#let alone all the other productions him and his cronies have cancelled

[theamazingian]

it breaks my heart to tell such a brave man to piss off

#he’s the reason our show was sliced in half #let alone all the other productions him and his cronies have cancelled #words

[magioftheseas]

Bubbling and Baking

KamuKoma Week Day 6: family & marriage (?)

Summary: Kamukura pays a visit to when Komaeda is raising Monaka post-drae/udg. Monaka is predictably difficult but Komaeda, as per usual, is more concerned with the larger scope.

Rating: G

Warnings: Monaka being on the harsher side, references to child abuse, mental instability and questionable motives in doing the things he does because it’s Despair!Komaeda but like, all in all, not...much, I don’t think?

Notes: I haven’t written nearly enough stuff with Komaeda and his rotten daughter and I’m sorry for that. So here’s some + Kamukura between the events of drae and sdr2/dr3. Still alternate canon because like, obviously, but yeah. Here it is. This was fun to write, especially the titular baking for some weird reason. I hope you like it.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

That strange creep looks like Sadako.

That’s her first impression of the one who called himself Kamukura Izuru. She can’t say she’s terribly impressed. Servant was passed out on the futon, having worked himself into one of those annoying frenzies. And now, there’s a stranger here, and Monaka has no idea where he came from.

Truth be told, she doesn’t really care. If it’s a ghost here to kill both of them, that’s not much of a loss. He notices her staring at him. He stares at her, eyes boring and cold. It’s like being stared at by a doll, and this doesn’t really bother her either. She’s seen this same dumb expression in the mirror countless times. She imagined she inherited it from the useless woman who birthed her.

Except. Those glowing red eyes flicker when Servant murmurs something incoherent in his sleep. Servant grins like an idiot, and if dragging herself over wasn’t such a hassle, Monaka would definitely doodle on his face. Instead, she just stares at him with open annoyance.

“I see.” She only perks because Sadako has spoken, and it’s a low, cool voice. It prickles at her. “So he took you in after all, Towa Monaka. How boring.”

“What’s it to you, stalker?” she snaps. “Are you one of Junko-nee-chan’s cronies?”

He’s lacking the helmet, though, so...a remnant?

“Incorrect.” Quick and curt. Monaka’s frown deepened as he only drew closer to the snoozing Servant. She blinked as he wipes away a disgusting line of drool. “My association with them is incidental, with Nagito being the sole exception.”

“Uh. Huh.”

Gross. Utterly gross.

Servant groans, and then he twitches, face pinching up. His eyes flutter open, and Monaka doesn’t want to think about what’s running through that guy’s head when he sees the creepy not-Sadako looming over him.

“Kamukura-kun?”

She recognized that name. Of course she did. She didn’t let that show on her face, instead watching blankly as Servant latched onto him, arms looping around his neck. The chain rustles and clinks together, and Servant squeezes the other happily.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you! I had heard you were nearby, of course, but still...! Oh!” He pulls away and gives Monaka that sickening grin. “Monaka-chan, this is Kamukura Izuru-kun.”

“Yes,” she said, nose scrunched up. “I’m aware. He looks like dried, disgusting, dirty seaweed.”

“Oh, she’s right, Kamukura-kun, you’re looking a little dirty.” Servant frowns, clicking his tongue as he grabbed a handful of the inky black locks. “Have you been swimming? Ah, we don’t have much water, but...”

“I can provide more,” Kamukura replied. “It is of no concern. I shall not deplete your resources.”

“He can’t use any of Monaka’s special Monokuma units,” she hurriedly spoke up, gritting her teeth. “He can do everything himself.”

“So uncharitable, Monaka-chan!” Servant laughed. He did not—and never really had—scold her. “That’s a little despairing.”

Urgh. So gross.

“It is of no concern,” Kamukura said simply. He didn’t look the slightest bit annoyed or bothered, just more of that abysmal vacancy. It was really starting to grate. “I only intended to announce my arrival. You may go back to sleep if you wish.”

“I feel too sick to sleep,” she spat.

“Oh, dear,” Servant looked worried. “Shall I fetch you medicine then? It would do no good if you got sick and died before accomplishing anything worthwhile, Monaka-chan.”

“Shut the hell up, like I’d really die from nausea. Unless I decided to drown in my vomit or something.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess I can try to sleep. Just talking to you is exhausting, after all.”

“That’s the spirit!”

This guy—really is a piece of work.

And the way Kamukura Izuru looked at Servant, smiling without a care, with that weirdly intense crimson gaze.

Urgh. This isn’t despair. It’s just disgusting.

--

It really was rather strange having Kamukura around, but Komaeda couldn’t complain. Kamukura tended to make things easier. Even when he remained passive and avoidant, Komaeda found his presence reassuring, in a sense. While he knew better than to have high expectations of the other at this stage, he supposed he still found that company pleasant, at least.

He was almost excited to have Kamukura here, witnessing what was sure to be his greatest efforts in raising the successor and hopefully usurper of Ultimate Despair. It was a tedious and difficult process, of course, especially with Monaka’s growing disdain. But Monaka was still here, wasn’t she? She hadn’t given up yet.

So he couldn’t dare dream of losing faith in her.

However she was very clearly and very quickly losing patience with him.

“I don’t waaaaant to!” she practically wailed. “I’m sick! Tired! Sick and tired! I don’t want another lesson, I want cake and a break!”

“I know lectures aren’t terribly exciting, Monaka-chan, but this actually is important to know,” he can’t help but laugh. “Don’t you want to be able to take care of yourself when the situation calls for it?”

“I’m crippled,” she snapped, unimpressed. “Don’t you understand what that means?” Her expression shifts into that fake innocence she wore so casually before. She blinks her big eyes at him, and speaks slowly as if to help him understand. “If Monaka finds herself in a dangerous situation... She’ll just be killed. Because she can’t run away.”

“That’s such a despairing way to think.” He tutted at her. “And not in a productive way. You’re very gifted with robotics, Monaka-chan. Technology is capable of many incredible things.”

“I had myself checked, you know,” she huffed. “The issue isn’t with my legs but my spine. Even with prosthetics, I won’t be able to walk.”

He does remember that. He remembers being impressed with Monaka’s ability to build it. She had muttered something about canceled plans, but had scowled when he prodded.

“I see. That’s a shame. It’s most unfortunate. But...”

“I shouldn’t let that stop me?” Her brows raise. “Really?”

“Really,” he repeated sincerely.

“You’re awful. You’re almost worse than the Towas.” She shakes her head, pressing buttons to make her chair turn from him. “I’ve decided I don’t want to talk or listen to you anymore.”

“I guess we can take a break,” he says lightly, breezily. “But I think first aid is still something you should know about, Monaka-chan.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to go bother? Leave me alone.”

He hit a brick wall for the time being, but he saw the twitch in Monaka’s pointed frown and puffy cheeks. So he kept smiling and nodded before waving her off. She does not wave back.

What a difficult child, but...

--

“She’s very brilliant, even if her attitude could use adjustments,” he finds himself saying. “That said, it’s understandable, isn’t it? She hasn’t exactly lived the kindest life. Not that I quite understand what she must be going through.” His laugh, then, is a self-deprecating one. “I barely knew my own parents.”

“Are you really serious about raising that girl?” Kamukura asks, and he is sewing up a blanket that Monaka ripped during one of her temper tantrums. Komaeda, fixated on the elegant motions of his fingers, hummed at the words.

“Of course I am. Out of all of those children, Monaka-chan was the closest to her. And Komaru-san has already deviated from the path.” What a disappointment that had been. Not that he cares much anymore. “Admittedly while I am confident in my knowledge about her...”

Taking care of a child is...quite the undertaking.

“Monaka-chan is intelligent enough to be self-sufficient,” he recalls. “But she is still a child. And it will take years of maturation before she’s an adult worthy to take that wretched girl’s place.”

“Do you really think this state of the world will last however many years it takes?” Kamukura asked, not looking at him. “What a boring thought. It will not be the case. Not with her influence waning.” A pause. “Unless you think she will reap despair anew. The effect will be hindered either way. So boring.”

“Ahahaha, leave it to Kamukura-kun to be a buzzkill,” he chirped, unperturbed. “If her despair is great enough, nothing else will matter.”

“So single-minded and short-sighted as always.” Kamukura bites the thread, and he finishes up. The stitching is perfect, as expected. “Well it is not like I predicted any different.”

“You just like to scold me.” Komaeda puffed his cheeks out in a manner akin to Monaka. “You have a childish sense of humor.”

“Hmph.” Kamukura glanced at him, expression smoothed over. “I only remain here out of boredom. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Sure, sure.”

You’re always saying that. I’m not so naïve to doubt it.

--

“I’m tired! I’m hungry! I want Mont Blanc!”

“You could have the Monokuma units prepare it, then. Unless...?”

“I don’t want to eat something prepared by a robot!” Monaka’s lower lip jutted out further. “Homemade is better.”

“I understand,” he chirped, even though he didn’t. “Alright, then.”

Monaka tended to make a lot of unreasonable requests when she was upset. It was always best to just cater and move on, even when she inevitably got more upset with his subpar results. He didn’t really mind. Kotoko had taken to disappointment better, but this was simply to be expected when dealing with a child.

He really doesn’t mind, even when he still finds himself at a complete loss in the kitchen.

“Okay, so...pinecones, right...?”

“You have it wrong.”

“Oh.”

He doesn’t really mind Kamukura’s sudden intervention, either.

“Why do you take on tasks that you know you are unsuited for?” Kamukura looks at him blankly. “It is irrational.”

“If you’re asked to do something, you should do it even if you’re no good at it,” Komaeda hummed, taking the alcohol. Kamukura smacks it from his hand. It clangs, but thankfully doesn’t break. “Aha! So harsh!”

That actually does annoy me a little.

“You are hopeless in this skillset. You should have requested my assistance.”

“She said she didn’t want something prepared by a robot,” Komaeda pointed out kindly.

“I am not a robot. I was made in a lab, yes, but I am of flesh and blood.” Kamukura doesn’t seem the slightest bit offended, for what it was worth. “If you are left to this task, the results will be disastrous.”

“Aww, you really think so?”

“I do not think. I know.”

“Oh.” He steps aside, smile wide. “Then, by all means. You can help. I would prefer handling it on my own, but since you insist...”

Kamukura is already grabbing and measuring the ingredients. Komaeda pauses as he sweetens the pre-peeled chestnuts. For whatever reason, the image strikes him as strangely ironic.

Without looking at him, Kamukura dumps them in the saucepan among others.

“Watch carefully,” He says lowly. “This is how you make the cream.”

The cream, huh. Ah. How very strange. This feels almost—domestic.

“Monaka-chan has quite the sweet tooth, so maybe add more sugar?” Komaeda grabs without thinking. “Here you are.”

“That’s salt.”

“Oh.” He blinks down at it before setting it back aside. “So it is.”

“Hopeless,” Kamukura repeated. Komaeda bumped him with his shoulder, and he wasn’t the slightest bit moved. “We will have to make muffins as well.”

“Mm.” He watches Kamukura flick on the oven. “You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re focused,” he explained, smile twisting. “You definitely have that house husband look. Ehehe. It’s attractive.”

Kamukura just blinks at him.

“At last that’s how it feels,” Komaeda rambled on, flustering a little. “Maybe I’m just imagining it.”

“We are cooking for a child, I suppose that is akin to a family unit,” Kamukura murmured. “However, that child is not one you feel paternal towards.”

Komaeda stills, mulling that over, thinking of Monaka’s puffy face.

“...my parents were rather absent,” he finds himself saying. “Monaka-chan’s father was neglectful. I wonder if either of us even know what being part of a family was like.”

“I lack the experience as well, but studies show that this is similar enough,” Kamukura removes the saucepan, letting it cool before pouring it into the blender. “Well, this is but a fleeting experience.”

“I suppose that’s true...”

Why does that irritate me?

“It’s nice.” Komaeda swallowed. The machine whirled. “It’s definitely nice.” Once finished, Kamukura stores the cream so that it can chill. Komaeda feels too anxious to just sit still so he hurriedly moves. “I’ll get the batter for the muffins.”

Kamukura’s gaze is intense on his back. He wonders if that’s really just because the other is making sure what he grabs is correct.

It’s true that my only intention is to create an Ultimate Despair that surpasses her.

It takes him a few times, but he finds it. Kamukura quickly takes over from there.

That once Monaka-chan becomes that Ultimate Despair, from there I expect a true radiant hope to appear.

Komaeda watches as Kamukura mixes, putting that Ultimate Pastry Chef talent to good use.

And once that happens...

Kamukura pours them in the cups. And he puts them in the oven.

Once that happens...

There’s a sweet smell in the air. It’s rather warm, and yet, Komaeda’s arms wrap around himself tightly.

What will become of Monaka-chan then, exactly?

He thinks of how she died. With a disgusting, satisfied smile. He never wants to see despair look so happy ever again.

But the idea of Monaka forlorn and miserable—he doesn’t think he wants that, either.

She can be redeemed, a voice reminds him in the back of his mind. But then, that wouldn’t make her Ultimate Despair, would it? What good can be found in despair as anything other than a stepping stone?

Kamukura mixes whipping cream and sugar, and he’s just not sure.

I suppose—it would be better to just sit back and see how things turn out. Because hope will win in the end, I can relax. I can just...relax.

“You are tense, Nagito.”

He flinches, even though Kamukura’s tone is soft and more of a low murmur.

“I... It’s really nothing.” He wonders why it is that he has such difficulty relaxing now with these thoughts swirling in his mind—when before it hadn’t been nearly as difficult. “Mm. I guess if you’re done with that. All we can do is wait for the muffins to bake among...other things. I suppose.”

“You suppose correctly,” Kamukura answered simply. He meets his gaze. “Once muffins are baked, you may alert her.”

“Alright.” Until then... Until then... “Kamukura-kun, she’s probably going to want more pastries, so...would you mind staying around for a while?”

“I suppose I can.”

Kamukura doesn’t even miss a beat. Komaeda wonders why, but he’s gracious all the same.

“Thank you.”

For whatever reason—I want things to remain for a little while longer.

--

And afterwards, when Monaka seemed to enjoy the Mont Blanc so much that she was annoyed by it, Komaeda felt his smile widen.

Just a while longer.

“This is so sweet it makes me sick,” she grumbles. “But you two are worse. Quit looking at Komae—Servant-nii-san like that. Creep.”

Kamukura does look away when he glances over, confused.

“Even if you two are a lovey-dovey couple, I don’t want to see it,” Monaka griped.

Lovey-dovey... Like parents...? Ah, no, just what am I thinking? I’m already being so overindulgent.

Komaeda idly grips his wrist, where the bandages were. He thinks about the hideous stitching, and how that could possibly compare to his and Kamukura Izuru’s relationship.

It’s for a hopeful future...nothing more. Nothing less. Still.

His eyes fell shut.

I hope we can all be happy. Something like that.

#KamuKoma #izuru kamukura #nagito komaeda #monaca towa #monaka towa #Magi fics #sdr2 spoilers #drae spoilers #hhhhhhhhh #Also Monaka is stated to be physically disabled in this fic and she's not happy about it #I like retaining that part of her character even if I'm inconsistent with how I handle it #Sorry about that

[marcjampole]

Trump decision to cancel refugee children’s soccer & school follows the centuries-old American tradition of cruelty to non-Europeans in the frontier & at the border

Under the leadership of Donald Trump, the Republican Party has graduated from pursuing Ronald Reagan’s politics of selfishness to pursuing the politics of cruelty.

How else to explain this week’s decision by the administration to cancel English classes, recreational programs and legal aid for unaccompanied minors staying in federal migrant shelters?

The excuse for not educating or providing recreation to these innocent victims of violence and environmental upheaval—to which the United States had made a major contribution—is that the influx of immigrants at our southern border has created critical budget pressures. According to U.S. Health and Human Services (HHS) PR flack Mark Weber, to save money the Office of Refugee Resettlement has stopped funding programs “not directly necessary for the protection of life and safety, including education services, legal services, and recreation.” Sounds as if Trump is using these innocent victims as a bargaining chip with Congress. I wonder if he ever thought of torturing his own children as part of a negotiation?

So what are these kids going to do all day except hang around being hungry and bored? A recipe for getting into trouble, to be sure. And how can they ever hope to navigate our complicated immigration laws and system and reunite with their parents without any legal help?

Nothing short of an audit by Bernie Sanders supporters would convince me that the HHS is so broke that it has to deprive children of recreation, education and hope.  I think it’s not a bargaining chip, just an excuse for ratcheting up the meanness. Those of us who have followed the revelation about Trump’s personal finances understand that he and his cronies are masters of changing what budget numbers say. Remember Trump’s the guy who told the IRS that his assets were worth little to avoid paying taxes at the same time he was pumping up their value to get bank loans.

There are no doubt other places in the border budget that Trump could save money; for example, spending no more than the amount that most experts recommend is appropriate for walls or wall prototypes. That number, BTW, happens to be zero, since most immigration and security professionals have concluded the wall is a stupid idea.

Based on an analysis of other moves that the Trump Administration and the GOP have made recently, I think we can safely assume that the prime motivating factor in ending soccer and school for refugee children is cruelty. It is purposely cruel, as if Trump and his crew want not just to win, but to make it hurt the “enemy” so badly that everyone knows who is boss. They haven’t stopped to think that 12- and 15-year olds are never the enemy and never deserve purposely cruel treatment.

Separating children from their families is an act of cruelty. Criminalizing abortion and making a woman carry a rapist’s baby to full term is cruel. Putting the “Dreamers” into a legal limbo is cruel. Ending special programs to protect refugees from Haiti and El Salvador is cruel. Cutting humanitarian aid to Central American countries is cruel. Proposing cuts to food stamps, Medicaid, Medicare and Social Security is cruel. Then there’s the especially twisted notion of assessing tariffs on Mexican and Chinese products, which will end up hurting the poor and middle class, as prices for virtually everything will go up when companies pass the cost of the tariffs to consumers. The twist of course is that the tariff money collected will make up some of the enormous deficit the GOP created by giving the ultra-wealthy one of the largest tax breaks in history at a time when their taxes were already historically low.

It’s easy to say that when Trump is frustrated, the first thing he does is look for someone to take it out on, and that the more pain he manages to cause, the happier this sick pup becomes.

But blaming the character of Trump alone would ignore the long U.S. history of cruel treatment of people whom white males considered to be inferior to Europeans and of those they encountered at their ever west-moving frontier. British army commander Jeffrey Amherst knowingly gave smallpox-infected blankets to Native American tribes during the Seven Years War, hoping an epidemic of the disease would wipe out whole communities. Cruelty to blacks characterizes the entire history of slavery and post-Reconstruction in the United States. Whether dealing with Native Americans or with supporters of democracy in the Philippines after the Spanish-American War, American soldiers (and pioneers) employed rape, pillage, mass murder and displacement as their main tactics. It was if Europeans could only demonstrate their inherent superiority to other ethnic groups by treating these lesser beings as animals.

Historian Greg Grandin’s The End of the Myth provides an easy-to-read if hard-to-stomach spectacle of U.S. official and unofficial cruelty to non-Europeans at America’s borders over the past 250 years. Grandin’s two premises are shaky: He avers that the U.S. is the only nation defined by its relationship to its frontier, which ignores the histories of China and Russia (and if one studies the medieval Ottonian dynasty, Germany, too). He also asserts that Trump was able to emerge because of societal anxiety now that the frontier is gone and our borders are closed, which fails to take into account Grandin’s own discussion of Andrew Johnson, the prototype of Trumpism; the strain of Jacksonian racism that still infects U.S. foreign policy; or Grandin’s mini-history of border vigilantism. No matter, the book’s detail makes it worth reading. Two other great books on American frontier cruelty—but  heavy reading slogs—are Richard Slotkin’s seminal Regeneration through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier (1973) and The Fatal Environment: The Myth of the Frontier in the Age of Industrialization (1985).

The important takeaway from these books for this conversation is the detailed accounts of how, when faced with both humanistic and cruel ways to deal with the peoples encountered on its frontiers, the American way was virtually always to select cruelty. Blaming victims, of course, is always easier and less expensive than trying to help them. For example, the contemporary GOP program—from Reagan onwards—uses victim blaming as a justification for cutting programs that help our poor, elderly and disadvantaged. A supposed inferiority justified the cruel treatment of slaves. It justified Bush II’s creation of our torture program. And it’s instrumental in justifying the inhumane and illegal treatment of refugees and other immigrants at our borders.

Trump’s views resonate with the 20-25% of the population that is white and feels threatened by the demographic shifts in this country that favor groups they deem inferior. We don’t know, but we can assume that many ICE employees and government officials agree with Trump’s cruel approach, something that Grandin suggests. Trump’s administration is not the first time America has pursued an overtly racist program—Andrew Jackson and most of the presidents between him and Lincoln pursued racist domestic and foreign policies; Woodrow Wilson re-segregated the federal government and let the Klu Klux Klan run wild.

No, Trump does not represent an inflection point. Yes, Trump is a monster, but not an especially original one. He continues a long American tradition of racism and racial cruelty, especially to non-European immigrants, refugees and combatants.