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#and yes I recognize that this is pretty bleak
stuckinapril · 24 days
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listening to all the demos victoria monet did for ariana grande is insane bc how did this woman have it in her to sit on all this material and not be frustrated about it
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i984 · 1 year
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Snowy Escape
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|Pairing|: Wednesday Addams x Chronokinesis! gender neutral reader
|Warnings|: HAND HOLDING AHHH, Probably Ooc! Wednesday Addams, author hasn't written fluff for a while now so it's rusty, your relationship is made vague in this one, Wednesday is a softie argue with the wall, let me know if I should add more warnings.
|Summary|: Wednesday witnesses a bewitching sight thanks to your powers.
|A/n|: I am finally back at the fluffy one-shot fic business. Check blog description for masterlist!
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Snow.
Such a pretty thing, no?
Vermont is the snowiest state in the USA, so it wasn't uncommon to see white covering Jericho in the cold season. And this year, it's no different. Your first winter in Nevermore Academy. With her.
Braids decorated in crystalline powder, heavy eyelashes hooded iridescent dark brown orbs. Wednesday had a speck of red covering her freckle-painted cheeks. Though the tip of her nose and ears blushed a lovely cherry. She looked positively enchanting like this; there's no doubt about it.
"Winter suits you perfectly," you murmured softly to the girl beside you.
"The bleak skies and the stifling cold does reflect myself well," her impassive voice answered.
You hold back a grin, "I was thinking more about how it makes you blush."
"It's natural," Wednesday's eyes traveled from the bleached ground to your face, "When exposed to freezing temperatures, the body tries to warm itself by circulating blood close to the surface."
She's greeted with the sight of an amused smile. "What?"
You snorted at the bite in her tone, "Yes, silly, but I meant the blush compliments your look really well."
Wednesday doesn't answer. Instead, she turns to look at the barren trees far in the distance. Her blush has deepened, and now her whole face glows crimson. You decided not to comment on your observation.
A gentle hush cloaked the school grounds; no students were walking around. Even though the sparkling winter scape of white and silver proves a captivating sight, most opted to stay inside, sipping hot chocolate, protected from the freezing chill.
But here you both are, standing in the middle of the quad, watching heaven spew its ivory confetti. 
"You said you wanted to show me something?" Wednesday breaks the comforting silence. 
"Yeah, about that..." Your words trailed off as you rubbed the back of your neck on instinct, eyes refusing to meet the ravennete's inquiring gaze. 
Indeed you had asked her to go outside after seeing snow falling from your dormitory's window; for a specific reason. 
Though now, you're not sure if it's a great one. 
Wednesday immediately recognizes the look of uncertainty on your face. The one you make when you've planned everything perfectly; but forgot to think about the uncontrollable variables, though which variables this time is still up for debate.
"Nothing is stopping you."
You finally turn your head to see Wednesday holding her usual blank stare, but somehow her face looks almost reassuring. Like she was challenging you to come through with your request. 
"Well, if that's the case..." You take a deep breath to calm your nerve before you shoot her with the determining question, "can I hold your hand?"
Wednesday's eyes widen in the wake of your words; the preposition caught the raven-haired girl off guard. She obviously didn't expect you to ask her that.
Silence lingered between the two of you, and with each passing moment, you got more anxious about her response. Suddenly, you're more aware of the skin-seeping cold and your chilblained feet. 
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," you scratched at your eyebrow, "we can continue to watch the snow-"
The string of hurried words got silenced as soon as her icy hand met yours. Mouth gaping, steam exhaled from your lungs as shallow breaths fill the air. 
Warmth floods your body; now it's your turn to have blood rushing to your face. Eyes lowering to see the small hand interlinked with yours, you can't fight the grin tugging your chapped lips. 
It's the simple things, you thought.
"Thank you."
Her head moves in a subtle nod.
So simple it melts your worry away. 
A free hand now raising in the air, you look over to see Wednesday's brows doing the same, wonder etched in her features.
"Ready?" Intertwining your fingers with hers, you clasp her hand firmly, the heat radiating from the touch slowly warming her skin.
"What are you-"
The fragile flakes hung mid-air, shimmering as they reflected the trapped light when you stopped the world around you. You feel the recurring frosty blow hitting your face cease; the world is entombed in a dome of silence.
The serenity of it all has a captivating quality; it's not every day you stop time. A hum escapes your throat in contentment, and you feel the girl beside you shift in her place.
"How am I still moving?" Wednesday's words echo onto the vast space, curiosity evident in her sound.
"Whoever I touch when I use my powers will not be frozen in time," You explained carefully to her, "That's why I asked to hold your hand."
"Fascinating."
Now it's Wednesday's turn to raise a free hand into the air, but hers brushes the stilled powdered gem. The touch was delicate, testing if the snow would crumble in her wake.
But the particle stays unmoving. Except for the two of you, everything in the world is trapped in a stoning spell, lending the lucky ones time to appreciate the beauty of the panorama. 
The red scarf you gifted Wednesday for Christmas sits around her neck loosely, and her coat lifts as she stands on tiptoes above white concrete. 
Her quirking eyebrows, the slightly jutted lips, the crimson shade; everything about her enamored you. You may be able to stop time, but she stopped your world from circling the orbit, moving the course as if she's the sun in your life. 
"Bewitching," you breathed the word out, and Wednesday turned to find your gaze transfixed on her face. Not at the tranquil scenery or anywhere else. But at her. 
Caught in a trance, neither of you realizes the earth resumes its activity; whining winds gusts, and fluttery snowflakes puffed down once more.
You can beg for Chronos' patience for only so long. 
Wednesday takes both freezing hands into her coat's pocket. 
It's the simple things that matter.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
|A/n2|: Thank you so much for the anon who made the request, as soon as I see it my body jumps and grabbed my laptop to write. You saved me from procrastinating yet again.
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qiutls · 9 months
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TNGDH 012
After the two fought, the miracle value rose to 8%, perhaps because I changed the course of the original plot.
This is quite expensive for just one performance of painting. Although, because of this act Kyle called for a veterinarian the day after.
'Your magical beast is quite cute, Your Highness....'
There was one problem, the doctor that came seemed to know nothing about magical beasts and could only say the sentence above.
But it was to be expected, how could a doctor who only examines rodents have any idea on what's wrong with a magical beast. I think it's even more amazing that there are veterinarians in this world.
'Was my acting too real...'
At this rate, if I really sneeze, the whole castle of Blake might be sent into a frenzy. The future of the North is bleak...
Kyle seemed to not want to leave my side, yet he didn't have a choice since it was a busy time and he needed to look over the preparations. It's not easy to be in charge of a territory. Still, seeing that the affairs are being finalized, he seems to be pretty good at his job as a lord.
Eventually he left the study to check the dinner preparation during the afternoon. He looked quite commendable today, so I'll let him kiss up to 5 times.
Thanks to him being busy, I also have some free time. As soon as I confirmed that he has moved far away from the study, I quickly used the skill and became human.
[ Good luck! (ෆ`꒳´ෆ) ]
*
"So you're saying your name is... Shu?"
I'm doomed.
I'm tired of saying 'I'm doomed', but I have no other words for this situation.
Right now, I'm roughly dressed in different pieces of clothing which I found in other laundry rooms along the path from the maid's laundry. I managed to find an attendant's uniform.
And although it didn't fit, I was lucky to find leather boots clean shirts and pants.
​Thanks to the nice situation, I felt a little elated thinking my luck has finally turned around, that is until I ran into Sen at the hallway.
"Well, yes, I guess-"
Sen frowned as I spoke indifferently.
"Where in the world would you find someone who says, 'I guess' when asked about their name."
Where you ask? It's here in this world. Since you wouldn't believe that my name is 'Cashew Nut,' I could only say 'Shu.'
I don't have any other name prepared, if I said my real name which probably doesn't exist in this world, you would think I'm strange.
So, I could only say that my name is 'Shu'. It's taken from Cashew Nut, although it's not a good name, I took it from the name the Grand Duke sincerely bestowed upon me.
The quick-witted Sen immediately recognized that I was wearing someone else's clothes. It's because of this shirt that's suspiciously large on my frame.
"Did you steal these clothes? Are you perhaps the infamous, companionship pervert-"
"I'm not!"
Of course, it's me, but I can't admit it!
What do you mean companionship pervert, I'm just a companion okay? When I shouted in reply, Sen grumbled and said,
"If it's not you, then why are you yelling?"
Luckily, she was as kind as she was clever. Instead of accusing me, she decided to listen to my explanation.
Thanks to this, I was forced to come up with a sob story of my past on the spot. I stammered and told her how my family was killed by demonic beasts when I was young and how I had nothing to wear now since I outgrew my old clothes. I also told her I couldn't remember the name my family gave me, so I gave a name to myself, thinking it was an appropriate name for me.
..... Come to think of it. It was not far from the truth, when I was young, my parents did indeed die, due to a car accident. And I was poor and unable to buy clothes.
"I see. It is indeed common for refugees to enter the estate or the castle during the festival. That's why His Highness prepares a lot of food during this period. A lot of orphans like you stumble around here."
Sen looked at me with a complex expression and said,
"I also lost my family, so I came here all the way to the North, just like you, I don't have anyone left."
She seemed to have felt sorry for me.
After our conversation, Sen disappeared for a while then brought back a few clothes. She said it was clothes usually worn by servants. It was simple and clean, and it was easy to move my body wearing it.
Thanks to Sen, my situation actually became better, so I gave the stolen clothes back to her.
"Shu, it seems that we are hiring more servants because there's not enough workers in the castle these days. Why don't you apply? You can stay at the castle, and you won't have to steal clothes like this anymore."
"I won't steal. Really, please believe me. I'm also embarrassed by my actions."
I can't believe I have to look for a job here as well. It's really hard to make ends meet. Everything was free when I was just a hamster. Ah, maybe because I paid it with my human rights.
I asked in a faint voice.
​"But there's going to be an interview, right?"
"Of course, they don't just blindly pick. And working here in the castle is much more sought out than you think!"
"Is that so? How many rounds will the application process have?"
Sen looked at me blankly as if I asked a weird question.
"Hmm? How many what?"
​"It's nothing..."
That's right, this isn't even a company. There might not be enough spots as well, so I need to do my best to get picked.
After that, I stuck with Sen as she gave me a tour of the castle. I earnestly memorized the layout of the Blake Castle and at the same time, eavesdropped on servants passing by in case I hear any rumors, I learned the way to the study, I found out about a passageway used by servants only, and discovered rooms that were not being used.
Thanks to this, I also found a good place to hide my clothes. It was the most fulfilling 30 minutes I've spent since I've transmigrated.
"Can I leave you for a bit? I need to give these documents to His Highness, he asked to strengthen the security, so I made a new timetable for the soldiers patrolling."
"Oh that, His Highness said he was going to return to the study, he must almost be there by now, it's fine we can take our time."
W-what? His Highness is returning to the study? Already?!
I stood stiffly on the spot.
It hasn't even been long after 30 minutes as a human, this plan is ruined again. If this continues, it's easier to count the moments in life that's not ruined.
"So that's everything about the East Tower, now let's look at the Central Area where the banquet hall is found... Huh? Shu! Where are you going?!"
"Sorry, I forgot about something I needed to do! I'll look around the banquet hall next time!"
Right now, the problem isn't that I can't look around the banquet hall. If I'm not back in the hamster house in 3 seconds I'm afraid the Blake castle will be turned inside out again.
I quickly stuffed my clothes in the unused storage room and closed it from the inside. I need to hurry and go back and pretend like nothings amiss...
As soon as the white light wrapped around my body, I suddenly felt uneasy. I had an instinctive intuition that I shouldn't release the skill without thinking.
'Hey system, can I specify a location inside the hamster house?'
[ Of course!  ]
'Then... please put me in the most out of sight. Where was it again? The place where I piled up the sawdust to make the ground soft? It's around the corner of the first floor.'
The white light slowly wrapped around my body again and as it flashed the surroundings turned brown. It seems I arrived safely as expected...
Then someone suddenly grabbed my body.
― Squeak! [ What the?! ]
"Cashew Nut."
His voice was several times lower than usual. Even when Belial was here, I don't think his voice sounded this gloomy.
Kyle's eyes fell on me, and my body trembled reflexively. H-hey! Wait a minute, what's wrong with you? Let's talk, just t-talk it out. Of course, you don't understand what I'm saying but-
'.... Why does it feel like your eyes are a bit off.'
No, not just a bit, I meant a lot.
"I thought you disappeared."
​I did disappear, but I was going to come back, it's just you came back before me!
I rolled my eyes and glanced at his hands, the tendons on his wrists, turned black and blue, as if he was preventing himself from exerting too much force on his hands.
Seeing the sawdust stuck between his fingers, he must've been searching the floor of the house when he saw I wasn't at the usual spot with the feeding bowl and toys.
Thump. Thump. 
A heartbeat that seemed quite fast could be felt from the palm of his hand.
Why are you so nervous. I'm just a magical beast found in the wild. If you act like this, people will think you love me more than you love your own life.
"Cashew Nut, please don't scare me like that again."
I heard him sigh.
Kyle looked at me with complicated eyes and gently stroked my head. His hand that was holding me was shaking, yet the hand that swept through my fur was so gentle and stable.
"Am I ridiculous for liking you this much? I don't know if the rest of the world thinks like Belial. But from the first moment I held you in my hands, I was determined to give you all the love I have. Isn't it natural to cherish you with all my might since I decided that you'll be my companion."
Why are you speaking such touching words.
I stopped twisting in his grasp and stretched out my paw to touch his palm.
​'You really must've been worried.'
That's right, I suddenly disappeared just a few days ago while you were washing up. For me, I was just turning into human to look around the castle, but for you it must have been shocking to find that I've gone.
I felt sorry towards Kyle. But I can't help it, I need to go out... Okay then, I'll adjust my schedule, how about going out when you're sleeping? Alright, let's do it like that.
Kyle put his lips briefly on my forehead and said affectionately.
"I want to make you the happiest magical beast in the whole world."
What a commendable remark. It's this hamster's luck to be picked by you. It's indeed convenient to live when your owner is a kind human.
"And if ever someone kidnaps you, he will not have the luxury of being buried in one place."
I take back what I said about you being kind. This owner is a bit strange. Please, don't be to obsessed with hamsters!
"Tomorrow afternoon, the vet will come again to examine you, Cashew Nut. It still bothers me that you fainted out of nowhere. Maybe you're too skinny.... I'll bring you a lot of special snacks tomorrow morning. For now, here, Sen brought you a beef snack."
Wow! Beef... Alright I'll let you slide even if you're too overbearing. Korean beef.... Ah, there's no Korean beef here. Northern beef, come to me~
By the way, you make me eat until I'm full every breakfast, lunch and dinner, but you think I'm skinny? Just because you can hold me with one hand doesn't mean I'm skinny!
​Back in my old world, I was originally a glutton. I ate a lot and ate more freely once I got here. I guess I brought that habit with me here.
'Is the hamster constitution, the same as human constitution?'
​Of course I don't know, I've never lived as a hamster before. Excuse me, does anyone know what's the average weight for a hamster?
"But it's alright, since you're still cute."
To Kyle, I seemed to be the definition of the most perfect specimen in this whole universe.
'This hamster otaku.....'
Hmph, still I felt a bit happy today, so I'll let it slide and call you a kind owner.
T/N:
everyone tysm for the notes and follow! it's really nice to see the number of readers grow! also please don't forget to support the author by buying the raws! it's linked at the novel masterpage :)
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apollos-boyfriend · 1 month
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haii could you give me a summary of c!purpleds characterization ???
oughhh i always struggle w questions like these because for me it has become almost second nature but. i will try my best (≧∀≦ゞ fellow cpurpled enjoyers feel free to chime in with ur own suggestions if u so wish
purpled is selfish. this feels like a pretty obvious aspect of his character but Oh the amount of people i’ve seen get it wrong. he does not feel guilt over his selfishness. he will take and take until there’s no more left to steal, and he will blame the other party for his loss. he’s a survivalist before all else, a businessman before a person, and he’s proud of it. he’s manipulative and cunning and, honestly, a total asshole most of the time. it’s part of his charm
he’s been used. a lot. being used is kind of a key aspect of his character and his behavior. i think it’s important to note though that his experiences are never portrayed in a way where he’s meant to be pitied. his story is more focused on rage, on revenge, on a burning anger that will burn everything in its path. his story is tragic, yes, but he Refuses to let it be a tragedy (he is not consciously making this choice, which i’ll go into later)
he’s VERY prideful. he’s good at a lot of things and he knows it. i think a lot of people see his character type of smug, confident asshole and jump to the conclusion that it’s a front for him to cover up his insecurities but. i cannot stress enough. he is Genuinely Just Like That. he is almost fully incapable of self-doubt. if he ever encounters a situation where he has fucked up he will instantly find a way to shift that blame to others. he’s hot shit, he knows it, and he WILL make it everyone’s problem
something i think is really important is that, when it comes to seeing others, he sees most people at a neutral. he has very few people he strongly likes or dislikes, and is more uninterested and unconcerned with most people. he looks down on them, but not in a negative way, per se. that’s just how purpled sees people. if they can’t provide him with something, they’re unimportant to him. it’s not personal, it’s just fact. quackity is the only person purpled has a true hatred towards, as well as technically tommy, but that was more as a one-sided rivalry, and much, much lesser. it’s worth noting he did NOT hate slime, seeing him as a nuisance at best. he only attacked slime because he knew it’d be the way to hurt quackity the most, he held no real animosity towards him otherwise. ponk, hannah, jack manifold, tubbo, and technically boomer are the only people i’d really classify of being people purpled enjoys being around/sees on the same level as him
i know a lot of these points are somewhat bleak and serious, but he does have a silly side!! he likes pranks and scams. his best friend is his dog, who he regularly talks to as if he was another person. he has a flair for the dramatics and likes showing off, even if doing so is risky, and even if no one but him will see it
this is less of a character analysis but he talks like if you introduced an angry victorian orphan to youtube shorts. he has a very specific cadence of more sophisticated, verbose language mixed with modern-day slang and memes. it’s. very strange. i really can’t begin to properly describe it
there is zero self-awareness in that boy. he cannot see past his anger and spite and realize possible mistakes. 95% of what i’ve mentioned here he is completely unaware of. he can’t see his flaws, he can’t realize his wants, yet he always sees himself as on the right and on top. he is playing 4D chess completely unaware that everyone else is playing checkers, and is prone to unintentionally self-sabotaging himself due to being unable to recognize his true wants. he has 0 self-awareness of any of this. the way i write purpled is to make it Blatantly Obvious to the reader that his mindset and worldview is wrong, but make him completely blind to these points. he should not know things are wrong, but the reader should be able to pick up on it
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thegreatwicked · 2 months
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Ok, so I have an idea... Yes, it's another WIP but hear me out!
I think Charlie Weasely is probably... how do you say? Smoking hot. And I'm pretty sure he rocks a man bun, so I was recently challenged to write a love interest for him so I made a character but being as I am SWAMPED with stories, I just need to know if anyone would be interested in this story aside from moi. So here's a little something I made up... I might write it anyway though. Lord, I have NEVER delved into the HP fandom before...
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In the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War, Charlie Weasley, the recluse of the Weasley family, delves into dragon rehabilitation in Romania. Renowned for his inclination toward dragons rather than people, he temporarily sets aside his parents' hopes of him settling down, seeking solace amidst his scaly companions.
Despite his intimate connection with the creatures, Charlie and his colleagues encounter an unprecedented challenge – dragons so deeply scarred by the war that the prospect of healing appears bleak. Relief comes from overseas in the form of Océane Laveau, an American witch possessing a natural talent for soothing magical creatures, aligning seamlessly with Charlie's own abilities. The dynamics of his secluded world undergo a transformation as Océane arrives, bringing her distinctive New Orleans drawl and voodoo-rich roots, injecting a new essence into the Romanian landscape.
As they collaborate to mend the wounds of the traumatized dragons, a profound connection blossoms. The dragons, renowned for their lifelong bonds, reflect the growing ties between the two humans committed to comprehending and mending them.
Amid the fiery journey of dragon rehabilitation, will Charlie and Océane recognize that their own sparks might be as undeniable as those illuminating the majestic creatures under their care?
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charismaofobedience · 10 months
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Hi and welcome to cherens trial 2 mappi mv analysis because im still going insane.
2 things from the beginning: So, why the carousel and where's the cage?
For the cage disappearing, I myself can only see one meaning for that: We know that the cage is fully present on trial one through basically the whole mv. I saw many people saying that cage is basically Mahirus relationship during trial 1, but now i think we have to change it onto something else: Mahirus brain trying to protect her from the reality of her love. Notice how in the trial 2 mv we are still basically in the same place as trial 1 with the sofa and the table, however, with the cage fully gone and we get to see the "reality" of their love through the mv. Mahirus brain stopped protecting itself and started being honest with her.
Why a carousel? Well. There is a somewhat common troupe known as the carousel of life. Carousels never stop moving and continue to go round and round, even if on a circle. Through the mv, this is basically meant to represent both Mahirus life and love (after all, the two are basically connected for her). It also matches well into her whole lovey dovey themes since it is one of the usually seen as romantic rides on amusement parks.
Now. Let's go.
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From the beginning, we already have that "reality" of Mahirus brain. Through this I'll use two terms: real world and "love lenses" (these referring to Mahirus idealized views on things, where her brain tricks her). There is no beating around it, everything is bleak and dark with the carousel broken and Mahiru herself is holding it. We saw from the beginning her boyfriend was already dead and hanging on that carousel, so now Mahiru holds her life on standstill. Not anyone else but her. Mahiru fully recognizes with this that she is the one at fault for his death even if indirectly, since this means she is now aware that her life (and love) came into a standstill thanks to her and her alone.
Another theming common through the mv is feeding. Also seen as basically a demonstration of love. There is a line on that beginning that says that she has "no appetite", meaning from trial 2 Mahiru basically lost that driving need for love she had. She still wishes for it, yes, but she feels that she doesn't need it anymore... However, on the official english translation it's interesting to note that it doesn't refer to her alone, it just says 'no appetite', which could also refer to her boyfriend not being hungry... So, he "not needing the food", not needing her love anymore.
The sofa is still there but destroyed and we see Mahiru looking at it sadly (after all, it was in perfect state on trial 1) but, as soon as Mahiru lays down in it all by herself, the song quickly shifts as the love lenses start to work in her brain. Her boyfriend is magically there, with confetti and all, almost like a surprise, and everything is colorful and happy.
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Note her own face of surprise even. Mahiru wasn't expecting this, she was basically ready to accept he had died and it was her fault, after all, the literal beginning of the mv showed his body hanging but, the moment she lays down, her brain starts to trick her. Mahiru instantly clutches onto him, wanting to believe that he isn't gone, that he's there with her, that everything is fine. She still wants that love after all. The cake imagery begins there, with him feeding her cake, a pretty direct metaphor for their love. With the dreamy lenses still on, we can see that it's meant to be a cake in Mahirus idealized brain, but we later get to know what it truly is meant to be in the 'real world'. It's also interesting to note that, the moment this shift happens, the song also changes to something that's also EXTREMELY more reminiscent of her trial 1 song, with the same chirpy pop tune and her high pitched vocals instead of the instrumentals and vocals she kept on the real life part. This is also direct proof her brain is trying to trick her into believing it's all perfect, just like in trial 1.
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One thing to note too is that the carousel was already stopped in these lenses. They're fully static even if she is with him, almost as if reminding Mahiru that, even if they are together, their life is not moving on. That their relationship is not progressing, even if that is what she wants.
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It's why, one second after that, we see Mahiru pulling him to the carousel. Mahiru wants their life and relationship to continue onto something greater! She wants them to progress! She wants more than just that, which we know since it is said she trained to be a housewife. She wants them to progress onto something more serious... But that wasn't something he wanted.
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Mahirus dreamy lenses are still on for that part and yes, the carousel started moving! Their relationship is starting to move forward! However, one moment after that, we get to see it as it was in the real life and we can clearly see that, even if both his and her clothes are ragged and battered, shown how their relationship by then was already declining, Mahiru continued to smile believing it was all going to solve itself soon, after all, they were moving onto something greater! However, her boyfriend is clearly tired and not happy with that arrangement. They're in the forest where he died and, even if they're not in that dreamy world anymore, the carousel, their life, continues to move.
They're seen walking together on that forest as a symbolism of them progressing to their future, but then we notice him falling down to his knees during that walk and scratching the dirt while looking up at Mahiru, so in a way of putting an end to this progress, to where they were heading. This is the last part we get to see his eyes on the mv by the way, and after that they're always blacked out. Aka. This is the exact part he had already killed himself.
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Mahirus love lenses still can't let her process that, with her brain making her think that there is just something wrong on their relationship that she can fix, so, doing the one way we were shown in this mv to demonstrate love and it worked on her: Mahiru starts feeding him her love.
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But isn't he already dead? Indeed. Mahiru continued nurturing that love and feeding it to him even if he is already dead, idolizing it and clinging onto it and that idealized version of it to tell herself it was alright, even if right after we get to see what she was "truly" feeding him in the real life...
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The rats. This also means that, since the beginning (after all, these love lenses were active already in the part where he feeds her) their love wasn't fully healthy at all and she wasn't abusive, instead, she was just doing what he did to her too: feeding him her love. Even if he is already dead, Mahiru continued feeding him that love of hers.
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Right after that feeding part, we cut to a broken carousel continuing to go around. So Mahirus life continues to move on just as her love for him, with her mind keeping that love until the end... Until the imagery of him hanging on the carousel appears and it fully stops and hits and end, Mahirus brain finally bringing the acceptation that he is dead and, after his death, the carousel, love and life of her, stopped and shouldn't/can't continue going to go around.
Tldr i want to get mahiru a therapist
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dominantslasherking · 2 years
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i had a dream u posted kurt kunkle fic thing and tbh now that's what i've been thing about all day 😭
my skrunkly little virgin streamer <33
Kurt Kunkle with Dominant Streamer! Male S/o
My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+.
Backstory: Kurt was planning to have you as another part of his lesson, but things seemed to be going...a little different.
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Walking along the sidewalk, you waited for your Spree, in the meantime, you turned to look at the reviews on your horror book that you recently published, it was doing extremely well so far, and racking up many fans of the book.
Letting out a quick yawn as your spree quickly arrived.
"Uhh, [Name] Right?!" The spree driver pulled up, as you stared at his big doe eyes, finding it rather cute.
"Mm, that's me." You pulled up into the front seat much to Kurt's surprise, normally it would be awkward to pull up in the front set however this spree driver was rather cute to look at, and you needed a good view in the meantime.
Tilting your bleak and cold eyes at him, you recognized him from somewhere...ah--isn't he that killer uber driver...I mean you have seen him on a streaming site, murdering people. However, it didn't really bother you, as you pretended not to know who he was, who knows if you survive this you could have a really good plot for your next horror story.
"So, a spree driver?" You hummed out, making conversation as Kurt started driving..
"I'm---Uh also a streamer!" Kurt blurted out showing you his phone which was recording, and then you took notice of the cameras all over the car.
"Follow me for a follow! KurtsWorld96..." Kurt asked with a smile, as you couldn't take your eyes off the murderer, he was awkward, cute, and enticing...how is he a murderer? Hmm, seems he really wanted fame.
Kurt's eyes draw to his phone, looking at some of the comments. As he turned to look at you, to see you already intently staring at him. "Uh--hm- Do I have something...on my face?" Kurt bashfully asked out turning away from you, a blush formed on his cheeks from your fierce gaze.
"You're just rather cute, big fan by the way." You suddenly made it known, that you knew who he was, as his eyes widen and started to smile while letting out a small laugh.
as Kurt started awkwardly, thanking you while suddenly asking his viewers a question.
"I'm [Name] And your Kurt right?" You asked out Kurt nodding his head while paying attention to his phone.
"Soo, what should I do guys?" Kurt suddenly tapped on his phone, pulling up a poll for his viewers, noticing that he was racking up more views when the camera caught a glimpse of you.
Even though you were a fan, which he really appreciated, not to mention he found you attractive, he wanted to know what his viewers thought.
Once Kurt let the poll finish he brought up the results, it was a pretty evenly tie between fuck and marry, with only a few votes on kill. However, the majority said marry.
As Kurt was driving you to notice he passed your destination, "Uhm? Kurt?" You gently asked out as he glanced towards you, "Yes?" He asked with a smile, "We passed my destination."
Kurt bobbed his head, as he started to drive in an unknown area that you did not recognize.
"You- see I was doing this uhm poll, Fuck, marry, kill...and Marry won- soo--" Kurt spluttered out, showing you the poll as you took the phone, and started smiling while looking at Kurt.
"That's rather cute you know...are you really going to marry me Kurt?" You clearly teased him as he awkwardly bit on his plump lips, "It's...what the viewers want right?" He asked his chat, which suddenly began to spam yes.
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regallibellbright · 5 months
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Played Fashion Dreamer until my Switch battery went low, so at least for short-term entertainment I suspect I’ll be able to get my money’s worth out of it personally, and spent some time afterwards reflecting on what I think it’s doing good at and where it’s falling.
As predicted I log into Online Mode and I am greeted by a vast and wonderful array of lolita clothes fitting into at least two distinct subgenres. Since I played more online than off, I’m pretty sure I got an overrepresentation of that branch of the design options, and the comparatively understated but still distinctly dainty stuff, but I saw at least a couple people preferring the more professional or cool looks, respectively. Relatively little of the cutesy pop stuff, which I’ve always had a soft spot for, but I DID get a very cute oversized sweatshirt dress with a polka dot stegosaurus on it in several colors, and that served me quite nicely.
You’ll notice all of this is talking about women’s fashion in a game that also has playable men in a first for Syn Sophia’s fashion games. The gender lock’s aggressive and annoying, and the fact that fucking SOCKS are gendered when headwear and earrings aren’t is baffling. I have to assume it’s something to do with the modeling by this point, because you can give a Type B body a bunny-eared maid headband and whatever earrings your heart desires, and I have. I struggle to see why you would then draw the line at equal opportunity fishnets. Hair isn’t gender-locked, awesome, and Type A bodies can actually have facial hair, which surprised me because my expectations were in the toilet by this point.
But yeah. The menswear. It may just be because I was playing mostly in online mode and therefore more at the whims of player choice the way I could recognize the heavy weighting towards lolita style for the women’s fashion wasn’t representative of the game as a whole, but all the Type B characters I ran into were generally dressed in an aesthetic I’m going to call “slightly generic 2020s boy band”.
Which sounds unflattering, yes, but I consider this a genuine improvement, because the 3DS games’ menswear was mostly an aesthetic I struggled to place for a bit before settling on “totally generic stock photo model.”
I’ll get comparative pictures for you all at some point, but genuinely. Legitimately. The 3DS games were bleak. There were maybe eight aesthetic categories for men’s fashion, total, to the fourteen non-bag women’s fashion brands with corresponding aesthetics. (Granted, one of them was “costume”, so you could argue thirteen, but especially in the later two games there was still a fair bit of depth to that brand such that it had a defined aesthetic.) All of the women’s brands and aesthetics were very distinct - you could tell the difference between “professional officewear” and either “preppy” or “luxury” at a glance, even if there were items that could fit into one of those aesthetics secondarily. With the men’s brands, you had four or maybe five, and there was heavy bleedthrough of the aesthetics they listed. Both the men’s and women’s fashion had categories for “bold” and “edgy”. For the women’s fashion, “bold” is clearly inspired by gyaru fashion and “edgy” is clearly punk rock. They have different brands. For the men’s… “edgy” is SLIGHTLY more punk, but it’s by degrees, and it’s not going nearly so far as the equivalent women’s fashion. They share a brand. In addition to those two, you had “basic” (simple items, solid colors and maybe some stripes,) “preppy,” (school uniforms and stuff, self-explanatory,) “bohemian” (also pretty self-explanatory, but you never saw it in the international versions - it was cut outright for Trendsetters and while some vestiges of the style existed in Style Star, no customers ever asked for it there,) luxury (you want suits? Here’s your suits,) and “contemporary” (more patterns and material textures than basic but the same general aesthetic.)
So: You could wear a suit, you could dress a bit like a rocker but a pretty mediocre one, or you could dress like, as I said before, a stock photo model. With an above-average tendency towards vests in Style Star, but still very much a stock photo model, or maybe a midbudget CW show.
And the more I think about it, the easier it is to articulate the issue with how the men’s fashion has been treated in Syn Sophia games. The women’s fashion has all these distinct and recognizable styles, including a bunch of varieties of streetwear - you’ve got gyaru and punk styles, you’ve got Decora/Pop Kei, you’ve got girly fashion that’s somewhere around cottagecore/mori aesthetics, you have stuff that would be suitable for an office. Gothic and sweet lolita have their own separate brands. While Style Star folded its athletic brand into the pop one, the first three games all had a dedicated brand for that… for the women’s fashion.
The menswear never had a dedicated athletic aesthetic. Not even a brand, since as mentioned there were like four of those. It didn’t have an aesthetic. And THAT is why Fashion Dreamer feels like an improvement to me already, because as sparse as my options are for the men’s fashion there are at least plenty of sweatpants at long last. (I am however struggling to find men’s jeans, and it took me WAY too long to figure out where the bit specifying what type a pattern was for was located.)
The men’s fashion in Style Savvy was consistently an afterthought. And you can tell, because athletic/athleisure clothes were a staple of the women’s fashion for the first three games and still present in the fourth, but totally absent in the men’s fashion. I can trust that there’s more variety for the women’s fashion in Fashion Dreamer and that I was getting an overrepresentation of the lolita stuff because that’s what’s most popular with the playerbase, because I know from past games that there was that depth and that the lolita fashion was particularly popular. I don’t have that same trust for the men’s fashion, not yet. And honestly I doubt the game will deliver for me, much as I’d love to be proven wrong.
But hey! At least this time around, I’ve yet to see an outfit that makes a male character look like the Distracted Boyfriend meme!
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quetzalpapalotl · 1 year
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#I am personally in the camp of wishing it was more brutal but I recognize I’m pretty insane for that#also yes yes yes to the futility concept#the epilogue (with bones thrown for the further continuations of TMUK I think) actually annoyed me#because it felt like undoing the crux of the novels work- demonstrating the bleak futility and unforgiving coldness of their lives#or maybe. of life in general
@megapwnus
You're right that JRo had to keep himself from butchering everyone so that people could still use them in TMUK, as explained here.
6. You kill off several characters quite spectacularly during the course of the novel, in a manner which would make the Furminator proud. But were you able to do so without fear of disrupting TMUK continuity?
Quite a few people have commented on the body-horrors meted out to some of the Bots and Cons in the course of the story. What I tried to do was to emphasise just how difficult it is to actually kill a Transformer, and then find ways around that. (One of the most memorable TF moments ever is when Death’s Head crushes Shockwave’s brain module in the ‘Legacy of Unicron’ story; unlike those characters who take a few hits to the chest, or fall off a cliff, or who disappear in an explosion, you KNEW Shockers wasn’t coming back.)
As for TMUK continuity, I felt I could do what I wanted provided that I acted responsibly and did not contradict anything else in the TMUK canon. It would have been selfish of me to blast dozens of famous characters into oblivion and prevent other writers from ever using them again (post-2013, anyway). A few very famous Transformers do meet their end in Eugenesis, but they are carefully chosen, and their deaths have consequences.
Release a third version of this fic where there's no need to be nice to other writers and also the Quintessons deliberately wanted to use the Transformers for the thing that happens at the end.
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ham-of-despair · 2 years
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I’m so tired of boring, unoriginal girls acting like The Devil Wear’s Prada is like, a guidebook to modern feminism. It’s not a fucking feminist movie. It’s a pretty interesting movie and definitely worthy of further discussion for feminists interested in art about morally corrupt women in power. But if you walk away from TDWP thinking, “Hmm, you know, I think women who reject fashion are NLOGs, and the fashion industry is actually very empowering!” you were never a very thoughtful feminist to begin with.
Basically I’m just tired of this brand of like, “4th-wave” feminism that’s all about embracing femininity and rejecting the NLOG attitude. Because yes, femininity is fine, and yes, the NLOG is a patriarchal creation. But rejecting patriarchal values isn’t just a matter of embracing feminine ones. Traditional femininity, whether you find it vapid and dumb or empowering and beautiful, was shaped by patriarchy. It doesn’t just exist in a vacuum. Like, 2nd-wavers weren’t burning bras because they were all sexist NLOGs. They didn’t dress butch and decide against motherhood because they thought it would make them seem more palatable to men. They did it because on some level they recognized that the things they were rejecting were either created or shaped to restrict their freedom and social mobility. And if you think their behavior was shaped by a hatred of womanhood, you aren’t thinking. The same thing holds true for modern women who want to live fulfilled lives that aren’t dictated by patriarchal values.
In TDWP, Andrea Sachs is fat-shamed and bullied and exploited by Runway and Miranda Priestley. She talks shit about the company because the company is shit. Whether they’re creating true art that’s empowering little gay men from Rhode Island or peddling worthless trash meant to give rich white women eating disorders, they’re still exploitative, particularly of female workers. If Andrea had stayed with Runway, it would not have been a feminist ending. It would have been a bleak look at what happens to a woman when you body-shame, over-work, and under-pay her to the point where she gives into a system that does not give a shit about her, because she feels like any other option would constitute a failure to slay. 
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I didn't include The Wire in that because it was mostly over by the time Tumblr was launched, but I do think it's underrated for its "funny gif" potential. Like yes it's a very serious show that can be very bleak in how it covers Baltimore and its discontents, but it also has a lot of silly, funny moments. Omar as a character in general requires a lot of goofier stuff (like the talking in third person) that just shouldn't work -- and does largely because of Michael K. Williams' performance, but he's almost like a walking meme and would be more of one now even beyond dedicated TV fans if the show came out today (except maybe because of his race, because blorbofication is definitely racialized as well as gendered). Ziggy, the dumbest boy in Baltimore, and his pet duck. The scene where they say nothing but "fuck" repeatedly (not funny-haha though). Drunk Bunk. Etc. I mean there's even that one gif of Wee-Bey first realizing that he met Greggs undercover without recognizing it at the time, that has become a meme widely used by people who probably don't even realize that it was originally from The Wire.
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Also I'd say that The Wire still has some white-dude blorbo potential at least in the form of McNulty, who checks off pretty much all the boxes for blorbofication. I think a lot of people who latched on to Littlefinger so hard in Game of Thrones would feel similarly about Aiden Gillen as Tommy Carcetti; he's not quite as theatrically slimy, but he also has more of a fall-from-grace arc that makes him more inherently sympathetic than Littlefinger ever was.
Also, as someone who has spent the better part of my adult life here, Baltimore is the most blorbofiable city in the history of the world.
Anyway this is your five millionth "watch The Wire" post, but this time from a fandom girlie perspective.
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destinyesque · 1 year
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Roads
by Sam Lastname
Cassandra crashed our car in Kansas, a few miles down the road from the World's Largest Ball of Twine. She said it was an accident. I'm not convinced she didn't do it on purpose. I suppose how it happened doesn't really matter.
We ended up on the side of the road, the car miraculously right-side-up after it had swerved past the shoulder and rolled end-over-end once before settling. Neither of us had cell phones on us, and neither of us were in any condition to go seeking out the nearest gas station to call nine-one-one; someone else would do it for us eventually, anyway.
Cassandra was barely hurt at all, and I had hit my head on the dash only hard enough to make my brain jitter. I think I blacked out for a while, and the first thing I remember after the crash was her laughter filling the car like carbonated bubbles. On either side, the car doors had been dented, our little metal hovel almost destroyed in a single soda-can crunch. It was kind of funny, really. Or maybe that was the concussion talking.
I asked her how the hell she'd managed to fuck up highway driving on a mostly empty road with a mostly new sedan. She smiled at me and shrugged, and I remember thinking I wanted to kiss her. She'd been distracted, she said. She had drifted out of her lane and could do little more than panic. As if. She had years of driving experience under her belt, and I’m sure she could’ve driven these roads with her eyes closed and one hand behind her back.
At least it was like an adventure, she'd said. In the middle of our bleak, endless lives, a burst of sound and color, like a fuse lit too close to a firecracker—painful, but exhilarating. We could look back on the story fondly, maybe. Get some laughs at a party. She was wearing that kind of lopsided smile that I see in my head whenever I think of her. I remember agreeing with everything she'd said, out of disorientation if not understanding.
She kept on talking despite a busted lip, and it was probably the concussion that made me unclick my own seatbelt and lean over the center console and unclick her seatbelt too, even though it took a few tries, and it was probably the concussion that made me ask her, "can I kiss you?" and it was surely shock that made her say "yes" and put her hands on my cheeks and pull me in, and it might have been adrenaline that had us tilting back her seat and I wouldn’t have recognized the man who wasn't even embarrassed when the EMTs found him leaning over her, half in her lap, blood on both our lips, but it was definitely Cassandra that laughed and told them to fuck off before letting them wrangle her into the ambulance and drive us to the hospital.
Yeah, she said when we were both laid up in hospital beds, waiting on nightfall. Yeah, this is a pretty good story. One for the ages. (I remembered that part, "for the ages", because it was such an odd, so-very-Cassandra thing to say.)
I think both of us were loopy from medication because we weren't even really bothered by the knowledge that we'd be in completely different cities in the morning, and that we wouldn't see each other for months, probably. That neither of us would be telling anyone stories anytime soon. Or, maybe she would, but no one would remember her. Or me. Either of us.
 Here's how this whole thing worked: I awoke in a hotel bed in a highway town, the quiet hum of wheels-on-asphalt in my ears. I checked the time, opened the window. Unless there was snow outside, I had no idea where I was. I walked to the diner (there was always a diner—this is America, after all). The menu was usually the same, and I usually ordered the same thing: two pancakes, two eggs, and just water, please. The waiters were different in each town—I hardly ever talked to them, but it was nice anyway. I didn’t bother remembering their faces, because I'd be hundreds of miles away tomorrow morning. I ate. I paid with the money in my pants pocket (always seventeen dollars, every day). I left. I took a walk, just to see if there was anything interesting nearby. There usually wasn’t, of course, but it didn’t hurt to try. At the very least, I could find a corner store or a gas station. I'd buy dinner there later. I spent the day in the hotel room or outside, by a Wendy's parking lot. Usually, I just read, if I could find a book anywhere. I got real familiar with hotel Bibles; it’s not as if I had anything better to do. I ate dinner and went to sleep. Every night, at exactly midnight, I would be flung into a new town, an identical hotel room. Whether or not I had been asleep by then, I wouldn’t remember anything else until I woke up the next morning to repeat everything the next day in a different state. I lived an odd sort of Groundhog Day. So it goes, or whatever.
 Cassandra and I met in Tennessee. Or, she’d seen me in Kansas weeks earlier and we introduced ourselves in Tennessee. I was eating breakfast at a diner, same as every other day in every other town. She sat right down in the chair across from me—this plain, gangly girl with dark hair thick enough to be called a mane—and said she saw me the day I woke up in a tiny town called Grainfield. She couldn't have, because I didn't know anyone. She insisted, though, and even though I left her alone in the diner that day, chewing on strips of bacon she had stolen from my plate, I remembered her face.
 It was three months before I saw her again, in Ohio this time. I was sitting on a bench outside that day's hotel, reading a trashy thriller, when she stepped out of the lobby, stretching her arms so that a tiny strip of skin peeked out from under her shirt. Her hair was shorter. It took me a moment to place her in my memory, the handful of sentences we’d exchanged bubbling to the surface. Before I could say anything, she caught my eye. Her face turned real smug, and I got an earful of I-told-you-so until she ran out of steam. We walked to the only restaurant that wasn't a chain and sat down in booths in the back. Neither of us trusted the other quite yet, but I didn't have anything to hide and she was content to tell me the basics.
Turned out, we were in similar situations. Different towns, different states, different hotel rooms, same problem. For her, it had been six months. She remembered what it was like before this life in a way that I didn't. She said she was going to get out. I remember laughing her off, and then hardly believing my ears when I realized she was serious.
She took me to the library, where she looked up curses and wormholes and maps of the country, like she could find some explanation for this endless loop. She wanted me to help, but I didn’t know how any of it was supposed to help either of us. Still, she was determined. I dozed off in an armchair for most of the day, and she put fruitless work into research. She’d learn, eventually, I figured.
The whole time, she talked to me about all her plans, what she’d been doing—because of the nature of this whole thing, she couldn’t keep books or notes or anything. They were just gone the next day, and we were left with the same items we started with that morning. Cassandra said she had a good memory, though, and it was almost impressive. She remembered all sorts of things from books she'd read before, like the names of demons used in medieval curses and the equations for how light bends around a heavy enough object. When the library closed at nine, Cassandra had twenty pages of notes on all sorts of things, and I was almost convinced they could be useful. Almost.
We walked back to the hotel and put up in her room for the night. Cassandra got to memorizing all the information on the pages and I turned on whatever bad TV was playing. I think I fell asleep, because I don't remember much of anything after the first episode of House Hunters.
I woke up in another hotel bedroom, a few states away, more afraid than I could remember being in a long time. I could do little more than hopelessly hope that Cassandra would get out, get what she wanted.
 I used to worry that no one would remember me. I didn't really remember anyone, and Cassandra hadn't always been around. I remembered the tar-black road and I remembered a whole lot of towns that blurred together into one, and I remembered ground and sky that met together in a straight line in the middle. Living like this felt a whole lot like shining a lantern in the dark, because I could see where I was, right here, and I could see a few feet behind me and a few feet ahead, but I couldn't situate any of it within a larger whole. I didn’t know much about the before. I thought I had a sibling, maybe. Younger. And parents, maybe friends. There wasn’t a lot more than that. I might’ve been forgetting more and more as time went on, but, hell, I couldn’t even remember enough to know if that was true. Soon, I was sure I’d be left with just this. Just, you know, asphalt.
People don't realize just how much of this country is flat. All the land west of the Appalachians and east of the Rockies is empty brown field, like God drew the highways in but forgot to furnish the rest. As far as I'm concerned, the only difference between Iowa and Arkansas is temperature. Most of the people—most of the culture in this country is concentrated on either coast, so much so that they forget there's anything at all between New York and California. Flat, empty America is most of America, at least by landmass. And even where the smooth skin of this that land is marred with mountains and valleys, I could always count on the highways being the same.
 I tried to kill myself in Arizona, once. This was a few years ago, I think, but things sort of got fuzzy at the edges after so much time within same-y hotel walls drenched in cigarette smoke and dirty linoleum tile and black ribbon roads. I was alone, and I didn't remember very much in either direction. I don't know if the problem was me or if it was the country. Probably a bit of both.
However it was, I'd had enough. I woke up in a desert town with the same fast-food places and chain motels and tired old roads as in Minnesota. If I saw another day scarred with all the cursed things that I already knew too well, I thought I wouldn't be able to take it.
There was a pharmacy a bit away from the hotel I woke up in. The lights buzzed in the ceiling when I walked in, and one of the employees told me to let them know if I needed any help. I won't explain the irony.
In the end, I bought a few bottles of painkillers and an orange soda. The cashier must have asked if I was alright, because I remember reassuring her that my sister was having cramps, and I remember her saying the soda would only make the imaginary sister feel worse. One of us laughed when I said the soda was for me, not her. She wished me well and I didn't think about anything else until I was back in my hotel bed, leaning against the headboard like an invalid.
I took the pills one-by-one and washed them down with the soda. Not much of that night is clear anymore. I felt bad, and everything was blurry, and I threw up in the toilet a few times. None of it was worth it, because I was still there, obviously, and this damn country didn't let me out of its grip. I don’t even know if death would’ve freed me, or if the afterlife is the same as this. An endless road, a journey that leads nowhere.
I woke up in another hotel bedroom, in Iowa this time, completely fine and unfortunately alive.  
 I tried to kill myself in Iowa, once. Then in Nevada. Then Alabama, Wisconsin, Illinois. I thought killing myself would be the hardest thing I’d ever do, but eventually the reality of everything sort of crystalized, and I began to understand that the hardest thing was to know I was alive, and to know I couldn't do anything about it.
 I’ve heard that all horror boils down to fear of the unknown. I don’t think that’s right. There was a sort of horror in familiarity, too. Because I lived out every day in a town I've never been to before and that I'd never return to again, to the point where each new town was as familiar as the last. I'd been all around, but things didn’t change a whole lot. Certain buildings just got copied over in every state, every town. Gas stations, fast food joints, and hotels were the big ones, but every diner was just about the same, and the houses were all built with identical DNA, and the roads were all shaped by the same hand of God. There was a sort of horror in knowing you could travel as far as you wanted, but you'd never escape all the things that framed your life. I wondered, sometimes, if there were other copies of me, scattered around like everything else; maybe a few details changed, but the same at their core. I didn't know if that scared me or comforted me.
 The second time I saw Cassandra, we had both ended up in a log cabin motel to one side of Route 41, a half-hour walk to Calumet, Michigan—quaint in comparison to the endless Motel 6’s and Holiday Inns. We were the only ones there, since I guess the owners closed down for the off-season. It was mid-autumn at that point. Not quite time for skiing, but not warm enough to otherwise justify visiting the Upper Peninsula.
The whole motel was dark and cold. I woke up around dawn, shivering, and tried to go back to sleep, but eventually I had to give in to the temperature and look around for more blankets or something.
I got up with the comforter around my shoulders, flicked the light switch on and off a few times to no effect, and wandered to the tiny hotel common room, which seemed to already be occupied by one Cassandra, cuddled up in blankets filched from a linen closet. She had a weak fire going in the fireplace already, an armchair pulled up as close as she could get, and an old book in hand, already halfway read. I called her name and she startled to life, swearing like a sailor. I think I laughed. She scolded me, sniffled, and huddled back into her seat.
Fancy seeing you here, I said, to what do I owe the pleasure?
She smacked me with her book. Things were the same as before, she told me, and she hadn’t had any luck with her escape plot (Yet. She was adamant that ‘yet’ was the operative word here). Still, she had an idea. Maybe, maybe if she drove far enough west, hit the coast, the edge of the world, maybe then she could break free. Maybe braving the road, all the way to the end, was the only way out. I believed her.
Not today though, she said. She had spent the last couple weeks up north for the most part, probably caught a cold at some point. If there had been a car in the deserted lot out front, she wouldn’t have felt up to driving anyway, especially not in this weather. Even now, a light snow drifted outside the window. Usually, they’re pretty good about plowing the roads this far north, but it couldn’t hurt to be safe.
Cassandra wasn’t feeling up to finding food, content to hang out in her blanket nest as long as the cold (both the sickness and the temperature) remained. I scrounged up some canned soup and instant coffee from a break room of sorts, found a deck of beat-up cards too. The plumbing seemed to be out, but between all ten-ish bathrooms in the place, I got enough water for a few cups of coffee. Couldn’t figure out how to turn on the power, though. Apologized to Cassandra for that. She teased me about it, I remember. Said I must not have been an engineer before I got stuck in the loop. I didn’t remember what I was before this whole thing; now that she brought it up, it bothered me in a way it hadn’t since… long enough ago that I didn’t remember that part, either.
The only card games either of us knew were Blackjack and Go Fish, but we made the best of it. The soup helped, too. As the day ticked into mid-afternoon, the snow only got thicker, and Cassandra and I got to talking. She had graduated college about a year ago, one of the state schools on the east coast, with a degree in mathematics. She loved embroidery, her family had a pet cat named Sourdough (because he looked like a loaf of bread), and her two twin sisters were about to enter undergrad. She grew up in a suburb, but she left because there was nothing to do there. Ended up driving west on her own, road-tripping to “find herself or whatever” (the derision is all hers). Got stuck in a dead-end highway town a week in, and it had been like this since.
I think she was expecting me to give her my own story, leaving home and finding myself out here in desolate middle-America, but my story didn’t extend much outside a couple weeks of same-old, same-old memories and a handful of moments that broke the years-long monotony, one of which she already knew, because she’d been part of it—it isn’t often that you meet a fellow victim of the American backroads. At least, not a victim in this particular way.
 (I didn’t it then, but I thought I had a sister.
 I thought I had loved someone, once.
 But I wasn’t even sure of that.)
 I think she was sorry for me. Even though she was stuck in the same goddamn situation, the same goddamn highway towns every day, she still had it in her to feel pity. I guess she thought I was further gone even than she was. Which was probably true. I was forgetting more and more every day, the lights illuminating my past and future flicking out and dark nothing approaching on either side. She said she’d been forgetting things too, but not nearly as much. It scared me. I remembered a time before her, but I still couldn’t imagine a time after her, if I forgot her, too.
She must have noticed I was afraid, because she put her hand on my arm and reassured me that we’d meet again. When you wake up tomorrow, drive to Beloit, Kansas, she said. It was pretty damn close to the center of the country. No matter where we ended up, that would be our best shot to find each other before we were disappeared away to the next town, she said. We would be alright, she said.
 The next morning, I carjacked a pickup in Kentucky and overheated the engine trying to reach Beloit. I didn’t make it, but I kept trying. Some days, I’d start close enough to get there, but she wouldn’t. Some days, it was the opposite. Still, every now and again, both of us made it. Cassandra still wanted to hit the west coast eventually, but Beloit was nearly a full day’s drive away from any kind of ocean. Mostly, when we were together, we kind of just hung out, got food, tried to figure out what there was to do in a town of less than three thousand. It was one of those days, after we visited the World’s Largest Ball of Twine, that Cassandra flipped the car over on the highway. I liked those days. I was the closest I’d ever been to being happy that I could remember. Beloit didn’t change everything. Both of us were still mostly stuck in middle-America hotel purgatory. Most days, I still didn’t want to do much more than lay down and die, and I was still forgetting things. Cassandra had to remind me several times about how we first met. But if nothing else, it was an improvement.
 I was in New Mexico, before I met Cassandra, at another one of those lonely hotels. The empty ones, with a few cars inexplicably out front. There wasn't much of anything else for miles, so I took one of the cars and picked a direction. This was a long time ago. I think I was still trying to get out of the loop back then, but the memory has faded edges, so I don't know for sure. I remember turning onto the highway around nine in the morning and thinking that I wouldn't turn off until the car stalled out or I drove off the end of the earth. I didn't see much of anything the whole time I was on the road. Just one long line of asphalt, threading beneath my car like God was pulling it past me from the other end. I remember the sky was big and blue and everything beneath it glowed orange with the sunlight, as if in protest.
I made a game of counting cars, but I only got to ten or so before several hours had passed and I realized that I wasn't getting anywhere. Maybe the road had stretched out beneath my tires, so that every mile on the speedometer was really only an inch. Or maybe I was moving at seventy miles per hour, but the land was just a lot bigger than I had imagined. Like I said, people forget how much of this country is flat.
I kept going and going, and every hour or so, I'd drive past an exit sign advertising a gas station, or a fast-food brand "only 0.2 miles on the next right!" but I didn't stop for anything. I didn't eat, didn't drink, and the fuel tank never went below half-full. All I could do was keep mindlessly driving onward, so I didn't do anything but.
I watched the big blue sky turn pink and orange and red, and then deep blue and black and speckled with stars just as cold as the couple other headlights I passed. The car's dashboard clock was off by a few hours at least, so I didn't know what time it was except by guessing. I kept going in the dark, without streetlights or anything. Eventually, I flicked off my headlights and just kept going straight. Not out of confidence or anything. I guess I just did it because I was bored. Maybe I thought I could hide from my affliction. I don't know. With the dark and the hum of the engine and gentle jitter of the suspension, it was almost peaceful. I took my hands off the wheel. The car might have veered off the road, tires bumping over sand and dirt rather than asphalt. It was hard to tell the difference. Either way, that was probably the furthest I got from the highway in a long time. I still woke up the next morning in a neat, white-sheet hotel bed.
  The last time I met Cassandra, we were in Montana. It was winter, and rubber-stained snow was piled in dunes on either side of the road. I hadn’t even started in the same town as her that morning. She drove in with a car I didn't recognize and we stumbled across each other in a gas station. She was counting out singles to figure out how to pay for both gas and a drink, and I was wandering the town looking for something better to eat than chips and gum. Neither endeavor was going particularly well, so I remember she lit up when she saw me out of the corner of her eye as I pushed through the front door.
Her eyes were red and her hair was out of sorts, but her cold-cracked grin was bright as ever. Or maybe I was just imagining that part. I lent her some of my cash to pay for everything and then some.
As it turned out, she had picked up an SUV that morning and was beelining her way west. She wanted to hit the coast before midnight, she said, if she didn't spin out on the icy roads first. It wasn't even a question that I was going to climb into her passenger seat and ride along with her.
We had just made it out of Idaho by the time it started to get dark. It was just after five, according to the clock in the car—winter this far north was like that. Cassandra more-or-less had the major American highways memorized, but she still had me navigate with a huge fold-out map we bought in Spokane.
We stopped at a McDonald’s drive-thru for dinner and Cassandra moved to the passenger side. She didn’t like driving in the dark much, but I didn’t mind it. She was supposed to be navigating, but she fell asleep not twenty minutes after we got going again. It was the kind of sleep that isn’t quite ‘sleep’, per se, but more a fitful doze. She kept humming unhappily and shifting around. At one point, her head slipped out of her hand and hit the window with a solid crack. She groaned and blinked blearily. When I asked if she was okay, she didn’t answer and just went back to sleep. I kept my eyes on the road, but it was hard not to look at Cassandra, at least a little. In the daylight, she had seemed the same as she always was; stubborn, determined, bright. But in the growing dark, the shadows on her face illuminated an exhaustion I hadn’t noticed. It was like gazing into a mirror. She looked like me. Hollow. Tired. If this wasn’t her last shot at freedom, she was at least pretty close to hitting her limit. I didn’t wake her, but I didn’t stop, either.
The coast came up suddenly. It was dark. There weren’t any sea birds still around this deep into winter. The burning cold far overwhelmed the saltwater smell. By the time I had left the highway and hit the end of a tiny beach road, our clock showed eleven thirty-eight. We had made it.
Cassandra woke up as soon as I parked, staring blankly at the rolling waves some fifty feet ahead of us. She didn’t say anything, just pushed open her door and stepped into the sand and the biting wind. I followed.
Without streetlights or electric anything nearby, I could hardly see anything, but the steady murmur of the waves was more than enough to guide me. Ahead of me, Cassandra stopped. Took her boots off. Dug her feet into the sand just before the edge of the water. She looked at me and I looked back. Breathed in deep. Held it. I took her hand.
In step, we walked into the ocean, cold wind and cold water gnawing at our skin.
Well, we’re here, she said. I nodded.
Thank you, I said.
It’s late, she said.
I know, I said.
One way or another, she said, I’m not going back.
Good, I said. Me neither.
In the water, my legs began to sting. The cold and the dark worked their way through my clothes and into my skin. Minutes ticked on. I don’t know how many. Eventually, we came out of the water, put our boots back on, and watched the clouds skitter across a half-full moon.
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aschen-kiln · 2 years
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Tumblr seems to have decided to make my life more difficult than it needs to be by forbidding me from switching on the anon ask. Is this gonna stop @curiousnonny from asking me random things ? Obviously not. Neither will it stop me from answering.
Here goes !
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Cinna. Cinna. I am going to go unpopular opinion on everyone by saying Cinna did not matter a lot to me, both in the books and the movies. He was obviously a mentor figure to Katniss, in the same way Haymitch was. Both were father figures to a girl who lost her father, whom she loved the most and had a very close relationship with. But where Haymitch was the relatable one (same district, same stigma, same horrors, same way of thinking, same background, potential futur, etc...) Cinna was the Opposite Attract one. So very different from her, so very Capitole (still more "subdued" than Effie was but undoubtedly Capitole) yet so very understanding, comprehensive to her when Haymitch was cynical and harsh. Cinna was meant to show Katniss and us readers that yes he was Capitole, but being Capitole doesn't mean being evil. Where Effie was droning about manners and respect to dead walking kids, Cinna was "your life is horrible and this unfair so i'm gonna do everything i can to give you an edge". He was a Capitole, therefore an enemy by nature, but he gave her a weapon to fight in war already lost.
I think the guy was already thinking about being a stylist for the Games, because he has to build his brand, you know, we all have to work to put bread on the table at some point, and the Games are a surefire way to become renowned. But perhaps he wanted it to be meaningful you know ? He is an artist first and foremost. And stand by the idea that,, yeah the Capitole is infinitely richer than Districts, but every Capitole citizen isn't born with a silver wig and gold on ever fingers. Perhaps he was born in a poorer part of the city, from an average family, and therefore knows what it means to work to go up and above your station. Which would make him more sympathetic to Districts and Tributes. Perhaps he saw the horror under the glitter. Which would make him hesitant to work for the Games unless it is meaningful.
Enters Katniss. Who was not reaped. But who was brave enough to volunteer. Like everyone he watched Twelve's Reaping znd saw a girl run from the rank of terrified kids and through lines of Peacemaker to stop her little sister from walking to her death. A girl terrified but who did not let it stop her.
Meaningful enough, I'd say. He probably volunteered straight away to Seneca Crane to be Twelve's stylist. A position no one wants because Haymitch is a monster and Effie is no better. But for this girl ? Damn, all his muses must have reared their little heads.
As for the rebellion plan... if i stand by the "poorer" Cinna headcanon, that means the guy's outlook on his world is pretty real. He knows what this is, he can recognizes a monster when he sees one and President Snow is the greatest evil he's ever seen. That makes him pretty rebellious to begin with. And perhaps he knows to keep his trap shut but perhaps he also doesn't hide his feelings that much. Which would attract Plutarch's eyes early i think. And Plutarch, for all his flaws, is a genius mastermind. He sees a volunteer from a lower District, and he sees a heroin in the making. He sees a cape and a dress made of flames on that girl and he sees a symbol. And he sees defiance on that girl's face and he sees a leader. And that girl, whom is still very much a girl with her little boys problems in spite of the very bleak future ahead of her, trusts literally nothing Capitole. Unfortunate, that. Enters Cinna who shares his beliefs. Howdy, partner ! Yeah me and my boss really like your ideas, you wanna be a key player in the underground war raging in Panem for the last 74 years ? Hop on buddy. We just need a teeny tiny thing to make it blow up, nothing much... just the girl you dressed up as a fiery goddess of war. What ? Haymitch will never let us get to her ? He's fiercely protective of this girl ? That might be a problem. Oh but wait... the guy is freaking brilliant. Let's recruit him too. One stone three mockingjays. Yay Plutarch !
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mini-kyu · 3 months
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for Nashi: 8, 10, 13
Finally the villainous toddler that started it all: Nashi! and the last of the prompts from here in my inbox (for now) hehe :3c
8. in what ways are they different when they're regressed? do aspects of their personality or interests change at all? are they similar to how they were when they were an actual kid, or completely different?
Nashi was not an actual kid in the traditional sense... more of an amoeba of bad vibes lmao so definitely different!
Compared to his adult mindset, some things do change - he kinda softens around the edges, lets himself emote and relax more, and allows himself to express emotions he never felt like he was allowed to show in his old life. He learns how to be vulnerable, human almost - something his species never allowed.
He remains a huge brat however, and often cannot resist teasing or taunting or making fun of others. He delights in laughing at other's mistakes like a little imp. So some things don't change one bit xD
10. do they have any regression gear (teethers, pacifiers, diapers, specific toys or outfits, etc.)? do they try to hide it from friends/family?
He absolutely ends up getting regression gear! He doesn't during his villainous mastermind days, not really. But post-domestication (yes that's my official term for it lol) He gets a surplus of attention and gifts from his new caregivers.
One canon item that is definitely a favorite is a green knitted octopus plush from Masafumi! He also gets a wardrobe of kidsafe clothing - his draping robes are nice and regal and all, but easy to get tangled in or tripped up on or messed up when younger.
He may also end up getting a teether - I'm not sure if he'd use a pacifier or not, or use it the way it's typically intended? but he strikes me as someone who needs something in his mouth so something to chew on with those sharp teeth might be a good idea. :>
13.what do they like to do when they're regressed? do they like to play pretend, watch tv/movies, color, etc.?
I think he takes a while to sort out what he likes to do - I think tv is not a bad idea for him, he tends to like cartoons, especially if they have villains with musical numbers lmao.
However, once he gets comfortable in his new life, he adores playing pretend - and roping literally everyone in the household into it! This includes not only his caregivers, but also family members who both live in the house and who drop in - and even the dog. xD
His pretend games are pretty bossy, he's the type who Has to have things go his way - so what it typically boils down to is he assigns everyone within range a role that suits the narrative of the game in his head, and he expects everyone to follow along. Some of the family challenge the given roles to some extent, but some of them are given adjusted roles since they typically cannot be coerced to play in a more invested manner.
...And I came up with a whole long list of play styles for each member of the household (which there are a lot of them), so I'll tuck those under the cut for bonus reading material. xD Enjoy!
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Nashi - As mentioned above, Nashi is a bossy player, who wants everyone to play pretend with him at his pace. He learns to make some compromises over time, with Masafumi's guidance, but he can be pushy and sometimes fails to recognize that there's just no good compromise that will satisfy him. His favorite pretend games tend to center around wars and fighting, or prisons, or other such bleak concepts.
Knowledge (longest-established cg) - After being Nashi's caregiver since during most of his villain days, at his worst, Knowledge has learned how to just go with the flow of whatever pace Nashi sets. They are however rather unenthusiastic in pretend just due to their own nature, which often leaves Nashi dissatisfied with the idea of just playing with them.
Hesperides (partner and cg) - Most easygoing playmate for pretend. He will do whatever Nashi assigns him, usually getting decently into it. Hesperides just enjoys having fun with Nashi, and seeing him having fun.
Masafumi (partner and cg) - A willing playmate, however Masafumi is used to setting firm guidelines and ground rules. Nashi does not respond well to this sort of method, which Masafumi has learned, but he will often try to redirect Nashi's play away from concepts he may have all too easily leaned into as a villain. Even if he won't do things like that anymore, there's no point in normalizing it in play from Masafumi's pov.
Zach (adopted step-kid*, another regressor) - Zach is pretty sensitive and is the least able to adapt to Nashi's pretend games, usually as they're too rough conceptually. Nashi has learned to give Zach roles that suit his more passive personality, but has yet to learn that it's ok to just let Zach sit out, and sometimes he gets pushy about it. Zach has found however if he goes along with it for a little bit, Nashi will usually shift attention to one of the other playmates and leave Zach alone.
Cheshire (adopted step-kid*) - An all too willing playmate who visits regularly, Cheshire tends to buck the setup by challenging Nashi in pretend, either in his given role or in arbitrarily choosing a role for himself. Sessions with Cheshire tend to end up with either tickle fights and/or roughhousing.
Kenji (adopted step-kid*, a teen regressor) - Kenji visits regularly to see his adoptive father figure Hesperides, but has zero interest in participating in Nashi's games. Nashi has learned to adapt to this by assigning Kenji stationary or passive roles - such as "a tree on the prison grounds". This typically works out for both parties to their satisfaction - although sometimes Kenji gets roped into the shenanigans anyways when there's suddenly a "prisoner breakout climbing the tree" a la a wiggly westie terrier dropped unceremoniously into his lap while he's reading.
*family relation is loosely termed, and the dynamics do not entirely mirror this as, well, to be frank, having a villain who is sometimes a toddler as a parental figure sort of messes with the dynamic beyond recognition lmao)
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sucroseverse · 1 year
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That Evening on a Bleak Night, She Approached Me With an Offer
[LIGHT] - Brief mentions of non-specific abuse.
2024 words
Main Characters: Fujimura Natsumi, Chibana Yuri
~ ~
Natsumi could have gone anywhere that night. She almost considered stopping by a convenience store, if for nothing else than to convince herself that she was busy. But she kept walking by streetlight after streetlight, keeping her eyes to the ground and her hands forcibly shoved into her hoodie pockets. She only stopped when her legs refused to carry her any further, stopping to lean against a wall, shivering before a judgemental breeze. She was silently hoping no one recognized her, that they were to pass her by just like any other sorry excuse for a contributing member of society.
As she entertained that thought, a piercing, bright voice locked its crosshairs on her.
“It's awfully bitter out here, Natsucchan.” Yuri looked up at her friend, who didn't return the gesture. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay out here for too long.”
“You know that's just a myth, right? Don't tell me you still believe in those kids’ stories.”
Yuri giggled, and stood beside Natsumi. “Of course I don't. But you really shouldn't be outside in the snow all alone.”
“How’d you find me out here, anyway? I hardly told anyone where I was going.”
Yuri clicked her tongue. “See, that was your mistake. You ‘hardly told anyone’. I asked Hoshizora-senpai where you were going, and that led me here.”
“I assume by ‘Hoshizora-senpai’, you mean Sensei, right?” Natsumi raised an eyebrow. “There's two of ‘em, you know, and one of them you've known a lot longer than the other.”
“There's Hoshizora-senpai, and there's Yumiko-chan-senpai. There's a difference.”
Natsumi rolled her eyes playfully. “I can hardly keep up with your little name rules, Yucchan.”
Yuri giggled again, which spread mildly to her companion. As Yuri’s eyes opened again, she noticed Natsumi’s chuckling had turned into a shiver, prompting her to offer the girl her coat.
“Y-You know damn well that's not gonna fit me.”
“Just give it a try, please?”
Natsumi sighed and draped the coat over her shoulders. Once she secured it in place by tying the sleeves around her neck, she looked back over at Yuri and noticed the clothes she was wearing underneath that had just been revealed.
“...Did you just get back from a photoshoot?”
The smile left Yuri’s face. “...Yes, I did. I told them I needed to use the restroom for a ‘feminine emergency’. You know, the men I work with are pretty stupid when it comes to that stuff.”
“Yeesh. I’m almost tempted to hand this coat back to you.”
“I’ll be fine!” Yuri’s smile returned, a little forced. “I won't be out here as long as you, after all.”
The pair went silent for a moment, but after a few seconds, Yuri reached over Natsumi’s shoulder to rummage through her coat pocket.
“What--”
“I actually didn't just come out here to make smalltalk, you know. I’m a very busy girl, and we’re both in similar circles now. I wanted to talk to you... about the whole sponsorship deal.”
“Oh, yeah. Sensei and I have been talking about it, and we're hoping to get there pretty soon. Just the application is all we need.”
Yuri sighed. “That's what I was afraid of hearing.”
“Huh?” Natsumi, puzzled, turned to Yuri with her entire body. “...Wait a minute, hold on. I thought you were--”
“Yes, I’m the leader of the sponsor unit union. I know, I’m ‘supposed to be on the side of people getting involved’. But see, there's more to it than that. But before I say anything...”
Yuri grabbed Natsumi’s hand gently, and looked her in the eye, pleading.
“...I need you to promise, promise me you won't tell anyone what I'm about to say. Otherwise... I could be completely ruined. Shirogane-dono and Uso-senpai could be ruined. I haven't told anyone outside of the two of them this... and even they don't know everything. They wouldn't understand like you do. So, please. Will you keep this a secret, and hear me out?”
Natsumi thought for a second, and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall again. “Fine. What's going on?”
Yuri took a deep breath, and fiddled with the unknown object in her hands. “Well... I don't want Aurora to get sponsored.”
“What?”
“Now-- hear me out. I don't want Aurora to get sponsored. But that doesn't mean I don't want you to be a part of the little sponsorship circle... I just don't know if Hoshizora-senpai will be of any use. He has zero experience. He picked you up on a whim. He's flaky. I don't trust him. Not one bit.”
Natsumi stood silently, thinking. She... kind of had a point. The highly-praised Hoshizora Akira wasn't really known for being the most competent leader, nor the most dedicated idol. But, then again, did that mean he really deserved...?
“I see that look on your face, Natsucchan.” Yuri smiled. “You've gotten attached to him, haven't you?”
Natsumi groaned. “No, absolutely not, Sensei is just as annoying as ever. I just... I don't get what you're saying.”
Yuri’s smile fell again. “A part of me thinks you do, but you just don't want to betray him. After all, I haven't seen you cringe or wince a single time calling him ‘Sensei’, yet.”
Natsumi’s eyes faintly widened, but she didn't reply.
“That's what I was really worried about,” Yuri mumbled, “and to be honest, I face a similar issue with KIRA. I wasn't at all attached to them when they invited me... I thought I was just going to leave them the moment I could. But it only took a few months-- imagine that, right?-- for me to get comfortable with them. And as much as I bemoan their shortcomings, I've gotta hand it to them. They almost feel like family now... is that how Hoshizora-senpai feels to you?”
Natsumi still kept quiet.
“...But, Natsucchan, KIRA embraced me with open arms. None of them cared about where I came from, all of them understand me, they all care about me for who I am. And I think they'd love nothing more than to have you as a member. You could be with people who really understand you, who have all the benefits of a sponsored unit... you wouldn't have to just rely on him. You'd actually have peers.”
“You flatter me, but I don't think a unit like KIRA would do good with a voice like mine.”
“Are you kidding?! Even if your voice didn't leave me starstruck... have you heard Kaede-senpai’s voice?” Yuri snickered. “It's not exactly ‘traditionally cutesy’, so to speak. Not to mention Rio’s voice, she sounds like she could beat Sumiya in a fight, but she's singing songs about cloud parties and flower field dreams.”
Natsumi chuckled. “I guess you're right.”
“But...” Yuri’s tone darkened. “... there's another reason I don't want you guys to go through with that sponsorship deal. It's because... well, having Hoshizora-senpai here would be... a burden on my plan. I would be left with no choice but to get rid of him.”
“A ‘burden’...? Your ‘plan’...? ‘Get rid of him’...?!”
“I know it sounds scary, but-- ...actually, it would be pretty scary. Not just for him, but for you, too. I don't want you to get caught up in that, Natsucchan. See, there's a reason everyone so far who's been sponsored is in the union. And it's not because there have been no other applicants who would get accepted.”
Natsumi furrowed her brow, and a chill went down her spine. “What do you mean...?”
Yuri got in a little closer, and spoke in a low whisper.
“There have been at least four other applicants that I've had my eyes on. Each one of them told me no, or that they would ‘think about it’, which is just a ‘no’ in disguise. And without them on my side... I can't function. My plan falls apart.”
“Your ‘plan’? What ‘plan’?!”
“It's simple, Natsucchan. I want to destroy this industry and drain it for every cent it's worth.”
Natsumi froze in place.
Yuri kept talking.
“And the only way I can do that, is if I can get a bunch of people on my side, and we all work together to tear it apart. But if I have an army stacked against me, people who get in our circle and want to keep it and its exploitative nature alive, I’ll crumble. So I... I had to get rid of them.”
Natsumi looked back down at the pavement in disbelief.
“It started with trying to convince them not to come, but you can't just convince someone out of free money. So I had no choice but to turn to other practices. I’ll be honest... I've done terrible things. Things I regret. I cheated people out of a show deal. I’ve framed people for libel. I’ve even... I’m sure you heard about the incident a couple weeks ago, with the stage collapse?”
Natsumi couldn't respond.
“I... I never intended that one to go the way it did. Him getting hurt was by complete accident. But I couldn't say anything. Shirogane-dono couldn't say anything. We got out of there as fast as we could, and no one knows about it to this day. I’m just glad he survived... I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep at night again after that.”
Natsumi looked over at Yuri. “...And you... you wanted to save me from that. You didn't want me to get caught in the cross-fire.”
“Exactly.” Yuri nodded, holding what was now revealed to be her business card, handing it to Natsumi. She pulled out her phone, quickly turning it on and shutting it off again. “And listen, I can't explain everything right now. But written on the back here is my new number-- my personal number. Uso-senpai said this one can't be tracked or recorded, full guarantee. Make sure you're in a private space. Call me tonight at your earliest convenience. I should be home in two and a half hours or so.”
Natsumi stood in awe as Yuri pulled her coat off and started walking away.
“Remember! You're always wanted with KIRA, just consider it for me, ‘kay?”
Before she could reply, Yuri was already running off, leaving her stranded in her own abyss once again.
That night, Natsumi laid flat on her back in bed, phone pressed against her chest. She could feel it sliding off every so often, causing her to fiddle with it more, only for it to slide off again less than a minute later. She hadn't stopped thinking about her conversation with Yuri all evening. In all honesty... this kind of ‘plan’ wasn't entirely out of the question for Yuri. She'd always been dedicated, after all... and Natsumi knew for a long time she felt nothing but spite for her destined career. And after everything she'd seen and heard about what happened to Yuri, all the stories of what those men did to her... she was torn on whose side to take. She couldn't knowingly take the side of a criminal, but... could she take the side of a hurt friend?
She thought about it for a long while. She checked the time-- 22:37. God, was it that late already? And if she was going to call someone... would they even still be awake?
She knew damn well her recipient would be awake for another little while at least.
So, she sat up and, with a shaky hand, picked up her phone. She was still clutching the business card, and she looked it over once again, flipping to the back and reading this new number. It did seem awfully strange, but she wasn't going to question how Uso of all people managed to get his illegal phone numbers.
She looked back at her phone, and after one last moment of thought and extreme hesitation, she began punching in the number she wanted to call.
She knew this could only turn out horribly, but she couldn't resist.
The opportunity was so right.
She knew this was the only way.
The phone rang.
...
“He~llo?”
“Sensei, it's Natsumi. I need to tell you something about that union.”
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glenngaylord · 1 year
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Paranormal Inactivity - Film Review: Skinamarink ★ as a movie but ★★★★ as an art installation
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“Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?” Johnny Rotten of the Sex Pistols famously asked his audience, practically baiting them to recognize that they could barely play their instruments. I’m wondering if Kyle Edward Ball considered this question of us as he released his debut horror feature, Skinamarink, which has proven financially successful, especially considering its $15,000 budget.
Now don’t get me wrong. I admire the hell out of anyone who can make a splash as an indie filmmaker. Ball, who identifies as queer, has tapped into the zeitgeist with this film and will clearly find himself swimming in offers as a result. But make no mistake, he has made an experimental art film which would seem more at home as a museum installation instead of pairing well with Nicole Kidman’s AMC ads at your friendly neighborhood multiplex.
The basic premise, two children in 1995 wake up in the middle of the night to find their father, the doors and the windows all missing, seems ripe for the genre. One can easily envision a hellish nightmare resulting in sheer terror. While Ball certainly achieves that, he has chosen a different path for execution.
That simple storyline doesn’t really seem to kick in until the halfway mark. The film largely consists of dark, grainy, mostly static shots, courtesy of cinematographer Jamie McRae, often from the kids’ point of view. We end up looking at walls, floors, doorways, dark bedrooms, and lots and lots of Legos strewn about everywhere. A television plays old animated clips, often on repeat, and the soundtrack has endless children’s music, the clanging of pipes, and what sounds like a serial killer’s slowed-down altered voice when calling the police to taunt them. Occasionally the children speak in whispered tones, sometimes subtitled, sometimes not. You have to strain to make out what’s said and seen. We never really get to see the childrens’ faces or much of anything with any real clarity. As we explore the house, we get a jump scare or two and things happen, but pretty much off camera.
It’s intentionally mind-numbingly boring and yet still unnerving. You have to piece things together and do all the work. This film goes out of its way to explain nothing to you, and therein lies its magic. Yes, because despite hating the experience of watching this, I admire Ball’s commitment to its unsparingly bleak aesthetic. Experimental works have their place in cinema. La Jetée and Last Year At Marienbad, for example, challenged traditional storytelling norms, providing a refreshing respite from populist filmmaking.
Ball has made a visceral film, putting us inside the minds of children and tapping into feelings of isolation, confusion, and a type of fear. I’m glad I saw Skinamarink in a theater, as I would have likely found myself scrolling through my phone, cooking dinner, or literally anything else after about 10 minutes of LITERALLY NOTHING HAPPENING! Had this been installed at the Museum Of Contemporary Art, I would have compared it to a Rothko, deciphering images under all those layers. But Skinamarink took my $16, perhaps nudged me into buying an $8 popcorn, thumbed its nose at me, and dared me to stay awake. For Ball’s next film, I hope he gets the chance to direct actors and have them actually appear and speak on camera. Right now, I know he can create atmosphere, that he can set a mood, but can he work with humans?  Time will tell.  In the meantime, I’ll keep the following argument going inside my head: Yes,…but is it art? Sure!  But is it a movie?
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