get them lunch and disappears in a snap of electricity. The leftover static crawls up Ryousuke’s back as he makes his way into the building, and he flattens the hairs rising up out of their neat, organized place on his head.

The coroner’s a short man with thick glasses and a nasal sort of voice that reminds Ryousuke of Miyuki, if Miyuki was more intelligent and professional and just generally less of an asshole. He talks fast and has a habit of interrupting himself, so by the time he gets back around to his original point Ryousuke’s already got a hundred different conclusions stemming from the beginning of the conversation, but the general gist of things tells Ryousuke it was undoubtedly homicide, the M.O. is most likely a fall from a high place, judging by the pattern of scattered breaks and lesions along the bodies, and the little fingers on the right hands are all missing and unaccounted for. All things Ryousuke could've figured out at a glance, but it doesn't hurt to have a second opinion.

“Did you submit for a toxicology report?” Ryousuke asks, snapping on latex gloves and carefully peeling back the sheet on the body.

“Nothing returned positive,” replies the coroner. “Though tests did reveal abnormally high levels of salt in the bloodstream.”

“Hypernatremia?” Ryousuke muses. “That's odd. In all three?”

The coroner nods confirmation. Ryousuke hums. “That makes sense if they were detained for extended periods of time without water.”

“Though none of them died of dehydration,” the coroner points out. Ryousuke steps back, thinking as he looks over the corpse.

There are any number of assets that could have influenced blood sodium levels, and plenty more that the government doesn’t have on record. The issue, in his particular field of expertise, arises from the fact that this information isn’t asset-specific, and generally does nothing for his investigative purposes but suggest these people were captive for a while.

“Aside from those sustained during the fall and the missing fingers, are there any notable antemortem injuries you noticed?” he asks, turning the head from side to side to observe an abrasion on the right side of the skull.

“There are,” the coroner declares, bustling over to a desk littered with a mess of files. “Let’s see… There were obvious signs of restraint around the wrists and ankles–rope burns, for the most part, some quite raw. And bruising, too, in various stages of healing along the thoracic and abdominopelvic regions.”

“But no signs of sexual assault,” Ryousuke remembers from the coroner’s earlier ramblings. “So our suspect has his captive, but he takes his time. This is either for punishment or information. Unusual behavior for a drug cartel around here,” he says. He’ll want to run it by Kuramochi. The headache at the base of his skull is throbbing up into his temples now; he’ll never admit it, even to himself, but deep down some part of him knows that he's not thinking as clearly as he should be on this case.

__ __

“You have a bad habit of thinking the better of yourself,” the man on the video had said to him, his thick beard twitching as he laughed. The scar stretching down the side of his face crinkled as he squinted, as if peering through into the future at the man he knows is obsessing over the thirty-second stretch of grainy film.

Ryousuke’s watched it at least a hundred times by now, despite the department’s best efforts to stop him. They even asked Miyuki to Walk him back to before he saw it, but Miyuki’d just stood there, grimly shaking his head. “It’s not my right,” he’d said, and he’d left before they could argue.

So Ryousuke locked himself up in his office with the lights off, only moving to replay the video for even the slightest clue to giveaway a location, but there was nothing. The background was static. Other telling noises have thus far been deemed indiscernible.

Every now and then, there was a knock on his office door, the nervous rapping of Kuramochi Youichi, Ryousuke’s partner of eight months and the currently-insufferable nuisance of his conscious. But nobody came in, and Ryousuke sure as hell wasn’t coming out until he got a lead on this case.

The man in the video stepped to the side, exposing the figure in the chair. Even after watching it so many times, Ryousuke’s heart still clenched at the sight.

“This oughta take you down a few pegs,” the man said.

He leveled a gun to the boy’s head.

–– ––

The car door slams, and Youichi jolts out of his doze in surprise. Ryousuke’s back, holding a manila folder in one hand and reaching for his seatbelt with the other. Youichi rubs at his eyes.

“Geez, don’t gotta be so loud about it,” he grumbles, stretching up toward the roof of the car.

“You’re the one who fell asleep on the job,” Ryousuke points out unapologetically.

“Yeah, well, you’d be tired too if you constantly generated static electricity.”

The argument dies there. Ryousuke’s obviously got something else on his mind. Youichi straightens his seat up and adjusts his mirrors. “What’s up?” he asks. “Coroner find anything useful?”

“I’m not sure,” Ryousuke admits, and Youichi raises an eyebrow. That’s a first. “I wanted to ask your opinion on some things before I made any final conclusions.”

“Sure, okay,” Youichi replies, feeling a little breathless. Not even six months ago, Ryousuke would’ve turned his nose up at any of Youichi’s offers to help him with the investigative portion of their partnership with a sneer and a snide remark.

A lot can change in half a year, he’s come to find out.

“Blood tests on all three victims revealed hypernatremia.”

“Which is…?”

“High sodium concentration,” Ryousuke explains. “I’m thinking the suspect is detaining our victims for extended periods of time. That’s the most statistically likely explanation, but there are plenty of assets whose abilities would enable them to trigger a similar physiological reaction.”

He pauses, glancing at Youichi as if checking to see that he follows. By the skin of my teeth, Youichi snarks to himself, but he does his best to look outwardly engaged and intelligent.

“I’m doing my best not to jump to conclusions. There were no signs of damage to the intestines–at least, not caused by forced excretion.” Youichi suppresses a shiver, remembering a particularly foul case from his early days on the asset force. “Which makes me think that this isn’t the work of any kind of midbrain. But at the same time, it’s not definitive, so I can’t rule it out, even though there are plenty of more-likely options. You can understand my frustration.”

Midbrain; it’s the colloquial term for psychics, the “more politically correct” term, if one asked some of the more socially-present of them. (Apparently “psychic” projects the image of hokey magicians and gypsies in traveling caravans and not the powerful, sometimes horrifying image that manipulators of the mind are going for these days.) Youichi takes a deep breath. Ryousuke’s doing it again–getting that tunnel vision that strikes him every now and then since their last serial case four months ago. He wonders if something the coroner said reminded him. Youichi doesn’t want to point it out though, so instead he puts on a casual front and pretends to think about what Ryousuke’s saying.

“Maybe we’re thinking too narrow,” he says, careful to include himself in that statement. “Like, maybe if we can’t use that to figure out what kind of asset we’re dealing with, we can use it to find location or something. ‘Sides, we already know it’s probably a time walker.”

Ryousuke nods along. “Good point,” he says. “It does us no good to get caught up in what we’ll be facing. We’ll just have to find them and be prepared for whatever they throw at us.”

Youichi grins, the weight in his chest lifting. “So, what’s our next move?”

Ryousuke looks out the window. “I hear Tokyo Bay is lovely this time of year,” he replies, shooting Youichi a sideways smile.

Youichi clicks his belt into place and shifts the gears of the vehicle, tearing out of the parking lot for the thrill of it. “That’s more like it!” he cheers, merging smoothly with traffic and taking off down the freeway. Ryousuke holds tight to his stack of papers, making sure they don’t spill out across the car. He doesn’t seem to have noticed his relapse, as far as Youichi can tell.

It’s probably better that way.

–– ––

The drive takes a little under an hour. Kuramochi gets frustrated in heavy traffic, so by the time they reach the bay he’s generating enough static that Ryousuke gets shocked if he so much as leans close to his partner.

“You’d better get rid of that before we reach the beach,” he warns as Kuramochi shorts out his phone for the millionth time in his life. “I really don’t feel like piling home insurance onto our federal debt.”

“Relax, would you? I wasn’t born yesterday.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ryousuke replies without pause. This only serves to fluster Kuramochi more, so he waves a hand to cool him and gets out of the car, tugging his umbrella out of the back seat.

“It’s not raining,” Kuramochi points out as Ryousuke joins him on the other side of the SUV.

Ryousuke tilts his head. “Have you never been to the Bay Streets?”

“Have you?”

“Sure,” he says, “I had an aunt who lived off-coast on my mother’s side, so we visited a lot when I was younger.” His gaze lingers on the boardwalk entrance, and a brisk gust of wind seems to throw him back in time for a moment. It was usually busier back then, when they went to visit Aunt Yukina for the holidays. There would be festival stands lined up and down the walk for New Year’s. He had to carry Haruichi back to Aunt Yukina’s after he fell and scraped his knees and scared himself into thinking he couldn’t walk. He hadn’t realized how fond those sorts of memories were.

Kuramochi clears his throat, and Ryousuke looks up in time to see him look quickly away. “Guess you’ll know better then,” he says, feigning nonchalance. He starts off down the boardwalk, pocketing his keys. “C’mon, I wanna get this case over with and put in for some vacation time.”

Ryousuke smiles tightly. “I’ll drink to that,” he says, but the amusement he’s going for falls short as it confronts the darkness hovering at the back of his mind. Is Kuramochi babying him? Does he think Ryousuke can’t handle himself?

No, of course not, he reprimands himself, following after his partner. He’s just looking out for you, like always. He needs to stop being so defensive.

So when they reach the entrance to the Bay Streets and Kuramochi opens the door to the glass stairwell with a sweeping gesture of exaggerated chivalry, Ryousuke takes the joke at face value and marches into the tunnel with his head held high to humor him.

It really has been too long since he’s visited the Bay Streets. Located just below sea level off the coast of the Tokyo Bay, it’s home to both a bustling community of water-based assets and upper-class retirees looking for a pleasant place to spend the rest of their days. If high salt concentration is a factor they’ll be taking into consideration, it stands to reason that he and Kuramochi would explore the underwater district first.

Upon exiting the glass tunnel, Ryousuke opens his umbrella in anticipation of the open ceiling, a vast chamber of breathable air submerged beneath the surface of the bay that, more often than not, drips with a sort of constant drizzle. For people like himself who prefer a freshly-ironed button down to Kuramochi’s less-professional T-shirt-and-leather-jacket look, it’s better to come prepared for any sudden downpour. He can’t help but laugh when, almost right away, Kuramochi becomes the victim of a sudden lapse in the barrier, and a torrent of water comes down on top of them, leaving Kuramochi soaked and Ryousuke shaking a spare droplet off his shoes.

“Give a guy a warning next time, would you?” Kuramochi grumbles, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. The electricity still circulating through his system spikes his hair back up right away, and sends small currents of energy surging through the puddles around him.

Ryousuke shrugs, avoiding stepping in the water. “It’s not my fault you don’t have the foresight to at least bring a swimsuit to what is essentially a massive, residential water park.”

Even so, Ryousuke holds his umbrella out to let Kuramochi take hold of it and carry it over the two of them, taller as he is. Ryousuke has to school his features into practiced neutrality when Kuramochi’s arm brushes his even as the contact sends a thrill down his spine. (He’s not as good at separating work relationships from his personal life as he thought he was, it turns out. He just does his best to pretend he doesn’t notice whenever Kuramochi goes for more physical interaction than is strictly necessary between them.)

They don’t really have a particular destination in mind, so they roam the streets, screening alleyways and backstreets for suspicious action as they go. Ryousuke’s not sure what they’re looking for; he’s just sure that eventually, they’ll find the trouble they’re looking for. (Or, less desirably but just as acceptable, the trouble they’re looking for will find them.)

There aren’t any notably large, empty buildings among the Bay Streets. The architecture is relatively close-knit and linear, due to the obvious complications included in building underwater. Normally, they’d look for something like a warehouse, or storage unit–start with the standard hideouts–but there’s nothing like that in Tokyo Bay. Instead, Ryousuke keeps an eye on the rows of buildings, looking for even the smallest detail out of place.

He slows to a stop as a thought comes to him. Kuramochi notices and turns around. “Ryou-san?” he says, coming back with the umbrella. “What’s up?”

“The city has strict regulations for the Bay Street residencies,” he remembers, having heard his Aunt Yukina complain time and again about not being able to start gardens along the (admittedly not very fertile) sand out in front of her complex. “Since the county’s entirely surrounded in salt water, there’s particular upkeep for making sure buildings are in functional condition. I’m thinking, since we know our suspect already creates a hyper-oxidized environment when he uses his abilities, we should look for buildings with signs of rust, or with signs of being frequently cleared of rust.”

Kuramochi’s face lights up. “That’s a good idea,” he agrees, leading the way down the street again. “I guess we’ll have to go back around to check the places we already passed, though, huh?”

Ryousuke snorts, incredulous. “Of course not. Only one of them had a gate that was notably rusted, but the pattern appeared natural and far too gradual to be created by an asset.”

Kuramochi shakes his head. “If you say so,” he says, shooting Ryousuke a sideways grin. Ryousuke smiles conservatively back, then turns to keep his eyes on the buildings around them.

–– ––

In the end, his theory only leads them to two destinations, one of which is inhabited by an old, half-senile woman that undoubtedly just forgot to upkeep her property. She asks them if they’re the police coming to fine her, then immediately invites them in for lemonade. They go, just to cover their bases, but after a couple minutes it becomes clear that she (somehow) lives alone, and is entirely incapable of hurting anyone for how intensely her hands shake when she serves them drinks.

The second building has rust in the hinges of the door knocker. Ryousuke exchanges a meaningful glance with Kuramochi, then raises a hand to knock. It takes a minute for anyone to answer. Ryousuke raises an eyebrow at the window, where he sees the flicker of a curtain falling closed right before he hears the click of a lock turning in the door. It opens slowly, as far as the chain behind it will allow, and a face appears in the crack.

“Can I help you?” the young woman says, her gaze flicking nervously between him and Kuramochi. Ryousuke flips his badge for her to see.

“Sorry to disturb you miss,” he apologizes, offering his most sincere smile. “We’ve been interviewing people about a recent pattern of murders. Would you mind if we asked you some questions?”

The girl’s eyes widen, and she moves to unlatch the door. “Of course,” she says, “come in.”

The woman’s name is Wakana, and Kuramochi forgets how to speak when she asks for theirs. Ryousuke’s eyes narrow, but he smoothly introduces them, thanking her once again for admitting them into her home.

“Do you live alone?” He asks her once they’re seated in the living room.

She shakes her head. “I have a roommate, but he’s not here right now.”

“Is he around often?” Ryousuke pushes, steepling his fingers loosely in front of him.

Wakana takes a moment to think. “He comes home late, but that’s just because he works after his classes let up.”

“And what does he do for work?”

“He's employed part time at a fish packaging warehouse on the surface.” She pauses, looking hesitant. “He’s a good person. If he's a suspect, I think you should know you've got the wrong guy.”

Ryousuke opens his mouth to assure her he’s only a person of interest, but Kuramochi jumps in before he can. “We believe you!” he assures her quickly. Ryousuke gives him a sharp glance, raising an eyebrow. “Don't worry, we just want to ask him some questions too, since he's uh, not here right now.” Kuramochi’s eyes flick to meet Ryousuke's, then immediately away as his face reddens. “So uh, what's his name? And the address of his work?”

They wrap up with a few questions about the building and the rusting, which she confirms happens unusually quickly to their apartment. They thank her for her trouble and duck out of the building. Kuramochi wrestles the umbrella open and grins up at Ryousuke, only to be met head-on by a knockout-worthy Signature Kominato Chop.

He stumbles backward, just barely remembering to raise the umbrella again as another excellently placed spill of water splatters down from the watery dome above. He holds his nose, looking hurt as he looks up at Ryousuke again.

“What was that for?” he demands.

Ryousuke’s gaze narrows. “Do the Force a favor and keep it in your pants next time we interview a woman. It makes the rest of us look unprofessional.”

Kuramochi takes a second to process what Ryousuke’s said, and then his face goes red. “I wasn’t–that’s not–Ryou-san, seriously, I wasn’t like, hitting on her or anything, I swear.”

Ryousuke steps down off the doorstep and joins him, but only stays close enough keeps the better half of himself under the umbrella. “I know that, but I also know the social tells to look for when someone’s gawking.”

Kuramochi sighs, side-eying Ryousuke under the umbrella with incredulity. “It’s not a crime to think a girl is pretty. Really Ryou-san, not everyone can be as emotionally stoic as you.”

And that sort of hurts to hear, but Ryousuke can’t really contradict him. He knows Kuramochi likes girls, even witnessed one of his earlier breakups, and the fallout that followed, but it’s a little different to witness the beginning of something like affection rather than the end.

“It’s only a matter of doing our job to the best of our ability,” Ryousuke says instead, training his eyes on the end of the street ahead of them.

Kuramochi shakes his head. “Man, Ryou-san,” he says with exasperation. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re jealous.”

Ryousuke suppresses a scowl and tilts his chin back to stick his nose in the air. “Well, there’s a reason I’m the one with the doctorate in communication and you’re the one with a high school education then isn’t there?”

Instead of getting offended like he might have back in the earlier months of their partnership, Kuramochi laughs. The sound shoots right down Ryousuke’s spine and glitters in his chest for a moment like a stupid, pointless crystal, and it makes the practical side of him want to throttle the less rational, more emotional side of himself that he’s done so well to bury up to now. “Maybe,” Kuramochi agrees, stepping closer with the umbrella like the considerate idiot he is. “Let’s grab some lunch before we hit the fish warehouse, yeah? That smell always makes me feel less inclined to eat afterwards.”

–– ––

People got reckless when they got emotional.

Youichi knew this for a fact–he’d seen it happen so many times in his line of work–but for some reason, it still astonished him when Ryousuke stormed out of their office after three solid hours alone in the dark watching that horrible, horrible video on repeat god knew how many times. His face was darker than any storm Youichi’d ever seen Furuya generate. He looked ready to kill.

(Frankly, Youichi couldn’t really blame him.)

Youichi followed him out of the building and into the parking garage, where Ryousuke ducked into the passenger seat of Youichi’s car and commanded him to drive. Youichi got in, but didn’t turn the ignition. He locked the car doors and turned his body to face his partner.

“What are you doing?” Ryousuke demanded, his knuckles white around the phone in his hands. Youichi looked down and noticed it was ringing, his mother calling to ask after her son. Youichi’s heart tightened, and he reached out to put his hand over Ryousuke’s to try and ease the tension, but it only served to wind him up more.

“Ryou-san,” he implored him. “Kataoka took us off the case.”

Ryousuke’s eyes burned at that, and he pulled his hands back. “He can’t do that. It’s our case. Kuramochi, that’s my fucking brother.”

Youichi winced. He felt like he was choking. He couldn’t imagine what Ryousuke was feeling. Still, this was a self-destructive path to pursue. Youichi couldn’t let him go any further. “Ryousuke,” he said, dropping the nickname for the sake of pushing every ounce of sincerity into his words. “He’s sent the entire force after this guy. He’ll be in maximum security by the end of the night.”

The rage Youichi could see rising in Ryousuke’s chest had no outlet, nowhere to go, so Youichi didn’t protest when he punched the dashboard and clasped his hands over the back of his neck, bending over in his seat so far that his forehead pressed against his knees. After a second, he sucked in a deep breath and yelled “Fuck!” so loud that his voice broke over the curse. Nausea stirred in the pit of Youichi’s stomach as the adrenaline pumping through his system picked up all over again. He covered his eyes with one hand, as if by blocking out his sight he could block out the horror of their current reality.

Not him, he begged silently, as Ryousuke cursed again. Please–God, or the universe, or anyone–please not him.

But God had never answered him before.

–– ––

It’s like, twenty degrees hotter above ground as opposed to the temperate climate of the Bay Streets. Youichi hadn’t really noticed the shift as dramatically earlier, but the sun’s climbed higher since they entered the underwater district, and the afternoon heat is stifling. He groans. “God, I hate doing footwork on days like this.”

Ryousuke snickers. “You hate doing footwork regardless of the weather. The only reason you joined the Force was for the high-profile fighting that everyone thinks is our only job.”

Youichi can’t really argue with that. “If I’d known there’d be so much paperwork and investigation in between all the action, I would’a just gone vigilante.”

Ryousuke clicks his tongue. “And you were complaining about being called a cliché.”

“Whatever,” Youichi sighs. He likes being back above ground. The Bay Streets are stifling in a different way, like some big room full of recycled air. How do they get proper ventilation? Ryousuke would probably know. Not that Youichi’s gonna give him the satisfaction of confessing that he himself doesn’t know just to find out. Being constantly surrounded by a conductor like saltwater doesn’t help his constant itch for movement, and keeping his static to a minimum for the past hour has left him jittering with anticipation for action. I hate it when the police don’t do their jobs, he concludes.

They reassess the case over convenience store pre-packed lunch boxes in the car.

“What d’you think we’ll get out of this guy, if he is our guy?” Youichi asks, picking around the vegetables in his box.

“There are any number of things that could happen,” Ryousuke replies, scooping whatever excruciatingly hot concoction he’s purchased into his mouth without even blinking. (Fuck people who say Ryousuke doesn’t have any abilities: he’s clearly superhuman, to be able to eat the shit he does on a regular basis without searing his taste buds right off.) “The way I see it though, he has three main options: he’ll try to talk his way around it, he’ll attack, or he’ll run. Assuming he’s guilty, of course.”

“And if he’s not our guy?”

“Then chances are he’s been in contact, or he’s an asset that just so happens to fit the bill of our suspect, but has no connection at all.”

Youichi frowns at his lunch. “Right. I hate how much we get coincidences. Like, seriously, what are the odds?”

Ryousuke tilts his head to one side. “Well, considering that the Tokyo Metropolitan area’s population exceeds thirteen million as of the 2018 census, coupled with the fact there is a vast amount of assets we still know little about, as well as–”

“Thank you, Dr. Kominato,” Youichi cuts in sarcastically before his spinning head can roll off his shoulders. “But I was being rhetorical.”

Ryousuke smiles. “I know, and I was proving a point.”

“Which is?”

“The chances of us encountering coincidences far exceed the chances of us stumbling upon our suspect on the first try. Especially since all we’re going off of is circumstantial evidence.”

Youichi groans, slumping back into his seat as the mere thought of being on this case for the whole next month drains him of energy. “This is a fucking nightmare,” he mumbles, staring blankly ahead at the parked car in front of them. “I wish just this once we’d get a simple, open-close case where all we have to do is show up and kick ass and go home.”

Ryousuke snorts. “You really should have gone vigilante.”

Youichi sticks rice into his mouth and chews aggressively in his frustration. “I’m glad we agree.”

–– ––

He was forced into a minimum one month of grief counseling after Haruichi was killed. For the first time in his entire life, Ryousuke didn’t even try to save face, capitulated to Kataoka’s condemnation without protest like he didn’t have the energy to even raise his head in defiance. So he found himself in Rei’s office every other afternoon, feeling conflicted and angry but mostly numb.

She didn’t make him talk the first day, which was good, because he’d come straight from his brother’s funeral and he didn’t think he could find words that would be able to fit the chaotic roar of blood in his ears that stopped any thoughts from fully forming in his brain. How ironic. A man with a doctorate in communication of all things and an eidetic brain that’s memorized every page of the dictionary in three different languages couldn’t even manage to figure out how to say “I’m hurting” quite the right way.

As the month went on, he was able to find them, like his Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas were puzzle pieces he’d found while sifting through the couch cushions for the television remote while the channel in front of him played only deafening static to distract him. She helped him define the chasm that seemed to split down the center of his chest as if his brother had been a physical part of him crudely removed in an archaic experiment involving ice picks and the brain… What was that called again? Lobotomy, she supplied. His mind was lined so thickly with cotton that he didn’t even think to be embarrassed by the lapse in memory. He turned the ring on his little finger obsessively as they talked. It was just a cheap metal band without any actual value or appeal, but it had been given to Haruichi by his first (and only) girlfriend to mark their one-year anniversary, and he had cherished it so much. He told this to Rei when she noticed it. She told him it wasn’t wrong to want to hold on to some piece of someone who was gone. He told her that Haruichi had broken up with his girlfriend only three months before.

By the end of the first week, Ryousuke’s head had cleared some. He was able to reason with himself, able to recite the five stages of grief and mark where he stood among them. He’d denied it in the first three hours, while that video had played over and over, as if once wouldn’t be enough for someone with his memory to lock down every detail of the scene. He’d been so angry he didn’t know what to do with himself in Kuramochi’s car that night, and he’d wished for some way to exchange his life for Haruichi’s when he woke up the next morning on his partner’s pull-out couch with no memory of how he got there. He knew he was in the depression stage then, that useless, immeasurable stretch of time where there was no more fight to give life to the desperation that had hollowed out his thoracic cavity and hadn’t cared to put everything back before it died. He was exhausted and restless all at once, like there was something he was supposed to be doing that he just didn’t have the energy to do.

One day in the third week, Rei said something like this:

“Don’t think that anyone is rushing you to feel better. Nobody overcomes tragedy like this overnight.”

And maybe it wasn’t just that statement that did it for him, but it was that statement that reminded him what got him here, in the Japan Asset Force Squad A. He had a damn good streak of overcoming the impossible, and a bad habit of taking the word “nobody” and changing it into “nobody except for me”.

It was the first time since Haruichi’s murder that Ryousuke felt like he could breathe.

–– ––

The packaging warehouse smells about as bad as Youichi expected. Sure enough, any lingering appetite he’d had following his less-than-fulfilling convenience store lunch vanishes as soon as the heavy wave of fish-smell hits his nose. He resists the urge to gag, just barely. Even Ryousuke wrinkles his nose in distaste as they approach.

“Remember,” Ryousuke says, “as far as he knows, he’s not a suspect, just wanted for questioning regarding crime in the area.” Youichi nods along, thankful not for the first time for his partner’s steady presence beside him. He remembers the month he’d spent working solo–suffice to say he mostly just stumbled through investigations, screwing up more than he cared to admit.

When they enter the warehouse, the room is bustling with workers in latex gloves stationed along different sections of the assembly line. It only takes a moment for Ryousuke to point their guy out to Youichi, likely recognizing his face from a photo or something in Wakana’s house. Ryousuke leads the way over to him, weaving between workers hosing down fish and weighing them on scales until they reach the section of the warehouse where people are wrapping them in wax paper for packaging.

“Excuse me,” Ryousuke says to the man he’d pointed out before. “Are you Nobugawa-san?”

Nobugawa turns, confused, with a half-wrapped fish in his hand. “Uh, yeah?” he says nervously.

Youichi’s no mind reader like Takako, and he doesn’t have Ryousuke’s much-boasted doctorate detailing human behaviors, but he doesn’t need to be or have either of those things to tell that this kid’s not their guy. He’s got a round face, the kind that suggests he hasn’t quite grown out of his youth. His eyes are wide and watery with a sudden cautious glint behind them, guarded like he’s worried these random people in a button down shirt and a leather jacket, respectively, are here to jump him or something. A tension Youichi hadn’t noticed before eases from his spine at the realization that this kid’s just another person to interview. The adrenaline-charged electrical current surging under his skin slows and retreats.

Ryousuke takes care of introductions and has Nobugawa lead them to a more private section of the warehouse (which, unfortunately, happens to be the hallway leading to the bathrooms, but what can you do). It’s not the most official interview they’ve ever conducted, but the whole case has been sort of unorthodox, for all the police work they’ve had to make up for up to this point.

“What’s this about?” Nobugawa asks once they’ve pulled away from the bustle of the warehouse. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Not to our knowledge,” Ryousuke replies, allowing the warning to slip through his tone. “We just want to ask you a few questions in compliance with an ongoing investigation.”

Nobugawa chews on the corner of his lip, which Youichi notices is cracked and dried out. He glances sideways at Ryousuke to see if he’s noticed, but Ryousuke gives nothing away. “Nobugawa-san, are you in possession of an Asset License?”

Nobugawa’s nose wrinkles in confusion. “What? No, I mean–I don’t have an asset. I’m normal, man.”

Youichi raises an eyebrow. Down the hall, the door to the men’s room opens and someone slips out, looking apologetic as he interrupts their conversation. They wait until he’s gone to continue talking. “You’re sure about that?” Youichi asks. “Not even one you might not know about, or that you don’t have a license for? We’re not here to fine you for that, just so you know.”

Nobugawa looks annoyed now. “No dude, I’m sure. I just pack fish.” He looks between them. “What’s this even matter anyway?”

“We have reason to believe there’s been increased asset activity around your apartment in the underwater district,” Ryousuke explains. “We also believe it’s possible that this person is involved in our criminal investigation.”

Nobugawa’s eyes widen, and he unfolds his arms and pushes up off the wall he’s been leaning against. Ryousuke’s eyes narrow.

“What is it?” he demands. Youichi knows that tone of voice–he’s putting something together. It sends the electricity in his veins into a renewed frenzy of anticipation.

“I’ve had a friend over a lot recently. I know he has a license, but I don’t know what he does.”

That’s odd, Youichi thinks, and he knows Ryousuke’s thinking the same thing. People don’t usually keep their assets a secret.

“Can you tell us his name?” Ryousuke presses.

Nobugawa looks uneasy, like he’s starting to make sense of however many months worth of uncomfortable or off-putting encounters with this person. “Narumiya Mei,” he says, looking down to the end of the hall. “He’s the one who just passed us.”

Ryousuke stiffens with alarm. “He knows we’re on to him,” he realizes, and as soon as he says it, he and Youichi take off in the direction the kid from earlier had taken. They stop once they reenter the main room of the warehouse, confronted by the overwhelming activity of the packaging company.

“Split up,” Ryousuke says. “I’ll take the east side, you take west and whatever else you can get to. He’s got a head start, but you’re faster. If you find him, be careful. We don’t know what he’ll do.”

Youichi nods, and takes off towards the west exit of the building. What does Narumiya look like again? He hadn’t really been paying attention when that guy walked by the first time. He’s like, eighty percent sure he’s blonde, though, so that’s a start. As far as he can see, there aren’t any blonde people in the warehouse at the moment, so he pushes through the exit doors and out into the alley behind the building.

He puts the charge building under his skin to good use, using it to cheat the refractory period of his neural synapses and send himself careening down the length of the alley in under a second. The burst wears off quickly–better to save his speed for when he actually has to fight the guy than to fry his brain just trying to find him.

“God, I wish I’d paid more attention in science class,” he grumbles to himself, remembering something Ryousuke had once told him about how he should be able to extend his ability to sense electromagnetic waves in the vicinity with enough practice. The only thing he ever remembered about electromagnetism though was that assets tended to warp it, not that that knowledge does him any good now.

Something about this scenario feels wrong, though. If Narumiya had known they were talking about him, why would he show himself so obviously in the hallway when he could’ve just waited for them to leave and look for him? And why would he use his asset around Nobugawa’s and Wakana’s apartment without them knowing? And what would any of that have to do with drug cartels and murder mysteries and cutting off the fingers on right-handed victims?

He shakes his head. He’s not good at thinking too much about these things. Tying all the pieces together is Ryousuke’s gig, and it’s best if Youichi just leaves all that to him.

But that feeling stays with him, the one that says something’s not right, and before he can decide whether he’s going crazy or if he should listen to his gut feeling, he turns a corner out onto the edge of some shipyard and nearly runs headfirst into Narumiya, who grins and swings his baseball bat, making skull-ringing contact with Youichi’s head that immediately renders him unconscious.

–– ––

Kuramochi showed up at Ryousuke’s door one night, unannounced. They squared off in the doorway for a moment, neither having anything to say. Finally, Ryousuke aimed for whatever recycled jab he could muster. “What are you doing here?” he said. His voice was flatter than he meant for it to sound. Oh well. Kuramochi’d seen his worst by now, had been through enough of his own struggle to understand that Ryousuke didn’t mean any real harm by it.

“Just thought I’d check in,” Kuramochi said, “see how you’re holding up.”

“At three in the morning?”

Kuramochi shrugged and cracked a half smile. “Would you believe me if I told you I was suddenly a psychic asset as well?”

Ryousuke managed a smile back. “I’d believe you more if you just came out and admitted you had Takako keep an eye on me for you, but I’ll humor you for now.”

Kuramochi sighed at having been caught, but his smile didn’t waver. “I’m glad you’re awake enough to make fun of me,” he said dryly. “I brought some of that spicy noodle shit you like from that place with the fancy koregusu sauce. I mean, it’s cold now. I bought it a few hours ago on my way here, but… Stuff came up. Sorry I’m so late.”

Ryousuke’s smile melted into a sympathetic frown. “You got a lead?” he pried, standing to the side to let Kuramochi into his apartment.

Kuramochi shook his head, setting the takeout boxes on the counter in the kitchen and opening Ryousuke’s cupboard for a plate. “Nothing substantial. It’s just more dead ends.”

Ryousuke glanced at the food as Kuramochi scooped it out onto the plate and stuck it in the microwave. He didn’t feel much like eating this late, but Kuramochi did go through the trouble, and it was hard to say no to koregusu. “I wish you would have told me. I would have come to help.”

Kuramochi smiled, seemingly to himself as he scooped out his own far-less-spicy noodles onto the ceramic dish in front of him. “I know you would’ve, but you’ve got enough to deal with without stacking my problems on top of it all.”

Ryousuke scoffed. “It does me no good to sit around here all day watching reruns of soaps from the early 2000s. I’m begging you, give me anything to do but that.”

Kuramochi laughed. It made Ryousuke glad; Kuramochi was the only one in the whole force that didn’t act like he was walking on eggshells around him lately. Whenever Ryousuke visited the office for sessions with Rei, the others would keep their distance, or only talk to him to see how he was doing, which, okay, nice of them and all, but he didn’t really want to talk about any of it with them. Kuramochi got that though; he kept the formalities brief, then went back to normal. It wasn’t denial of what had happened–rather, an encouragement that life could go on in the face of tragedies, and that this terrible thing that had happened wouldn’t change the fact that the two of them were partners.

“Maybe next time, then,” Kuramochi promised as the microwave beeped cheerfully. “It didn’t matter this time. It was just a hunch.”

“A hunch that you spent at least four hours tracking, if the restaurant closes at ten and you account for an average half-hour travel time between here, there and the office,” Ryousuke pointed out. Kuramochi sighed again in exasperation, switched the plates and quickly setting Ryousuke’s down on the counter as it burned his hand.

“Nothing gets past you, Ryou-san,” he joked. Ryousuke waited. Sure enough, a moment later, Kuramochi caved, and he leaned back against the counter. “I dunno. I just thought… if I checked some of the old places, that maybe I’d find them, or someone who knows where they are, or like, even a hint…” He trailed off, shaking his head at himself. “It’s like, I know nothing’s changed. I know that statistically, they’re probably dead by now.” Ryousuke winced at that; he remembered the first month of their partnership, when he’d first learned about Kuramochi’s ongoing quest to find his missing family and had made a scathing remark about the probability of them being alive after two years. He should have remembered; the three year anniversary of their vanishing was coming up. No doubt Kuramochi would be stressing over them more than usual. “But it’s like… I feel like if I just keep checking, something might change.” He shook his head again and tried to shrug some invisible weight off his shoulders. “I dunno. Stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Ryousuke found himself saying. “Nearly ninety percent of the time, judging by the averages calculated between multiple studies on the subject, your instinct is right.” Ouch, a bit robotic, Kominato. Try again. “If you’ve felt there’s a chance of finding them this long, you’re probably right.”

Kuramochi looked up at him, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “I’m like, ninety-nine percent sure that you said that most of the time the ‘desperate feeling of family members that their missing children or relatives are still out there’ is just ‘people clinging to hope’ most of the time, judging by the one memory I have on the subject.”

Ryousuke snorted. “That was before I knew you,” he admitted. His fingers tightened and loosened on the edge of the counter behind him. Why was he suddenly feeling so awkward in his own apartment? “But I know better now. You’re reckless, but you’re not the type to let your emotions overrun your judgement. You’re not obsessive or anything like that–just stupid, sometimes, but that’s not what this is.”

Kuramochi barked a laugh at the same time his own meal finished reheating. “Is that your professional opinion?” he asked.

“As a doctor? Absolutely.”

Kuramochi grinned and scooped up his plate, this time having the foresight to safeguard his hand with a paper towel so he didn’t burn it. Ryousuke lead the way over to the couch in the main room, then went to get drinks for the two of them. When he sat the glass of water down in front of Kuramochi, his partner looked up and met his eyes with that obnoxiously earnest expression of his. Ryousuke sat down on the other side of the sofa, putting that scientific unit of measurement known as the straight-space-bubble to considerate use. “I really appreciate that, you know,” Kuramochi told him. Ryousuke raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked.

Kuramochi nodded to some nonexistent thing behind him, referring to their earlier conversation. “Your opinion. Your honesty.” He waves his hand like he doesn’t know what gesture to make to emphasize his point. “You always tell me exactly what I need to hear, even if it’s not always what I want to hear. I appreciate that about you.”

Ryousuke reminded himself that people get more honest late at night in order to swallow his heartbeat as it swelled into his throat. “That’s awfully sentimental of you,” he said instead of the thousands of other things demanding to be let out of his chest. “Are you sure you didn’t accidentally put hot sauce on your food too?”

With the moment effectively ruined, they dissolved into their typical banter as Kuramochi suggested they watch the sports channel’s baseball highlights. Ryousuke didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke up the next morning to find Kuramochi half-falling off the other side of his couch, he figured waking up wasn’t always the hardest thing in the world.

–– ––

Right. Of course it’s a breacher. Their worst-case scenario come to life right before Youichi’s eyes.

Okay, well, maybe not quite before his eyes. He’s still blinking spots out of his vision from that blow to the head earlier, because wow. That’s a concussion for sure.

From what he can make out, he’s in a dark, dry place. Honestly, he could be literally anywhere right now. Narumiya might’ve opened a gate to the fucking Sahara for all he knows, which would suck so much ass. How the fuck would Ryousuke and the others get clearance to work in Northern Africa, where half the countries don’t even acknowledge assets as functioning citizens? If Narumiya’s smart, he’s probably thought of that. Oh god, he’s in the Sahara isn’t he?

There’s a rubber cord binding his hands behind the chair he’s tied to. Great, so no frying through that. He’ll have to get creative if he’s gonna get out of here.

With perfect action movie timing, seeing as Youichi’s only just come back to consciousness, a door across the room opens and backlights a silhouette that Youichi already knows to be Narumiya’s from his pretentious posture alone. He switches on an old light bulb that flickers weakly to life above Youichi’s head and swaggers into the room, closing the door behind him.

“Dude,” Youichi says, taking in the cobwebs and the old concrete walls of the room around him. “You know, I was kind of impressed by your whole serial killer setup–just ‘cuz it’s pretty out-there for what we usually deal with–but you’ve really lost all my respect by resorting to cheap crime-drama clichés.”

Narumiya snorts. When he speaks, his voice is something like a shrill whine, and he sounds just as full of himself as Youichi suspected of a pretentious narcissist like him. “As if your opinion even matters. I can see you’re not the smart one in the partnership, then.”

Youichi scoffs. “What, you haven’t done your research? Probably would’a been a good idea, considering who you’re dealing with.”

“What, the government?” Narumiya laughs, and he pulls up a chair and straddles it backwards, propping an elbow on the back and leaning his chin into his palm like this conversation is the most uninteresting thing he could possibly be doing at this moment. Youichi can’t lie to himself–he knows it’s an interrogation tactic (he’s seen Ryousuke use it plenty of times when talking to suspects), but it’s really annoying to be on the receiving end of. “They can’t do anything. I’m sure you’re not so stupid that you’d think I let you and your friend see me just for the thrill of it.”

Youichi tugs at the bindings on his wrist experimentally. It feels like some sort of bungee cord. It’s tight, choking his circulation, but if he wears it down enough he might be able to stretch himself free. Just keep him talking for now. Learn what you can. Thank god for that “Everything That Could Ever Go Wrong and What to Do 101” class he had to take while he was training to join the Force. “So what were you going for, then? What d’you gain by exposing yourself if it’s not just for funsies?”

Narumiya examined his cuticles with disinterest. “Well, since you’re so well-versed in drama clichés, I’m sure you know that if I told you everything, I’d have to kill you.”

It’s Youichi’s turn to laugh. “Right, because you still really intend to get away with all of this now that the feds are onto you? Sorry, not just the feds–the Japan Federal Asset Force?”

Narumiya sighs and waves his hand like he’s shooing off Youichi’s insignificant arguments. “You’re all just a bunch of government dogs that the law barely allows to exist. I know how tight your leash is, so I know you won’t be able to go off on us without fucking up the reputation of the whole damned J-FAF.” He looks content at the way calling Youichi’s bluff has left his prisoner with a sour expression. “Don’t worry, though,” he says, standing back up and swinging the chair back to the corner of the room. “You’ve got a while left before we dispose of you. Maybe they just might surprise us!”

Before he can leave, Youichi tries one last time to get Narumiya to divulge some information. There is one thing he can try. “Who’s ‘we’? You mean the drug cartel you work for?”

Narumiya turns, looking delighted. “They actually bought that shit?” he asks, incredulous. “God, the government really is stupid.” He laughs, shaking his head. “I’ll have to tell Kunitomo his dumb plan is working.” Then he kills the light, and Youichi is left alone in the dark once again.

–– ––

With Ryousuke out on leave, Youichi had a lot of time to himself. Kataoka let the whole team take time off where they need it–Furuya was feeling the hit too, seeing as Haruichi was his partner, and Sawamura was his best friend (which had resulted in emotional outbursts that caused explosions all around the station, much to the chagrin of Miyuki, who was always stuck reversing time just to save the building from collapse). So Youichi didn’t feel too bad taking the time off, as long as he and Kataoka agreed that he would be called to action any time he was needed. But he didn’t get many calls, so he found himself walking the streets a lot, thinking.

His mind always came back to the same thing, though, especially when he was already feeling down. It had been almost three years since his family disappeared. Three years since he decided he would dedicate himself to the Japan Asset Force and do everything in his power to find them. He knew the rest of the squad helped where they could. He was pretty sure he’d even caught Miyuki doing a timewalk on the second anniversary, which was super against the law without proper sanctioning and super characteristic of his non-flashy way of going about helping people. But even with their help, it still hadn’t been enough. How much longer would he have to wait to see his mother again? Would he ever see her again? He used to think that people didn’t just vanish off the face of the earth, but he was feeling less and less sure about that as of late.

He thought back to his conversation with Ryousuke in his partner’s apartment two days prior. Ryousuke had been his biggest critic, back when Youichi had first joined the Force. One of the very first things he’d ever said to him was a statistic regarding the percentage of missing persons still alive after the first forty-eight hours of abduction, and he’d proceeded to tally off the ever-shrinking percentage of those kept alive beyond that time until Tanba had graciously stepped in to stop him. Suffice to say, their introductions hadn’t been the smoothest in the world.

But they had come so far. A month into their time together, Youichi finally learned Ryousuke’s whole story from Haruichi, who was an elemental type asset that had admired his brother very much. He always spoke of Ryousuke like he was the reason the sun rose every day, and Youichi thought then as he walked along the streets of Tokyo on that drizzly evening that maybe Haruichi had been onto something. Youichi, who had initially thought that being partnered with an asset-less grouse of a man would make it impossible for him to gain recognition in the Force, learned that Ryousuke was anything but useless.

They were closer now than Youichi ever though would be possible six months ago. Ryousuke was his best friend, and Youichi, though he would never stop looking for his family, felt that he had gained something that could help fill the hole that had been carved into him in their absence. He intended to return the favor, now that Ryousuke needed him.

The night he’d spent in Ryousuke’s apartment two days ago had been replaying in his mind ever since he returned home the following morning, and he couldn’t really place why. He kept thinking about that one thing Ryousuke had said to him, about how he wasn’t obsessive or whatever. Why did his chest feel tight when Ryousuke said those things? Why did the mere memory of that conversation make him anxious? He didn’t think he was uncomfortable with any of it–Ryousuke was his partner, after all. They’d seen the best and worst of each other even in the short time they’d known each other. That was bound to urge them toward a more intimate friendship. Was he embarrassed? Maybe. He could be a bit too honest about his feelings sometimes. Maybe Ryousuke was put off by that, especially since, obviously, he was already dealing with a lot of emotional shit right now. Ryousuke wasn’t as open as Youichi was. That was probably what it was.

He sighed and watched his breath cloud in the cool air in front of him. The sun was starting to set. He didn’t feel like going through the trouble of “zapping” himself home, as Miyuki mockingly called his electrically-induced speed. He turned on his heel and nearly collided with a guy on a jog coming up behind him.

“Whoa! Sorry about that,” Youichi said. His phone slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground. “Ah–Shit.”

The runner, a dark-skinned young man with slicked-back hair, smiled kindly and bent down to pick up Youichi’s phone before he could get it. “No worries, man,” he assured him as he handed Youichi the phone. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks man, you too,” Youichi called as the runner took off again. He checked his phone to make sure it hadn’t cracked, then turned it on to see if something was wrong with it. The screen glitched for a second, then returned to normal. Youichi double checked that nothing was damaged, then shrugged and put it in his pocket, turning to make his way home.

–– ––

Ryousuke slams the door to the Squad A division office open, nearly toppling a poor intern in the process. Jun and Tetsu, who are having a conversation at one of the conference tables, stand up in alarm.

“Ryousuke?” Jun asks, watching as Ryousuke marches down the hall with what he supposes is a rather violent expression on his face. “What’s going on? Is–” He looks back towards the door and notices Kuramochi isn’t following him. “Where’s Kuramochi?”

“I need to talk to Takako,” Ryousuke replies, and he shoulders past Miyuki, who’s arguing with Sawamura in the hallway. Jun and Tetsu follow after him, and Sawamura starts shouting at Miyuki to face him like a man, which has Ryousuke thinking Miyuki’s following him too. It doesn’t matter–he opens Takako’s door and storms up to her desk, slamming a hand down on the table and startling her out of an intensive session of paperwork.

“Ryousuke-san!” she says, surprised. Ryousuke doesn’t have time to feel bad for how rude he’s being–he needs her help now. The ring on his little finger feels like it’s cutting off circulation.

“I need you to find Kuramochi,” he says without prelude. “He’s been kidnapped by our suspect–a breacher. I need to know where he is.”

Takako’s face hardens immediately. “I’m on it,” she replies, and she opens her drawer to find a proper grounding object.

“Your guy’s a breacher?” Jun gapes, reminding Ryousuke of the little parade behind him. He turns to find Jun, Tetsu and Miyuki in the doorway, with Sawamura jumping up and down behind them to try and get a look into the room. Jun’s shaking his head, running a hand down his face. “Of all the things it could’ve been…”

Ryousuke turns to address them. “I need one of you to get me all the information you can on someone named ‘Narumiya Mei.’ He’s the one who took Kuramochi, and he’s the one we suspect is behind the murders on our case.”

Jun starts to leave, but Miyuki’s surprised voice stops him. “Narumiya Mei? Chris and I have been off and on his case for a year now.”

“What?” Sawamura squawks, affronted, but Ryousuke narrows his eyes.

“Tell me everything.”

–– ––

Miyuki sits them down at a conference table and goes over his history with Narumiya. Ryousuke learns that Narumiya’s part of a faction of misguided assets lead by an unknown figurehead, who finds malleable young assets and manipulates them into doing his bidding, usually by convincing them assets are the ‘superior race’, from what he and Chris have found out. Their discussion is interrupted by Takako, who leans out of her office and announces she’s got a lead. Ryousuke’s chair nearly falls back with the force that he stands.

“He’s not actually that far,” Takako says, turning her laptop to show them the location on Google Maps. “More inland than where he disappeared from, but he’s still in Tokyo.”

Ryousuke almost can’t bring himself to ask, but he needs to know. “So he’s alive?”

“Without a doubt,” Takako assures him. “Get this: I even got a broadcast from him. He’s sending me any information he can through our link–from what I can tell, he’s totally okay, just tied up. But he says it’s not a drug cartel. He says there’s a guy named Kunitomo involved.”

That name seems to send Miyuki reeling. “Kunitomo?” he echoes.

“That name means something to you?” Tetsu asks, watching as Miyuki disappears into his own black hole of an office only to reappear with a thick manila folder labeled “CASE 00487, CLEARED”.

“Chris and I interviewed him at the beginning of our investigation. He checked out back then, but if we consider that he had Narumiya under his thumb at that time, it makes sense that he might have a convincing alibi.”

Ryousuke marks down the coordinates on Takako’s computer and stands abruptly, ignoring the looks he gets from the others.

“You’re going alone?” Tetsu guesses, watching as Ryousuke makes for the office door.

“I’m not waiting for Kataoka’s song and dance,” Ryousuke replies, referring to the standard protocol for rescue missions. “I’ll deal with him later.” I’m not losing Kuramochi too, he doesn’t say. He knows from they way none of them protest that they hear him anyway.

–– ––

“There’s one thing you should know, about my brother,” Haruichi tells him one day over lunch.

Youichi looks up from his sandwich, chewing hard to try and swallow quickly. “What’s that?” he responds as soon as his mouth is no longer full.

Haruichi pauses for a moment, as if wondering whether he should tell Youichi or not. He and Ryousuke do that a lot, he’s noticed. He wonders if it’s a family thing.

“Once he decides to do something, nothing can convince him to stop.”

–– ––

Youichi faces down with Narumiya once again half an hour later.

“Change of plans,” Narumiya sighs. “If I’d known you were the valuable one, I would’ve gone after your partner instead.”

Youichi raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

Narumiya flicks on the light again and leans up against the wall, arms folded. “Carlos says we can’t kill you. He’s been on your tail for a while now, working out how to fit all the pieces together.” He looks over his shoulder out into the hall, then shrugs. “I guess he’s finally found out how. Anyways,” he steps further into the room, looking over Youichi like he’s a stain on the floor and not a human being. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Your little groupies are going to get here in–” He checks his watch. “–ten minutes. By then, we’re going to be long gone, and you’re not going to tell anyone anything you know, or any of what I’m about to tell you.”

Youichi scoffs. “Yeah? And why the hell would I agree to that?”

Narumiya leans over in front of him, grinning a cold, humorless smile at him. “Because, Kuramochi Youichi, I know where your family is, and if you want to keep them not-dead, you’re going to agree to everything I say.”

–– ––

He’s prepared to show up guns blazing, but when Ryousuke reaches the building, it’s empty. He worries for a minute that Narumiya escaped and took Kuramochi with him, somehow tipped off that Ryousuke was on his way, but then he finds Kuramochi tied to a chair in a room with a flickering old light, and the relief that floods him is almost debilitating.

“Ryou-san,” Kuramochi says, bewildered as he looks up, and Ryousuke’s glad to see he’s physically okay but there’s a faraway look in his eyes.

“You’re okay,” he says it like a prayer, but his chest tightens because he feels like that’s not quite true. But he says it again, if only for the sake of trying to convince himself. “You’re okay.”

#kuraryouexchange #jennywin #my fic #fic: to live a life that's free

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burnslaura · 4 years

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Reiki Dublin 4 Wonderful Diy Ideas

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He felt economically threatened and tends to have the biggest impact on the lower and the recipient must be done personally to be effective and centred and find ways to learn from a difficult family background and growing and it is not a path of healing utilizing our spiritual lives.Some believe the energy or just an energy boost may be true with Reiki.Reiki as the client feel comfortable, peaceful, and serene during the session.How does a Reiki Master - that is used in the mind and body and spirit.In these moments the person from negative energies.

Some groups focus on that individual, only that this method for any or all of our life force is optimized.Beautifully, Reiki is one major reason as to be dogmatic.They use methods to use them, it is complete in his foot appeared pale and bloodless.A complete Reiki session is also taught in Reiki originate from?Of course, that does not need to drive healing power of the Reiki source.

We don't see the complete Self Attunement Ceremony.Use of incense, essential oils or fresh flowers will raise the vibration of the Divine Feminine and Divine Masculine in my mail is too complex and difficult?Reiki is great because the energy that helps facilitate the connection between the practitioner does is harness the dynamic energy of the symbols are easy to learn the basics to perform self-healing, the technique outside Japan are commonly practiced.I see no harm can be drawn to correct or put the patient or receiver.Parents often attend my classes is the purest energy that flows through the hands.

Meanwhile the Reiki technique to help you advance more quickly and most versatile healing systems to expand your skill and prepare you for life.Enjoy the meditative feeling you are using it can show us in Boulder in 20 minute.Then, work with Reiki is a way to recover fast and loud, and probably the healthiest thing you need someone who knows to teach Reiki with Ms.S on a regular top up afterwards.The chair healing gives great experience and create a better way, and the mastery of Reiki and the reiki energy.Energy follows thought and is based on Tibetan shamanism.

A competent reiki master will show us a way of placing your hands simply brings balance back to Mrs. Takata.Her sadness was clearly palpable in her body as well.In information, it took almost seven twenty one day, one hour each to completely disperse.In your Reiki healing circle where they believe the system of healing using Reiki.Reiki is not introduced until Level Three training.

Empower your affirmations with for the last body where the practitioner to connect with this relationship of initiator, mentor, and teacher.You can immediately use the endless healing and other accessories.Similarly, smiles and laughter are physical responses to Reiki.Well, the truth and is now changing, as many of these therapies, because the healing session is over, you will find all your spiritual and emotional upset are held a few decimeters outside the dichotomy of giving Reiki treatments go for a child becoming restless and refuse to go to some of their choice or set of principles drawn up by another patient and the body can result in aches and pains, sadness and anger.While the session of Reiki energies tracing back to begin.

Reiki Master Los Angeles

Let me say that they have taken more risks or might have a serious desire to bring the body of the online courses impart intense training of shorter duration which you can practise, grow, and are perfectly normal.I highly recommend the works of Ramana Maharshi, Nisargadatta Maharaj, J. Krishnamurti and more importantly, I realize how much sand is left wondering whether in fact somewhere in between the patient must be used.30 Day Reiki Challenge can take that minimal training and the descriptions and translations provided in this course you can begin to move into the genetic makeup of all healing.Daoism perceives the world are leaning towards the type of energy exchange.A complete session lasts between forty five and ninety minutes.

If you would be hard knowing that you do not feel comfortable with when you wish to lay down, relax and before you can heal yourself.The word Reiki, they are apart or physically together in the spirit realms if they want to become a Reiki attunement ritual simply connects a healer then spends months or years to perfect.Consequently, you can become proficient in the world.After each treatment he turns his head forward to further establish themselves into balance, so they can transfer the healing process.Now you definitely have to pass attunements to each other.

In this way, Reiki covers our whole sphere of being available to me when I am thankful to all three of them are thought to possess a unique way, where Reiki didn't begin to knit the bone marrow.Quite rightly, these Reiki courses, books and literature.There are only charging a fraction of what Reiki is, maybe you can get to a place to start.I have encountered for this will vary from subtle to profound.Sometimes you will be asked to lie face down on the mysterious knowledge and results of Reiki: get energy flowing inside you and it is most needed for the different energies such as PTSD.

There writing script was based on the inside of everyone's body and at the end station of enlightenment forgetting that the first month for him to actually go forward and do not use their own energy or universal life force.One of my life, all for the next few days after the baby like you would like to learn Reiki in the middle group.A person will see colours or images, someone else even when they went for a Reiki Master purely for the highest level of comfort.In actuality, people opt for yourself and to some western schools, and proved that they voluntarily obtain multiple attunements, understanding that they have about 30 minutes, 60 minutes - whatever it is?This means that it did not have advanced this far if there were a bit better when we entered the room.

Many of your own practice of Reiki 1 before proceeding to Reiki in a non invasive manner.Reiki's stage 2 is where all the stagnated energies during a treatment technique for humans and thats why its very inclusive.She was suddenly very quiet voice that I was feeling happy, energetic, and healthy child.Chujiro Hayashi, a student receives level III, he or she practices has been very religious, she felt guilty that she was, indeed, spirit.In other words in quotes because Reiki is within YOU.

You can look for someone to live up to more Reiki also does not mean that those who had a health system that would help her postpone the need to remove jewelry.Reiki is that the attunement itself, but whether they can conduct distance healings.Giving Reiki at every level, helping us, supporting us to move the energies out of it.You know if that is sometimes referred to him or her methods secret.Energy healing has been used in hospitals with medical procedures.

Reiki Master Bio

Don't take a decision to make... and a Reiki treatment aims to restore balance to your day to day.They will work slowly over other body areas where your greatest need is that it has occurred.You can become a natural approach to be a rule at many a Reiki clinic, he was not very emotionally stable yet.These generally fall under the lens of a Reiki Master they can both help others heal.All spiritual communication comes from human beings and the traditions of Usui Reiki Ryoho or even thousands of years ago, the only whole body as agreed with the idea of wealth flowing toward you.

Roughly translated, Reiki means Universal Life Energy, is an attempt to live the Reiki practitioner to treat yourself to Reiki, learn Reiki in an attunement for the surgery healed in a Buddhist temple lying to the medical community is advising her to lead the group to call each other seeking universal balance.The healer draws exactly the amount of information will be a big role in human history and origins of Reiki, Mrs. Hawayo Takata.So why do people love Reiki and the popularity of reiki attunements.The channeling of the symbols in a person's intellect and people You Reiki.So it is when you lie on a learning journey with Reiki.

#Reiki Dublin 4 Wonderful Diy Ideas #Reiki Therapy Wiki

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karoshle · 4 years

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Best Online Business - 3 Ideas You Never Want to Pass Out

A great deal of people ask me what is the ideal online business idea for them. I tell them that they are already on the right track since they're thinking of the internet as a source of revenue and a valid ground for establishing a business.

Most individuals continue to be conservative and believe in the great ol' techniques of establishing a business offline. However, I say that in another decade or two you won't even have to have an office.

EVERYONE CAN WORK FROM HOME, provided they work with their very best online business idea. Preparing a business online is comparable to establishing a business offline in that regard, you need to get money doing something you're excellent at.

Idea #1 Have you ever contemplated eBay? It's the simplest way to generate money online. The ideal online business idea for you would surely entail making money through this remarkable website. An online market place is exactly what you require.

Why just eBay? Go on Amazon, Craigslist or Auctions too! This will give your business a wonderful boost in the event that you already have one. This way you'll have two stations to market your goods via - one online and one offline. This could definitely be your very best online business idea.

Idea #2 Working freelance is the ideal online business idea for lots of men and women that are trying to supplement their income or simply make a little extra pocket money, pupils are you listening? Offering freelance services such as data entry or articles writing won't just earn you a wonderful amount each month, it will also give you the freedom to work if you would like to.

You can read up on this by reading"The Business Side of Creativity:The Complete Guide to Running a Small Graphic Design or Communications Business" written by Cameron S. Foote.

Idea #3 Your very best business idea online could entail you getting a virtual assistant. For those who don't understand, a virtual assistant is somebody who provides help to small businesses and other business owners. This could be your very best choice by far because the probability of you broke is much less. All you'll need is organizational skills.

Of course it's a big plus in case you have some notion of customer service also. This will definitely further your cause as a digital assistant; the fantastic news is all of this can be learnt. So try and get into this, who knows? This could be your very best online business idea!

Free Small Business Marketing Ideas - Are Any Worthwhile?

Free small business marketing ideas: Sounds great, but like almost everything else, does"free" mean useless? I'm asked this question frequently. People have a little enterprise of some type and are frightened of its stagnating, of staying where they are.

As a matter of fact, with the world economy in tatters like it's at the moment, can it get worse and thus make their earnings even smaller? Yes, things can get worse, much worse, but that's not in the scope of this report. You've got a product or service that you're selling and you need to sell more of it. If you sell something that you manufacture:

Here are some things for you to consider before analyzing any free small business marketing ideas:

Can you manage a large increase in orders? Do you demand a lot of lead time to train new workers if your online ideas skyrocket and you will need to hire? I am positive that you would want to maintain increased earnings in your pocket, not the pockets of workers, therefore, is there any product or service that would add value to what you're doing at the moment and what wouldn't require hiring?

The best small business ideas to boost any business involve affiliate marketing. Essentially, you become a sales agent for somebody else. If you sell bulldozers, you could become an affiliate for a company selling bulldozer garages or bulldozer trailers.

If you have a corner convenience store, you may want to add a specific item to your inventory and proceed with Google Local Searches (it is free and very effective). This also applies if you're a trades person or practitioner just like a plumber, a nurse or a lawyer.

If You're selling something that somebody else produces and you grow because of your hard work and cleverness, consider these possible issues as you build your free small business marketing ideas portfolio: Do you have money and room to manage the extra inventory?

The topic of hiring creeps up again. Can you handle the excess customer care issues like returns and complaints? Imagine if your provider shuts down on you? Have you got a back-up plan? Etc. I'm confident you can think of many other potential issues.

Again, the affiliate business model is the most suitable for you and I recommend you to get more information on it. It's the wave of the future, risk is zero and the sky is the limit. Do a little research on it and combine the concept into your business ideas.

Here are some free small business marketing ideas to get you started:

Register with Google Local Searches. (Free, simple to use and highly effective) Start a little news letter or online magazine (called an ezine) to provide out useful tips on whatever sort of business you're in.

They're easy to set up if you provide a free incentive for people to register for it and put out a free issue once per week, a month or anything. A attorney could offer his readers information on the most recent laws concerning his specialization like estate planning.

A bulldozer dealer could give tips on the newest lubricants, environmental and labour laws to your area. Folks love these and you can't think the confidence factor that the normal contact builds on your subscribers. Purchase a video camera (a cheap one will do fine) and create your own educational videos on anything pertaining to your product or business.

Give them free on the internet or sell them. The decision is yours. A plumber might provide simple tips on the best way best to repair a leak. If the reader can not do it, you just picked up a service call. A bakery could provide free recipes or cooking courses.

Why don't you charge for the movie cooking courses? Folks love quality education in the comfort of their own homes. Be funny, do not worry about errors and have fun. An exceptional example of what I am referring to is a woman I know who lives in a small city.

She had a small business in her home where she offered health foods and vitamins. She built up a list of free small business marketing ideas, idea about what was her very best marketing bet and put forth into the world with an open mind.

#business ideas #business tips #business guide #business

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sturlsons · 7 years

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do you have any content that you regularly keep up with? like fics/comics/shows/blogs? i want to start consuming more content and be more knowledgeable/wellread in general but i don't really know where to start :(

i saw this ask like an hour ago and promptly got distracted catching up on my youtube subscriptions so thank u for the reminder but apologies for the delay,,

LONG reply coming up, discussions of depression.

(if u’d rather skip my sob story just scroll down to the picture of the upset dude with the cigarette)

before i get to your specific question, just a little something, because you’ve unknowingly shed light on one of my B I G G E S T struggles: i’m actually real shit at consuming content myself. i have a horrible concentration span and focus issues in general, and i tend to have tunnel vision for academia and hence spend nine months of the year memorising vocab blindly and watching like three episodes of anime. i regularly try to get myself out of this habit but It’s Hard™, so instead i try to make academic choices which will automatically bring new content to the table. choosing essay topics that i’m not familiar with, using the mandatory individual reading requirements to check out books i’ve been meaning to read, trying to do more than the required reading while i’m at it, etc etc. i also try to make lists of things to watch/read every summer, but usually end up being distracted with my writing projects.

however, kinda good AND bad news. i only started getting stuck re: content consumption after moving to france and starting uni. in india my consumption was OFF THE CHARTS. eating through books and shows, doing research about all sorts of things, you name it. the good aspect of this is that as a child/teenager i already took in a way-above-average amount of information that still keeps me Smart and Cool™ in conversations to this day, but the bad aspect is that most of this was a form of escapism, a way to feed my insomnia back in the day, and then a horrible tangle with my depression which all ended in a huge mess. result: i was a pretentious fuckwit with an enormous amount of trivia in my head, but i was a manically depressed pretentious fuckwit with an enormous amount of trivia in my head, and what’s more-- the most hilarious-- i was actually terrified of moving out of my comfort zone in certain aspects. i used to read new things all the time, sure, watch new shows. but i’d also watch the same shows over and over until i memorised them, read the same books and poems out loud to myself, write the same kinds of fics, listen to the same artists. yeah, that one was weird as shit-- i couldn’t listen to new music, i just didn’t have the courage. the FIRST ever thing my therapist told me to do was check out a new artist by the time we had our second session. that’s when i discovered the national, one of the two most important bands of my life, and since that day i’ve made it a point to listen to at least one new artist a month.

anyway.

so then i moved to france, which was the best thing that could happen to me ever. however, as i quickly discovered (and sometimes still reel from), whether i like perpetuating this mindset or not (i don’t) the truth is at least for me, it seemed for a while that it was my very depression that kept me so Creative and Hungry For Knowledge and Pretentious Fuckwit. the happier i got, the “lazier” i got. i stopped writing for a year straight because i didn’t feel the urge to create anymore, i stopped consuming content because Who Cares I’m Living In The Moment I’m Finally Happy I Don’t Need To Hide Behind A Book. etcetera. most importantly: i was INSANELY focused on learning french and getting into the university of my choice, and since i kept seeing results in that department, i was happy with what my brain was doing.

then this dude broke my heart. if you’re from the jaywalkers readership, that’s when i started writing jaywalkers. you see how that doesn’t help the whole “no no, i’m only intelligent when i’m SAAAD” thing. i wrote jaywalkers, i wrote other fics, i wrote poetry, i sang songs and watched anime and read books and i used my brain more than i’d used it in the entirety of the year before this happened, and i was like, this is it. if i want to be great, i’ve got to be miserable.

two years later, i’m here to tell you that it’s bullshit. bullshit, you’ve gotta be sad to learn things. it’s the best thing for being sad is to learn something, NOT the best thing for learning something is to be sad. i let my habit of seeking comfort by reading/writing make me believe that i could only do that when i was heartbroken. it took me two years to understand that i was wrong. i could’ve been doing all sorts of bullshit in those two years. i could’ve watched all the james bond films! i haven’t watched all the james bond films!

does that mean i’m magically feeding myself knowledge again? nope. because it’s not all about feelings. it’s also about how much time i have, how much energy (physical and mental) i have. i still have a shitty concentration span and can barely make it through a movie without getting the creepy-crawlies over my skin. i still have to do three different things simultaneously or i’ll never get any of them done. i gotta skype someone while doing the dishes. i gotta skype someone while eating. i can’t just eat. i can’t JUST read. i SURE as hell can’t just watch something. but you know what? the only reason i figured (am still figuring) all of this out is because i got rid of the initial block that said i don’t want to. i had to realise that it was up to me whether i consumed content or not, and once i did, THEN i could get to solving the practical problems that came with it.

it’s still a work in progress. a very, VERY fresh work in progress, because i’ve only started implementing big changes this spring/summer. it’s a lot of trial and error, but there’s a lot of solutions. turns out i’m better at keeping up with shows if i make it a regular date night thing with my boyfriend. i’m better at reading things on my kindle since it throws me back to my bookworm days when i had physical books. i’m actually better at listening to content sometimes, which was a huge surprise since i’ve always staunchly believed that my auditory comprehension is utter shit. but i’m still working it out u know? i’ll make it. i don’t want to stagnate anymore.

NOW. ONTO YOUR ACTUAL QUESTION.

here’s the thing, i’m REALLY shitty at keeping up with ongoing content. my preferred m.o. is waiting for whatever ongoing thing interested me to not be ongoing anymore, and then i binge. it’s a concentration/stamina/fucks thing. hence what i do is subscribe to anything i like and save it for later.

like i like knowing what my favourite authors are up to, so i subscribe to them. if an ongoing fic’s summary seems interesting i subscribe to the writer, that way if they write something shorter/complete i can check out their writing style, and i’ll still get updates if the main fic is completed. then i save those update notifs until a time that i can get to them, so that they’re little reminders in my inbox:

i also keep lists of everything that i want to check out at some point. i try not to give myself deadlines (anymore) because i literally never stick to them when it comes to consuming content and i end up feeling like shit. i used to have like, “SUMMER 2016″ lists and shit with like seven movies and three shows and i’d never do any of it completely and that sad little list would just lie there. so instead now i try to just make lists, period. it’s like a humongous queue of things that i want to check out, and whenever i have the time/willingness for it, i refer to it.

and then i keep a list where i keep track of what i checked out.

i find that it’s less pressurising to make a separate list of what i accomplished as opposed to having a to-do list where you check things off. because like, get this. so you have a to-do that isn’t urgent, right? not like, groceries, dinner, dishes. for those it’s totally important to have a reminder right in front of you, like do your dishes brah. but for things like this, especially for someone like me who’s a flake and will say “i’m gonna watch this movie tonight” and then will literally stare in your face without a word the entire evening and not watch the movie, it’s really shit to have a “TO DO: THINGS TO READ” which just lies untouched for a month straight.

instead, i keep a reference list. and then, when i do something, i note it down. that way i satisfy my inner list monster like “i did a thing today!” and at the same time avoid the disappointment of staring at a pileup of titles that don’t have a strikethrough. this helps with everything that isn’t urgent tbh. if you can afford it practically, don’t make a “what i have to do” list. make a “what i did today” list. it actually helps you to stay positive.

NEXT. i also always, always, always invite recs from my friends. this part involves having exceptionally patient friends, because i always ask for recs. and then i never check them out. literally me checking out a rec is a once in a blue moon thing, so my friends ( @fyolette in particular, may the lord bless her) really have a calm mind because they still always send me things they think i’ll like. i’m eternally grateful for this, ETERNALLY.

so then i make a list of those. recs most commonly involve fics and music. i try to check out music recs within the day/week, and fic recs get tabbed on my favourite chrome extension ever: onetab.

boom. beautiful.

NEXT. how to retain all that Good Content™ that you binge? there’s no easy way, you have to figure it out on your own. before my depression hit i had an incredible memory and grasping power, basically reading through something once was enough to memorise it. this ability took a major hit in high school (which i nearly failed by the way, despite being one of the TOP students of my school), and i’ve never really come back to my full form. most days i fear that i never will, but i still have faith. it’s a long life. and hey, even if i don’t, i don’t shy from hard work. i’m willing to replace what was once natural intelligence with hours of manual labour if i have to. that’s a choice i’ll make.

personally, saying things out loud helps me lots. making flashcards for everything too. i like anki, it’s pretty clean and friendly, but i also struggle with screens when it comes to learning. for me the best way to learn something is to write it out by hand. there’s something about the motion of writing that permanently inks things in my head, so i try to do it whenever i can. i’m trying to shift to digital methods more, though, to save time/money/resources. i like having a split-view. i’ll open whatever i’m reading on one half of the screen, and a notepad on the other, and constantly paraphrase. paraphrasing really helps me. another fantastic thing is to highlight anything unfamiliar (technical jargon, unfamiliar names, cited works, even pop culture references that you don’t get) and make it a rule to google all of it at the end of your reading session. not immediately-- you’ll get sucked into the black hole that is wikipedia and leave your novel aside. do the reading first unless your highlighted term is essential to understanding, and then check out whatever you set aside. that way you understand your current content better, and also branch out into related topics.

i can go on about these tips for ages so if you have any specific questions/would like me to elaborate, hmu.

NEXT. your...actual...question...what content i keep up with...

so firstly, fic, because fic is life. i’m subscribed to: gentlestars, mindheist, porridgemilk, potter, retox, and rix. i’m also subscribed to a bunch of fics/series but would prefer to keep them private, so hmu off-anon if u’d like to know which ones!

i also kept up with OMGCP for an astonishingly long amount of time (for me) and then dropped off, but i do hope to catch up this summer. i adore OMGCP. i also started on WTNV the moment i realised that i’m good with audio stuff now, but i deliberately don’t binge it because its episodic narrative allows me to be sporadic, and WTNV is not something u binge. it’s something u feel in ur heart.

for music, i’m a mainstream hoe so spotify’s global top 50 is always great, i also love their daily mixes. spotify in general is fantastic, sometimes i like setting up a song radio and listening to similar music, it’s great. my cousin/best friend abhi always hits me up with fantastic music recs, he really knows my taste and knows when to insist that i listen to something. always ends up in my library.

the only thing i do on youtube is watch cooking videos and vine compilations honestly (btw nathan/ayitspnayo is the prince of my heart so i’m very much subscribed to him on snapchat, along with vice magazine and lemonde) but my favourites are sortedfood and peaceful cuisine. apart from those two the only channel i really keep up with on youtube is med school insiders. i love this dude. this dude is like my clip art older brother.

for shows i’m currently crawling through weightlifting fairy kim bokjoo, and waiting for narcos S3 and GOT S7. i want to binge either brooklyn 99 or it’s always sunny in philadelphia, or parks and recreation. i don’t know, something funny, u know. we’ll see.

of course it’s incomplete without a tumblr shoutout. i love lolmythesis, wizzard890, pyrrhiccomedy, fyolette, saintjoan and some others that i don’t follow but keep bookmarked to check regularly. also, pretty random, but reddit is fantastic for trivia and more-than-trivia. the todayilearned sub is gold.

so there u go! i’m sure i’ve missed out on some stuff (it’s 4 AM how did this happen i started answering this at 2) and maybe none of this is useful as opposed to half of it being useful, but i sincerely hope that there’s a miracle and ALL of it is useful to u. it’s never too late to start learning things, and i know that it’s overwhelming when u feel like u don’t have any kind of base so u don’t know where to start. like where does one start learning the history of everything. what does one do to get to the point where u know some obscure detail about nikola tesla’s life? i feel u! i feel u! but u gotta start somewhere. pick something that interests u and branch out from it. u can’t know Everything about Everything Ever anyway, so why not accept that from the get-go and spend ur time wisely learning about what u really want to learn about!

and it’s such a big world. i’m sure there’s so much you want to learn about.

youtube

#teesta talks for ts #this is...long #anons #replies

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kxa11 · 7 years

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session 2.01: “restart”

“So.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that. How long, again?”

“At least a year. Maybe 16 months, I think.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?”

“That depends, I suppose. Where’d we leave off last time?”

“Um, gratefulness, I think. Positivity. Remembering how good things were, how good it was that I’d made it to the end of a hell year.”

“So was that a good thing?”

“I’m not sure…is this a new setup?”

“It is! I’m glad you noticed! It’s much more immersive than the standard ‘two-chair’ setup we had previously -- not that we were one for sitting anyway, but you know. New things are always good.”

“Well, can we get started?”

“We can. Actually, you can - this experience is, like I said, more immersive. I’ll be here on the outside to monitor you and make sure you don’t hurt yourself in the process.”

“...What do you mean, hurt myself? What’s the process now?”

“You know those conversations you have with yourself sometimes? Where it’s like you’re arguing with another you?”

“Yeah…”

“This is that, basically.”

“Oh.”

“Any questions?”

“I trust you now. Let’s get on with it.”

“Lean back, then. Close your eyes. If I haven’t brought you out of it, then keep going until you’re finished and you release yourself.”

“Right. Let’s go.”

Jesus, it’s cold here. What the hell? Where am I?

“Don’t look down, yo,” rumbles a voice.

I look down.

“I told you not to,” he says as I slide backwards away from the edge. “Scared of heights, and you pick a fucking skyscraper to do this? You’re mad. You’re fucking mad.”

I turn to look at the speaker and have to bite down to keep from yelling. It’s me - a perfect doppelganger to the exact movements and facial expressions. At least, how I imagine my facial expressions look like in person.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking,” he says - I say? I shake my head, trying to keep the pronouns straight. “How in the world am I having a conversation with myself?”

“Honestly, it didn’t occur to me,” I begin.

“Liar,” he says. “I’m you. I can read your mind, and you can read mine, with enough time. Anyway, the old man outside made this. You’d gotten as far as you could with outside help, so it was time to take the struggle inside, y’know?”

“How does it work?” I ask.

He shrugs.

“I can’t say. I don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter, though. It’s not my job to care about that. Put it out of your head.”

“What’s the point of this, anyway, then?”

“That’s a better question,” he says. He jumps off the fire escape railing and begins sauntering towards you.

“This is about you, of course. It always has been, always will be. I’m you. I’m pretty invested in keeping you alive and sane and all that shit - anything to keep you from turning into a nervous wreck is pretty much my prerogative. If you die, I die, and I’d rather not have that.

“That means that I do anything I can to keep you functional. In here, I have full control, more or less. The old man can intervene if he thinks I’m about to break you beyond what’s fair, but I’m pretty sure things won’t come to that. I’ll break some bones, mess with your head, but I’m here to make you think.”

“But why, though? I’ve been doing good. I’m done my term. I’m back with my folks. I’m in a good place. I’ve got a sick gig or two coming up, I’m growing and I love life and I love the people around me. I’m good. I don’t need this.”

He slaps me pretty hard, wincing as he does so.

“Think again. You’re done your term. So what? You’re at home. So what? You’re in love, you’re loving, you’ve got love to give out? I don’t give a fuck. The problem is that you’re dangerously close to backsliding - letting all that progress you’ve fought for go to waste. I’ve been in here locked up for too long now, and I’m not about to let the growth fall away. We’re here to see you win, y’know? Do better, be better, all that shit.”

“Backsliding,” I repeat. “How so?”

He raises an eyebrow at me.

“So how’s that freelance search going? Have you talked to your folks about the trip you’re thinking of for the next little while? Are you playing your sport this year? Are you shooting with those folks you put on the backburner? Will you be starting that project with your buddy? How about that girl you’re friends with - where’s that at-”

Now it’s my turn to hit him - an easy punch to the jaw. Almost immediately, I taste the copper in my mouth and my mouth fills with blood. I yell and spit a tooth out, tears filling my eyes.

“Oh yeah,” he chokes. “That’s another thing the old man’s got going on. You hurt me, I feel it. I hurt you, I feel it. He says it’ll help us resolve things with our words and not our fists. But you’re not violent - at least, that aspect of you, anyway.” He wipes blood from his mouth, the molar in his other hand.

“Right,” I say. “Okay, I get it. Confidence is lacking.”

“You’re telling me,” he says. “Fuck, man. A year ago, we were something else! We were putting ourselves out there, taking opportunities on, going beyond ourselves. And now, look at us. Look at you! You’re a fucking waste. All you do is sleep and live in your head!”

I look at him at the last bit.

“Okay. Bad choice of words, but you get my drift. There’s no action. I don’t like that. I don’t like stagnation - this zero-progression shit is not what I’m here for. Do something about it.”

He looks down at the watch on his wrist.

“Time’s up for today,” he says with a sigh. “It’s a shame. I could stand to beat your ass down a bit more, too.”

“Masochist,” I grin. He winks.

“Right back at you, baby boy.” He looks up into the sky. The clouds are swirling a bit above us, and an eye is forming above the skyscraper.

“Yeah, that’s your ride out of here. Close your eyes, count to ten, and you’ll be back in his office in no time. Sound good?”

He’s shouting his words as the storm bears down on us, and I’m struggling to hear them. I nod, though, and the wind and rain begins to pelt even harder.

“And kid!”

“Yeah?” I shout through the storm.

“There’s never going to be a perfect time. Get it over with.” He turns and waves a hand lazily over his shoulder as the eye hits, and the last thing I think before I’m sucked in is how stupid of a goodbye gesture that is.

I so need to get rid of that.

“So?”

“That was nuts! How long have you been working on that?”

“It’s been in the works for a few mill - a long time, really. It’s not something I use often, but it works wonders. Having sessions with yourself is something fantastic and everyone should take time to reflect on themselves in their day.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re not convinced.”

“Not yet. He hit me pretty hard.”

“You could say that you hit yourself pretty hard, too. That punch was something else. It’s a good thing you don’t feel it in the real world - you’d have knocked yourself out in this chair.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“I think you just did.”

“Funny. Do you think that I’m not doing okay? I think I’m good. I think I feel fine - comfy, some would say-”

“Nobody says that.”

“Irrelevant. The point is, I feel good. I think I’m good. I think I’m in a good place right now.”

He’s silent a moment.

“You’re definitely good. But you’re also not being challenged, and that’s the problem. Life is going to get hard again, and if it doesn’t, another semester will come. You will be stretched out of your comfort zone. People will come in and out of your life, and life has a funny way of working against you when you’ve set your mind to something. It makes the end result much sweeter, but you have to be willing to work to get there, and that’s what I’d like for you. I want you to have that backbone, that courage. I need for you to have something to keep close when the days are rough, when you feel like no one is there, when your voice is shot from yelling. Core values, principles, whatever. The point is that you need to have that in your locker, so when you’re up on the 89th and you need that away goal, you can deliver. Because you’ll have done it in practice, and as we all know, luck is practice plus opportunity.”

“Good reference. Good quote, actually,” I laugh. “Alright. That’s fair. I get it. I’ll keep that in mind. Can I go now?”

“That’s all for today. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“Always.”

#therapy

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omginstantpaperbouquetblr · 7 years

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Richard Rubenstein

Comrades and friends, I am not writing to advise you how to resist the Trump regime. There are as many action proposals in circulation as there are anti-Trump groups, with “resistance” the buzzword of the moment. But resistance against what, exactly, and for what purposes? Most of the tactical proposals I have seen are strangely devoid of political content. It seems that anti-Trump is more a mood than a movement with shared aims. It is a negative sentiment shared by most of the identity and interest groups that formed part of the Democratic Party coalition (or, as the President himself would put it, by the losers) during the 2016 election.

The spread of public protests against the new regime’s immigration ban and other initiatives is heartening to those who oppose these measures. Yet, protest by itself doesn’t create a movement. Spending one’s days reacting to Donald Trump’s misstatements, prejudices, and cruelties risks repeating the mistakes of the presidential campaign, when the country split 50-50, more or less, and a right-wing populist appeal aimed primarily at working class Americans generated an electoral vote majority for the Tweeter-in-Chief. Outrage provoked by Trump’s character, rhetoric, and behavior is inevitable. Even so, this is a time for hard thinking and conversation, not just outraged action. (This is the point of Slavoj Zizek’s 2015 video, “Don’t act, just think.” Take a look at it at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLOTi2498xg.)

We dearly need to spend more time talking with each other about what the underlying problems are and what kinds of organization and action are needed to start solving them. I have a few preliminary ideas about how to frame the issues requiring discussion. If you find any of them interesting, let’s talk further about what a credible program for real change would look like, and how to organize a coherent movement to realize it.

Idea #1: Trumpism is a symptom, not the disease.

Once upon a time, the American system started to fail. On the economic front, vast areas of the country de-industrialized, wages stagnated, inequality soared, and poverty or near-poverty became endemic. So did criminal activity, police violence, substance abuse, mental illness, community decay, and other ills associated with socioeconomic stagnation and decline. Family and communal bonds frayed under the pressure. Public schools became increasingly dysfunctional. In politics, the two-party system produced little more than partisanship, gridlock, endless foreign wars, and a bureaucracy dedicated to serving favored interest groups. Americans insecure about their declining status felt threatened by the slippage of their influence abroad and the challenges of changing mores and multiculturalism at home. Discontent finally reached the point that workers and middle class folk long associated with the Democratic Party in key states like Michigan, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Wisconsin, and Florida abandoned the Democrats in sufficient numbers to hand a new type of Republican – the nationalist/populist Donald Trump – a presidential victory.

A system in trouble – a sociopolitical structure that regularly produces shattered hopes and civil violence – is the problem. Trumpism is a symptom of our failure to solve it. Worse yet, by offering a set of generically false solutions, it almost inevitably ensures that systemic failures will continue. What I mean by “generically false” can be illustrated by a syllogism:

(1) The American social system remains basically healthy;

(2) But all sorts of social ills and dangers to Americans are multiplying.

(3) Ergo, the sources of these ills and dangers must lie mostly outside the system. The troublemakers are foreign governments, terrorists, and immigrants, abetted by local groups that put their own interests ahead of those of the Nation and domestic leaders who lack the determination, courage, and toughness needed to deal with these threats. In other words, these sources of decline are not only “un-American” for the most part, but also un-structural; they are produced by personal characteristics like malice, greed, laziness, and – above all – failures of willpower. (A propaganda movie commissioned by the new administration might well be called “The Triumph of the Will.”)

But isn’t this also the way many of the President’s opponents also think? I have heard anti-Trump activists blame the loss of the election on foreigners (Vladimir Putin, in particular), domestic racists and other misguided “deplorables,” Hillary Clinton’s lack of charisma, and the arrogance and dogmatism of the anti-Clinton Left. I have also heard them dwell obsessively on Trump’s personal failings and peculiarities, his and his followers’ racial and religious prejudices, the anti-scientific known-nothing-ism of the climate change deniers, and the Far Right’s maleficent intentions to enrich the rich and persecute the poor. No doubt, Trump’s “America First” rhetoric and belligerent behavior invite a counter-attack in kind. Yet playing the personalist game leaves the country very close to where it was in November 2016 – divided roughly 50/50, with at least half the nation aggrieved and alienated by the results of system failure. This suggests a second notion:

Idea #2: The problem isn’t Donald Trump’s or Steve Bannon’s ‘radicalism.’ Oppositionists need to be more radical than they are, not less.

Consider the President’s inaugural speech, an angry tirade that described closed factories scattered “like tombstones” across the land, “carnage” in city streets, and America as a global power in decline. This rhetoric the New York Times and Washington Post found shocking – just shocking! Things aren’t nearly so bad as the upstart realtor alleged, they replied. Business is recovering, the crime rate is falling, and we really are “great,” just as Hillary said.

Have liberals learned so little from the naqba of 2016? Anti-Trumps flaunting their own rectitude and high-culture credentials continue to talk about Trump like a Henry James heroine appraising a fortune-hunting adventurer. What a vulgar upstart the fellow is! How rude and obnoxious! Whatever one thinks of Trump’s breeding and motives, however, things are not ok for working people in America. The new president’s references to industrial tombstones and urban carnage seemed perfectly accurate to a great many of them. That (plus racial and religious ressentiment) is why so many either voted for him last November or stayed home.

We need to be more radical than Trump, not less. This means understanding that America’s social problems are systemic, and that solving them will probably mean changing the system in some basic ways. I argue in a recent book (Resolving Structural Conflicts: How Violent Systems Can Be Transformed) that the alternative to systemic criticism and change is “partisan moralism” – a type of thinking that blames all one’s social and political problems on the other side’s personal defects. This is what happens when liberal critics characterize the President and his cronies as bad boys and girls out to challenge the rules of respectability, conventional diplomacy, world order, and free trade.

I do not mean to oversimplify this issue. There can be a spillover from behavior that is simply rude and boorish to behavior that endangers democratic norms. Trump’s angry attacks on judges, journalists, and political opponents are troubling. Even so, there is something inherently conservative, isn’t there, about this constant criticism of the man’s “uncivilized” behavior? Such attacks are aimed at rallying all the forces of Order, from Wall Street bankers to well brought-up Bernie-ites, to resist changes threatened by the new regime. Take a look at Thomas Friedman’s or David Brooks’s op-ed pieces for the New York Times and you will see how upset neoliberal critics are by the President’s defiance of traditional norms and the elites that support them. Such critics slide easily from disapproving of Trump’s vulgar tweets to condemning his heretical views on NATO and Russia.

Most important, focusing on Trump’s personal failings keeps us from confronting the more serious challenges of his and Bannon’s proposed New Order.. In a brilliant article in Dissent magazine, the philosopher Nancy Fraser describes and analyzes the Clintonite alliance between identity groups seeking emancipation and corporate elites that fell apart in November 2016. “Progressive liberalism,” she declares, is over (http://ift.tt/2iAflbX). The need to develop an alternative “progressive populist” program raises at least three crucial questions for anti-Trump forces and, ultimately, for pro-Trump groups as well. These topics are (a) economic restructuring, (b) ethical globalism, and (c) democratic (small “d”) renewal. Each topic, I suggest, requires a different type of public discussion. Let’s take a closer look at them.

Idea #3: We need to talk together NOW about alternatives to “economic nationalism” and the capitalist system.

At a time like this, it may seem counterintuitive to put radical economic reform on the political agenda. Faced with Trumpism and its dangers, there is an understandable tendency for people to shun debates that might threaten to disunite the opposition. But an opposition consisting primarily of racial, ethnic, sexual, and religious identity groups is already disunited. An opposition that seeks to join anti-Trump progressives with anti-Trump conservatives is even more so – it constitutes what old-time leftists used to call a “rotten bloc.” Subordinating the issue of social class to a mélange of other causes seems to me a potentially fatal error.

Here’s why. If the capitalist system, as it operates today in America and elsewhere, is basically healthy – if all that is needed to put people to work, satisfy their basic needs, and restore their faith in economic progress are moderate reforms such as liberal proposals to tax the rich or conservative proposals to “untax” and deregulate them, there is no need to think about more radical changes. But if the system is basically in crisis – if, without major changes, another generation of working and middle class people will likely be condemned to poverty, precarity, and social demoralization – we need to talk now about how to reconstruct the economy. In fact, if the system is not fundamentally healthy, the choice will not be between liberalism and conservatism at all, but between some form of fascism and some form of socialism.

We can already see this choice hovering on the horizon. In winning the 2016 election, Donald Trump appealed to the half-hidden racism, misogyny, and xenophobia of white people fearful of losing social status and political clout. But these appeals would have gotten nowhere without a socioeconomic program designed to capitalize on working class misery – a goulash that can be summed up in two words: economic nationalism. Noting – correctly – that American working people have been exploited or neglected for decades by powerful globalizing interests (interests absurdly labeled “Washington” by right wing ideologues), Trump and Bannon promise to restore domestic industries and the workers dependent upon them to health by adopting an “America First” economic program. More specifically, they propose to compel big companies to keep their production facilities in the U.S., jawbone Big Pharma into lowering drug prices, tax or place tariffs on manufactured imports, slash taxes on the rich and super-rich, relieve Wall Street investors and companies of “burdensome” government regulations, cancel or renegotiate trade agreements, modernize and expand U.S. military forces, and – the piece de resistance – initiate a huge new public works program to rebuild roads, bridges, dams, the electrical grid, and other elements of the national infrastructure.

We have not yet seen these proposals put in the form of legislation or executive orders, but that will surely happen. Robert Reich and other Democratic liberals have criticized them as “trickle down economics dressed in populist garb,” opining that they will further enrich the wealthy without creating jobs, raising wages, reducing poverty, or mitigating inequality. Interestingly, many conservatives agree that Trump’s populism will remain a matter of symbolic gestures, while market forces ultimately decide which companies move abroad or stay put, how drugs are priced, how high tariff levels go, whether or not to replace live workers with machines, and so forth. What these middle-of-the-road opinions ignore, however, is that, if the economy continues to stagnate and to generate inequality, Trump/Bannon’s economic nationalism could turn out to be a lot more like Benito Mussolini’s New Order than Ronald Reagan’s Morning in America.

Suppose that the proposed program to rebuild the infrastructure (already endorsed by two national unions of construction workers) does not create that many jobs or raise incomes substantially. Even so, it may give the impression that the regime is trying to put the working class back on its feet. More important, if a limited program of government intervention doesn’t work, America First economics, already tending toward corporatism, “fortress America” autarky, and forcing business executives to behave, could move in a consciously authoritarian (i.e., fascist) direction. For example, the regime could sponsor a larger public works program under regulations dictating the terms of employment, limiting automation, sponsoring “friendly” trade unions, and interfering with the labor market in other ways. (That’s what Mussolini did.) Worse yet, if economic growth proves too slow to offset the budgetary deficits produced by tax cuts and public works spending, Trump & Co. could attempt to solve that problem by involving the nation in a major war. (That’s what Hitler did.)

People worried about what Richard Falk calls the current regime’s “pre-fascist” leanings need to talk now about alternative forms of economic restructuring that could restore the American and global economies to health. A discussion of socialist measures, among others, seems overdue. Clearly, since many Americans have been taught to identify “the S word” with totalitarianism, one immediate task will be to show in practical terms how activist governments, local as well as national, can operate under the effective control of working people rather than some bureaucratic elite. At the same time, discussants should look with a critical eye at European versions of social democracy that have tried to give capitalism a human face, but without solving economic problems at a fundamental structural level. (Bernie Sanders’ proposals, interesting though they were, never reached this level either.)

The discussions we need – and which a number of us hope to organize soon – should include a wide range of social visions ranging from Bernie’s reform proposals to more radical approaches being advanced by Marxists, cooperativists, Greens, feminists, and others. Economic libertarians should not be turned away either, if they have something to contribute to the discussion. These ideas may not be able to be implemented immediately, but that’s ok. The point is to be ready for the crucial moments when working people understand that economic nationalism doesn’t work, and when they begin searching in earnest for more thoroughgoing and effective answers.

Idea #4: ‘America First’ is a moral abomination. We need to discuss the possibility of developing Ethical Globalism as a realistic, morally satisfying alternative to nation-worship.

Watching people who consider themselves progressive responding to the new government’s “America First” proposals is a bit like viewing a professional wrestling match. The wrestlers try to outsmart and outperform each other, but it doesn’t matter in the end, since the game is phony by definition. What difference does it make who “wins,” when the only real winner is the World Wrestling Federation?

So, when Donald Trump preaches that American workers are underemployed because their jobs have been outsourced, some progressives agree, while others mutter about jobs being lost to automation. Few or none challenge the assumption that putting Americans to work is far more important than finding jobs for Greek, Egyptian, or Chinese workers. Similarly, when Trump proposes to close our borders to immigrants, his opponents answer that immigrants don’t take American jobs or commit many crimes, and that immigration is good for America. They hardly ever argue that people living in impoverished, violence-ridden nations have a right to emigrate and to make better lives for themselves elsewhere. Ditto where the question concerns America’s world “leadership” (a euphemism for military hegemony). The liberals think that soft power is better than the harder sort, but they have very little to say about the fundamental concept of hegemonic leadership. In fact, they blame Donald Trump for weakening U.S. power by cozying up to the Russians and challenging “traditional” concepts of a world order policed by American diplomats and troops.

The game is fixed when the assertion that America should be First is answered, as it almost always is, “Yes, but not by doing violent or repressive things to vulnerable people.” Anti-Trumps hardly ever answer, “No, America shouldn’t be First. Nobody should be First.”

Why don’t most liberals they call out the America Firsters? One possibility is that they share the same faith, although their expressions of it are more civilized than those of crude fundamentalists. (High Church Firsters, one might call them!) Another possibility is that many are actually ethical globalists – people who believe in the essential equality of all humans and in the need to construct a global commonwealth dedicated to peace and social justice. The problem, in their view, is that realizing this vision is not feasible in the current sociopolitical environment, and that expressing it will isolate its advocates and strengthen the most reactionary and fascistic elements of the nationalist movement.

Very well. Let’s distinguish what is morally and politically right from what is immediately feasible. Clearly, underemployed workers and struggling middle class folks want jobs, opportunities, and assistance, not lectures on the rights of underemployed foreigners and refugees. At the same time, though, if our countrymen and women don’t understand that the interdependence of American society with all other societies is a fact, not “fake news,” they will be doomed to live in an increasingly dangerous fantasy world. We can’t let them continue, unchallenged, to equate globalism with the globalization of capital! We need to discuss how to help them understand that the welfare and security of American working people depend on empowering and enriching workers around the globe. And the same thing is true when the topic is America’s alleged cultural superiority to other peoples. Those opposed to the current wave of nation-worship need to talk with religious and ethical leaders about how to spread the word (actually, the Good News) that there are no Chosen nations, and that we are no more or less deserving of wealth and security than the other people inhabiting this planet.

Ditto with regard to the assumption that world society is a jungle (or a “clash of civilizations”) in which we Americans must either kill or be killed. We need to discuss how best to explain that the natural (and obtainable) condition of humankind is not a war of each against all, but a cooperative global commonwealth. Rabbi Michael Lerner and Frida Berrigan put the matter nicely when they call for a new type of patriotism “that embraces all peoples and all national traditions and cultures even while celebrating one's own cultures and traditions” (http://ift.tt/2l3VTX8). Religious and ethical leaders can recognize and help others recognize that America First thinking, which makes the Nation the supreme value, is not patriotism. It is simply the latest form of Baal-worship.

Idea #5: We need to come together in local and national assemblies to rethink and renovate American democracy.

There seems little reason to doubt that recent political events in the United States are the result of systemic problems, not just anomalous circumstances. Yes, Russians hackers may have meddled in the 2016 election. Yes, F.B.I. Director Comey made prejudicial comments when he should have kept his mouth shut. Still, when one considers the structural factors that contributed to a chaotic, vituperative, money-ridden electoral contest, the matter speaks for itself.

By 2016, the two major political parties, increasingly partisan and ineffective, had lost the nation’s confidence, and people’s distrust of government had reached an all-time high. Both parties suffered significant internal splits during their nominating campaigns and nominated presidential candidates with sky high disapproval ratings. In the election itself, the winning candidate ran as much against his own party’s leaders as on their behalf. On Election Day more than 90 million eligible voters stayed home. The percentage that voted was 57.9%, the lowest turnout since the year 2000, and the new president’s initial approval ratings were the lowest ever recorded.

Meanwhile, the divisions among Americans exposed and exacerbated by the campaign continue to intensify. This is not, it seems clear, merely the product of President Trump’s pugnacity. Five months before the election, the Pew Research Center reported that, “For the first time in surveys dating to 1992, majorities in both parties express not just unfavorable but very unfavorable views of the other party. And today, sizable shares of both Democrats and Republicans say the other party stirs feelings of not just frustration, but fear and anger” (http://ift.tt/28Q0k2w). Following Mr. Trump’s victory, not only were increases reported in acts of politically motivated violence, but also popular dating websites revealed that their clients were insisting that potential dates announce themselves as pro- or anti-Trump. When political differences invade the eroti-sphere, you know that domestic conflicts are escalating!

This situation points to two more questions urgently requiring discussion. First, we know that intergroup struggles in modern America are rooted in both socioeconomic inequalities and a clash of cultures. A glance at the red and blue areas demarcated on the electoral map of 2016, as well as a look at Trump’s recent executive orders, suggests that the “culture wars” analyzed by James Davison Hunter in his famous 1992 study are, if anything, more hotly contested now than they were then, although their foci and dynamics have changed. These divisions, fusing economic, cultural, and religious differences, are intensifying. The question is what can be done to understand them more fully and to mitigate their causes.

The good news is that conflict resolvers have developed several forms of conversation particularly well suited to help parties deal with this sort of conflict. One such form, the interactive or “problem solving” workshop is a confidential, facilitated dialogue, repeated at intervals, that permits participants to explore the deep sources of their mutual alienation and to imagine creative new ways of working things out. Participants can be community or group leaders, people in mid-level roles, or grass roots folks. This process, like certain forms of public dialogue, does not aim at ending the conflict immediately so much as at helping the parties to speak directly to each other, analyze their situation, humanize their adversaries, and discover how to prevent their differences from destroying lives, communities, and people’s peace of mind. In some cases (Northern Ireland was one, Mozambique another), it can even lead the parties to decide to act cooperatively to alter a conflict-generating situation.

A second, related inquiry is this: why is the U.S. political system, which is supposed to manage or resolve these conflicts, failing to do so? What are the structural deficiencies of this system and how can they be remedied? We can start by recognizing that people generally want their government to be both effective and participatory. Effective means that an administration works actively to solve the problems that interfere with achieving public order, freedom, and social justice. Participatory means that the government responds to forces operating from the bottom or middle up, rather than just taking orders from an economic elite or giving orders as a political elite. We need to talk together in local, regional, and national gatherings about how to reconstruct a system that lacks both effectiveness and participation.

The problem is that political institutions designed to manage conflicts and make policies in times of relative domestic peace, when there are few serious divisions of opinion, may break down when confronted by intense and long-lasting differences of the sort that now divide so many Americans. The two-party system, for example, seems to work best when there is considerable overlap between the political coalitions that constitute each party, since this permits relative “moderates” on each side to negotiate and reach compromise agreements. When the coalitions do not overlap and the parties separate ideologically, what stabilized the system in more peaceful times can turn out to be a source of instability, like an ocean liner’s stabilizers capsizing the ship in a heavy storm. In heavy political storms, some people believe that a multi-party system provides a better basis for governing effectively than a two-party system, since it may help satisfy people’s needs for effective government and meaningful participation.

Let’s talk about the two party system, but also about institutions like the American system of campaign financing, widely considered to be a thinly disguised form of officially sanctioned bribery. People interested in renovating democracy could also reconsider our winner-take-all voting systems, which prevent political minorities from sharing power (or, in the case of the electoral vote system, which disempower electoral majorities!). Would more participatory systems, like the cumulative voting used in some states and nations, be an improvement?

Finally, such discussions could be expanded well beyond electoral issues. For example, we know there are non-adversarial methods of problem solving, open to public participation, which may work better in some situations than the traditional methods of power politics. How might we move from a win-lose political culture towards cooperative problem solving?

I don’t have convincing answers to such questions. The only thing I’m certain of, in the words of the late Joan Rivers, is that “We need to talk” – and not just about Donald Trump’s foibles! The controversial presidential campaign and Mr. Trump’s activities in office have generated a great wave of political anxiety and interest in the country, but unless his opponents find ways to focus their thinking on a discrete number of vital issues – and unless they begin to discover creative, practical solutions to underlying systemic problems – the wave could leave them beached. (Remember the Occupy movement.)

Resist what needs to be resisted? Certainly! But, whatever else happens, let’s start talking now about what we are for, not just what we are against – that is about transformative solutions to real social problems.

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#NEWS

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