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suits-of-woe · 4 years

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Yet Edmund Was Belov’d

Shakespeare Appreciation Week — Day 4: Villains Day

So...you all knew who this day was going to be about. What better day to show my love for everyone’s favourite bastard? Thanks @harry-leroy for always enabling me. But I figured I’d appreciate more than one Lear villain I stan by posting the full version of an Edmund/Goneril fic I wrote ages ago that sparked my love for this disaster ship.

I wish I’d written something new, but my creativity levels have been negative all quarantine. Writing this last year was basically my gateway drug to thinking about a lot of dynamics that don’t appear here because I hadn’t thought of them yet. So I’m not super pleased with this, but it’s what I’ve got.

This fic is called “WHY did William Shakespeare leave the two loneliest characters in King Lear to die offstage and ALONE and expect me to be okay?” So I remedied that, a bit. Tw for death (including semi-graphic details of death by stabbing) and suicide. Slight AU in how 5.3 plays out, but the outcome is the same.

As the servant rushes off with the bloody knife clutched in his hand, and the other attendants take no time to scatter and disappear from sight, Goneril is the only person left in front of Albany’s tent. Unless she can count Regan, she supposes, but given that Regan is truly gone now, a body without mind, all at her sister’s hand...well, she probably can’t. It’s a thought too overwhelming to sit with. Her mind races. As does her heart, which is still pumping steadily, all the blood in her body strictly confined under the unscathed surface of her skin. She makes an effort to quiet her breathing, just in case any whisper of the sound might reach a lingering witness. Starting now, Goneril is supposed to be dead.

It’s an absurd plan. Nothing resembling a long-term solution, but it was the only thing occurred to her in the frantic moment when she realized her husband had finally grown half a vertebra at precisely the wrong time. It was easy enough to achieve. The servants were eager to help for a small price; Oswald had been her best, of course, but she still had more than her share of loyal followers. She’d had the knife already. All she had really needed was a body to bloody it with, and helpfully, she’d already supplied one of those for herself.

The wound in Regan’s chest is still open and flowing freely, and Goneril dips her hands in it to begin creating the illusion of a matching one on herself. She doesn’t feel guilty for stabbing her, not exactly. The only thing Regan had to look forward to was ten minutes of slowly choking to death; if anything, Goneril did her a favor. It’s just that she can see too much of her sister from this angle, leaning down so close. There’s the tiny scar above her eyebrow she got falling down the stairs as a young girl. The red hair intricately braided, just like their mother taught them. The gold chain around her throat – given to her by her husband – and the love bite near the base of her neck that most certainly was not. It’s impossible to look at Regan and feel nothing.

But it’s not Regan she thinks of as she arranges herself on the ground in a relatively comfortable position, peeking through her lashes at the surrounding tents. She made her choice. She did not choose Regan. She has to live with that choice now, or die with it, and the only reason she’s not dead yet is the tiny shred of hope that maybe she didn’t choose wrong. It’s wishful thinking. Implausible, and only not impossible because Edmund is the only man she’s ever met who might be that clever. They think alike. So alike, that maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance he’s exactly as wounded as she is dead.

The approach of footsteps makes her quiet her thoughts. It’s two or three men – three, she sees when she opens her eyes a sliver more – carrying a stretcher. She goes hot and cold all at once. Those black curls – and he’s not moving, but then, neither is she, and when one of the men looks at her for a long moment, he seems convinced. She holds her breath for good measure. The men move out of sight. She can hear them set the stretcher down. They leave. She’s alone with him, finally.

She forces herself to wait a minute. No signs of movement yet, but she’s still equally frozen. Drying blood is surprisingly sticky. Her breaths are too loud. She can’t make out his.

When she loses count around thirty seconds, she gets to her feet. A gust of wind blows her hair in her face. She moves ghostlike, a lump caught in her throat, as she makes her way to his side. His eyes are closed, but she knows from one look the blood is all his. He’s more gasping than breathing. After everything today, there’s little semblance of a world to be swept out from beneath her feet, but she’s still not prepared for the way her stomach drops. He’s Edmund. Pain doesn’t suit him.

“My Gloucester,” she says softly, at a loss for anything else.

“Not yours or Gloucester,” he mutters back, his mouth twisted into a tight grimace, “anymore.”

His eyes come open, violently bright green, and for a moment Goneril is sure he can’t be dying, not when that sharp look in them hasn’t faded a bit.

“I thought you were dead,” he says.

“I know. I thought maybe you...”

“Weren’t? Well. Sorry to disappoint.”

He’s already stopped looking at her. There’s something distant in his expression too, and it must be the most ridiculous time in the world for Goneril to feel lonely of all things, and yet...

“I thought if...I mean, even if the Duke knows, I still have followers.” She can hear her voice rising, growing higher and more frantic. There’s no point telling him this now, but she can’t seem to stop. “And if we’d bided our time then maybe...or we could leave together, get away from—”

“Stop,” Edmund cuts her off. “You’ll—you’ll hate me now.”

“Hate you? For losing a duel?”

Maybe she should, or would, if he were anyone else, or if she had anyone else. But for now, she seems to have used up enough rage that there’s none left for him.

“No. I...I tried—”

The cry comes from the camp before he can finish his sentence. It’s a ragged, unearthly sound, a distillation of anguish so pure it makes Goneril want to climb out of her skin. And that’s before she recognizes his voice, and the howled sound of her sister’s name.

“Tried to save them,” Edmund finishes. He’s laughing, if it can be called that. Laughing until he begins to cough and blood dribbles from the corner of his mouth. If her father’s cries weren’t still echoing toward them Goneril would say it was the most miserable sound she’d heard in her life. “It’s just nature. I should’ve known. Once you set it in motion it doesn’t care.” He coughs again, weaker. “Guess I made you hate me for nothing.”

For a moment, she’s too numb to process any of it. But the wailing hasn’t stopped, and she makes herself go through the facts if only to occupy her mind.

Cordelia is dead. She expected that. They’d discussed it, almost, in that veiled way they discussed anything pertaining to their families. Cordelia is dead, yes, but that’s not all. Regan is dead. Goneril is supposed to be dead, but she isn’t. Edmund will be dead soon, but he isn’t yet, and he’s the reason Cordelia is dead, but also the reason her father is still alive and making those noises. He must be.

“Why?” It’s the only word to make it out of Goneril’s throat. He’s right. She should hate him for this, for making her listen. It’s just that the thought exhausts her.

“I told you,” Edmund says. “I thought you were dead.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“I thought...” He sighs. “I thought maybe I could have changed it. Not now, but before. If I did what...what was supposed to be right. If it felt any different. Better.”

“And?” Goneril’s muscles are locked. He still won’t look at her, and she can’t look anywhere else. “Did it feel different?”

“Maybe. For a moment. Before I knew it didn’t change a thing.”

She doesn’t have a response to that. Neither does he. There’s nothing good to look at, but closing her eyes only leaves Edmund’s struggling breaths and her father’s distant cries.

Cordelia!

If shattered glass could speak, Goneril imagines it would sound something like this. Otherwise, there’s no way she can possibly describe it.

Cordelia, Cordelia!

No one would guess the man had three daughters.

Regan’s blood is stiffening the fabric of Goneril’s dress, and for a second Goneril feels the urge to try and shove it back into her sister’s veins, to seal up the wound, make her undrink the poison, bring back the one person who would understand this unique agony. Regan used to understand. She used to be right there with her, once Cordelia was there and their mother was gone; she knew what it was to watch her sister be loved when she was tolerated at best. They’d had the same hunger in their eyes in those days. Once or twice, they talked about it. They shared the same daydreams, not of wildly handsome fairytale princes but of plainer men, men who might one day care. Mostly, they didn’t talk, but sometimes they’d be silent and just hold each other, because no one else was around to do it for them.

Cordelia!

They must have told him. And her husband certainly knows, even if her father doesn’t, yet she hasn’t heard her name once. Goneril is supposed to be dead, and there’s not a person living who’s grieving for her.

She can’t do this alone. Whatever he’s done, she just can’t.

“What happened?” Her words come out frantic, rushed, as she looks down and sees Edmund’s eyes are closed and she’s struck by a bolt of fear that he’s already gone. But he isn’t. The eyes open, duller, but defiantly alive. “I still don’t understand it. How did they find out? Who told my husband? Who was that man?”

“My brother.” He shakes his head, a half smirk forming on his bloody lips. “Suppose it’s...only fair. The wheel...”

“But how?” She needs to cut him off, or the defeat in his voice might just kill her for real. “How did he find you? How did he even know?”

“He found my father,” Edmund starts. “I don’t know how...he was disguised, he must have—”

“Your father?” It really couldn’t matter less, but Goneril needs to keep him talking. His voice is too weak, all wrong, but it’s still the only bearable thing to listen to. “The Earl, he survived, he’s alive?”

“Was.” He starts to laugh, chokes again. Blood splatters Goneril’s chest and neck. “Until my brother told him who he was. His heart couldn’t take it. Said he...he died of joy.”

He looks at her now, really looks at her.

“Love,” Edmund says. His breath rattles in his chest. “Ha.”

The sounds from the camp have finally gone silent. Goneril is thinking of old men, dead men, dead of joy or despair or love, but not for her, and not for him either. She is thinking of the hunger in Edmund’s painfully vivid eyes. The tenderness she feels toward him is stronger than she thought herself capable of.

But she doesn’t act on it. The rage in the back of her mind is not quite burnt out. Not yet.

“Did you love her?” Goneril asks. She needs to know. And maybe she won’t really, maybe he’ll just lie to her, but she at least needs to hear it.

Regan used to understand. She used to, and Goneril used to think she always would, she would always be there on nights like Goneril’s wedding night, when Regan was the only one to see her cry. But when Regan’s wedding came, she wasn’t crying. She was smiling like a woman with the warm comfortable glow of knowing she was cherished, and suddenly Goneril didn’t know her anymore. It wasn’t fair. She must have known that. She had it all, had everything Goneril had always wanted; it was only her bad luck that Cornwall went first and she had no one crying for her now. Cornwall would have burned down the world for her, Cornwall would have torn whoever killed her to pieces with his bare hands, and Regan must have known it. She had that love, that love that could move mountains and halt planets and break literal hearts, she must have had it and it must have been everything Goneril imagined because the second it was gone she had to do everything she could to get it back. But how dare she? How dare she tear it from Goneril’s own hands, how dare she when she had only lived without it for a few days and Goneril had never even had a taste of it in the first place?

Her face is burning again just to think of it, her heart racing out of control. Edmund’s voice pulls her back to the present.

“I don’t know,” he says, and there’s no trace of the smooth deception she’s come to know so well. “She loved me, and I think I loved that.”

She could ask him the same question about herself. There’s no real reason to think she would get a different answer. But it doesn’t matter anymore. They do think alike, Goneril knows now. They understand each other. Neither of them has ever been worth grieving for.

Edmund gasps and shivers and screws his eyes shut, muttering something Goneril can’t catch, and that’s when she knows what she has to do. There are no more lives for her to try and save, but she can give him this.

“My love.” When she kisses him, it’s with too much passion for a dying man. She tastes blood, but when she pulls away, there’s something like joy mingled with the pain on his face. “My Edmund.”

He doesn’t speak, and she’s not sure if she can anymore. She holds him instead. He’s heavier than she expected, limp and unresisting in her arms, but she clutches him close, feeling his the irregular rise and fall of his chest. He clasps weakly at a handful of the fabric of her dress. She cradles his head, smoothing back the dark curls off his forehead. At least he can’t see the tracks of blood her hands leave on his skin.

When she moves back enough to get a good look at his face, she’s surprised to find silent tears running down his cheeks. She’s equally surprised that she doesn’t mind.

It can’t last. Maybe that’s what makes it halfway bearable, but it can’t, because no matter how tight she holds him it doesn’t stop the dark stain on his abdomen growing wider and wider by the minute. His fingers weaken, twitch, release the hold on her dress. She can feel the labor it takes for him to draw air into his lungs. Every time he breathes she half wishes he wouldn’t.

She doesn’t mean to break the illusion, but it must be agony, and watching it feels crueler than anything else. She makes her voice low, as close to comforting as she can manage, as if she’s only watching a lover drift off to sleep.

“Do you want me to stop it?”

She doesn’t need to gesture to his dagger to know he understands. When he inhales, it sounds like he’s taking in water and not air, but he shakes his head, tears still making tracks in the grime on his face.

“No,” he says, almost inaudible. “Not...not yet. Just—”

He can’t finish. He doesn’t have to.

It might be a nice touch if she could cry for him, Goneril thinks, as she resumes the slow stroking of his hair. It’s only then she realizes her cheeks are already wet.

In one way, it is nothing. He says no more. She says no more. Minutes pass. He stops breathing. Death is that simple, he would say. Only natural.

In another way, it is everything. It is the thing she’s always wanted, the thing he’s always wanted, the culmination of what they’ve both been craving for god knows how long. And then it is gone.

From far away, Goneril can hear shouting and rapid footsteps. The sounds seem imagined at first, intangible next to the weight of Edmund’s cooling body in her arms. But still, they are coming. The time is up, the wheel has turned, and she cannot find enough strength in her legs to try to run.

Regan is gone. Edmund is gone. Her only companion is the dagger at his belt.

She’s already playing the tragic lover for him. She may as well act the last of her part.

#theplaysthething2020 #i have a love hate relationship with this but i wanted to post at least a LITTLE writing this week #there's a lot i would change/add if i were writing it all again #but this is what made me start to ship this unironically so...still fun to share #i'm so dumb why did i think i could write this without starting to ship it for real #i'm a sucker for a deathfic #probably because the fanfic for my otp since age 12 was like 50% deathfics #the POTENTIAL okay #they both want to be loved #king lear #edmund #goneril #otp: yours in the ranks of death #THIS TIME LITERALLY :((((#fic #mine #shakespeare #queue stars keep not their motion in one sphere #this is way too long i'm sorry

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elizadoolittlethings · 6 years

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The Monday Interview: Mark Gatiss - Top of the League

Published: 19:14 Updated: 19:27 Sunday 16 November 2008

ALTHOUGH it's bad form to ogle someone else's husband, I can't help admiring Mark Gatiss's rather sexy legs. They seem to stretch to his neck, meeting a scruffy beard that adds a raffish edge to his air of sexual devilry.

This tastiness is a far cry from the grotesques he's so often portrayed, from his days as a member of The League of Gentlemen, to frizzy-haired, gap-toothed Glen Bulb of Nighty Night, and Doctor Who's maniacal Dr Lazarus.

This dishiness is very on-message, since we're here talking about his third mainstream novel, Black Butterfly, starring charismatic spy extraordinaire Lucifer Box, whose adventures in bisexuality are every bit as breathtaking as his undercover work for monarch and country. Each Box novel visits a different era, allowing Gatiss to pay homage to some of his favourite authors. The Vesuvius Club, set in the early 1900s, evoked Conan Doyle. The Devil in Amber found Box battling Nazis and Stalinists, and was Gatiss's homage to Dennis Wheatley and John Buchan. Preparing for Black Butterfly, set in 1953, heimmersedhimself in Ian Fleming and contemplated the machinations of John le Carr's spies. But for all these acknowledged influences, Lucifer Box is a spy like no other. Gatiss explains: "I am a gay man who loves James Bond films and snooker – all kinds of working-class pursuits. I didn't set out to deliberately respond to themasculinity. I'mfascinatedthat somanyspieswere or are gay,but I also like the idea, which le Carr showed, that the real job is much more prosaic." Surely a great spy would be ruthless enough to shag anything? "Yes, and also back in the day, the natural people to approach were people who were already lying about themselves.When homosexuality was illegal these people already had a different identity. What's interesting is that simultaneously to recruiting known homosexuals, they were also perceived as a security risk, precisely because of the blackmail thing.The recruiters must have known and actually relied on it, but it was always a worry." "Black Butterfly" is the French nickname for depression, but here it's also the name of a nefarious drug that imbues people with a euphoric sense of infallibility – before propelling them to grisly ends.When Box is poisoned he believes that he's young again – and behaves accordingly – until the antidote is administered by the object of his affections, a dishy CIA operative called Kingdom Kum. With a respectful nod to JaneMarple, I suggest there must be special challenges in writing about a geriatric spy. "I've never been specific, but he's obviously in his late seventies. I thought the thing to do was mention every now and then how much it hurts (to leap about], but if you keep going on about it then readers stop wanting to go on the journey. You have to believe he's still in good shape even though he's very old. "I was thinking about whether therewouldbeany sex scenes and how to handle it; itmademethink that maybe I couldgetawaywith this idea of thedrugmaking him young again. "The bit when he's on the drug was my favourite part to write. I carried a notebook around and wrote in a stream of consciousness way. I found it really liberating. I'd open my eyes on a beach – what did I see? What colour are my eyelids when closed with the sun on them? I was filming in Morocco and noticed a beetle that was like a sculpture rolling down the dunes. I was trying to create very vivid snapshots." Proving that the lines between life and art blur,whilewritingBlack Butterflyhewas sent theDoctorWhoscriptthat foundhimplaying a man in search of eternal youth. "I thought, 'Oh, there's a message here,'" he jokes. At 42, he must be increasingly aware of his ownageing? "I'vebeenhavingthose thoughts since Iwas 20! Evenwhen Iwas a childI always wanted to be older. I realised just in time that it's a mistake and to enjoy my youth while I hadit. If Imeetsomeonearound20,who's a bit like I was, I want to say, 'Get out! Have fun.' Becauseyourknees start togo,myeyes aregoing. Ithappens overnight. In the car, trying to read the A-Z, I'msuddenly like my dad!" He also says he had a youthful morbid streak: "Mymumused to say I had an old soul. As long as I can remember Iwas looking backwards. I remember my mumorganised a singalong for pensioners in about 1970, and I used to love singing the old Blitz songs." He smiles. "They are called Emos now, and before that they were Goths. They didn't have a name for it when I was one, but I was that black-wearing teenager and yes, I wore a little eyeliner. I was really into horror. On the less negative side, I was fascinated by the idea that peoplehadbeenhere beforeme. Ihave a print Julia Davis (the writer and star of Nighty Night] gave me of (my neighbourhood] around the time my house was built, in the 1760s, and it has cows on it, yet it's recognisably the same street. I love that idea of the changes." This historical bent dovetails nicely with his delight in wordplay. The Box novels are peppered with silly names, which often occur to him in the bath, a site he finds conducive to deep thinking. Thus Lucifer's sister is Pandora Box, and his Black Butterfly nemesis, Melissa ffawthawte, is affiliated with nefarious baddies A.C.R.O.N.I.M. My own favourite is the "cadre of psychoanalysts-cum-mercenaries known as the Jung Turks".

Both times we've met, Gatiss has patiently explainedthat itonly looks as thoughheworks night and day, but I'msure you'll agree his output is impressive. In addition to the novel, he recentlywrote (andappearedin) an episode of Poirot, filmed the upcoming TV programme Purves & Pekkala, written and directed by Annie Griffinandfilmedhere in Scotland,and the sitcom Clone, which stars Jonathan Pryce. He's busy writing episodes of the next full season of Doctor Who, for an as yet un-cast (or so he says) Doctor.Knowinghowmuch he coveted the role, andthat he's close friendswith all involved, I try teasing an indiscretion out of him, but Gatiss remains frustratingly closedmouthed. "I haven't a clue. I found David's announcement incredibly moving. I knew he was going, but I love the fact he did it in the interval, dressed as Hamlet, and he was accepting the award, but he had to find the moment to tell everyone. He's going at the top of his game which is always the best and themost difficult thing to do, because I know he loves it." Is there a Hamlet, a Lear, or another classic role he longs to play? Without hesitation, he says, "Oh yes, Richard II. It's a very underrated play, a fabulous part – beautiful. He was a very weak king but there's this fantastic poetry about his desire to stay on the throne despite being incredibly compromised. It has that wonderful line, 'I have wasted time and now doth time waste me.' I'd like to do that." Amidall this activity, Gatiss foundtime, last spring, to get married. He and Ian have been together for nearly a decade, so I wonder if marriage changed their relationship at all. "I feel subtly different," he says. "I don't know what it is, but it's nicer. It was a lovely, very moving day. I was most moved by the notion of our families coming together. My brother said it's the best wedding he's ever beento. Itwasamazing to think that our families were so completely at ease with the whole idea of a gay wedding. And then there was the incredible irony that it took place in Middle Temple underneath a portrait of Sir Edward Carson, the man who prosecuted Oscar Wilde. So when I did my little speech the first thing I did was flick him two fingers. 'This one's for Oscar.'"

Black Butterfly is out now from Simon &Schuster (15).Mark willbein conversation about his work on 18 November at 6:30pm at Waterstone's (Sauchiehall Street) in Glasgow, 0141 332 9105; 19 November at 7pm at Waterstone's (Union Bridge) in Aberdeen, 01224592440; 20 November at 6pm at Waterstone's (West End) in Edinburgh, 0131 226 2666. For more details, contact the stores or log on to: www.simonsays.co.uk

BACKGROUND A FEW things that might surprise you about Mark Gatiss: • The League of Gentlemen won the 1997 Perrier Award for comedy, the first sketch group to win since the awards were inaugurated in 1981. • A massive fan of the show, Gatiss started writing Doctor Who novels (four to date) when he was a penniless actor. • Growing up in County Durham, he lived opposite a psychiatric hospital, where both his parents worked and where he toiled as a gardener during his first year at college. He and Ian are the devoted 'parents' of Bunsen, a Labrador retriever. • He's starred opposite Julia Davis twice –as Glen Bulb in Nighty Night, and again as Johnnie Cradock in Fear of Fanny. • In 2003 he was the script editor for eight episodes of Little Britain. • As French poet Louis Aragon, he played opposite Ewan Bremner's Salvador Dali in Surrealissimo: The Trial of Salvador Dali. The cast list included Stephen Fry (Andre Breton), Vic Reeves (Paul Eluard) and both members of The Mighty Boosh! Read more at: https://www.scotsman.com/lifestyle/the-monday-interview-mark-gatiss-top-of-the-league-1-1147037

#mark gatiss #black butterfly

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gabriel-gabdiel · 3 years

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Keit-AI! Tomoyuki x Seiko Chapter 20: Hook, Line, and Sinker

The secret behind the issue between Tomoyuki Yamamoto and Aya Fubuki.

The rest of the chapters of my original story based on a plot from 4chan are available here. Enjoy.

First | Previous | Next

For what it was worth, Tomoyuki "Cherry Boy" Yamamoto found a way to return the favor to (Alternate Universe) Seiko "Amazon Queen" Okamoto for her thoughtful birthday gift to him.

The best birthday gift he ever got. A trailer for a film that didn't exist in his universe. Seen only by him within his reality.

The trailer for Akira Kurosawa's "Ran". The legendary director's (unintentional) version of William Shakespeare's "King Lear".

What he was about to send to Seiko was in a sense his "White Day" gift for her "Valentine's Day" chocolate.

A return gift of gratitude. A downloaded video from YouTube Japan.

"Hey, Cherry Boy. What's this?" she texted him back.

"Just open the file," he texted in return.

She then texted, "Boo. I thought it's a round or two from Pacquiao- Mayweather, but it's just another one of your Kurosawa film trailers!"

Huh. Maybe he should've sent her a Pac-May clip. Maybe later. "I'll just send you video highlights of it or even their future rematch when it happens. Maybe even on your birthday."

"There's gonna a rematch?! Sweet!" she cheered, only to ask, "So what did you send me?"

"Send it to him. To me. The other me," he answered. "I swear to you, Tomoyuki will love it. I know I do."

She watched the whole thing. All one minute and thirteen seconds of it.

"Cherry Boy, you're a genius! This is the best birthday gift for Tomoyuki since, you know, he canceled on our proposed movie date and all."

Ah. Of course.

AU Miku ended up giving AU Tomoyuki the cold shoulder because he liked AU Seiko's present more than hers, so to make it up to the Class Rep, his other self nixed his date with the Amazon Queen.

Another love triangle had formed in another dimension.

At least the other Okamoto had a love triangle to speak of. He was definitely still in the "Friend Zone" (sorry, Miku) with the Amazon Queen in his universe, her proposal for a pity date aside.

The Amazon Queen that didn't love him as much as this other" her did.

"Sorry," he texted back, pushing his disturbing thoughts at the back of his mind. "But you know what they say about love and war."

"Fair enough, but what do I tell Cherry Boy when I send this video to him? He'll have questions for sure!"

Nodding to no one in particular, Yamamoto replied, "Tell him it's the long-lost and extremely rare alternate trailer for Kagemusha starring Katsu Shintaro instead of Nakadai Tatsuya."

***

Keit-AI! Tomoyuki x Seiko

An Anime-Inspired Original Story from 4chan's /a/ Board by Abdiel

Original Idea by Hataki.

The mystery behind Aya will finally be revealed.

Disclaimer: This work may reference copyrighted material, the use of which has not always been specifically authorized by the copyright owner. It is believed that this constitutes a fair use of any such copyrighted material as provided for in section 107 of the US Copyright Law. All copyrighted material referred to in this work belongs to their respective owners. All rights reserved.

***

Chapter 20: Hook, Line, and Sinker

***

Meanwhile, the Miku Machida in Tomoyuki's universe gave him the opposite of the cold shoulder (A "hot" shoulder? Rubbing shoulders?).

Just like good ol' times, they were again together like white on rice. Talking about Sci-Fi things mixed with cool science facts while walking to class. Again fueling rumors of them being together.

"...Oh, oh, oh! Here's another evidence of the Mandela Effect. Most people remember the Monopoly Man as having no monocle, right? But when you take a look at the box of the board game, he definitely does have a monocle! Spooky, right?" she told him.

Ah, so they were talking about the Mandela Effect again. Misquotes and popular misconceptions mistaken for evidence of parallel worlds and traveling through them.

Except in Tomoyuki's case, the Mandela Effect was all too real.

He patted her head like she was a little kid and smiled at her. "It's very spooky," he said, which made her pout cutely, cross her arms, and turn away from him.

"Don't patronize me!" she said with a harrumph.

Damn, she was so cute when she was annoyed.

Jokingly bullying her was almost worth a taste of the cold shoulder that the (probably jealous) AU Miku was currently giving AU Tomoyuki.

Or maybe he felt like tempting fate for once.

Thankfully, Miku forgot his transgression the next minute, bringing up, "Do you remember how the candy 'KitKat' doesn't have a dash between Kit and Kat? Well, it does! It's actually spelled Kit-Kat"

"Hey, you're right," he said, checking out the nearby snack bar and seeing the Kit-Kat logo having the dash when he remembered otherwise.

She grins. "Amazing, isn't it? I'm telling you, parallel universes exist!"

'You don't have to tell me twice,' he inwardly quipped, taking note that in AU Seiko's universe, it was probably the other way around.

In her universe, KitKat bars probably didn't have dashes and the Monopoly Man most likely didn't have a monocle. Along with other weird things like Michael Jackson, who was brown-skinned, bleaching his skin Caucasian white and having legal issues regarding pedophilia (allegedly).

The old Yamamoto would've been over the moon to have Miku as a best friend, even to the point of fantasizing that they'd somehow end up being more than just friends in the future.

But something changed between them from first year to second year.

That tall, beautiful, athletic, and tomboyish something... or someone... barreled over between them, slinging each of her long arms over their nearest shoulders.

"Hey, Nerds. Still talking about that egghead stuff with the black president guy that's not Obama?"

"It's the Mandela Effect and he's not a president in our universe," reminded Machida. "Here, Mandela died in prison, serving as a symbol of the South African revolution. But so many people wanted him to be president, they all swore he became one. Or maybe it's a memory we had from a different timeline!"

"U-huh. And maybe in a different dimension, Mayweather is a knockout puncher with exciting fights under his belt," the Amazon Queen said, saying the most Seiko thing possible. "I appreciate the man's talent, but boy howdy, am I not looking forward to Mayweather-Pacquiao II."

Tomoyuki then made a mental note to not reveal the actual results of May-Pac to AU Seiko, neglecting to tell her earlier of how initially exciting but ultimately boring the actual fight ended up to be.

The Cherry Boy then averted his gaze from Seiko, the... former object of his affection. The sight of her made his heart ache and long for someone else who was like her but wasn't, making him feel guilty for doing so.

Maybe it was for the best that Okamoto wasn't all that into him after all.

So should he abandon his harebrained scheme to get Seiko and Kazuhito "Yankee" Sugata together, like Megumi Minagata suggested?

Not necessarily.

He'd still do it, but this time expecting a more realistic outcome of either heartbreak or a long-delayed hookup between the childhood sweethearts.

Without unrealistic expectations of the Amazon Queen going for the unlikely third option.

It was the least he could do for the alternate universe counterpart of the girl he loved.

***

Things also went back to normal in Class 2B. Somewhat.

"Hey, New-Half (Trans Woman)," called out Kazuhito (who finally decided to not skip classes) to Seiko.

Okamoto shouted, "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A NEW-HALF!?" followed by a smack on his face. "Stupid Furyou-kun!"

Then the rest of the class began hooting and hollering at them for "acting like a married couple" who could help Japan with its population slump.

All talk of a potential pair-up or even love triangle between the Cherry Boy and the Amazon Queen faded once the heartthrob Sugata finally came back with his usual "married couple" shenanigans with Okamoto.

"As if Cherry Boy ever had a chance with the Amazon Queen while the Yankee is around!" was probably their shared sentiment of the situation.

They all just presumed Yamamoto was friendzoned (as usual), although they were hedging their bets that he'd score a pity date or two with their Iincho (Class Rep) at least.

"Please, you two! Stop fighting! Math Class is about to start," pleaded the mousy Class Rep in her usual adorable, bespectacled way that made Tomoyuki fall for her back in first year.

However, rather than scheme on how to get Machida and Sugata closer together to make Okamoto jealous enough to cross her Rubicon and confront her childhood friend about her long dormant feelings with him, the Cherry Boy started doodling and writing something else at the back of a dog-eared, beat-up notebook.

He couldn't stop thinking about Akira Kurosawa's Ran.

He wanted to write more about it. Research about its connection with King Lear even though, according to AU Seiko, it was a coincidental comparison made by western (foreign) media at best.

For the first time in a long while, he felt inspired to go after his passion and hobbies rather than try to appeal to the interests of others in a bid to "belong" in a clique or a long-term relationship with a girl.

For the longest time, he had been trying too hard to fit in with his peers. Only the closest people in his life know about his passion for writing and movies.

Like the glasses-wearing neighborhood girl he ended up being best friends with. Or, lately, both versions of Seiko Okamoto.

When he was under the mistaken belief that the only way he could improve on himself was to get a girlfriend rather than the other way around, he tended to ingratiate himself to whomsoever he attempted to woo.

In the case of his first crush Yukari Goto, he started taking the late train and gave her a hand whenever her klutziness or ditziness got her into trouble.

In the case of Aya Fubuki, he went to dates with her in all sorts of restaurants even to the point of maxing out his allowance and trying to find a job to supplement his dates, only for her to deny the dates ever took place.

In the case of Mana Otonashi, he really should've figured out he was just her plaything all along when she made her own mother tell him to stop calling her. How embarrassing.

In the case of Miku Machida, he got told hard regarding his clinginess and unrealistic expectations as a "Nice Guy". Even after that, their friendship persisted mostly because he absorbed her otaku knowledge like a sponge until he was able to decipher the "foreign language" she spoke whenever they were around each other.

Finally, in the case of his universe's Seiko Okamoto, he tried using AU Seiko's sports knowledge to better relate with her, only for it to backfire since this was info from a parallel world and not their world.

No one wonder people treated him like a doormat with no true friends to speak of. He really was a try-hard poser, wasn't he?

He made up for his lack of personality by attempting to incorporate the interests and quirks of others so that they'd like him better. Whether he was making friends or wooing girlfriends.

It was only with AU Seiko that he felt he could be himself and showcase the cinemaphile nut and wannabe writer he really was. No other woman made him feel comfortable in his skin like she did.

***

As the Cherry Boy put in the finishing touches to the outline of his new personal passion project (researching about what happened to his universe's Ran and writing his own version of the unfinished work with what little info he'd gotten from AU Seiko so far), he found a letter in his bag.

Curious. Who even gave out letters in this day and age of cellphones, email, and chatrooms?

Although it would've been charming if he and AU Okamoto were communicating through transdimensional mailboxes rather than transdimensional keitai (mobile phones). Just like in the South Korean film "Il Mare" (also known as "Siworae") or its Hollywood remake, "The Lake House".

He opened the envelope and then was greeted with the smell of a long-forgotten flowery scent.

He read its contents. The more he read, the more his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Probably drowning in stomach acid to boot.

Oh shit. Not this again.

Tomoyuki hastily stuffed the letter in his bag, unwilling to humiliate himself in front of Class 2B by cluelessly reading the letter in front of them.

His traumatic experience with Yukari Goto and her mistaken love text to him that was meant for Kazuhito Sugata was still fresh in his mind. Even after all this time.

Speaking of which, Goto's best friend Aya Fubuki was the one who sent him the letter.

The same type of letters she used to slip into his bag or shoe locker when they were freshmen.

The letters she denied giving to him when he confronted her about the dates she swore they never had.

Yeah, he was still kind of sore about that.

What was going on? What was she trying to do?

Miku noticed him and the letter he hid. She was about to ask him about it, but he gave her a begging look to keep things to herself.

Thankfully, his best friend took the hint and turned her attention back to her notebook full of her own doujinshi (self-published fan comics) ideas.

Had she called attention to the letter so that the likes of Matsuda were to read it to the class, the Cherry Boy would've gotten a repeat of the embarrassment he suffered with Yukari that led to him getting his infamous moniker.

He could just imagine the jaw-jacking his classmates would give him right now.

'Oooh! Is that a love letter? Did Cherry Boy get a love letter from the Class 2C Iincho? MASAKA (IMPOSSIBLE)!'

'Hey, hey! Is our own cute li'l Cherry Boy forming his own harem just like his idol, Sugata?'

'Don't be absurd. That's Fubuki from Class 2C. The same girl who publicly called him out on spreading false rumors of them dating. There's no way she'd date that liar's ass now!'

'What is with him and all the class reps he keeps going after? Does he have an iincho fetish or something? He even tried stalking our dear Seito Kaicho (Student Body President) through harassing phone calls!'

'He's such a desperate loser I bet the letter is telling him to leave Fubuki alone!'

Naturally, the last one to speak would've been Matsuda. Still the asshole as always, but he was an asshole with a point.

He sighed. He should let sleeping dogs lie. Leave the mercurial (and probably bipolar) Aya to her own devices. However, maybe she sent him the "love" letter to apologize for her forgetting about the dates they had.

...Yeah right. As if that would ever happen. She at best tolerated him and as little as a few days ago, she hated his guts.

Still, he was curious as to why Fubuki would send him such a letter. Knowing what he knew about her now (as if it was the first time he'd ever met her), it seemed... out of character for her to do this.

Wouldn't she confront him rather than send him a letter? Then again, she couldn't even muster the courage to send Kazuhito himself a love letter, so how much less him?

But Tomoyuki wasn't Sugata though. She'd have no reason to be embarrassed about him. She made it abundantly clear she never had any feelings for him.

'Oh, and I'm supposed to believe that some desperate jerk I barely interacted with who spread rumors that I'm dating him is telling me that Sugata-kun is dating Miku-chan, his latest girlfriend prospect, out of the kindness of his heart? Reeeally now?' was the sentiment she had when Tomoyuki first told him about the Yankee and the Class 2B Rep.

She trusted him as far as she could throw him. They made up eventually when he took a bullet for her, but they at best had a tenuous "acquaintanceship" that could break at the slightest hint of betrayal.

She didn't trust him. She acted like she barely knew him, despite all their dates that she would not acknowledge ever existed.

In fact, Yamamoto was starting to believe that Aya really didn't date him, making him doubt that the dates he had with her were real.

It almost reminded him of his initial situation with AU Seiko, with her calling and confessing her love for him while the real Seiko (correctly) claimed she herself never called him.

What if they—Tomoyuki and Fubuki—were both right? What if he had dates with an alternate universe version of the Class 2C Iincho while the in-universe Aya got the blowback from their rumored budding relationship?

What if he was dating the AU version of Aya all along?

Hell, he should be writing about this plot twist instead of making a script treatment of Ran, to be honest.

Inwardly, he waved the suggestion off, rationalizing that the parallel worlds thing didn't work that way. His heart skipped a beat at the prospect of dating AU Okamoto in the flesh, though.

He'd love it if he could actually figure out how the AU thing really worked.

Nevertheless, his curiosity got the better of him as he decided to meet up on the indicated time and place on the letter after school.

Appearances aside, this was obviously no love letter situation like with Sugata. It wasn't as if Aya was off to confess her love to him or anything.

***

After class, in a meeting place only Tomoyuki and Aya knew about (the Peninsula Bar where they once had Mongolian Barbecue)...

"...I apologize for lying about our dates to our classmates. I was so embarrassed that they found out that I threw you under the bus. If you would be so kind, would you go out with me again?"

That was just about the last thing Yamamoto expected Fubuki to tell him.

But she really did it. She really told him that. The absolute madwoman.

While bowing in apology, no less.

What was going on? Was she high? Was this what Miku meant by tsundere? An insane girl who had the most extreme mood swings possible? 'Bitches be crazy!'

"Wait, wait, wait. Let me get things straight. You intentionally lied to everyone about our dates and now you're asking for another date? And aren't you after Sugata instead of me?" he asked.

"Sugata already rejected me. That ship has sailed." Aya brushed her hair to the side and looked away from Tomoyuki's gaze before bowing her head and looking up at his face with doe eyes. "A-Are you mad at me?"

Unbelievable. It was like he was talking to another person altogether.

Didn't she cheer him on when it came to wooing Seiko and whatnot? What happened to that Aya? Did she forget or was she testing his resolve somehow?

Maybe that AU Aya theory of his wasn't so far off after all. Or maybe it was more of a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde kind of scenario.

Was this really the same Aya that AU Seiko described as "earnest"?

Tomoyuki paced around, took a deep breath, and exhaled. He'd handle this like an adult.

"Yeah, I'm upset. But I also realize if you're ashamed to even admit that we dated, then maybe you're not all that into me after all. You did me a favor. You helped me stop acting so desperate for love all this time."

Aya tilted her head and furrowed her eyebrows. "W-What do you mean, Yamamoto-kun? Won't you forgive me at all? Can't we make things work out?" she asked, batting her eyelashes at him.

It was his turn to bow back to Fubuki, remembering how she cheered him on, telling him to go big or go home with wooing Seiko Okamoto.

To no longer be so clingy and halfhearted with his pursuit of girl crushes like in the cases of Yukari, herself, Mana, and Miku. To no longer serve as any girl's doormat.

If she were testing him and his resolve, then this was his answer.

"I accept your apology, Fubuki. But I have to apologize myself. I'm in love with someone else."

He had to be completely honest. Like AU Seiko said, Aya was an earnest kind of girl who responded to actions instead of words and empty promises.

***

He didn't know what to expect after "rejecting" Aya's proposal to date again.

A shrug and a pat on the back on the back would be nice.

He didn't really think she'd take it so badly. After all, she survived Sugata's rejection fine.

Also, he knew she didn't really love him all that much and she had a bigger crush on the Yankee than she ever did him.

So why the heck was she crying?

"H-Hey, calm down!" Tomoyuki said, only to flinch when Aya looked at him with fire from her red eyes. Ah, now this was more like the Class 2C Iincho he knew and "loved" (or rather, tolerated).

She didn't heed his request though, covering her face with her hands and sobbing from behind them.

Well, this was definitely a first for Yamamoto.

Usually, he was the one who felt like crying, being dumped repeatedly by all his pretty not-girlfriends (because according to Matsuda, his standards were unrealistically high for a nondescript guy).

"...W-Was it Seiko? Your class rep? The one that you confessed your love to and I recorded?" she sobbed.

That was weird phrasing. "My class rep Miku friendzoned me a long time ago. Also, didn't you play that recording on Seiko's behalf?"

"Oh right. The recording. That's what I meant. Seiko. The Amazon Queen."

She blinked her tears back and did an inquisitive head-tilt on the Cherry Boy.

"You're in love with the Amazon Queen? You don't have a chance. She's joined to the hip with your Yankee classmate!"

"Sh-Shut up," he said, crossing his arms and turning away. His heart not as indignant as he let on.

Speak of the (she-)devil, Tomoyuki turned his head in time to meet the eyes of Seiko, drinking water across the table away from them.

Eh?

She had the "clever disguise" of wearing shades and a baseball cap indoors. She looked more suspicious than if she didn't have the disguise.

The Amazon Queen then choked on her glass of water and turned away, hiding her face with the menu.

...Wait. What?

***

To stop Aya from crying any further, Tomoyuki appeased her by buying her a late lunch (or was it an early dinner?) that afternoon at the restaurant with what extra cash he made from his part-time job at a convenience store.

He then excused himself to go to the bathroom, eyeing Seiko all the while from behind Aya's back.

To his relief, the Amazon Queen took the hint and soon followed after him rather than wait for him to confront her at her table.

She was quick on the uptake.

"...What are you doing here?" he asked at the hallway leading to the doors to the restrooms.

"I should ask you the same question!" she ping-ponged his question back at him.

"...Aya gave me a letter in my bag, telling me to come here and stuff," he said, his eyes darting away at the taller girl. "What about you?"

"Miku-chin gave me a letter addressed to me, telling me to come here."

"Machida told you about this... meeting?" he asked before wincing at the look Seiko gave him over his own weird phrasing.

"No, the letter is from... Aya, apparently. But Miku got it from her."

"That's... weird. Did Machida read it too?"

"I dunno, Cherry Boy. She just gave it to me because it had my name on it."

"What's the letter doing with her?" Tomoyuki asked. "Did Fubuki want Machida to know about the meeting too? What did the letter say?"

"The letter told me to meet y'all here. I couldn't understand the directions, so I just moseyed along and followed you all the way to this restaurant instead."

"So you stalked me?" Tomoyuki teased Seiko, forgetting for a minute who he was talking to. Her voice reminding him of... someone else from another world.

"'AS IF', YOU IDIOT! Don't flatter yourself!"

Forgetting for a minute who she was talking to as well, the Amazon Queen gut-punched the Cherry Boy as though he were Kazuhito Sugata instead.

"Whoops. Sorry. My hand slipped."

The two stared at each other for a minute then laughed.

Afterwards, Tomoyuki ended up with a coughing fit and Seiko had to slap his back several times to help him recover.

"T-Thanks."

"S'alright. But seriously though, why are you on a date with Aya-chin?"

"Wait, when did this turn into a date? She asked me to come here to tell me something!"

"But you're feeding her right now and she just asked you out." She pointed to her ear. "I overheard."

Yamamoto crossed his arms and smirked. "Ha! Finally, I got a witness. Told'ya we dated! See what I have put up with last year? It was her word against mine that we dated!"

"You really dated?" Seiko couldn't help but repeat. "Oh yeah. That's right. You got a horrible rep because Aya-chin told everyone you were spreading bad rumors about her."

"RIGHT? You just saw Fubuki confess to me and you still don't believe it!" he ranted.

Biting her lip, Okamoto looked at him then at Aya from across the table, eating by herself.

"I dunno, Cherry Boy. She must've had a reason for doing this. Otherwise, this is quite unlike her." She appended, "B-But don't misunderstand! I didn't believe you were spreading lies about her either! Why else would I be friends with you? I just think this is all a big misunderstanding."

He'd normally storm off at this point, having people believe Fubuki over him, but this time around he was inclined to agree.

Unless her tsundere inclinations bordered on being clinically bipolar, the Aya who played his confession to Seiko via cellphone voice recorder was not the same Fubuki whom he suspected gave Okamoto and Machida the heads up on their non-date to ruin their perception of him.

Then, to Tomoyuki's surprise, the Amazon Queen suggested, "Y'know what? Why don't you go on a date with her today anyway?"

"WHAT? Are you crazy? I told her I already have my eyes for someone else!"

Yamamoto looked Seiko in the eyes as he said this, which made both of them look away from each other, blushing afterwards.

Seiko cleared her throat. "No, no. It's not a date-date. Just a fake date to see what Aya-chin is up to."

"A-Are you serious?" asked Tomoyuki. He didn't like where this was going.

***

By the time he returned to their table, Aya had the strangest, hugest (smuggest) grin on her face.

Did she know that Seiko was there, watching them? 'What are you planning, Fubuki?' thought Tomoyuki.

He didn't want to keep up a facade just to ruin Seiko's positive impression of one of Machida's friends, but Fubuki ended up cutting him off the pass.

"Hey, hey! After we're done eating, let's go to the arcades like we used to," she told him, and his plan of coming clean ended then and there, the words of protest dying in his throat.

And long story short, they ended up at a nearby arcade, with Okamoto following them close behind.

What was even going on anymore?

'...Eeeeh.'

Under the watchful gaze of Seiko, Tomoyuki ended up doing what he always did in arcades: Play a fighting game and die at the third stage.

"Dammit," Yamamoto said after the CPU King hit another 10-hit combo on his Eddie Gordo from Tekken insert-sequel-number-here.

So much for Eddie working against even experienced players with just button mashing. The computer A.I. couldn't care less.

Same thing happened with an old Street Fighter III: Third Strike arcade cabinet at the back. Got knocked out fighting Sean with Akuma. He then popped a blister on his left middle finger from jiggling the joystick while mashing buttons all the while.

The only fighting game he could probably beat was Karate Do on the Famicom, and that game sucked. Or Yie Ar Kung Fu. Which also sucked.

By the way, those were games in old cartridges that he got as hand- me-downs from his cousins along with an old Family Computer.

He expected Aya to fare worse than him, only for his ego to take an even worse beating than the characters he played in Tekken and Street Fighter.

Aya had a crowd form behind her as she crushed every challenger she faced off against in Tekken with just one quarter.

Well damn. Who knew that the studious Class Rep of Class 2C was an avid gamer?

Meanwhile, on her part, Seiko decided to bide her time with Dance Dance Revolution. Followed by foozball against a grade schooler. Followed by attempting to wreck the mechanical punch pad on the Sonic Blast Man (a game that measured punching power) cabinet.

Huh. He could've sworn he heard that Taito recalled all cabinets of the punching game due to the injuries it caused or something. Or maybe that was just him misremembering/getting false memories care of the Mandela Effect.

Or maybe it was even possible that in AU Seiko's universe, the game was recalled even though in his own universe, it wasn't. 'Who knows?'

A bead of sweat dripped on Tomoyuki's forehead as Okamoto wandered to a nearby billiards hall just beside the arcade, seemingly forgetting herself and why she went to the arcade in the first place.

'S-Seiko-chan...'

Speaking of people forgetting themselves, Aya stopped her winning streak short, handed her character off to some kid in the crowd to let him play, and grabbed hold of Yamamoto's arm.

Tomoyuki gulped, distracted by the smoothness of the 2C Iincho's skin and the softness of her... chest. "Um, welcome back?"

"Hey, hey! Cherry... I mean, Yamamoto-kun!" she corrected herself, her finger circling around the Cherry Boy's chest. "Can you win me a prize at the claw machine? Pretty please?"

"Er... I-I'll try," Yamamoto said, knowing that he'd fail. Still wondering what Aya's "deal" was.

As he predicted, he was terrible at the claw machine game. Unable to pick up one stuffed bunny or even a Doraemon. It'd be cheaper to buy the doll at a gift shop rather than pick it up through crane.

In the background, Aya cheered him on.

He had doubts in regards to the sincerity of her cheering in light of her betrayal of him, but it sure harkened back to their own dates where she'd do the same thing.

So he kept buying quarters. And trying. And failing. But he had a girl cheering him on, so he didn't mind losing so much.

"You can do it, Yamamoto-kun! Just like ol' times!" Aya told him.

'Ol' times...?' he thought.

From there, the Cherry Boy blinked and remembered how one of their first dates had played out like this.

With him attempting and never getting a doll and Aya (currently the Student Council VP but was once the Student Council Treasurer) laughing at him all the while.

"Oh, for the love of Kami-sama! LET ME, CHERRY BOY!" huffed a reddened, cap-wearing, and shades-sporting Seiko before taking the crane controls and picking up the Doraemon doll herself.

"...." Tomoyuki exclaimed. Silently.

The Amazon Queen handed the doll to Aya, only to realize too late what she'd done. "Er..."

Fubuki bowed at Seiko and said, "Thanks for the help, but I want my date to get me a dolly. Not you, Mister."

"...M-Mister!?" said the tall Amazon Queen with a sneer, her hand cocked back as if to slap the Class 2C Iincho.

"Uh, of course! Coming right up, Fubuki!" said Tomoyuki, who inserted another token only to waste it again by losing immediately. "Dammit."

Unable to help herself, the "disguised" Seiko got a hold of Yamamoto's hands and instructed him how to play the crane game.

"Now listen carefully, Cherry Boy. First, pick your target carefully. You've already played enough to get a feel of the claw, right?"

She then touched his hand, the softness of which surprised him, as she told him, "Try maneuvering the prize into a better position. This machine gives you enough time to position the claw, so take your time."

Tomoyuki gulped as the taller girl got too close to him. The smell of shampoo on her hair and the softness of her hands distracting him. Electrifying him.

Making him long for the softness of another her. A more "untouchable" version of her. From more than just far away.

Aya, on her part, put her hands on her waist and tapped her foot at the pair, sighing and clearing her throat loudly.

But they couldn't hear her. At all. As though they were trapped in another world. Their own universe. With no parallel universe versions of themselves to worry about.

"THERE! Right there, Cherry Boy!" said the Amazon Queen with her heaving chest cushioning Yamamoto's back like a chair's backrest. "Take it! Take it now! It's all yours, baby! Take 'em all!"

They soon formed a crowd of their own, with the guys and the girls blushing at the whole exchange.

Thanks to Seiko's teachings, Tomoyuki got to snag a whole bunch of plush toys in one go. He was about to deliver them en masse unto the slot when he noticed all the eyes on him and how suggestive the Amazon Queen looked with the way she helped wriggle his... joystick.

"AAAH!"

"Hey! Watch out! EEEEK! WATCH IT! KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF!"

There was a crisp slap followed by profuse apologies.

Yamamoto's hand slipped right into Seiko's chest in true harem protagonist fashion, which led to a reflexive, "BAKA FURYOU-KUN (STUPID YANKEE)!" and predictable violence from the Amazon Queen.

"I'm sorry! It's an accident! AN ACCIDENT! OWIE!"

"Ah! Cherry Boy! Sorry! Did I hit you too hard?"

From there, the whole bunch of the stuff toys fell back into the bin rather than out the claw machine's slot.

All except one: An ugly-cute cartoon snail doll that had its tag snagged by the tip of the claw at the last second.

Tomoyuki's reddened face (due to Seiko's handprint on his cheek) turned pale blue in realization. He screwed up in the middle of showing off!

'...Eh? Wait a minute, why was I showing off anyway? And in front of Fubuki, of all people!'

Speaking of Fubuki, she took the snail doll he'd gotten for her, frowning in a way that made it look like she'd just tasted something sour. Or maybe bittersweet.

"...Thank you," she told him.

"Uh, no problem," he answered, scratching his cheek.

He then caught Aya giving the flustered Amazon Queen a quick glance before she gave him a quick peck on the same cheek he just scratched.

Not knowing what else to do, Tomoyuki turned and faced Seiko, who had a slack-jawed expression on her face.

And in the Cherry Boy's heart of hearts, he found himself hoping that it was jealousy that was written all over Okamoto's face.

Even though earlier, her fit of violence was something she did while remembering her real crush and childhood friend, Kazuhito Sugata.

With the cherubic smile of a fallen angel, Aya then whispered to Tomoyuki, "Come with me. I have one last thing I want to do before we end our date," before holding his hand and leading him out of the arcade... to a chorus of cheers by everyone who witnessed the exchange there.

Stupidly, his mind in a haze like the Cherry Boy that he was after being kissed by a girl, he followed right after Fubuki like a lost dog.

He couldn't stop glancing back at the Amazon Queen though, who had slumped down on the floor with the Doraemon doll in her hand, her cap dropping, revealing her (sexy) disheveled hair.

***

Before Tomoyuki realized what was happening, he found himself in front of a hotel.

A love hotel.

From there, his memory became a blur. A whooshing motion blur from a high-speed roller coaster ride.

He could barely make out any details of what was going on, his body going on autopilot.

This wasn't really happening, wasn't it?

Then they were at the front desk of a hotel.

He then found himself paying for a room on that hotel.

With a girl beside him. A cute girl. A beautiful vision of... beauty with hair as long as the day and black as the night. And legs that went on forever.

Granted, she was a girl with an obnoxious personality (or set of personalities), but she was still pretty. And a girl.

What was he talking about again?

Soon, they ended up on an elevator. Then they went to their room with the number indicated on the room keys.

Was this some sort of elaborate prank by Matsuda again? Damn, that bigheaded jock just wouldn't leave him alone, would he?

Wow, the room looked nice. He'd been in hotel rooms before, but only when he and his parents ended up vacationing on some beach resort or had to take short flights to Hokkaido.

Besides, those were airport or resort hotels. Not love hotels.

Did he mention he was staying in a hotel room with a pretty girl? That was a big "first" for him.

After being turned down flat by several girls, he was now about to... Oh baby.

He gulped, his throat suddenly feeling quite dry.

Realizing the implications of the situation, he sat down on the bed and thought things through.

Could it be? Was he finally about to graduate from being a Cherry Boy to a real man?

Wait, why was he with a pretty girl in a hotel room anyway? That was quite unlike him, the Virgin King of Class 2B.

Tomoyuki Yamamoto ending up in a love hotel sounded like a setup to a joke just short of a punch line.

Oh right, he was on a date with Aya. But why though? Why would any girl date him?

Hey, he wasn't that bad with girls. Sure, in his first year alone, he got rejected by not one, not two, not three, but four girls. All of whom belonged in the so-called Sugata Harem in one way or another.

He was a beggar who was a chooser, after all.

But he improved in the end, didn't he? He made friends with Miku Machida, made amends with both Aya Fubuki and Yukari Goto, and even Student Body President Mana Otonashi had started talking to him again.

He wasn't as awkward around women as he was last year. He graduated from the "Nice Guy" mode of thinking with the help of his best friend Miku.

So it was perfectly fine for him to end up in bed with a girl who originally rejected him, right?

He regrouped. He improved. He evolved. So he... deserved this. Right?

Hell, he even had the audacity to try and woo Sugata's childhood friend and the girl whom he was closest with in his harem, Seiko Okamoto.

He wanted the Amazon Queen so bad that, by fate, serendipity, or coincidence, he ended up with the phone number of her AU self.

That was how he was able to learn all about her. Warts and all. From another her from another universe.

Wait.

What the hell was he doing with Aya Fubuki if he was in love with Seiko Okamoto?

"...."

Oh no. Oh nooo. Oh nononono. Oh Kami-sama, what did he just do? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

His hands gripping his hair almost to the point of pulling them out by their roots, Tomoyuki paced around the nice hotel room. That he paid for.

What kind of a thirsty pervert was he?!

He then remembered the last thing Aya told him before he had his epiphany.

"You stay right there. I'm just going to take a shower."

'AAAAAAHHHHH!' he screamed internally, finally noticing the sound of the running water inside the hotel bathroom.

He could've stopped this at any time. He could've said no. But he didn't, and he'd gone past the threshold of refusal.

The point of no return, perhaps?

Wait, he could leave a note and say he had something to do. Uh, like his part-time job or something.

Maybe flaking out on her wasn't the best-laid plans (of mice and men), but... but... he had no other choice!

Also, why was she suddenly enamored over him after all these months she hated him enough to lie about them dating? Was this how tsundere acted? Seemed kind of psychotic to him!

The worst part was that, even if nothing happened to them in the hotel, the fact that he went in a hotel in the first place with her would probably be enough to ruin his chances with Seiko forever!

He was just about to write his note when he heard knocking on the door. Did Aya order room service? He had no money left for that!

Anyway, fingers crossed, he hoped against hope that Okamoto would believe him when he said that he followed Aya by accident into a love hotel and he had no intention of sleeping with her. Kinda.

And so understandably, he fell to the floor butt-first in surprise when he saw that it was Seiko who was on the other side of the door. Like an actor from Vaudeville doing a slapstick standup (or sit-down) routine.

"I-It's not what it looks like. I can explain..." he started, feeling like an unfaithful husband caught red-handed in a hotel room with his mistress by his wife. Even though he had no reason to think that way.

To his surprise, an unusually quiet Okamoto asked him, "So did you two do it already? Did she pop your cherry, Cherry Boy?"

Well now. Nice to see she was blunt like usual.

She then slapped her forehead and mumbled what sounded like curses to herself before apologizing and saying, "Look, it's none of my business. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I'm sorry for bothering you two lovebirds. I'm also sorry for doubting you when you said that you and Aya-chin used to date. Goes to show what I know, right?"

The contrite Amazon Queen bowed at Tomoyuki and started to leave when, by instinct, the Cherry Boy grabbed hold of her arm and said, "Wait. Don't leave. I'm... I'm actually glad you came."

To his surprise, that actually worked. Seiko stayed.

She walked back to the doorway as he noticed for the first time her cap that hid her head full of hair that was usually tied in a ponytail.

She looked positively tomboyish. Heart-achingly so.

"I... I just happened to follow Fubuki back to this hotel," was the explanation he came up with in short notice.

Goddamn, that sounded so stupid. Even though it was true.

He also wanted to say he thought it was a prank, but that sounded even more like a lie than what he just said, even though it was also true.

Why was he being so stupid anyway? It was because he was thinking with his dick! That was why! He followed a girl to a hotel room without question like the naive virgin that he was.

"U-huh. Completely by accident, huh?" Seiko couldn't help but smirk.

"I don't know what I was thinking!" Or so he said, although he knew exactly what he was thinking, and so did Okamoto. "But I haven't slept with Fubuki. At all. Nor do I have any intention to do so."

"Well, why not? This is your big chance, Cherry Boy," Seiko brought up his nickname for emphasis.

"B-Because, like I told her, I'm already in love with someone," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. Unafraid of the implications behind his words.

"So you went to a hotel room with her and paid for it?" was the retort that he waited for Seiko to shoot back at him, but she never said it.

Instead, she stared back him and nodded. "You'd break Miku-chin's heart if you went through with this."

Ugh. Not this again. "No, I'm not in love with Machida! I'm in love with...!"

He then slammed the door in front of the Amazon Queen's face by reflex when he heard the bathroom door open.

AHHH! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

And out came Aya, her skin glowing, her long hair sopping wet, her naked body wrapped in nothing but a towel. A rather short towel, at that.

He ended up with his back against the door, his eyes staring at everything else but Fubuki.

He had never seen a cleaner hotel full of fresh sheets, nicely decorated walls, a flat-screen television set, a refrigerator full of overpriced drinks, and a nice view of the city.

The bed cushion was soft, the pillows were pure stuffing as well, and even the nearby lamp was nice. It... tied up the whole room.

Nothing too fancy, but not bad. It was worth whatever it was that he paid for it. Maybe.

"I'm done with my shower," Fubuki stated the obvious, cat-smiling and batting her half-lidded eyes at the Cherry Boy, her normal personality pretty much doing a one-eighty.

"W-We shouldn't do this," Tomoyuki said, pulling at his collar.

"Do what?" teased the coy Aya, which seemed rather unbecoming of the normally straight-laced Class Rep of Class 2C. "Don't get cold feet on me right now, Yamamoto-kun."

"I-I told you, I'm already in love with someone else!"

"Which is why you followed me all the way to a love hotel and paid for it?" came the retort Yamamoto was waiting for all this time. Fubuki then started playing with her towel. "Maybe I can change your mind...?"

"NOOOOO!"

Not only Yamamoto, but Okamoto screamed that word.

As Aya was about to take off her towel, Tomoyuki attempted to grab it with the intention of putting it back on her.

The door behind him opened, and out (or rather, in) stumbled the Amazon Queen. Right onto the Cherry Boy. Who ended up stumbling himself and accidentally ripping the towel off of Aya's body.

Then, to the chagrin of the pair, they ended up falling on the edge of the bed, making a mess of it, the pillows and bed sheet flying and ending up on the floor along with them.

"EEEEK!" screeched Seiko, grabbing hold of the damp towel in order to cover Tomoyuki's eyes with it. "Don't look, you pervert!" was what the tomboy said even though Aya was the one volunteering to take it off.

"...L-Look, I'm sorry if I led you on! I'm sorry if I came here without thinking! But I mean it when I say I'm in love with someone else!" cried Yamamoto while Okamoto kept pulling the towel over his face and cranking his neck at an odd angle. "OW! Stop that, Amazon Queen!"

However, Seiko suddenly stopped moving, which resulted in the towel slipping from the Cherry Boy's eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut, but his curiosity got the better of him, leading him to take a peek.

There stood Aya in all her naked glory. Or she would've had she not been wearing spats (spandex shorts) to cover up her nether regions. She was still topless though.

And yet something seemed missing from this picture. Fubuki's chest was as flat as a board.

Well, that wasn't unusual. Many Japanese girls were flat as boards themselves. Maybe Fubuki wore padded bras?

But then Tomoyuki's eyes went south of the border and saw something else of note.

A noticeable bulge on Aya's spandex shorts.

What?

No. No way.

Maybe her... (ahem) hair down there was unusually thick. Like an untrimmed hedge. Or even a forest. So that would explain the bump or bulge. Right?

'I mean, it can't possibly be... Nah. Of course not.'

Yamamoto then realized that Seiko was looking at the same thing as he was when he glanced back at her.

He saw eyes of wonder, confusion, and terror. She then asked the Cherry Boy, "Is that a bulge in her...?"

And then Aya began laughing. Or rather, cackling. Like an evil overlord about to go on a monologue.

"I would've preferred that you end up in a compromising position with me, but I guess this will have to do, Yamamoto-kun."

"...W-What?" stuttered Yamamoto, not knowing what was going on.

Thusly the two remained stock-still on the bed as the topless, flat- chested, and... spandex-bulging Fubuki retrieved her cellphone from her purse.

That proved to be a mistake.

And so Aya ended up with a digital photo of a disheveled Seiko sitting atop a damp-faced Tomoyuki beside a messy hotel bed that she took with her cellphone camera.

"A-Aya-chin, w-what's going on?" asked the Amazon Queen in a shaky voice.

"Oh, you haven't figured it out yet?" Aya took off her damp wig, revealing the short dry hair underneath it. "I'm not Aya. I'm her brother, Fubuki Akira."

***

Both Seiko and Tomoyuki stayed in the hotel lobby for a bit, staring blankly into the distance, before they both bid their farewells to each other.

Seiko was the first to leave. Tomoyuki told her to go ahead because needed another minute. Or hour.

He called in sick at his part-time work. He knew he couldn't make it there on time. Nor did he feel like working.

After buying a drink and snack from a vending machine, he went back to the empty hotel room (since it was already paid for) to gather his thoughts. Aya... no, Akira... was long gone by then.

Damn. Wasn't that something?

That was the last thing he expected her... him... to say. It seemed like something out of a movie.

Like Dustin Hoffman's character in "Tootsie". Or Ming-Na Wen's character in "Mulan". Or Jaye Davidson's character in "The Crying Game". Or Hillary Swank's character in "Boys Don't Cry".

Hell, that revelation in the end was very Tootsie-ish in its execution.

On that note, he really felt like crying right then and there.

Akira Fubuki, the younger brother of Aya that, Yamamoto realized, was about the same height and build as her, had admitted to "catfishing" the Cherry Boy when he was in first year high school.

Akira didn't like how, as he put it, Tomoyuki was "stalking" and "bothering" his big sister, so he pulled a prank on him to teach him a lesson.

Which, in retrospect, made a lot of sense.

The rumors. The anger Aya had when Yamamoto kept insisting that they had dated and she was lying about them not dating. The way Aya's personality was completely different from the "Aya" he dated.

Even the fact that Miku received the letter addressed to Seiko could also be explained away by Akira mistaking Seiko for Miku after overhearing the name from his sister.

Everything now had a... not-so-simple explanation. But an explanation nonetheless.

To reiterate, Akira Fubuki pretended to be his sister Aya in order to "catfish" Tomoyuki Yamamoto.

Tomoyuki kept repeating that statement inwardly but he still couldn't wrap his mind around it. Seriously, what the hell?

The funny thing was that both the girl Fubuki and Tomoyuki ended up telling the truth after all.

'So let me get things straight,' thought the Cherry Boy while staring at the TV but not really watching the game show that was on.

Akira specifically put on his sister's clothes to impersonate her and go onto dates with Tomoyuki in her stead. This led to the misunderstanding later on that led to a falling out between Yamamoto and the Elder Fubuki.

Or maybe it wasn't a falling out, because technically, Tomoyuki never really met the real Aya until later on. He'd been dating her brother instead under false pretenses.

Akira also took a photo of him and the Amazon Queen in a rather compromising position in order to... what? Make them, or rather make Tomoyuki, suffer further by having blackmail material on him and the Seiko?

Man, Akira really must hate him go through all that trouble to catfish Yamamoto.

...Right?

Granted, his dedication to pranks aside, it was still embarrassing for Akira to go into drag and pretend to be a girl just to embarrass the Cherry Boy with his big reveal in the hotel.

They must've gone through so many dates. They were so many, in fact, that Yamamoto lost count. He had enough dates with Aya (actually Akira) to presume that they were now boyfriend and girlfriend.

But why did he do it? What the hell did the Cherry Boy do to deserve Akira's wrath and his methodical revenge plot in the first place?

Now that was the million-yen question.

The Friend Zone King couldn't quite buy Akira's excuse that his crossdressing was all for the sake of protecting his sister from him.

Why didn't Akira just allow Aya to reject Tomoyuki outright? Why go through all this trouble?

Come to think of it, didn't Akira already get what he wanted out of Yamamoto last year? The crossdresser ended up making his sister hate the Cherry Boy's guts by impersonating her and going on false dates with him.

What prompted the male Fubuki to bother Tomoyuki again after all this time?

And then it hit the Yamamoto. Of course.

Tomoyuki recently made up with Aya (sort of) when he prevented her from making that ill-timed love confession to Kazuhito Sugata.

Her jealous li'l brother with a siscon (Sister Complex) must've arranged this little revelation at the hotel to destroy the mended fences between Yamamoto and the female Fubuki.

But that backfired and Akira ended up taking the blackmail photograph of Yamamoto and Okamoto as a consolation prize.

Regardless, the twerp got him. He got him hook, line, and sinker.

***

Although Tomoyuki didn't feel like going back to school that Friday, he still went.

Might as well. He wasn't going to solve this mystery staring slack- jawed at his room's ceiling, feeling sorry for himself.

Seiko herself couldn't even look him in the eye that morning, but he didn't let the fact hurt his feelings or anything. He completely understood.

That night they had at the hotel was awkward for everyone involved.

The long weekend that would've let him sort his thoughts and feelings out aside, he had several important things to do that day.

Like apologize to Akira's sister, Aya.

'First thing's first.' He went straight to the entrance of Class-2C, waited for (the real) Aya Fubuki (and her "sidekick" Yukari Goto) to arrive, and bowed down to Aya in apology.

Oh boy, did he get the wrong impression of her. She really wasn't at fault at all for the dating rumors spread about him and her.

Neither was Tomoyuki, but at least now he knew the truth. They were both right about the situation in certain points of view.

The ever-cynical Aya pulled Tomoyuki aside and asked, "Did something happen? What's up with you?"

"I just wanted to apologize," Tomoyuki said, shrugging and avoiding her gaze. "I know I've been doing that a lot lately so it might sound shallow coming from me, but... I really am sorry."

Fubuki then crossed her arms and prodded, "...And?"

Yamamoto cleared his throat. "I was wondering if you know the classroom number of your brother, Akira."

The Class 2C Rep held herself, her arms folded tightly around her chest and wrinkled her nose at the Cherry Boy. "Why?"

"I just want to talk to him, okay?" he said, not knowing (or willing) to broach the subject of catfishing and crossdressing with Akira's big sister.

"But you've never even met..." Aya's eyes widened. "Oh no."

Shit. Did she realize the truth? Did Yamamoto let the cat out of the bag? Would Akira in turn send that compromising photo of him and Seiko to the whole school? Or to Sugata?

Fubuki then unfolded her arms, sighed, and said, "Look, I'll talk to my li'l bro. If he threatened you in any way after seeing that we've mended fences, then I have to apologize on his behalf. He's very protective of me. Please understand."

"I-It's nothing like that, I just want to talk to him!" Tomoyuki protested with a sigh (of relief) of his own before a little birdie in the form of Yukari blabbed, "Well, if that's the case, then Akira-kun belongs to Section 1A."

"...YUKARI-CHAN!" screeched Aya before pulling at the ditzy blonde's twin tails hard.

"OWIE! I'm sowie, Aya-chan!" cried the ditz, reasoning, "But Cherry-kun only wanted to talk to your bro! What's the harm in that?"

"Class 1A, huh?" said the Cherry Boy, scratching his chin. "Right. I guess I'll go talk to him then. Thanks, Goto!"

"Waaait, what for? What did he say to you?" insisted Aya, who began to look more like the Aya of old with her frown and glare.

Tomoyuki raised his arms in surrender and backpedaled. "Nothing bad! I promise! I just want to clear the air with Fubuki Akira! It's not like we're going to end up in a fist fight or something...!'

Serendipitously, Yamamoto ended up literally bumping into his classmate, the Judo Club President and one of the Four Kings of Class 2B, Kanemoto.

Yep. Matsuda's friend Kanemoto. Or Matsuda #2. Or the bishonen (pretty boy) version of Matsuda. That Kanemoto.

"...Fubuki Akira? You're looking for Fubuki Akira? Hahaha! Cherry Boy, are you off to have a rematch with him?" Kanemoto asked, overhearing their conversation.

Yamamoto would've just cowered away from one of his regular bullies had he not taken a double-take at what the Judo Club President said. "Uh, rematch? W-What are you talking about Kanemoto?"

The sneering jock nudged Yamamoto's side. "Aw, come on. Don't be coy. You two got in a slap fight over me back in junior high. You wanted first dibs over yours truly and Fubuki Akira was your love rival."

Tomoyuki stuttered, "W-What the heck are you...?" before he felt a chill in his spine.

"Yamamoto-kun! You're going to have a fist fight over my li'l brother!?"

"AH! Aya-chan! I mean, Fubuki! Of course, I'm not! Don't believe Kanemoto's lies...!" so he said, but a feeling of déjà vu hit him.

And so the puzzle pieces in his mind began to fit. He remembered who Akira was.

This wasn't the first time they met, and he wasn't referring to their fake dates.

***

By some miracle, Tomoyuki Yamamoto got away from Akira Fubuki's protective sister in one piece.

Yamamoto guessed that his wimpy demeanor in the face of Kanemoto's "outlandish" accusations let him off the hook.

For the first time, Aya gave Tomoyuki the benefit of the doubt. She probably reasoned, "Why would the bullied Cherry Boy ever start a fist fight with my li'l bro?"

Ironically, the one time she trusted him was the one time she shouldn't have.

Kanemoto was right. Yamamoto did fight the younger Fubuki brother. And it was over the infamous jock.

No, not because they wanted to win Kanemoto's heart (or at least, as far as Yamamoto was concerned, that wasn't the case).

This stain in Tomoyuki's past was part of the reason why he believed that he completely deserved most of the bullying done to him all this time.

***

To Be Continued...

It's a trap! The trap arc is almost over with. What else is in store for Yamamoto and his Non-Harem? Stay "tuned"!

Farewell, Abdiel

#catfishing #trap #it's a trap #finds a way #keit-ai #keit愛 #tomoyuki x seiko

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chavalahh · 6 years

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My BookTube Top Tens Tag List!

Too long for the description box in my video! :P (found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dz99uxvKbkc&t=5s)

#1: DAPHNE'S BOOK by Mary Downing Hahn: Yes, a book that I first read when I was eleven probably shouldn't be in first place anymore. :P But screw it. The author is a prolific children's writer and Maryland librarian, and she wrote this one the year that I was born. I named the protagonist in my second published short story as an adult (plus took the general struggling-with-relationships-and-big-questions theme) from this protagonist and book. Also, do you remember that "You've Got Mail" joke about how "The Godfather" movies answer all of life's questions? This is that book for me. :P

#2: MOCKINGJAY by Suzanne Collins: Yes, I read this popular YA novel when I was well into my adulthood. In many ways, it was a case of reading it at the right place/time. I was struggling with how to deal with the trauma of war, and understanding how people who start off as the underdog/oppressed "good guys" don't always stay there. In fact, war makes sure that they don't. The author meant for this series to be a commentary on war, and the final installment, and the least liked by most fans, covers it most directly. This series has duped a lot of people, but I stand firm--Katniss is NOT a superhero. A critical reading shows how "The Mockingjay"(also "The Girl on Fire" and "The Star-Crossed Lovers") is not real--it's propaganda used by adults to sidle into or fortify their own power. This is the book that covers post-traumatic stress, (what I call) "angry young man syndrome," and the importance of fostering real, empathetic human relationships to survive.

#3: STATION ELEVEN by Emily St. John Mandel: My attempt at being less cynical about the impending apocalypse. :P Yes, most of the planet is wiped out by a vicious disease, but society remakes itself--and it embraces art! :D I love the artistry in the author's story construction--the enclosed feel of performing "King Lear" as the virus hits vs the open-air production 20 years later. I love the parralels between the comic book, "Station Eleven," vs the aftermath in the novel. I love the tribute to our wonderful, technological world, and also to the spirit of survival in the wilderness. Finally, I love the characters and what they show us about humanity as humanity moves into a new age. Metaphorically speaking. :P

#4: WUTHERING HEIGHTS by Emily Bronte: For awhile, I worried that loving this book would be akin to loving a Victorian version of TWILIGHT. :/ I remember, as a teenager, reading to classmates from the section where Cathy professes her undying love for Heathcliff over her changeable love for Linton--entranced, I tell you! :P But something else I've always felt since secretly reading this book in Spanish class--I identify most with Nelly. I suppose that she offers a safe, if still involved, distance from passion and its pitfalls. I can fall for these characters, and hate them sometimes, and also realize that they're doomed. :P (Maybe the kids a little less so, save for dearly departed Linton Heathcliff.) Emily Bronte weaves such a spell! I can't not be drawn in.

#5: PLANETFALL by Emma Newman: My most recent read on this list, I believe! Science fiction about civilians in space, unreliable narrators with mental illness, traumatic backstories, falling in love with charismatic leaders who turn into prophets scaling a proverbial mount sinai, communal sins of the past that sneak up slowly for revenge, finally grasping the mechanics of 3-D printing, sorta...this book has "me" written all over it. :P But what made me listen to it twice in a row was the protagonist's relationships (with herself and others) and that balancing act between science and faith. The author made me feeeeel.

#6: ANNE FRANK: THE DIARY OF A YOUNG GIRL by Anne Frank: When I first read this for school when I was about Anne's age, I was blown away by her insights. She dug into all of my secret and not-so-secret thoughts about my relationships and my body. Of course, discussing this in class with a bunch of awkward 14-year-old girls meant that their commentary was mostly a bunch of "eeeew, she's gross!" As a hypersensitive gal myself, I was crushed. Now that we're in our thirties, I wanna take my old classmates aside and say, ADMIT IT, ANNE WAS RIGHT! She was my first role model. She was wise beyond her years. Her loss isn't more tragic than anything else that happened in the Holocaust, but I truly believe that she would have been one of literature's foremost thinkers as an adult. I long to know what she would have made of the Jewish religious and cultural future, to start. She'd run circles around the men who put stupid caricatures of her in their books, that's for sure.

#7: EMPEROR MAGE by Tamora Pierce: My favorite childhood fantasy novel--aka my street cred in this genre. :P Right now I'm eagerly awaiting new installments in the prequel series! Man, YA fantasy writing has changed since I was a kid (it's grown a looooot longer.) But this book still had enough meat on the bones to draw me in. I loved the colorfully described world, the Tortall delegation who were fish out of water in Carthak, hints about Numair's backstory (see prequels), the magic, mystery and action. But mostly, I loved Daine and saw her as my type of gal superhero. Not a fighter, but someone connected by magic to animals. Behold, the power of empathy! So much this author did to draw me in.

#8: INTUITION by Allegra Goodman: I think this one has to bump KAATERSKILL FALLS by the same author from its pedestal! :o Still love that book, but don't remember all of it nearly as well. This novel, like that one, is the author's signature of studying a small, enclosed community of people. A bunch of postdocs in a science lab! Plus a small handful of familiars. What do I know about science: nothing! But I do get the stresses of having to prove yourself, communally and as an individual. I get that people and their motivations are complicated, and they can take you down paths not intended. I loooove well done interior monologue--the author excels at that, and is one of my favorites in the literary genre.

#9: THE CASUAL VACANCY by JK Rowling: I belieeeve that Katie from Books and Things put to words what is so great about this novel--it has well developed characters AND a plot! And I don't usually get behind plot! :P This one drew me in with the death of a parish councilor leading to political infighting about an impoverished suburb. Themes include classism, drug abuse, and lines between personal responsibility and systematic victimization. I really loved the middle-aged female characters and their personal struggles--such an underrepresented group! The ending for one of the teen characters stabbed me in the gut after getting so embroiled in this world. Kind of like the ins and outs of a magical school, the author brought this small, English community alive. :P It's strange, really--the HARRY POTTER series influenced my life, maybe more than most anything I've read. I've made friends, I've had experiences and am now writing a novella because of them. But this book re-ignited my love for literary fiction, now my most-read genre.

#10: THE LOWLAND by Jhumpa Lahiri: Perhaps this author is the most accomplished lyricist on the list. She's another of my favorite literary writers. Her writing floooows. Her characters and their world are a lurid, swirling soup of realism and deep emotional output. She can even do it in short stories, but I admit that novels are easier to remember! I love her second in particular for the Indian history that it entails, and because of characters who make complicated choices that engender a lifetime of consequences. The female protagonist, in particular, eschews the suffocating role of "the good Indian mother/wife," and abandons her family to embrace her own happiness. Makes me want to cheer for AND shake her! Lahiri's writing is so relateable that I've always felt a (not completely deserved, I think) correlation between her Indian characters and my sense of Jewish characters. :P What's great about this book is that no one stays in their lane. So yes, there is a universal theme to human experiences, buried amidst specific people and happenings.

#booktube #favorite books

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theconservativebrief · 6 years

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The only way out is through.

By the time the curtain falls on the first season of HBO’s Succession, that adage has quite literally drawn blood. Though the series, which follows the power struggle within a family-owned media conglomerate, has been called a satire and in some cases a comedy, any laughter during the show’s final hour will likely be out of horror rather than amusement. With each successive episode, the series has shed layer after layer, revealing itself to be something much grimmer than just a wry indictment of the über-rich.

The finale, “Nobody is Ever Missing,” lands like a bomb, fundamentally shifting the dynamics of the show thus far. That it works is largely thanks to the stunning performances of Jeremy Strong as Kendall Roy, the heir to the family company throne, and Brian Cox as Logan, his ruthless father, as their characters emerge as the keystones of the entire show.

Kendall and Logan’s story neatly vaults Succession into the realm of the classical texts that inform it, a point that was driven home when I spoke to Strong and Cox to examine the season’s final episode and its last two parts, which shake the very foundations upon which the series is built. Strong calls it an example of the archetypal monomyth, while Cox describes the show as “ludicrous.”

“It’s the ludicrousness of life,” Cox explains, citing how the classical works that Succession calls to mind — King Lear and Titus Andronicus among them — veer between comedy and tragedy. “You’re not locked into any sense of absolutism about the characters,” he adds, laughing, “You think, ‘Oh, they’re such horrible people,’ but then, if you really strip it down, they’re no more horrible than most people.”

Strong’s verdict is similar: “I hear from a lot of people how unlikeable these characters are, and I find that so interesting, as if a character is either likable or unlikable.”

It’s that refusal to fall into a strictly black-and-white matrix that ultimately makes the Succession finale so affecting, and so difficult to watch. The balance between comedy and tragedy finally tips, crashing into the latter category, and it’s a testament to the series that it all comes together.

Warning: spoilers for “Nobody is Ever Missing” lie ahead.

With the crash, the series reaches a point of no return. Colin Hutton/HBO

At the beginning of “Nobody Is Ever Missing,” Kendall delivers a letter to his father informing him of a hostile takeover of the company. For a moment, it seems like Kendall may finally triumph over Logan after the countless humiliations and setbacks he’s suffered over the course of the season, but there’s no savoring the victory. Kendall can’t get through the confrontation without stammering, and his siblings now hate him for putting their inheritances and social status in jeopardy, and on the day of his sister’s wedding, no less.

The brewing sense of unease only worsens as, at the episode’s halfway point, Kendall goes hunting for drugs to try to take the edge off, coaxing one of the serving staff to take him to get some cocaine. As they drive, they joke about kidnapping; “You should kidnap me,” Kendall says, boasting about his fortune as the boy notes that he knows a house where he could keep him. Though the characters laugh, the scene is very clearly teetering on the edge of an abyss — of some event that it’ll be impossible to come back from.

In an instant, the balance breaks. A deer appears in the middle of the road, and the car goes careening into a nearby lake. Though Kendall manages to swim out of the car, the boy is knocked out cold by the crash. Kendall dives once, twice, to try to get him out of the sinking car, but it’s no use. By the time he manages to swim to shore, the spot where the car sunk isn’t even distinguishable anymore, and the young man is dead.

The next 10 minutes focus on Kendall, and Kendall alone. As the ramifications of what’s just happened sink in, he stumbles back to the wedding festivities. The sequence almost plays like a horror movie: Kendall is soaked through to the bone, and darts behind trees to hide from cars on the road, knowing that he can’t afford to be placed anywhere near the accident. His posture is rigid, as if he doesn’t know how to function anymore, and his expression is slack, going from abject despair to grim determination and back again.

“It was really hard to shoot,” Strong says of the scene. “It was hard emotionally, it was hard physically. But in a way, those are the given circumstances, so you kind of lean into that. You lean into the fact that the water is freezing, you lean into the fact that it’s raining and freezing and it’s 4 in the morning and you’re covered in mud.”

On top of that, to try to sustain a certain “energy field” around the sequence, Strong asked the episode’s director, Mark Mylod, to keep as much of the post-crash shooting together as possible. “As you can imagine, a 10-minute sequence takes much longer to film, and you have to sustain the life and death stakes of that, or I believe you do, for the entirety of it,” he explains, adding that he’d also requested not to rehearse a few specific scenes (including Kendall’s delivering the letter to Logan) to keep a sense of tension to them.

After breaking back into his own suite (having lost his room key somewhere along the way), Kendall cleans himself off and returns to the wedding. Though he does his best to act as though nothing’s happened, dancing with his children as Whitney Houston plays, he can’t quite keep his facade from slipping.

It’s a showcase for Strong, who, despite the presence of more outwardly colorful characters like Tom Wamsgans (Matthew Macfadyen) and Cousin Greg (Nicholas Braun), emerges as the series MVP with how heartbreakingly he pulls off the episode’s final act.

“I remember just being really kind of destroyed by them,” Strong recalls of reading the final scripts, which were written by series creator Jesse Armstrong. “You read something like that, you sort of know you’re going to have to go through this, you can’t avoid it. But I think a part of me certainly wished it on someone else.”

This near-Gothic tragedy is a far cry from most initial impressions of the series, which Strong is quick to acknowledge. “Even though the show starts out with some low-hanging fruit, I think the real kind of bedrock of it, the plate tectonics of the structure that [Armstrong] starts to create, that build to this sort of tragedy, is really — when I read the script, I was blown away, and quite daunted by what I had to go through in order to serve it,” he says.

He tells me he hasn’t revisited those nights since they were over. “They were harrowing to go through. You want it to be real, is the thing. It’s not enjoyable. I think there’s always joy in the creative process, on some level, but actually, what is the character’s experience, and what is the character’s struggle — I don’t think you can really spare yourself from that if you want to embody it.”

Given just how far and how drastically Kendall falls, there’s a certain bittersweetness to knowing that the show’s writers had such a plummet in mind all along. One day, during a break in the writer’s room, Strong sneaked in to take a look around. On the wall were notecards, one of which read, “Kendall wins, but loses.”

“This could be the defining moment of your life, and indeed everything.” Colin Hutton/HBO

It doesn’t take long for the other shoe to drop. The next morning, Logan calls Kendall to discuss a matter brought to him by the police. The car and the body have been found, along with Kendall’s room key. Calmly, Logan explains to Kendall that it must have been an accident following an attempted robbery, and tells Kendall to report any missing items. Kendall, shellshocked, simply nods along.

As soon as the room empties, Logan instructs Kendall to inform his co-conspirators that the takeover is no more. Kendall begins to cry, trying to protest his innocence, but it’s of no use. “This could be the defining moment of your life, and indeed everything,” Logan says. “A rich kid kills a boy. You’d never be anything else. Or you know what it could be, what it should be? Nothing at all. A sad, little detail at a lovely wedding, where father and son are reconciled.”

There’s something awful about the episode’s final moment, as Kendall, in tears, stumbles into Logan’s arms. It’s the first glimpse of tenderness we’ve seen Logan offer his son — “You’re my number one boy,” he says in consolation — but it’s undercut by the tragedy that’s prompted it, as well as by Logan quickly calling in one of the house staff to take Kendall off his hands.

“I remember talking to Jesse about if [Logan] really loves his children,” Cox recalls, when I ask about Logan’s capacity for genuine warmth. ”Jesse said, ‘Absolutely. He absolutely loves his children.’ And I think that’s the tragedy of the piece, that’s what gives it its stature. It’s not just — it is a morality tale, certainly, but the thing about Logan is his children mean a lot to him. They’re all fuck-ups, and he sees that, and that sort of fills him with great sadness, that they have to have their hands held.”

But that doesn’t preclude a certain ruthlessness. “He really had Kendall,” Cox says of the final scene. “He was able to reconstruct Kendall, in a way. … It goes back right to the first episode, where I say to him, ‘You’re too soft.’”

It’s a sentiment that’s echoed in the finale before the crash, as Logan dresses down Kendall yet again, telling him that he’s not made for the harsher, harder world in which his father runs.

Their final conversation drives that point home, as Logan’s willingness to sacrifice a life in order to bring his son back into the fold is contrasted with the way that Kendall breaks, exhibiting a vulnerability that had seemed lost as the season progressed. They’re fundamentally different — Logan is a “man of blood,” as Strong puts it, where Kendall is not. The crash shakes Kendall to his core, but as Cox explains, “Logan will not dwell on that. He wants it sorted, done. He moves on.”

In other words, Logan’s language is the “language of strength,” a description that Strong cites from Michael Wolff’s book The Man Who Owns the News: Inside the Secret World of Rupert Murdoch, and which Cox ascribes to Logan’s childhood brutalization, as suggested by the scars visible on Logan’s back when he goes swimming in “Austerlitz.” Obviously, it’s not a vocabulary that Kendall possesses, and as Strong notes, it’s his attempts to use it that lead him to suffer.

It’s clearest in Kendall’s breakdown, which, incredibly, Strong tells me wasn’t scripted. “That’s honestly just what happened in the room that day; I had no idea how it would come out of me,” he explains. “That was just what I experienced. I think you load yourself up with everything that’s happened to the character until that moment, and then you walk through the door and see what happens. It’s a very important way of working, for me, because if anything is prescribed — to be honest, if it had been in the writing, I’m not sure it would have happened.”

On the characters of Succession: “These are real people.” Colin Hutton/HBO

“It’s not Arrested Development,” Cox says, as we discuss the series’ influences, from the Chappaquiddick incident to Greek tragedy. “There’s a classical element to it, with language, and I think that’s its strength, in a way.”

His meaning becomes clearer as he notes the way that plays like King Lear will get laughs despite being regarded as tragedies, just as Succession has excelled at balancing humor with an increasingly tragic narrative.

“I’ve always regarded myself as a comic actor,” Cox says, adding, “I play a lot of heavies, but I think I always play them in a slightly sort of comic— certainly wicked, that kind of comic way. […] I think Logan is also very funny, because he’s got this authentic quality. He doesn’t seem to be quite there. He’s not quite there because he’s damaged in some way, but he’s not quite there, I think, because he doesn’t want to be quite there. He likes to be inscrutable. And you get that very clearly in the first episode, when one son brings the goo, the sourdough, and then Tom brings a Patek Philippe watch. He’s more curious about the sourdough than he is about the Patek Philippe watch.”

Though Kendall certainly isn’t quite as opaque, he’s still unquestionably complex, and draws from the same sorts of archetypal molds. “Chekhov said, ‘Tell me what a character wants, and I’ll tell you who they are,’” Strong tells me. “What [Kendall] wants is so clear, and he goes after it with such a vengeance that that becomes his undoing. And that is such an archetypal story. I’ll be struck down by a bolt of lightning, but if you look at The Godfather, Michael Corleone goes from being this guileless student to being a cold-blooded, ruthless killer. Obviously, Jesse finds his way into that terrain in a kind of sideways way.”

To that end, Succession is an organically growing creature, and its creators clearly have larger ambitions. Cox initially expected his role on the series to be a one-season part, but Armstrong and Adam McKay dispelled that notion as soon as they began negotiating to bring him onto the show.

Cox also points to the growth of Kieran Culkin’s character, Roman, as evidence of the show’s shift toward “a more considered element.” “He’s such a roister-goister, he’s so glib and talky,” Cox says, “but he suddenly emerges. I watched [episode] eight the other day, and I thought Kieran was so good in that because he sort of ends up holding it all together.”

Again, it all comes down to a sense of humanity. “These are real people,” Strong says, stressing the quality of the show’s writing. “I think Mike Nichols said that, in the first act of a play, you invite the audience to the party. So I feel like the show invites everyone to the party, and then hopefully it kicks them in the stomach. Or something forceful.”

That forceful effect is certainly felt in the series finale, which is more than just a brutal reset, as the crash and its resulting fallout wipe out a season’s worth (arguably a lifetime’s worth) of Kendall’s attempts to get out from under Logan’s shadow. It’s wrenching to watch, and all the more remarkable for having been born out of genuine emotion.

“I think that really great work is a product of putting yourself in danger, which is sort of what I mean about not knowing what would happen in that last scene,” Strong explains. “Without risk, you’re just making something safe. Or if you know in advance what you’re making, it’s not art, certainly. I think that’s, at the end of the day, what you’re trying to make, whether you fall short of it or not — not just television.”

Original Source -> How HBO’s Succession pulled off its brutal finale

via The Conservative Brief

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gabriel-gabdiel · 4 years

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