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madhogthymaster · 6 months

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This is Not a Review of In Stars and Time

Let us set the stage.

An entity known as The King has cast a horrible curse upon the land, freezing people in time. It's up to the Chosen One and her friends to save the day. After a long journey, the party arrives at the final town right before the final battle with the final boss. He awaits the heroes at the final castle which was once the house of worship to Change Themselves.

You, the player, are the second to last party member (who joined right before the cute mascot character) and you find yourself "blessed" with the symbolically relevant ability to loop in time - which you discovered after being suddenly crushed to death by a big rock with a sense for dramatic irony. Now, admittedly, the prospect of dealing with Groundhog Day related shenanigans might seem daunting, at first. Dare I say, it might even be emotionally and psychologically taxing, in the long run. However, do not panic! A volunteering social worker has already been sent to "assist" you with your predicament. You can trust them completely.

Now that we have dispensed with the formalities, let's get down to business to defeat The King. Use your newfound powers to help your friends navigate the castle, climb the floors, overcome the obstacles. Be ready to repeat all that several more times. You know the drill. Perhaps, if you do everything right, your buff boyfriend will finally confess his feelings to you.

Wouldn't that be swell?

Wouldn't it?

It would be nice.

It sure would.

...

There will be no additional plot synopsis, at this time.

As I type these few words of appetizing anticipation, I find myself in a predicament of my own: I played In Stars and Time and now I have to talk about it. I have many emotions swirling, dancing incoherently within the very fabric of my being. Feelings that I must convey to you before The Moment passes, you see. I'm not sure I can, though. I'm not sure I can steel my trembling hands for long enough to wax poetically about this being, without hyperbole, one of the best games I played in the past decade. A masterpiece with many juicy layers waiting to be peeled back, one by one. I don't have the energy to write the monstrous essay it deserves for all I want to do is sit in a corner and weep quietly for a few hours, trying to process it all. I'm sad not because it's over but because I can't experience it for the first time ever again. Which is an ironic statement considering the nature of this game, I realize. Allow me to try this again.

Let us set the stage.

In Stars and Time is is a cleverly designed title. The time loop structure works both as a gameplay and thematic device, a means to (purposefully) emphasize the monotonous nature of the RPG grind in relation to the protagonist's deteriorating state, cycle after cycle, play after play. You have your classic meta-textual musings about video games as well as a legitimately gripping tale filled with many twists and turns, good use of symbolism, salient points to make about Trauma and its effect on one's memory, the Fear of Change versus the necessity of it, and Depression. It all comes together by the end in a subjectively satisfying manner and...

...

And...

...

...I have to stop myself.

I'm reducing this deeply personal experience to a mere "review" and that's not what I'm here to do.

I don't know what I'm here to do.

Frankly, there are themes in this game I am not equipped to discuss, such as its intensely felt (and horrifyingly topical) commentary about Diaspora, the shared trauma of cultural displacement, a people fading away from memory like stars in the sky. That kind of analysis would be too much for a simple "review." if this were to be one, I would praise the game for being the best possible version of itself, the best version of a Time Loop story. One that perfectly applies the narrative tropes of the genre to its gameplay, plot, all that jazz. I would also state that it didn't reinvent the wheel of "Indie Gaming" and I could feel inclined to make obligatory comparisons to That One Game because that's the unfair standard by which everything MUST abide! No, I shall not do that. I need to rethink my approach. I am going to take a small break. In the meantime, please enjoy these unrelated GIF files of Christopher Lloyd from Toonstruck that I have lying around on the floor.

I had dinner with the family. It was a small, daily reminder that I am loved unconditionally. That I deserve it. Something that is immensely easy to forget. The meal was tastier than usual.

...

Back to it.

This is the brutally simple truth of the matter: there is a lot to love about In Stars and Time, with its writing, design choices, characters, nuances, big feelings. It has the potential to be a massive crowd pleaser and it would be well-deserved. It's got explicitly gay lore, as well! In case I didn't make it abundantly clear, this game is 100% queer. Every aspect of it, from the characters and the world they inhabit to the culture and its history, is built from the ground up as a queer utopia. You might recall, all the way to the first paragraph of this long-winded, amorphous ramble, I mentioned something about Change with a capital C. That is because the very concept of Change has been deified, becoming the base of a whole religion: an extremely inclusive, open-minded, progressive community that celebrates life in all its multi-faceted forms. A significant portion of its foundation is the magical technique of "Body Craft" which allows the user to literally transform their physical appearance into their preferred shape, one that better reflects who they are. Children are given many names, both male and female, for the purpose of facilitating their own change, should it occur. Literal and figurative transience lies at the heart of this belief system, meaning that about half the population is trans/non-binary, and queerness is normalcy. As a side note, I want to live in this world. Change is viewed as positive, in other words. In light of that, the arrival of a hostile entity with the power to simply stop all of existence from ever progressing by freezing everyone in place might seem like an easy metaphor to read. I assure you, the game is eager for you to make that assumption.

As I mentioned earlier, this story tackles Depression and it doesn't pull its punches when it comes to portray the more "inconvenient" aspects of living with crippling self-esteem issues. That's when the game became a masterpiece to me. I resonated with Siffrin (He/They), the protagonist. That's you!

Their struggle to navigate the constant torment of the loop is paralleled with their increasing mental and emotional instability. Intrusive thoughts overpowering their head, saying he will never be loved, that he's toxic and manipulative. There's the all too familiar frustration of not being understood by others despite not having tried to explain how you really feel to them, trapped as you are in your own head. Big issues are equated to "small" issues. I relate with most of this. Through the Time Loop allegory, In Stars and Time captures the Kafkian Horror of existing as a neurodivergent person who gets in the way of their own happiness. It's isolating, drives a barrier between your loved ones, makes you lose touch with reality. Sometimes you have good days, sometimes you have bad days. Everything eventually blends together in a sickening routine until you either drown or you start swimming furiously.

Then the cycle repeats.

It's too much.

You cannot do it alone.

You are not alone.

Let them in.

Let yourself be loved.

That is, in essence, the reason why I think so highly of this title. I related with the story and characters. Yes, it all comes down to the most obvious thesis statement in the universe. Yes, I probably didn't need to write so much about it but, regardless, I'm glad I did. I poured my feelings towards an Object D'Art onto figurative paper as I was processing them, doing away with any pseudo-intellectual vernacular in order to get to the soul of the matter. I expressed my emotions and I feel better for having done so. Now, I can move on. All that is left to do is to recommend the game.

...

Go play In Stars and Time, I recommend it. It's good.

...

That's about it.

...

You're still here.

...

......

..............

Go away, stupid!

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A/N:

Thank you for reading this rather personal piece. The article was extrapolated from a thread I wrote down on the subject. You can read that here. I also typed about the official prologue to the game, Start Again, which you can view here.

As a reminder, I have a YouTube channel.

In Stars and Time was developed by Adrienne Bazir. Follow them on Twitter, Tumblr and Itch.io.

Tell the people in your life how much they mean to you, and have a good day.

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vitiligo-is-not-a-trend · 1 year

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Hello!! How are you? I’m a writer and I’d like to incorporate someone with vitiligo into my story, however, I don't know much, which is kind of a problem seeing as I want to be sensitive to the community. Would you be so kind as to tell me some things you do/don't want to see in characters that have vitiligo? Thank you so much!

Hi! Im good thanks for asking, hope you're also doing well!

That's a wonderful question! Before I start I'm just gonna say these are my views on the subject so if anyone else with vitiligo wants to chime in please do so! I'm probably gonna miss a few things!

Let's start with the donts first, and I very much appreciate the fact that you also asked for dos!

I think one of the more a major issues I see around vitiligo have to do with the way in which it's designed. I've made a few posts about it in the past with more details, I think theyre tagged under "character design( tips)". So doing things like making repeated shape patterns like hearts or animal prints or like skulls or whatever is Not Great. This includes making humanized versions of animals. Like recently for the new Puss in Boots movie a lot of people were drawing Kitty Softpaws as a human with vitiligo, and that just...does not feel great lmao. I am aware that things like that don't come from malice but it feels like being compared to an animal in a way.

Another issue I've seen is when it comes to how the character developed vitiligo it happened due to some curse or magic or (demonic) possession something along those lines. This is also a very bad idea, seeing as it's basically demonizing the condition.

Vitiligo is also complicated when it comes to its genetic. There are working theories/plausible explanations for how it occurs but there are a lot of varying factors. However, it is NOT passed down genetically (to an extent) so having a child does NOT mean that you're character's child will also have the condition. It is also not something you get get at birth/in the womb.

Don't change the coloration of it! Vitiligo is DEFINED as a lack of pigmentation, not a change in it, so you can't have characters walking around with pink and patches. You could make an argument with yellow if its for legos I guess but unless you're drawing every white person lego as that neon yellow I'd avoid it still.

Don't only give it your characters of color!! Especially if you only have a few! I feel like this is something I see frequently unfortunately, but having a character with vitiligo or albinism or pibaldism or whatever doesnt make a character less or more of one race or another. I saw a post where someone said it's "curing POC" so....yeah big yikes. I know because it's not as visible on white people some people dont think they can have it, and it doesnt get used frequently in examples which doesnt really help so yeah.

Also try not to make them a villian especially if theyre the only character with vitiligo

As for the Dos:

I'd love to see a character embrace this aspect of themselves. I know a lot of people and for a very long time myself include feel a sense of shame about it. It took me years to get to a point where I feel comfortable let alone happy about having it.

I'd love to see another character comment on it with a compliment, and have the majority of other characters reacting positively and/or neutrally towards its.

However this is technically a disability and there are people out there that do make fun of people for having it so maybe lightly touching on that would also be a good idea. if you don't feel comfortable out-right writing a scene like that, mentioning things in passing like "oh yeah I got bullied for it when I was younger" or "I actually used to cover it up with clothes and makeup" are good ideas.

Having your character also be aware of things like the time and UV index and whether or not they have sunscreen on is also important. Vitiligo is essentially the lack of melanin, which means that there's no real natural defense against sun exposure at play so being sensitive/aware of these things is a good idea especially if they're fairly new to the condition.

Maybe there's another character that also has vitiligo present in at least some aspect. Whether its just some person that your character looks up to and doesn't know personally, but knowing that they have it makes them feel better about themselves. For me this was Michael Jackson!

This is technically kind of a dont but vitiligo spots are very different depending on the variation that a person has! Spots seem to have a relatively slow progression and, as I mentioned, depending on variation, might not progress at all past certain areas. So if the character has a more progressing variation like Universal or Segmental maybe another character can note that a patch or few have gotten larger since they've last saw them especially if its been awhile and not like last moth.

That's all I can really think of as of now, but I'll reblog this if I think of anything else to add!

#vitiligo #character design #dos and donts #answered asks

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slytherwrites · 5 months

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i’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies // i’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

Summary: Abraxas Malfoy would do anything for Tom. Even this. Especially this.

Warning: There isn't any actial smut, but it's implied.

Rating: M

Characters: Abraxas Malfoy/Tom Riddle Jr

Abraxas has been taking cues from his friend for a while now, much to the dismay of his father, Gaius Malfoy. This time, this upcoming year, would be no different. After all, Abraxas figures that this is a reasonable request from his dearest friend—stay at Hogwarts with him for their last winter holidays together.

And even if it wasn’t as reasonable of a request… he’d do it anyways.

Abraxas couldn’t say him and Tom started out on a strong foot, with Tom’s blood status being questionable at best and Abraxas being bound by the rules of the House of Malfoy. But he proved himself and his ability to lead, finding equal footing with the help of the future Lady Black. Abraxas fell in line too, seeing potential in the boy who was able to garner the respect of a woman herald as better than they all were. And as he gained more followers and very few friends, Abraxas can say he struck gold by staying by Tom’s side.

And stay by his side he would. Outside of Hogwarts and the real world weren’t as important, now that Abraxas had clear duty and purpose from his dearest friend.

But they weren’t in the real world. They weren’t outside of Hogwarts. They were sitting in a room of their own design, with comforts imagined by their wildest dreams and a fire going in the middle, keeping it warm. Tom sat in a chair pursuing a book. Abraxas lounged on a fainting couch, barely keeping his head up as he stared at his friend through the flames.

“Boring holes into my skull, are you not, Abraxas?” Tom speaks, breaking the near silence of their own private oasis.

Abraxas gives him a soft smile, “Not intentionally, Tom.”

“You will not be allowed to call me that much longer, Abraxas.”

“You’ll still always be Tom to me.”

“Watch it, Malfoy.”

“Alright, alright.” Abraxas leans up, “What are you reading about?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” He tells him, flipping to another page, “It is all things I already know of. The reading selection here is abysmal. Or, at least in the main library.”

“This isn’t from your secret library?” Abraxas teases.

Tom answers straight, “No.”

“Am I ever going to see it?”

“It is for Heirs of Slytherin only.” Tom answers honestly once again, “You know this.”

“I know.” Abraxas leans his head against the main arm of the couch, craning his neck, “I know.”

“Good.” Tom says, “The more you know of things like this, the better.”

Silence passes. Tom doesn’t say anything more on the matter, as if he knows that Abraxas will never truly contest anything he ever says. He’s well versed in this belief, as Abraxas would tell you the same thing himself.

Abraxas changes the subject, “Tomorrow is the end of the year.”

“Is it really tomorrow if it’s less than a quarter of an hour away?”

“If it isn’t tomorrow yet, then yes it is.” Abraxas affirms, “Tomorrow, that is. It is tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Tom doesn’t look up from his book, “Alright,” He concedes. This isn’t something he particularly cares about. Time and its useless definitions are something someone with a life so finite should worry about. But Tom has taken the first steps towards combating that. He doesn’t need to worry about something so trivial.

“It’s also your birthday tomorrow.” Abraxas notes, “Is there anything special that you’re doing for it.”

“Spending time with you.” Tom asks questions in response, even though he already knows what Abraxas will say to him in response, “Why? Did you have any other plans?”

“Oh.” Abraxas takes a moment to recollect himself, “No reason.”

Tom being frank like this wasn’t something Abraxas would bet on. He’s always been a man of few words—of mystery, of intrigue. This was new. This was unexpected.

“No reason, Abraxas?” Tom looks up from his book, folding in the page ever so slightly at its corner and setting it aside on a table beside his chair, before standing, walking past the fireplace and where he can get a clear view of Abraxas’ reddining face in the candlelight. He bends down at the waist, coming mere centimeters in front of Abraxas, “I think you have a reason to wish me good will, do you not?”

Abraxas clears his throat, “I just wish you will enjoy your eighteenth birthday, my dear friend. Isn’t that when you’re free of your muggle upbringing.”

“My muggle upbringing has never been something to be of concern.” Tom tells him, “Do not speak of it again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” Tom looks at Abraxas’ long, silvery hair. It and himself is illuminated by the warm candlelight, “You look ethereal, you know. Bathed in the soft yellow light of the candles. Nowhere near as harsh as Walburga or Minerva were.”

As Tom’s closest confidante, Abraxas knows how he used Walburga and Minerva. And if this conversation seems to go in the direction Abraxas is betting it will, he knows he’s quick to succumb to Tom’s needs like they did.

In all honesty, Abraxas was wondering why this took so long to transpire.

“I think I’ve been told that before.” Abraxas says softly, staring into Tom’s ever dark eyes, “Not by you, though.”

Tom’s lip quirks ever so slightly, smirking in a way most wouldn’t notice. But Abraxas wasn’t most. He knew Tom more so than he knew himself. His whole life seemed to surround the man.

“You look prettier than most girls like this.” Tom runs his hand through Abraxas’ silvery locks, curling the ends with his fingers, “Most would kill for your beauty.”

“Is that all I bring to the table?”

“No.” Tom tells him, “But it is all I need out of you in this moment.”

Looking back, Abraxas couldn’t remember who’s lips collided into who’s. Who made the first move. Tom, in a moment of unflinching dominance? Or Abraxas himself, in quick desperation?

Abraxas is getting pulled up to his feet, then is laid out over a bed that appears when Tom wills it. He is stripped of his clothes and he’s splayed out on the silky green sheets, contrasting nicely with the rich satin.

Abraxas’ clothes are haphazardly on the floor while Tom takes his time slipping his Slytherin tie off and wrapping it around Abraxas’ pale wrists, pinning him above his head, stretching his body all lean and taut, showing off his thin skin and the bones that protrude from them.

Abraxas watches Tom as Tom watches him. He looks into the full-black eyes of the man he’s come to follow every word and whim of and doesn’t blink away.

“You have a view to enjoy, do you not, Abraxas?”

“I’ve always indulged myself in things like this.” Abraxas admits, his moonlight-pale skin reddening from what’s become of this night, “It’s one of life’s greatest pleasures to do so.”

“You know much of pleasures and indulgences, do you not, Abraxas?”

Abraxas smiles as Tom runs his spindly fingers across his skin, “I like to think I know much about a lot of stuff.”

“I do not indulge myself often.” Tom admits to him, “Everything I do has a purpose grander than doing something just because.”

Abraxas takes advantage of the pause in Tom’s thought, slipping into speech as Tom allows himself to take a moment and take Abraxas’ bare form all in, “Aren’t you not indulging in me, right now?”

“I am.” Tom admits to him, “This is wholly indulgent and I do not know what I gain from this, other than temporary pleasure.”

“Maybe that’s all you need.” Abraxas tells him, “Maybe that’s reason enough to do something you want to do.”

Tom smiles, “Maybe so.”

Abraxas watches and Tom loses his outer robes and then his shirt, carefully discarding his clothes upon a pile on a previously not there end table. Abraxas’ own clothes lay on the floor, gathering dirt and dust, even though they are worth more than Tom’s will ever be.

Or, would ever be, if not for Abraxas vowing to bankroll every whim or will Tom asks of him.

Tom’s smile hasn’t faltered since he gave it to Abraxas. It’s a toothless thing, showing off his skin-pink, soft lips. One side is higher than the others and most would call this a smirk, but this is genuine. Abraxas believes—no, knows it so. It has to be that way.

Tom’s belt finally unbuckles. He does so without looking, staring Abraxas down his blue-grey eyes. Tom’s own dark brown eyes stare back at them and Abraxas swears there is a bit of a red gleam to it, as if blood has seeped into its wet-soil hue.

His pants and shoes follow soon after, being strung about neatly, able to still be pristine by the end of whatever this’ll be.

“Do you have any reservations about this, Abraxas?” Abraxas is sure Tom asked this of Walburga and Minerva and the other people he’s taken this way, but Abraxas knows that this is genuine concern. He admitted it himself—there is no other motive in this.

“I don’t.”

The night stretches long into the morning. Abraxas finds himself more connected to the boy whom he originally dismissed as an interesting, but worthless oddity—a muggleborn in the pit of vipers that hated him and the kind he hailed from. But as his reputation grew, Abraxas’ admiration and interest did so too. And as that grew, something more unconditional blossomed.

Abraxas wouldn’t call it love. Neither of them would. Tom couldn’t love, a fact he found rather comforting within himself. Abraxas wouldn’t allow himself to admit that he’s fallen to a man who could never return what he truly needs in life.

But, for one night they were connected. For one night they were together. In body, mind, soul, spirit—Abraxas and Tom were one in all the ways that really mattered.

“Happy birthday, Tom.” Abraxas says, instead of whispering sweet nothings, “May it and your new year be just as bright.”

“Thank you, Abraxas.” He says in response, “Thank you.”

#abraxas malfoy/tom riddle jr #hp oneshot

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biggsodorcitystories · 1 year

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Happy New Year!!

Thought I would start 2023 off right with a drawing of my Steam Team designs!

Warning(s):

Genderbent Edward

Genderbent James

Headcanons as to family relationships and ships below:

I hope you enjoy it! Please note that these are subject to slight changes.

NWR Number One: Thomas Billinton. The official - and self-proclaimed - face of the North Western Railway. Best friend to Percy, the main engine of the Ffarquhar branch line, and until recently the boyfriend of Liora "Lady" Moran. He is currently in a relationship with Rosie, though he visibly still holds a candle for Liora. Cocky and confident at face value, but highly insecure deep down and far more complex once you get to know him.

NWR Number Two: Lady Edward Stewart-Moran. Married to Zebedee Moran, a harbour tug from Liverpool and Bigg City. Mother to Percy, Liora (Lady), Bill, and Ben. Also has an older daughter, Susannah, and a baby daughter, Eve, who are both tugboats like their father. The "work Mum" for all engines on Sodor, and universally adored. Has a past history of mischief and trickery, which was passed to her youngest sons. The train equivalent of aristocracy, Edward is the rebellious, and sadly only surviving, daughter of the Earl/Count of Cumbria, a title she will inherit. Frequently regarded as one of the most attractive engines on Sodor in spite of her age, even being referred to as a "Milf" by Flying Scotsman.

NWR Number Three: Henry Stanier. The illegitimate half-brother of Gordon and Flying Scotsman, husband to Emily, and ex-husband to James as well as being the father of James's eldest son. Despite causing the breakup of Henry's first marriage, Gordon remains Henry's best friend and is unwittingly a rival of Flying Scotsman because of it. Blighted by ill health, made worse by the end of his marriage to James, Henry is very health conscious and suffers a little from hypochondria, but is now doing well thanks to his new wife, his son with James, and his growing family with Emily. After his last long illness, Henry grew a full beard and moustache, and decided to keep it after being told it suited him.

NWR Number Four: Gordon Gresley. The eldest legitimate son of the famous Gresley family (Henry is the oldest but illegitimate) and the official Express engine for the NWR. Older brother to Flying Scotsman and cousin to Mallard, Spencer, and Ryan. Now married to James, with whom he has always been in love but was too proud to admit until after her marriage to Henry, father of two children and stepfather/half-uncle to James' eldest son. Proud, arrogant, and pompous, Gordon is also capable of almost profound kindness and will always (eventually) own up to his faults, and will move heaven and earth for those he loves. Initially jealous of his more famous younger brother, Flying Scotsman, recent changes in his life have made him realise that perhaps his own life is much happier. Also the only reason Mallard is still in touch with the family. Very proud of his South Yorkshire roots, though he only ever reveals "The Accent" when flustered or angry.

NWR Number Five: James Stanier-Gresley. The original blonde bombshell of the NWR, known for her flamboyant, fast style as much as her splendid red uniform/paint. Wife of Gordon, ex-wife of Henry, and mother of currently three children between them. Her confident, vain persona masks a deep-seated lack of self-worth and terror of being abandoned that resulted in James placing all her value in her, admittedly very beautiful, looks. Although she has always been in love with Gordon, his seeming rejection led her to seek comfort in Henry, with whom she married and had a son. James has no regrets about marrying Henry, who she holds up as a very loving husband right up until their divorce and an exceptional father, she maintains her greatest regret is that she had an affair with Gordon rather than ending her marriage to be with him and keeps Henry's name for her son's sake. Her two children with Gordon have ensured the future of the Gresley line. James is half-Trinidadian through her father, using her memories of his experiences to try and help Nia transition into life on Sodor.

NWR Number Six: Percy Moran. The eldest son of Edward and Zebedee, younger brother of Susannah, older brother to Bill, Ben, and Eve, and twin brother to Liora (Lady), Percy is actually genetically half-tugboat, exhibited by his bulkier physique and is surprisingly strong. He works on the Ffarquhar branch line, handling the goods work, and is the official Sodor Mail train - a role he is obsessively proud of having and takes extremely seriously. Best friends with Thomas, although this is often a surprise to newcomers to Sodor and the UK as the two spend a lot of time insulting one another for fun. This relationship has become a little strained after Thomas dated Percy's sister and almost ended after the relationship ended, but is slowly recovering. After his mother, Percy misses his father the most, causing him to find substitute father figures in Toby and Gator. Next in line to inherit the Earl/Count of Cumbria after Edward, and possibly even less interested in it besides occasionally making jokes referring to his 'future countess.'

NWR Number Twelve: Emily Stanier (nee Stirling). The beautiful Emily is a popular figure on Sodor and the adored older cousin of Donald and Douglas. Emily met Henry without knowing that he was married to James, though the marriage was long dead, only learning about it when the two began divorce proceedings a few weeks into the relationship. Despite the initial shock, she continued with the relationship, eventually marrying Henry and becoming stepmother to his son while having a son of her own later. Luckily enjoys an excellent friendship with James and does not overstep as the stepmother. Often remarked on as being very similar to Edward, Emily has become something of a big sister figure on the NWR and has assumed Edward's role after the former's stepping down. Hardworking and friendly, Emily is also stern and serious when needed, capable of keeping her peppery cousins in line.

NWR Number Eighteen: Nia Kur. Originally from the East African Railway, Kenya, Nia is the youngest and most recognisable member of the NWR. Through her harder upbringing on a struggling railway, Nia is mature from her years. Combined with her early puberty, this makes everyone assume she is in her late teens like Thomas and Percy when she was in fact only eleven when she arrived on Sodor. Since her actual age was discovered, Nia has been mothered by Edward, Emily, and James. Thanks to her better understanding of the cultural struggles, Nia gets on best with James and sees the red engine as an auntie figure. She has a tendency to pick at her nails and fidget when nervous or upset, which is usually the only indication that anything is wrong. Nia has become very friendly with Bill and Ben, who are closest to her in age, despite their initial teasing of her. Nia accepted their unusual offer of friendship and unwittingly caused Bill to develop a crush on her. Nia is cheerful, hardworking, and determined to settle into her new life on Sodor.

NWR Number Twenty-Two: Rebecca Bulleid-Gresley. Rebecca is the newest member of the NWR and the relief Express engine for her Uncle Gordon so he can spend more time with his growing family. This was a surprise to everyone on Sodor when Gordon seemed happy with the idea until it was discovered that Rebecca is Gordon's (and Henry's) niece. Rebecca was the only daughter of Gordon's sister, "pretty" Polly Gresley, who was especially close to Flying Scotsman growing up. Sadly, she died when Rebecca was young. Believing her mother's family had abandoned her, Rebecca was very nervous to reveal her identity to her surviving uncles, not knowing that she had inherited several characteristics of her late mother. With the help of Henry, she has reconnected with her family and has taken on the Gresley name officially.

#ttte humanized #ttte human au #ttte thomas #ttte edward #ttte henry #ttte gordon #ttte james #ttte percy #ttte emily #ttte nia #ttte rebecca #ttte headcanons #gordon x james #4 x 5 #3 x 5 #henry x emily #3 x 12 #steam team but not steam team #the steam team is a hit invention

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toyybox · 9 months

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Spiderwebs #5: Tape I (Hassle)

Masterlist

content: lab whump, captivity, defiant whumpee

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

“A tape recorder? Really?”

Jackie was still in the basement. This time, he was handcuffed to the table by his right wrist, which allowed him to gesture with his left hand and not much else. The sedative wore off soon enough. He almost wished it hadn’t—his body ached all over, and the basement was incredibly boring. Heather took her sweet time before she visited, that was for sure. He had already scratched all the polish off his nails.

“Yes, a tape recorder. They’re easy to dispose of in an emergency.” Heather set it down on the table while she prepared. The cassette slid into its hollow inside the small, rectangular box. It whirred to life with the push of a button. “Tape one. Subject is named Jackie Rockwell. Subject can withstand bullets, blunt force, loss of vital organs, and lethal doses of sedatives.”

“Lethal doses?” He stopped glaring at the recorder and glared up at her instead.

She didn’t reply. A hint of yesterday's manic grin traced the corners of her mouth. Jackie really wanted to punch her. That smug son of a bastard. A cat with her cream of the crop, all high and mighty. Jackie would do anything for a chance to punch her again.

In any case, Heather was unconcerned. She sat down on a chair across from him, then crossed her legs. “This is the second test, but the first recorded one.”

“Who are you even recording this for?" he asked. "Yourself? That's kind of redundant.”

She reacted simply by checking her nails and replying, “Subject is still uncooperative. These tests are partly designed to put an end to that. Perhaps if the subject behaves, any future tests will be less painful.”

“You don't really have a husband, right? You don’t seem like the married type to me.”

“This is getting off track.” Heather cleared her throat and brought out a notepad. “Now, Jackie, please tell me your age and ethnicity, where you were born, your current nationality, and the names of all your immediate family members.”

“No.”

Heather slammed the notepad down on the table. “What, do you want me to drug you again?”

“Sure. Good luck asking me anything when I’m passed out. At least I’ll be more cooperative, yeah?”

It had been at least a few days since his capture. Jackie thought that calling the police would be a good idea. Unfortunately, his phone was missing, along with his wallet and keys. And his brand new pack of cigarettes! Not that he was a big smoker. He had simply been curious.

Heather tapped her fingers on the table. It was the best piece of furniture down there, which wasn’t saying much, considering the state of the chairs. “Jackie, this is a warning. I really do want you to be comfortable, but I also have the power to change that. Not every test I run has to be pleasant. For you, that is. Wouldn’t you much rather answer a few questions and go back to sleep?”

“Oh, no. This is torture.” He performed a dramatic gesture, clasping his hand to his chest. “My immediate family? Just chuck me in an iron maiden, won’t you?”

“I’ll count to three.” Heather stood up with an equally dramatic flair. “One...“

“I’m not seven years old, lady. I’m obviously not going to play your little game, so just let me go home.” He forced his voice lower, softer. “I can tell you’re tired. I’m tired. It was fun while it lasted, but this is where we both part ways.”

“Two...“

“Are you being serious about—” He swept his hand across the room. “About all this? What about the police? People will get worried. They’ll come after you. What about my friends? What about my landlord? Don’t you think my landlord will want rent money?”

“Three.” Heather sighed. “I don’t think anyone is coming after you, actually. You’re a very lonely man. Your friends are little more than acquaintances.”

“And—and you’re getting this information from where, exactly?”

“I told you, I’m a psychic.” She pressed the tape recorder again, then picked it up. “I’ll see you again when you’re feeling a little nicer, hm? Same time, same place, tomorrow?”

“Isn’t tomorrow Monday?” Here was something to exploit. “Don’t you have a job? Don’t you have to go to work? Won’t you be busy?”

“Tomorrow's Wednesday. I don’t have to wait tables, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She walked away and opened the door before he could get another word in. “Good luck. Get some rest.”

“That’s it?” he called after her. “Fine. I’ll stay here and enjoy the silence. Or maybe I won’t!” He took a deep breath. “ONE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER ON THE WALL—“

“Shut up.”

“ONE HUNDRED BOTTLES OF BEER!” He hit his palm against the table. “ONE FELL DOWN—“

With a click, the light died. She muttered something under her breath, and he heard the door shut and lock. The room was painted in pure, pitch black.

Jackie slumped back in his chair. He supposed he could go to sleep. He could sing louder. Or...

The table had seen better days. He pulled his wrist against the handcuff, and its frame shook. He pulled again, harder. It was too heavy to lift up, but snapping a leg off would suffice. It would be a valuable weapon as well, for the next time Heather paid him a visit. What could she do, kill him? She could try. She could try, all right.

But would he be able to kill Heather? The thought of it was as absurd as kissing her. Despite the several attempts made on his own life, murder was a worst-case scenario. Jackie had never killed before. Jackie didn’t want to kill anyone. He just wanted to go home. If he had a gun, he thought it might be easier, but bludgeoning someone? With a table leg? That was as raw and bloody as it got. So, no, Heather would live. A few threats would suffice. If they didn’t, he would knock her out. Then he’d take a long, hot bath. That sounded nice.

The thought of collapsing into his own bed was motivating. He pulled harder. To his surprise, he heard the snapping sound of a crack. He felt for the damaged surface, careful about splinters, tracing the faultline in the wood. He jerked his wrist again, as hard as he possibly could. It brought about sharper bursts of pain, but he kept going, his other hand on the edge of the table to keep it steady. Another pull, another crack. He gave it a final shove, and there was a sudden release of pressure on his arm. Jackie stumbled across the dark room until he was braced up against a wall.

He exhaled, at last. The table had broken. Without anything to keep it in place, he could slide the splintered leg out of the handcuff. It rattled on his wrist like a cat’s bell, and for an absurd moment he was almost afraid that the noise would alert Heather. He shook the thought away and picked the leg up. It was no aluminum bat, but it would work.

He swung the leg a few times, took note of the weight of it in his hands. He hit the wall on his third try—it sent a dull thunk echoing through the darkness.

So he let the leg drop to his side. Keeping quiet would be the safest strategy. Once the door opened, he could start swinging again and go from there.

But what could he do in the meantime? He had already searched every inch of the basement, even the bathroom at one point. Heather had thought things out, no matter what that said about her moral compass. There was nothing he could use, not a single flaw, not even any windows.

Jackie sat down in the chair, still clutching the table leg to his chest. He didn’t want to turn the lights on. It would get her attention, and he wanted surprise on his side. So, what? He couldn’t sleep. He needed to be ready. He needed to be alert. What else was there to do, then? Cry? Keep singing? All he could think about was going home. What good was that? All it did was make him feel sick.

Or perhaps that was hunger, knotting in his guts, an insistent pull getting louder with every minute. It was Wednesday. He’d first gotten into the whole mess on Friday, hadn’t he? It had been six days. He hadn’t eaten for nearly a week. It had only felt like a few hours. Somebody had to be looking for him by now. He’d be alright. These sorts of situations ended quickly, he was sure. He’d give it another week, a fortnight at most. Nothing but a brief hassle.

Nothing but a slight inconvenience, maybe a funny story to tell at parties. It didn’t seem so funny now, but he’d laugh about it later. It would be over soon.

#I'm sure it will be :)#whump writing #lab whump #defiant whumpee #whump #Spiderwebs Toyybox

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baejax-the-great · 2 months

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Hello. How would you categorize Achilles/Patroclus' faces? (Traditionally speaking)Masculine/Feminine/Androgynous? Beautiful/Pretty/Handsome? Any more hcs on how do you picture their looks? Or does it differ among AUs?

Thank you, and have a nice weekend!

I don't know that I usually classify faces this way. I also have enjoyed a lot of different versions of Achilles and Pat and don't think any are particularly "wrong" or anything.

My first introduction into a visual representation of Patroclus was through Hades game, and I am partial to his design there. I also truly love @lady-forest's drawing of Pat here which is close to the Hades design, but a little different. Variations on Hades!Patroclus will always have me all heart-eyes.

A lot of how I envision their faces will depend on their age. Faces change a lot between the ages of 15 and 25. I had a silly post a while back about different artists' representations of Achilles as a girl in Skyros and how they had to choose to make him a hot girl or an ugly girl. Personally I enjoy the hot girl interpretations better.

This one, where he's serving, is a personal fave. But passing for a girl at 15 is a lot easier than passing at 25. And I've known a few very pretty boys who grew into "masculine" looking men, so I don't know that you can really predict.

I've debated what Homer would mean while calling Achilles' the hottest dude in the army. Does he mean the masculine ideal? Is Achilles sort of a perfect average of all idealized traits? Or is he pretty in the way Helen is pretty? The latter seems less likely given the misogyny of the culture as well as Ajax being called the second hottest Achaean in the Odyssey, and at like seven feet tall and built like a tank, I don't know that anyone is depicting him as having feminine features. Another example I think of is Heracles. Based on the sheer number of lovers Heracles had, he was also considered hot as shit by both men and women, and again he's not ever depicted as particularly feminine.

Achilles is a bit different because he represents "youth" in the epic cycle. It's the reason he's rarely depicted with a beard even when he's an adult in a culture that values beards a lot. In that spirit, I tend to try to blend the "masculine" and "feminine" in my mind, a boy whose features could have been girlish who grows up into a beautiful man. So much of what we consider "feminine" in a man is more about styling/affect/the way he moves and carries himself than actual bare bones facial structure, anyway.

As for what I personally envision while writing, it does change depending on AU to an extent, but there are a few constants. Patroclus can and will grow a beard (depending on his age). Achilles cannot and won't. Patroclus has big, brown cow-eyes (in the Homeric sense). I liked Miller giving Achilles green eyes, so I stick with that. I like Pat having a bump in his nose. I give them both long hair, though Pat's is more subject to change. Pat has darker skin than Achilles.

#that pat is my lock screen I love him #absolutely forlorn #homer also contradicts himself #in the iliad Nireus was the second hottest guy in camp #and in the Odyssey he mentions TWICE how hot Ajax is #and ajax doesn't even have any lines #I think he was apologizing for slighting him in the other book #I think a dude who is wearing heavy armor for 10 years and sprinting the way Achilles does #would probably not look very feminine to our eyes #no matter how big and beautiful his eyes are and how luscious his long blond hair #idk with the right makeup you could make him more feminine or more masculine #so much of this is just culture #there are *small* aspects of face shape that are more masc or fem #but often when we are calling a dude feminine looking it's because he's clean shaven with smooth skin and very groomed eyebrows #like it's fully constructed

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justablah56 · 11 months

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TJ anon here again. It is the middle of the night and I have to be up in 3 hours, so of course that makes it the perfect time to share some more headcanons. I'm glad you like them so much because I have a whole extended universe in between seasons 1 and 2 that exists for no one other than me. This time, it's the s2 spouses edition!Of the spouses, Rebecca has known the kiddads the longest. She was at their middle school, and befriended them a year or two after Faerûne. I think that she came from a very conservative family, and the kiddads are all pretty squarely not that, and since girlie hadn't developed her critical thinking skills yet she just decided that centrism was a good way to negate her confusion and internal conflict. I also think she was a cheerleader! Normal really does take after her. She knows that Nicky is a demon, having seen and pieced together a few things, but no one knows this because she told Terry Jr that she knew and he asked her not to tell Nicky, because this was in the middle of Morgan and Jodie's divorce and he was super stressed out, and then they both just forgot that she knew that and that that would be a suprise to everyone else. She's also well aware that something Weird™ is going on with these four families (there is no reason why the great axe in the Wilson family hallway has permanent changing "fake" blood splatters, or why any injuries the kiddads have seen to vanish after they visit the Oak-Garcias) and has ultimately decided that she's just not going to question it. She has a vegan ice cream company to run, and if her friends happen to have very specific arcane knowledge, well they must just be hyperfixated on a niche fantasy IP. Or maybe wizards. One of the two, maybe both. It can always be both.Cassandra and Marco both met the kiddads at college. I've already mentioned how Cassandra and Terry Jr met (theatre classes), and then Terry Jr slowly integrated her into the group. Marco and Grant shared a subject in first year (in my head it's psychology for some reason) and Grant fell FAST. Marco actually met the rest of the group because they would not stop teasing Grant about his crush, and thus took every opportunity to show up and be weird in front of him to embarrass Grant (and subtly sus out if he can handle being around them). Once, at a New Years party, Marco got absolutely wasted and kissed Terry Jr, thinking he was Grant, at midnight and then promptly passed out on the stairs. Terry and Lark (the designated driver) were the only ones sober enough to remember this, but Lark filmed it on his phone and they played it and Grant and Marco's wedding reception. The best part is that Grant and Marco weren't even together yet, and it took them another 5 months to start dating.Cassandra has sent someone to the emergency room with a pool cue before. No one knows how. A group of physics and med students sat down to try and work out what exactly she did, and gave up after a few months. The kid was fine, but Cassandra payed his hospital bills anyway. Being the campus cryptid for a while is still her proudest moment.Veronica meet Terry Jr at the dance classes he helps teach. Scary, then Terry/Terri, had a long soccer practice on Saturdays so she decided to go out and meet some new people. They got chatting, found they had a lot in common, started sending memes to each other, and things just grew from there. Terry's boss would pair them up for demonstrations suspiciously often, which might have helped.When the other spouses meet her, they are going to adopt her into their friendship group immediately. When you're married to people as bizarre as the kiddads are, you form your own little support group of comparatively normal people, to remind yourself that you aren't crazy but also you are.

ok first off sorry this took me a couple days to get to , I was out of town lmao- bUT AHQHJDJSKSKS ALL OF THIS IS SO SPECIAL TO MEEEEE I love cass and her low-key chaotic energy sbndnsndn she's so <333 aND MARCO KISSING TERRY THINKING HE WAS GRANT QBSNNWKSM I love them so fuckign much , your honor <33. and Rebecca just being like eeehhhh I guess they're just kinda weird ok . and just . choosing not to be curious abt it LMAO like . she just knows so much shit and is just so casual abt it sbjsjsnsm like yeah no that guys a demon and I'm p sure at least one of my bfs friends kills . something . that's probably fine . anyways time to go make some ice cream . dbjsnsm but just ahhh all of the kiddads testing everyone's partners to make sure they're a good fit 🥺🥺 they're so <3333

#tj anon #also hope youre aware tj anon that i have been waiting aaaall day for a moment id actually have enough time to read thru all this and reply #just ahhh i love all of your hcs so much #theyre lovely and im now completely invested in this season 1.5 au of yours #dndads #dndaddies #dungeons and daddies

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purplepuddlesuwu · 4 months

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Warning: My Ocs Stories are subject to change whether it's the story themselves or their names or gender or what ever just throwing that out there but yeah. ALSO This talks about death, grief, and just a lot of sad stuff so you are warned.

Jin’s Backstory rundown

Jin’s parents Adsila and Jiang met when they were pretty young. Jiang recently lost his wife and met Adsila at the funeral because Adsila was a friend of the family. They fell in love and after 5 years of dating got married. Jiang had a son with his first wife named Koa and he was quite upset when his father remarried after the passing of his mother and then started to resent Adsila because he felt like his mother was being replaced. This got worse after his half-siblings were born. Liu was born first and then Jin and Holly who are twins. Koa hated his younger siblings and actively avoided them as much as he could. This caused Koa and his father Jiang to get into many fights due to his siblings complaining about their older brother not wanting to play with them. This also caused a rift between Adsila, Jiang, and Koa due to Koa being verbally abusive to his younger siblings and being just an asshole towards them. Koa was especially cruel towards his brother Jin. Possibly because Jin was constantly being “babied’ by both Jiang and Adsila. However, the reason Jin was being babied so much was because Jin had a condition that made his eyesight poor, so Jin needed help getting around, especially since he hated wearing his glasses and had to be forced to take his medicine. Adsila was very worried about Jin not being able to live a normal life as a child and even as an adult worried he would get taken advantage of due to his poor sight. Adsila would always stress to Jin’s siblings that they need to look after him because she fears the world will not be kind to him when or if he becomes blind. Koa honestly couldn't care less, he believes that Jin is ignorant enough to get himself harmed or fooled even though he knows that he is blind that is HIS fault, not Koa’s. Liu instantly takes this to heart and does his best to protect his brother even though sometimes it seems like he is hovering over him most of the time. Since Holly is his twin sister they were already pretty close before their mother told them of his condition. Holly tried her best to stay close but not too close to where he would get angry and push her away because he often did that sometimes when he felt overwhelmed or just angry in general. This pissed off Jin because he did not want to be treated like some fragile egg or some weak-minded boy. He could do whatever anyone else was doing and more! Jin got even more pissed off when his mother and his sister both suggested he just became a healer with them instead and run their shop for warriors, anthros, monsters, and just anyone in need. Jin already knew what he wanted to do and he was not going to let anyone stop him from reaching his dream of becoming a pilot! Jin has always had a fascination with airplanes and was very interested in their history and technology. Even though in their magical world they could just teleport or summon a beast to take them to where they needed to go Jin had a respect and love for aircraft. The history and the design pulled him in and he did not think that plane travel was obsolete one day he was going to prove it by running his own business where he would fly people around as well as even doing airshows for those on the ground!

Adsila and Jiang thought it would be a good idea if they sent their children to spend the holidays with Jiang’s brother Hu and their auntie. The siblings already adored their uncle especially Koa since he felt like Hu was the only person who understood him after his mother passed away.

Koa, Liu, Jin, and Holly all go to stay with their uncle and aunt for the holidays.

At this time Jin was a young boy and had a love for aircraft and still dreamed of one day being a pilot. So when he went to stay with his uncle with his siblings he was overwhelmed with joy to see his uncle had an airplane of his own. Jin’s uncle happily showed his niece and nephew around his property but Jin was only interested in the airplane. Once he was shown the airplane and taken in it he was obviously in love with the aircraft.

One night Jin pressured Liu and Holly to sneak out with him to go and fool around with the airplane even though their uncle told them not to. Jin tried to convince Koa to come with them too but Koa just told them to fuck off and rolled over and pretended to go back to sleep. Liu and Holly tried to convince Jin it was a bad idea because it was dark and Jin already couldn’t see because of his condition and this made Jin mad. Jin told them that if they were not going to go with him he would go by himself, so they decided to go with him.

Liu and Holly told Jin they were only going to sit in the plane and nothing else. At least that was the plan anyway. Everything was going fun the kids were goofing off in the airplane when suddenly Jin found the keys in a little compartment. Liu and Holly were paying attention because they were still messing around with their stuff in their uncle’s plane and just messing around. While they were not looking Jin put the keys in the irrigation and turned the plane on. Liu and Holly froze in their place out of shock, fear, and confusion when they realized Jin had started the plane. As they tried to stop him Jin drove the plane around the siblings were fighting trying to turn it back off trying to prevent Jin from taking off the ground and just yelling at each other and fighting in the dark while the plane was going in circles.

Koa hearing the plane from where he was staying got up and ran outside to go and see what his siblings were doing. Koa made it outside the house just in time to see the horror show. The plane was driven into their uncle’s barn and caused a fire that quickly spread due to the dry hay, wood, and lighter fluid in the shed. Koa didn’t move for a while as he watched the fire spread until his uncle came running out of the house with their aunt screaming when Koa snapped out of it and rushed to help his siblings as well as free the animals from the barn who were now howling in fear and pain.

Their aunt ran to grab a water hose as well as call the fire department while their Uncle and Koa went into the barn. The fire was already climbing the walls and licking at the plane’s broken wings. Through the smoke, Koa saw Jin crying and screaming as he held two hands that were apart from each other, Liu’s hand and Holly’s hand. Holly was cursed from the waist down beneath the plane and Liu had one arm trapped completely under it. Liu was crying and begging while Holly was silent and her eyes were open but they stared up at the ceiling as she slowly blinked as if she didn’t know what happened or where she was. Koa ran over to them running only on adrenaline tried to lift the plane as it began to burn his hands the hotter the fire got around it. Koa called to their uncle and he ran over lifting the plane with Koa only enough for Liu to roll out from under it and for Jin to pull Holly out from under it. Koa grabbed both Jin and Holly while their uncle carried Liu they ran out of the barn coughing and wheezing from inhaling so much smoke. There was screaming and crying coming from their aunt and from their uncle as well as Jin just sobbing over both of his siblings as he tried to hold them both. Koa only kneeled next to his younger siblings without a sound just looking at them as the sirens blasted in the background.

Holly did not make it. She was badly burned, crushed, and inhaled a lot of smoke all contributing to her death. She died on the way to the hospital with Jin by her side holding her hand. Jin had some bad burns on his hands, shoulders, and arms from trying to lift the airplane himself before Koa showed up. Liu had to get his arm amputated due to it being crushed and burned. The doctors thought Liu was not going to survive due to how much smoke he inhaled but by some miracle, he survived.

Adsila was destroyed and broken completely. Losing her daughter and her oldest son losing his arm broke her physically and mentally. Jiang was broken too losing his only daughter as well as almost losing his sons he was distraught. However, the two parents had completely different ways of dealing with the loss of a child and trauma. Adsila cried for most days and screamed and slept in Holly’s bed with all of her things even though she was doing all of this right next to Jin. Jiang came detached, losing his first wife and now his daughter he just buried himself in work and barely came home.

Adsila and Jiang later got a divorce after Holly’s and Jin’s birthday

Koa was… he did not know how to deal with his emotions. His father was not there for him when his mother passed away and he was not there for him when they buried his sister. Koa became distant from his father and after the divorce, he did not speak with Jin or Liu. When Koa turned 18 he just quietly left his father’s house only leaving him a note on his desk.

Jin was never right after that tragic day. Every day and every night he blamed himself for the death of his twin sister and the mutilation of his brother. Jin even blamed himself for his parents splitting up and blamed himself for his uncle selling his property. In Jin’s eyes it was all his fault no matter how anyone tried to spin it it was always his fault in his mind and his heart. For the longest time, Jin stayed away from Liu and away from their mother believing they would not want to see him due to him believing he was the source of all of their pain. Hearing his mother’s cries, screams, and wales of anguish broke his soul and it was all he could hear even if he was not around her. Jin had to force himself to face Liu due to his mother was so broken up with Holly she would sometimes forget about him unless it was about taking care of his amputated arm. Jin felt ashamed the first time he went to see his brother but Liu was over the MOON! Liu cried reaching for his little brother was one hand and Jin cried running over to Liu and hugging him and just repeating apologies and blaming himself. Liu just told Jin he was happy he was alive and all he wanted to do was to see him. Liu told Jin that was starting to think that they lied to him about Jin being alive and he thought that Jin had died in the accident too. Jin felt even worse making his brother worry like that. Liu then told Jin that Koa would visit a lot most of the time without their father but when their father would come he wouldn’t say anything other than ask him how was he feeling and if he wanted anything. Jin was surprised that Koa would even come to visit but was glad that Liu wasn’t alone while he was recovering in the hospital. Liu told Jin that what happened was an accident and Liu did not blame Jin for what happened to him or what happened to Holly. Jin didn’t even want to hear it changing the subject and asking Liu about other things like if the nurses were nice, how the food tasted, if he wanted Jin to bring his comic books and his sketchbook, etc.

That day Jin abandoned the dream of ever being a pilot ever again. Instead, Jin decided to take after their mother the same way Holly wanted to and became a healer. Jin opened up his shop/clinic and sold magical items as well as other healing stuff. Jin also decided to go down this path so he could keep up with the health of Liu as well as try to help those with disabilities. Jin also learned how to use his magic to keep his sight from getting any worse than it already is in the form of eye drops.

Liu decided to open up his shop where he builds gadgets and machines for people. He got the idea when he was given a prosthetic arm. Liu was already interested in robots and machines before the accident but this just sealed the deal making him want to explore more of this aspect for anyone and everyone who could find use in them. Liu is also working on a way to keep magic in a pair of glasses so Jin does not have to constantly use eye drops and could just wear glasses or contacts so he can see them whenever they are on. Both brothers just want to take care of the other!

Current Day Jin:

#purple writing #character writing #purplepuddles oc: Jin #creative writing #writing

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vergilsama922 · 2 years

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Hope Universe: Tragedy’s End and Hope’s Creation

TW: Self-Harm, Hallucinations, Mental Breakdown.

This was simply the worst outcome possible. No. Worse than the worse outcome possible.

“No.”

Ryoko looked like she predicted that answer. But it didn’t matter how smart Ryoko was. It didn’t matter if she could predict most sequence of events because the plan HAD to work. Because if it DIDN’T that would mean….

‘Everything was pointless’

“We’ve already missed our timetable, Junko. There’s almost no success to pull off the tragedy.” Ryoko HAD to be lying because that couldn’t be. No no. See, Junko doesn’t make mistakes, she knew there was still time left. There had to have been!

“Run the numbers again Ryoko.” More of a command than a question or even suggestion.

Ryoko shook her head and released a small breath she was holding in. “Junko, I ran the calculations 15 times. Too much time has passed and there’s just no way we can begin starting everything now. Especially with people like Kanade and Kyoko who can dismantle it all this late.” What the hell was this? Was Ryoko simply making fun of her? Or was Ryoko choosing not to help her since she started making “friends”.

“Ryoko.” The air felt cold. Felt off. Ryoko knew this tone. She was never actually the subject of such malice. Such venom. Such pure despair, but she saw firsthand what Junko did when her tone changed so much. It wasn’t her fault that Junko spent too much time dealing with Kanade and getting attached to Makoto. A lot happened in the initial first couple of weeks, hell months. Could she be blamed for that? Or maybe Junko was simply lashing out and Ryoko was the convenient scapegoat.

“Y-Yes?”

“You’re not pulling one over me, right? Because if you are….” Both knew exactly what Junko meant by that. It was less of a threat and more of a promise, especially in the look Junko was giving Ryoko. She didn’t know how or why but when Junko was REALLY getting angry or unhinged her eyes would…. Spiral??? As if the entire world was warped and blended into a whirlpool of delusion and despair.

“I’m serious Junko!!!! We can’t continue with the plan. A lot of events that were supposed to happen have already gone by. We can’t do the student council killing game or even brainwashing classes 76 and 77. We had a strict window to do the former but they’re on a special field trip and for the latter, Ryota’s animation project has changed radically since the Imposter had Makoto and Chiaki meet with him in person.”

…………………..

And that was her cue to leave because if Ryoko kept going into more detail as to how their utopia of despair wasn’t possible, the analyst would die, and that would defeat the purpose of everything she’d done leading up to this moment.

And if Ryoko died, Junko would truly be in real despair

~*~

Her underground home was hidden by design.

It couldn’t be anywhere “on the map”, so to speak, but also somewhere she and Ryoko could find easily enough. That, and having it be close enough for Junko to be able to check in on her older sister at a moment's notice, narrowed down the list of options rapidly. Eventually, however, Ryoko’s knowledge of the old alleys and abandoned sections of Tokyo came in handy.

See, there were dozens of large, abandoned buildings designed for the sole purpose of hiding illicit activities or to serve as safehouses for criminal elements but as the years went by and they were forgotten by even the scum of society, it quickly became their operating base and staging grounds for The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History as well as an abode. It also helped that anyone who was unfortunate enough to stumble upon their lair met a very tragic ending at Junko’s hands.

Besides, nobody would expect the world’s most popular fashionista to be living mostly in an abandoned building with her sister. Sure she had a penthouse with a fancy TV, fancy closet, A/C, and a super comfortable bed but that was just glitz and glamor. No, there was no despair in living the high life. Being close with Ryoko in the streets like they’ve lived most of their life was preferable. Real despair was living below the means like a fucking rat. She also got the occasional entertainment through the torture of those who followed her out of curiosity or found it by accident.

Junko remembered feeling hesitant when Ryoko first showed her the space, nearly eight years ago. What happened if the wooden floors simply rotted away in the night and she fell to her death, or what if she tripped and fell through the floor into the abyss? Well, that was her initial thought before Junko realized there was so much sweet sweet despair in knowing just one accident, one bad day would take her from this wretched world, and hey wouldn’t it be hilarious if the tragedy never happened because of an accident?

Other than those two glaring “issues” of a rotten wooden floor and gaping pit, however, it was pretty much perfect. The system of pipes that led to the basement was damn near impossible to navigate without someone who knew the way, or a very detailed map and the entrance to the pipes themselves were only around a ten-minute walk from Junko’s penthouse. Depending on how long it took Junko to make her way through the tunnels, she could get from her fancy apartment to their secret place in under thirty minutes. Of course, getting things like sofas and beds and the equipment for her workshop down there had been an endeavor all on its own (Or rather the people she hired to move it went missing once they finished), but if Junko was being honest the extra work was appreciated.

It had given her something to do, other than wallowing in her guilt and misery over Mukuro abandoning them.

She thought many things of her home, hanging above the abyss. It was safe, warm, and large. It was her safe haven, her private place where she could escape from the world and plot its destruction. But as Junko stepped out the final pipe and up the ladder that led onto the entrance for the main hall, she realized that, more than anything, her home was empty.

Ryoko was the only other person who knew this place existed, but would she ever come back here? Everything went to shit. YEARS of planning, years of blackmailing, killing, robbing…..Pointless. Now it was just her to be the sole arbiter of despair, to be the only despair sister, and that scared her. If she was the only one left who knew about her home, her base of despair, did it even really exist at all? If a tree fell in a forest and no one heard it, was there ever a sound? Junko had heard that one from Ryoko during one of her thought-provoking speeches, back when she’d tried explaining to her the difference between thought and action, and the nuance that came with the two.

But that didn’t matter anymore. Because they FAILED

Thoughts, in this context, were actions yet to be done, according to her. But an action that could not be perceived by another was no different to a thought, for it was not real.

Junko had never really understood that. She was a genius, sure, but philosophy was something only the Rich and privileged bothered with, using all that free time they have from being given everything and not having to worry about things like food, shelter or whether they’d even make it to tomorrow. They were things she’d been concerned with, growing up in the streets of Japan, even when she still had Mukuro and the others. When she was surrounded by people who loved her, and she loved in return.

But the rich and powerful people of Tokyo never had to work for anything, so they spent their time pondering useless shit like “the meaning of existence” or “the sanctity of all life.”

You know, silly stuff.

Junko growled and tugged at her hair, kicking the air angrily; she was getting distracted.

This place… she didn’t know, she’d lost her fucking train of thought…

It felt empty now, and she was the only one who knew about it other than that bitch Ryoko, so, like thought before action, it didn’t really exist. Now she was here, did she exist, or had she effectively vanished off the face of the planet? Was that how it worked? She didn’t know, and she didn’t care.

It was stupid. This whole thing was stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid stupid stupid stupid.

Junko fell to her knees and screamed, bashing her fists against the wooden flooring and reveling in the pain. She screamed long and loud, knowing no one would hear her; not that they’d care if they did.

She screamed until her lungs burned and her throat felt raw, but that only made her punch the floor harder. She wanted to feel the bones in her hands break, craving the distraction of agony so she wouldn’t have to think about what really hurt right then. Junko knew she’d been denied, however, when that new yet familiar fire ignited in her veins. It burned her, like her nerves had been set alight, but it didn’t hurt. It felt good, and she hated it.

Despair…

Her eyes, once the gentlest shade of blue, were now a hypnotic spiral of madness, and the feeling that she’d lost part of herself “bonding” with her pathetic class grew under her skin once more.

And the fact that she fell hard for an average boy. She even had his child growing in her. Not that she told him yet. She was only three months along.

The adrenaline activated the despair in her system, and when her fists next struck, it was the wooden floor that caved in.

She was stronger, smarter, prettier, superior than she’d ever been in her whole fucking life! There was no possible way that just like that, her hard-wrought plans fell between her hands like sand?! Why did everything slip out of her grasp at the last second? Except for Makoto. At least she still had him and Ryoko.

Junko pressed her forehead against the cool metal wall of her home, the ache in her eyes forming into tears that streaked down her cheeks. Her fists came to rest beside her head, the blood that dripped down her fingers feeling like the first step to forgiveness, or absolution. Or maybe to hope?

Yes. Hope.

She needed more. The line between hope and despair was paper thin right?! So it stands to reason that clearly despair wasn’t the solution when hope was! After all, despair didn’t simply evaporate in thin air because so much time was wasted falling in love or making friends dealing with annoyances like Kanade or that backstabbing bitch Mukuro. Right. Hope was clearly the answer!!! Hahaha! Of course! No wonder Makoto was so much more successful than she! And the best way to achieve hope was to….

Junko drew her knees under her, so her chest was off the floor, planting her hands firmly, before driving her skull down with all her might. The shrieking sound of wood being beaten in was like music to her ears, but it wasn’t good enough.

Weak.

She was weak. Hope won. Despair lost in the most pathetic way possible.

Her forehead crashed down a second time, then a third, fourth, fifth, sixth, until she felt blood dripping down her face, coming dangerously close to getting into her eyes. When Junko looked down, she saw that, somehow, she’d damn near shattered the wood in the floor and had cut herself on a sharp edge that had formed.

But it still didn’t hurt.

Why couldn’t she feel pain? Would she ever feel anything, anymore, apart from the ache in her chest? Did she deserve to? Besides it would be better to die than to go down the road of healing. She would never admit how much she loved Mukuro in the past or how she wished she was good enough for Makoto despite being a fashionista or how much she adored Ryoko or how she enjoyed pranking her classmates

Junko fell back, resting on her knees and rubbing the blood away from her eyes with a sob.

She didn’t deserve anything. She didn’t deserve Ryoko. She didn’t deserve Makoto for a boyfriend. She didn’t deserve her stupid oldest sister being so nice to her

She’d killed people, and while they were her enemies (sometimes), Criminals and Innocents alike, they were still people. What would Mom and Dad think of their little girl, their Junko, if they could see her now? What would Ryoko or Mukuro or Makoto say seeing such a pretty woman at her absolute worst mental state with blood dripping everywhere? Would they say anything at all, or would they stare at her with that same disappointed look they had since she shown bits of the madness stored deep inside her like a fucking ticking time bomb? Fuck. And she was going to have his child. Hahaha! What a funny world we live in!

But… but she’d inadvertently stopped the tragedy! And she’d given Mukuro Ryoko a chance at a life with someone she could love, they could both love. Wasn’t that something? Her one good deed, wasn’t that what she did? She’d made sure Makoto was okay, and her feverish plans of an apocalypse could never be accomplished forever, lest she hurt her sisters boyfriend more than she already had. It was all she could do, because anyone who came close to her suffered, and she wouldn’t allow Mukuro Ryoko or Makoto to stand next to her, in her own, personal hell.

It wasn’t right. Fucking Mukuro….even now that disappointment was pervasive in her thoughts.

She’d hated Mukuro just as much as she missed her, for all those years spent in this fucking hellhole of an orphanage, crying out for a sister she hoped was dead to come and save her and Ryoko.

Sometimes, when her mind overtook her and she was left alone in her bed save for the hallucinations only she could see, she’d hold that belief deeply close to her chest and pray that Mukuro would find them. She’d never did, though, and the despair that oozed out of the void left in her heart, It was a silent plea that no one else but her understood.

She could forget about it most days, she could claim she didn’t really give a shit about Mukuro, but on the days when she really needed her, she knew their bond would be with her until the end of her days.

Junko told Ryoko almost everything, but never that. It was one of the ways she coped, and Junko never liked weakness, or ways of dealing with pain that didn’t make you stronger. She clenched her fists and felt the wood breaking beneath her fingers, tearing the planks from the floor without meaning to and scrunching it in her palm.

Blood and forgiveness.

Absolution…

Hope………………

She’d lied when she said her plan failing would be her one good deed. Junko didn’t know if she was strong enough to do it, though. Wiping away a life of sin with one good deed wasn’t possible, but two? Maybe…

After all is this not hope?

Junko staggered to her feet, vision swimming as glorious pain returned to her body, the splinters digging into her hands having slipped from numb fingers. She folded her arms across her bare stomach, shivering despite the heat in her home. Her sight was failing her, tears and the stars in her eyes coming close to blinding her, but she knew this place like the back of her hand, and she found her way to the edge of the gap in the floor that led to the abyss.

She wiped the tears from her eyes with her forearms, being careful not to get blood in them, and saw with clarity for the first time in what felt like years.

A broken girl stared down into the abyss, and she liked what she saw. True Hope. True Atonement for a broken monster like her.

There was no fixing her mistakes, she couldn’t take back what she’d done. The people she’d hurt and killed weren’t coming back, and even if they did, they’d condemn her as a monster and a freak. She was unstable. She was a danger to the world and the few people she had left in it, and there was nothing left to do but make it right. And if Makoto KNEW what she did and what she planned to do????

The games she played with Mukuro in the distant past, where they pretended to be monsters; in the end, Mukuro would be the one to save her from her own imagination, the hero at the end of the story. But, in those stories, the hero killed the monster to save the people they loved, and that made things simple.

She was the monster who wanted to be the hero, just this once, and that meant she had to die.

Junko moved forward an inch or so, so that the tips of her boots hung over the edge. Each breath felt like a knife in her chest, but they gave her courage for some reason. She didn’t even need to jump. She could just let go, and gravity would do the rest. Makoto would be upset sure, but he would at least not have to know how awful she was. How EVIL she was. And their child wouldn't have to live with a failure of a mother. See it was a win-win right?

“Wow, Junko… You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” Other Junko’s distorted voice crackled next to her ear, and she could feel her presence just over her shoulder; the world’s most annoying angel of death. “I mean, it’s about eight years later than I was expecting, but good job on surpassing my expectations.”

Junko hated the way Other Junko sounded at that moment, mocking and satisfied like her life was just a burden to be eased. Maybe it was…

A growl of frustration tore out of her, her hands coming up to tug at the hair on her scalp. “Just shut up! Please!” Begging was weak, she knew that, but she couldn’t handle her hallucination, Split personality, and Madness right then. “This is it, I’m done! You got your wish, just leave me alone!” Her voice broke with a sob and a fresh wave of tears rolled down her cheeks, eyes burning.

Other Junko only laughed while her pale, gray fingers wrapped around Junko's shoulders in a vice-like grip. “No, no. You see, that’s not how this works!” She shouted, and Junko jumped because she’d never raised her voice to her, even in all the years they’d been together. “It’s your fault that we’ve failed, and it’s you who keeps us back from true despair!”

She staggered as her monochrome mirror image spun her around, forcing her to meet her hollow spiral eyes, and she grinned, the corner of her mouth reaching all the way to her ears. Her body cracked and twisted in the dim light like she was just a disguise for some greater, darker entity, and its true form was beginning to shine through.

Then Other Junko's cold hands moved from their place on her shoulders, ghosting up her neck and over her chin so that her palms came to rest gently on her cheeks. Other Junko’s next words were soft, caring, and for a moment Junko believed the other her had truly come back to her, that the past couple of years of her life had all been a bad dream. It wasn’t to last.

“We’re stuck together until the very end, so… feel free to kill yourself.”

Junko…

She knew anger, she knew sadness, jealousy, and fear, but she had never felt as empty, felt a complete absence of emotion as she did at that moment. “Why’re you doing this to me…” She barely recognized the sound of her own voice, like a wounded animal begging for salvation, or death, like there was a difference between the two.

She wanted this to end just as much as Other Junko did, but she was her and wasn’t her she as well? Couldn’t she love herself in her final moments? Even just a warm smile, so she wasn’t alone. Why couldn’t she give her that one thing, if only to make the end easier?

Other Junko’s face twisted, her features becoming almost monstrous as her fingers tightened on Junko’s face, and she threw her to the floor with a cry of animalistic rage. Junko managed to catch herself, but she landed badly on her hip, and she cried out in pain. She looked up at her distorted self, heart pounding wildly in her chest, and tried to scramble back on her hands and feet as Other Junko’s arm snaked down towards her once more.

It didn’t matter how fast she was, though, since Other Junko’s arm moved with inhuman quickness and soon her jaw was caught in her grasp again. Her breath left her in ragged pants and gasps, irrational fear building up in her again.

“Oooooh, is little Junko afraid…” Other Junko crooned, face pressing right up to hers so that she couldn’t look away. She snarled, fangs bared, when she whimpered. “You were always the burden, needing Ryoko and Mukuro carry your weight wherever you all went. You couldn’t fight, you couldn’t protect the haul, and you could barely even keep up with them. You were a coward then, and you’re a coward now.” She paused for a moment, letting the words sink in before asking the damning question. “Do you think Mom and Dad were afraid when they died?”

Junko tried to force her head to the left so that she would be facing the central space of her home atop the ruined floor, but Other Junko fought her tooth and nail, slapping at her with her hands and trying to keep her head still.

“Look at them, Junko. Our first victims to Ultimate Despair. Despair YOU failed to uphold.”

It was a command that echoed in the deepest parts of her, reaching down into her flesh and bones, seeding itself in her aching heart, but she didn’t want to look. She couldn’t look.

“Look at them!”

“No!”

“I. Said. Look!”

Junko screamed, wrenching her hand from her face and spinning away. Then she curled up on her side, wrapping her arms around her head so she couldn’t see, no matter what. She could hear her own voice, then, chanting “no , no , no , no”, under her breath, though it didn’t feel like she was the one speaking.

The world went silent save for her cries, along with the quiet creaking of wood as she rocked back and forth on the floor. And, for a while, time lost meaning as she laid there, sobbing like the child she pretended not to be.

She couldn’t fix this. She was a contradictory mess of broken thoughts and dreams; she couldn’t fix herself. She didn’t want to even try. There was a point of no return, and she’d crossed it so many times she couldn’t even count. Even if she found some semblance of sanity, she’d still be a monster, and a murderer.

The edge into the abyss called to her, just like her bed did on the mornings where getting up seemed like too much effort, but she didn’t dare move. They were out there, waiting for her just outside her vision. She didn’t want to see them. She couldn’t handle it.

All Junko could do was breathe and pray the next breath would be her last.

She felt Other Junko’s presence over her shoulder, watching and judging her as she lay at her feet, but she must’ve grown bored after a while since she walked away, the quiet footfalls sounding like gunshots against the floorboards. With her gone, Junko was able to rein in her breathing as best she could, and she noticed just how sore her entire body was.

When was the last time she slept?

It had to have been right before Mikan injected her with painkillers and other medicine when she’d been on death’s door dealing with Monaca and in the blissful realm of unconsciousness. Did that really count as sleep, though? It didn’t matter, what’s done was done. But she really, really wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for the next week. Preferably with her extra cute and cuddly egg.

She couldn’t, though. She needed to see this through, needed to make this right. This wasn’t for her. No, this was for everyone she’d loved and lost. Mom, Dad, Ryoko…

Mukuro.

Makoto……

What would Makoto think of all this? Turning the cursed school into a true beacon of hope was his life’s work, and no matter what people said about him, about how he was very naive and gullible, he truly cared for that place, those people even in the reserve course. He’d given her love, happiness, and more importantly, hope. He’d helped her multiple times and was a source of comfort when the world got too dark. She could be herself around him without fear of judgment. And he wanted to be friends with her. To love her. Or maybe it was the other way around? She had every chance to say no, but how could she, when he had saved her?

He’d loved her, and accepted her. Maybe she was wrong in every way a person could be, but Makoto had never once looked at her differently because of it. He’d only ever tried to help her through her pain, in the only way he knew how, because Makoto was simply perfect. HE was too good for HER. Ironic huh? He was average and had a “talent” that barely was one, but he was also so optimistic, hopeful, loving, and caring, he was hers when she had nothing left.

He would give her everything he had, up to and including his life, his dream, so that she could live if it ever came down to it.

Was she really going to forsake him, when he had the chance to do the same, and didn’t? If she killed herself, it would cause him nothing but anguish and real despair. And Junko couldn’t possibly die knowing that. His hope was infectious. A thorn at her side originally but now in her moment of dire need, it was a beacon. Besides she knew no matter how terrible of a person she was personally at least their unborn child would be better than her.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes.’

Junko took a deep breath and rolled onto her hands and knees, quickly wiping the tears from her eyes, before staggering to her feet.

‘Hope or Despair?’

‘Hope.’

She said she wouldn’t look, wouldn’t willingly confront the ghosts living in her mind, but she needed to see them if for anything but to be strong enough by his side. She didn’t know how she knew he’d be there at her side or maybe it was just another part of her demented mind, regardless she just did, because she needed his advice one last time, and he’d never let her down. If that meant she needed to see her parents and the others, so be it.

‘It will break if you see’

‘That’s fine. I need to be strong.’

Steeling her nerves, she turned and faced her sins.

They were all there, scattered around the central space of her home, some lounging on various bits of furniture and others standing, ready. Mom was sitting on the floor right by her little workspace, where she had drafted up their plans for global despair and perfected her goal of the tragedy, glaring at her with dull eyes that screamed out for vengeance. Dad was standing near her mother, gray and animalistic, knees bent with his eyes locked on her, his gaze eerily locked onto her never once blinking. It felt like he was sizing her up, like a wolf staring down a sheep.

It hurt to see.

“Do you think they were afraid?”

And the last of her hallucinations, sitting in her chair, idly thumbing through her notes on the tragedy, was Other Makoto. It felt like her blood froze upon seeing him, like all the air had been knocked out of her lungs, but that didn’t stop her from taking hesitant yet hurried steps towards him. She only stopped when her dad planted his right foot forward, snarling, a warning. She stopped in her tracks.

“Answer me.” Other Makoto growled, but she was too busy looking at him to respond. Her eyes roamed over his small form, his dark green hoodie was still the same as it always was, but his eyes which, once a warm hazel, were now a spiral of black and white. “Junko!”

“Ye-yes?” Junko replied on reflex, flinching back with her hands in front of her chest.

“Were. They. Afraid?”

“I, I, I don’t…” She trailed off, reaching up to run her hands over her strawberry blonde pigtails, a nervous habit. “I don’t think they were…”

Other Makoto stood with a sigh, shaking his head like he was disappointed with her answer. “Of course, they were afraid, you stupid girl. That didn’t stop them from giving their lives for what they believed in.”

Junko blinked and Other Makoto’s form appeared right in front of her, his hand latching onto the front of her shirt when she flinched back. “What’s stopping you?”

She shook her head, trying to pull away but Other Makoto only pulled her closer. “You’re too weak, you lack conviction. Pfft, and you call yourself the Ultimate Despair. But whatever. I knew you wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”

“No…”

“Yes. Your parents standing before you gave their lives in service to a goal they believed in, one they knew was greater than themselves. You haven’t got a goal, and even if you did, you wouldn’t be strong enough to see it through. Look at how well you botched your plans for Ultimate Despair!”

“You’re wrong! Please, please, believe me!” Junko wept, reaching out with her hands to pull her fragmented hallucination into a hug, but he moved away before she could. “I don’t know what to do! Please, tell me what to do!”

“You were always the sheep, weren’t you. So brilliant, but you always end up in someone else’s shadow.” He told her, the words tearing through her like knives into the back.

“I don’t care! I just, I just, I need you. I need you! Please!” She was hyperventilating, the calm, detached part of her noticed, but it did little to stop the string of words leaving her lips. “Do you want me to die? I can do it… I’ll do it if it’s what you want!”

She screamed when his palm met her cheek, knocking her to the floor, and the agony that rocked through her was something more than physical pain. And as she was laid out on the floor, hand held up to defend herself Other Makoto simply scoffed and stared down at her.

“I would give up everything for you, and you were going to spit on that sacrifice! Causing the tragedy?! Kidnapping my family?!!! PLANNING TO KILL MY FRIENDS AND LOVED ONES!!!! Did you even THINK how I would feel if you killed yourself just now?! What about *OUR* Child you moron!!!” Other Makoto screamed at Junko. She couldn’t handle it. The world was breaking apart inch by inch. Hearing Makoto shout her sins were too much to bear and her sanity was crumbling fast.

“Then what do you want me to do!” She needed some form of guidance. Anything. She would do quite literally ANYTHING as long as he wasn’t against her. She absolutely couldn’t exist knowing the only person who gave a shit about her was against her. She HAD to be strong for Makoto. For their child. For their family.

Other Makoto spread his arms wide towards the ghosts of her family and said: “I want you to do as I do.”

“Wh-what?”

He smiled and crouched down, taking her trembling hand in his own.

“Do as I do Junko-chan. Fight the good fight, embrace hope.”

His free hand vanished into her pocket before producing a pistol. It was a revelation. No, something more than that. It was as if everything she did before was simply child’s play compared to this glorious epiphany.

“You want me to kill despair…” She whispered, awed.

“It is the key to saving people, Junko, to create a world of hope that will forever be free from despair, once and for all. You were weak because you chose the wrong side to fight for silly. It was always about hope. And hope comes in many ways.”

“And once I’ve done that… I can be”, she trailed off, and Other Makoto finished where she left off.

“Then you can be free, and you will truly be redeemed again. You’ll finally become the perfect woman I know you to be Junko. You’ll be the queen at my side in a new land. A better world."

"A Hope Universe.”

That sounded amazing, like a dream she would’ve had back when she was younger, back when she still had light in her life. But it was okay because she finally had SOMETHING that gave her a way to atone for her sins. To prove her worth to Makoto and the others. To have a happy ending she thought was previously impossible.

“Give Hope to the people of the world, without restriction from those in despair who would seek to stunt our growth. That is your goal. To remove ALL Despair in every shape and form for good. Purge the criminals, the scum, the rich and powerful, the greedy, and all manner of evil Junko. You’re the only one who CAN. Do it for our family Junko, I believe in you. I always will.”

Junko had never heard anything so beautiful in her life. A Hope Universe. A Reality where all manners of despair are purged from existence. A Place where she can finally have a good ending and atone for her unforgivable sins. A paradise she can live with Makoto and their child. Hell, even her disappointment of an older sister and her geek 2nd oldest sister can be happy there. Yes. Of course. The answer was always Hope but she was too stupid. Too weak to see it!

She shot to her feet and dashed past the ghosts of her family, practically jumping into her chair and snatching up her pen and paper.

Junko would fight the good fight, and then she would be redeemed and truly happy.

A broken girl lost herself in her work, while her hallucinations vanished from sight, but, for once, she didn’t notice just how alone she was.

She had a job to do.

She had a Hope Universe to create.

#danganronpa #danganronpa au #junko enoshima #makoto naegi #hope universe #hallucinations #tw depressing stuff #tw s3lf harm #ryoko otonashi #mukuro ibukasa #makoto x junko #naejunko

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osharenippon · 2 years

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The 80s "Popeye" Extended Universe

Popeye’s Revolution (Part 1)

Popeye’s Revolution (Part 2)

In 1980, four years after the explosive launch of "Popeye," Yoshihisa Kinameri and Jiro Ishikawa envisioned a new title for former readers who had outgrown the publication. They named it "Brutus," after the antagonistic character in the original Popeye cartoon.

Almost every long-lasting fashion/lifestyle title -- including Popeye -- underwent style and format changes through the years. But, throughout its five decades, Brutus' original concept remains the same, down to its bi-weekly periodicity. It's one of the most consistent success stories in Japanese fashion/lifestyle publishing history.

Throughout its four decades, Brutus became a guide to society's aspirations while reflecting the reality of the magazine business. In this post, we will focus specifically on Brutus' first decade.

With legendary designer Seiichi Horiuchi serving as its first art director, Brutus -- much like Popeye and AnAn -- quickly became a reference for its high-quality, creative magazine design.

Brutus' target is "males in their 30s," and each issue focuses on a specific theme. Still, the magazine appeals to men and women of all ages interested in sophistication and the particular issue's theme.

The publication was launched when Japan was rising to become a global superpower. Its first decade was highly prosperous, encompassing most of the miraculous "Bubble years" of the Japanese economy. This background helps explain some of the classic themes in the magazine, which are still present to this day: high-quality fashion, food, and alcohol.

Looking at 80s issues, we can identify plenty of subjects still part of present Brutus, like culture, travel, and city life. Others, like the coverage of certain sports (sailing/America's Cup; Formula 1) or the focus on cars and motorcycles, were indicative of specific 80s/early 90s trends.

Early Brutus was a snapshot of a country bustling with energy, money, and optimism.

Brutus was originally a magazine for the post-Popeye generation: men who had graduated college and were now part of the workforce, a.k.a. "salarymen." The depiction of salarymen often has a depressing tone: faceless men in dark suits, overworked in bureaucratic, boring jobs, passed out on trains from exhaustion or drinking too much to cope with their burdening responsibilities. Not in early Brutus, where the portrayal of salarymen resembled how female fashion magazines characterize office ladies: young workers who should use their hard-earned financial independence to have fun and enjoy life.

With the bubble years as the backdrop, BRUTUS could convincingly sell the "salarymen" life as glamorous and a path to affluence. It told its readers to invest in expensive, glamorous suits; use their salary in fun ways, and leave the "salarymen" mindset behind, aiming instead to become a "business elite." A very 80s, optimistic way to see your career prospects, which would be much less convincing nowadays.

With the very generous budgets of the Bubble period, the magazine was known for travel-themed editions. The editors and the young staff would go on long trips to destinations perceived as "exotic" -- Africa, Vietnam, Thailand, China, South America, Cuba, Mexico -- and produce an entire issue around it.

Europe was also a popular destination for Brutus, with several issues exploring the continent and its culture. Decades before Scandinavian minimalism went mainstream, Brutus had an issue dedicated to the region's charms. Brutus highlighted East and West German culture. There were issues about traveling to Spain and Portugal, England, French culture and fashion…

But 80s Brutus had a particular obsession with Italy. Italian fashion, Italian "dolce vita," Italian cuisine, Italian design, and the charm and style of Italian men were thoroughly examined by the magazine.

US culture was the basis for Popeye. And while Brutus preferred to explore Europe in its first decade, it also had several issues dedicated to American culture and travel tips. Some of the themes were very "bubble year 80s," such as an issue advising readers to go skiing in Texas and another centered on buying real estate in Hawaii.

While the US often took a backseat to Europe, Brutus' favorite international city was New York City, as crystalized by two special mega-issues in 1982.

Popeye and Brutus explored many similar subjects: traveling, fashion, Tokyo city life, and where and what to buy. But 80s Brutus had something Popeye initially didn't: sex. A subject that completely matched Brutus's "pleasures of life" concept.

While "Hot Dog Press" had love manuals and sex guides for young teen boys (crucial for the magazine to surpass Popeye's sales), Brutus packaged that content in a more sophisticated, adult way. During the 80s, there were eight sex issues.

Regarding nudity, the 80s were very permissive compared to today's standards. While artistic shots of topless women on a magazine cover are unimaginable in 2022, '80s Brutus had several covers depicting nudity. In fact, its fifth-anniversary issue invited famed photographers to shoot nude pictorials. The edition was a hit, and the theme was repeated in other issues in the following years.

Brutus also had annual issues dedicated to architecture and interior design. It became such a standard Brutus topic that, in 1998, it spawned a spin-off title, "Casa Brutus."

But we're getting a little ahead of ourselves here. Going back to the 80s, it was the decade when the Popeye family grew exponentially.

One of the goals of Popeye magazine was to introduce Japanese youth to a more health-conscious lifestyle inspired by America. Besides sports, such as frisbee, skateboarding, and jogging, Popeye editors were fascinated by a concept that was somewhat foreign to Japan: muscle training. From the initial issue, the publication ran features on how to "shape up." Soon, Jiro Ishikawa started using another fictional character name to define the prototype of a muscular, fit guy: Tarzan.

The Tarzan lifestyle was particularly prominent in BRUTUS.

In 1985, for example, BRUTUS had an issue dedicated to the new "Tarzan era." Then, a few months later, in 1986, Tarzan became bi-weekly muscle training and fitness magazine, with Ishikawa as the founding editor. The first cover was shot by famed American photographer Reid Miles.

"Tarzan" is still in publication and is Japan's leading fitness publication.

But, of course, the Popeye family wouldn't be complete without Olive.

Olive magazine, aimed at the female public, was launched in 1982 as the "magazine for city girls." But it became a social phenomenon the following year when a female editor-in-chief took over and changed its entire concept. It wasn't solely the "female version of Popeye," but its own magazine, with a different vision: a dreamy, girly-like visual book aimed at teen girls. The "magazine for romantic girls" and its "lyceene" fashion were so influential that they'll be the theme of a future post. Despite its success in the 80s and 90s, "Olive" folded in 2000, the only one of the four spin-off titles that are not in circulation anymore.

#casa brutus #brutus #magazines #menswear #magazine #1980s

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signalwatch · 9 months

Text

Watched: 09/15/2023

Format: Prime

Viewing: First

Director: Damien Chazelle

So...

I was aware of several things going into Babylon (2022).

It's an original story (of sorts) about the late Silent Era of the film industry and beyond. It's clearly referencing Kenneth Anger's infamous, and not super-accurate, book, Hollywood Babylon, which I have not read, but I did listen to a whole season of You Must Remember this, which covered the subject matter and sought to split fact from legend.

I won't get into the book here, but it's a recounting of possibly/ maybe/ probably-not/ absolutely-not true stories from the era during which the film industry moved to Los Angeles from the East Coast and went kinda bonkers. Sex, death, drugs, mayhem, etc... followed.

If you have a casual interest in Hollywood history, even without specific stories to recall, you could be well aware of this era, of meteoric rises and cataclysmic falls of actors and behind-the-camera talent. It makes today's tabloid stuff look like middle-school melodrama. And, because Hollywood loves a good story, especially one that sounds true, they've been passed down, year after year until Anger codified them in his book. And now we have a nice little package that I remember hearing bits and pieces of in college and whatnot.

Going into the movie, I was also aware that the movie was at least three hours. It was all fictional but referenced the real world of Hollywood from about 1927-1935 or so, and that no one seemed to like the movie all that much. It had a $110+ million budget, and did poorly at the box office.

Having had now seen the movie, it's a three hour movie that is beautifully shot and acted. The design is... interesting.

But it feels so weirdly derivative, the story is delivered by bullet point, and it seems so surprised by things that seem obvious on their face here in the 2020's, that by the film's end - 3 hours later, I have no clue what Chazelle was trying to say or why he wanted to say it.

If this movie is for a broad audience, it feels too specific in what it's covering while filling in no details to give them the full picture of the era while also taking a very, very long time to get to the point with his storylines, while still not making you ever care about the characters.

If this movie is for film history buffs, someone with my cursory knowledge is clearly going to wind up with so many questions, their hand will involuntarily raise repeatedly throughout the film.

Historically and Biblically, Babylon was a city portrayed to be one of wonders and great sin, that punished the faithful, and celebrated what Judeo-Christian ethos found immoral. So, you know, we're very much setting the stage for what we're about to see.

My thesis by the film's end was that Chazelle watched Singin' In the Rain and had the same passing thought anyone who has seen the movie three times will have: that Lina Lamont got fucked and the leads are maybe totally dicks. Ie: this entire movie is kind of a violent response to an American classic and reconsideration of that film's entire arc. Which is... a thing one can do. But if you're going to not just show a better movie during your movie (a Signal Watch Cinema Sin) but confront that movie, you better not miss.

I'm not mad at the movie, and if I were a young movie fan, I would hope this movie would at least spark some curiosity about Hollywood history and the first third-of-a-century of movie making. It's a tough era to access in some ways as the movies themselves were largely lost due to the film-stock of the era and the lack of regard for preservation and vaults of film.* Not to mention that cinema language, use of cinema and cultural cues have all changed drastically since the era, it can take some concentration and work. But knowing who the people were behind those images can certainly help. And this film borrows enough from real stories and fictional ones that it's as good a place to start as any.

The movie wants to be a sprawling, multi-year epic. The type which tends to get the attention of critics, a la Boogie Nights. And much like Anderson's film - or maybe a bit like an Altman picture - it hops around a large cast of characters all working in a similar industry and gives you a peak into their lives and hopes and dreams, and how that plays out over the years.

There are individual scenes and sequences that are going to stick with me, many of them quite good. As a whole, though, that same attempt at an epic means holding any one thought to pull toward the center becomes increasingly muddied.

SPOILERS

Arguably, the lead is Margot Robbie, and as of this writing, I have almost exclusively good things to say about Robbie as a performer. Unfortunately, she's saddled with "the girl you know is going to die young off screen from the minute she shows up" thing that is the flipside to the Manic Pixie Dreamgirl. She has all the trappings of this stock character, from the grim back story and home life to the coke habit and preternatural acting talent. And she's our Lina Lamont, which you'll start putting together the minute she opens her mouth with her Brooklyn accent.

Pitt plays the silent movie star who understands the need for novelty and change, and seems to be reaching for authenticity, which is something he can do in the silent pictures, but once audio is rolled out, you know as an actor over 25 in this movie, he isn't going to survive. And, by the movie's mid-point, you're pretty sure he'll kill himself one way or another. He does. Pitt nails the character, including the bits of bad acting he has to do in character. But he's saddled with such a weirdly predictable curve, it would have been a novelty only if he'd lived happily ever after.

Diego Calva plays a young Hispanic guy living in the shadow of LA's casual racism who moves from odd-jobs for movie producers to a producer/ executive himself, but who - somewhat inexplicably - is supposed to be in love with the train wreck that is Robbie's character he met, like, twice before the movie's midpoint. It's almost grating watching the character, who is admirably played, but whose arc is so thankless, you may be waiting for his scenes to end just so we don't have to see these writing choices play out for the 10,000th time.

My theory about the nearly detached Jovan Adepo storyline, of a Black jazz musician who briefly becomes a star as pictures need sound, is that Chazelle became aware of the warranted criticism of his history of jazz as portrayed in La La Land, and inserted a sidecar storyline where he decided to make good or demonstrate he did so know about Black people doing jazz. But then he really didn't have any ideas for it. Adepo's character barely interacts with the rest of the cast, and he has maybe 10 spoken lines in the whole film. What could have been a centerpiece and novel to many demographics about the Black experience in Hollywood of the era is unsurprisingly ham-handed even as Adepo is perfect delivering his ten lines and doing everything else via minute expression.

There's multiple other characters and storylines to keep up with. Eric Roberts plays Robbie's ne'er-do-well father, Lukas Haas is Pitt's pal and his depressive producer (who you know is going to off himself at the 2/3rds mark, and he hits it like clockwork), the lovely and super-talented Jean Smart is given the off-the-shelf role of the gossip writer that is so enshrined in moviedom, we had this character in Batman and Robin. Flea appears as a volatile movie producer. The fetching Li Jun Li plays essentially Anna May Wong. Tobey Maguire plays the creepy guy who always shows up in the back part of these movies as the characters are having their lowest moments.

And, sure, I'm missing a dozen more.

The movie is currently streaming for free on Prime, and my recommendation is to watch the first 30 minutes, which occur entirely before the titles. Taking place at what we're to understand is a large but not particularly notable fiesta, it's a literal orgy of sex, drugs and jazz, complete with an elephant and accidental near-murder. It's kind of a big joke to stun the audience when the titles hit - you've already borne witness to a hundred different sins, characters, plotlines and ideas - a firehose of opulence, rapaciousness, and overindulgence - both in what's on screen and how it's directed. The camera won't stop moving, the music pounds (Jamie was woken up twice by the soundtrack's thumping), and most of the characters are at an 11.

A bit like La La Land, I'm not sure you ever really top the first scene here. It really had me set thinking "well, maybe people were wrong about the film", because for the first thirty minutes, I was in, even if I was concerned we were getting 3 hours of movie working at this pace (we do not).

Not to sound like too much of a creep, but it's also a very wide-screen take on all of this, not least of which is orgiastic activities, which are never quite the focus of a shot. I think I get why Chazelle chose this - show it in the periphery as a fact-of-life - but it almost feels like Chazelle isn't quite confident in his own thesis after getting all of these people to show up and be naked. Or else the MPAA lost their minds at a movie that actually shows boobs and some dick in 2023.

If you want to stick with it, I'd include everything up through maybe the first hour as keeping me invested as we move onto a day in the life of a silent-era studio with appropriately pitch-black humor, everyone doing their best, movies all being shot side-by-side, surprises and discoveries and the alchemy of winging-it film making. And, of course, an insane German director.

It's a stunning recreation of a period when Hollywood would both film light comedies alongside westerns (no sound issues to worry about) and would, in fact, hire casts of thousands to fill gigantic sets. And everyone was treated a bit like cattle.

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The thing is - Hollywood is full of very real stories and well-known legends that are bleaker, funnier, and at least as dark as everything Chazelle puts on screen. He references some of those things, borrows from others (Clara Bow famously partied routinely with the USC football team, etc...). There are well-documented trials that spun out of some actors lives, stories of weird deaths and suicides. It's all available for a willing writer/ director.

So... I guess an amalgamation lets them kind of do whatever they want? So why land of the completely obvious?

As sound comes in, though, we get the too-tempting fruit of showing the first attempts at sound recording and "boy, figuring this out was hard", which is true. But it was also something they figured out with wildly impressive velocity - necessity became the mother of invention. And it's already covered in detail in the movie this movie hopes you've already seen in Singin' In the Rain. So it can feel redundant. Which kind of begs - who is the movie for?

The movie specifically recreates elements from Singin' In the Rain movie, implying that the 1950's film is, in fact, referencing the characters in our parallel universe here. Funnily enough, Babylon does loop back to the 1920's studio produced, all-star Singin' in the Rain "we've got sound" promotion done at the time that Singin' in the Rain's title was referencing (but which isn't in that movie).

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(became aware of this years ago in a Joan Crawford doc)

And, fair enough. Like I said earlier - Singin' In the Rain does make fun of people who lost careers to unshakeable regional accents and who lost their way in the transition. Even in my film school reading in the 1990's, this period was eyed with a sort of retroactive disgust. And, I agree, it was a tragedy in it's way.**

To extend this thought, the conclusion of the film is how we go through transition after transition, Hollywood shedding people as it goes along.

Just recently, Peacock's excellent Poker Face paid tribute to the great FX maestro and stop-motion animator Phil Tippet, who essentially became a dinosaur himself overnight as Jurassic Park introduced the world to CG dinosaurs.*** Babylon is a movie, in many ways, about the casualties of technological innovation and the greed for novelty by movie audiences.

But it's also a movie that wants to be about how movies became respectable alongside sound, and the impact there. However the presentation of that idea is not.. great. Nor is any explanation given as to how or why this was suddenly happening - you kind of have to just realize rich people were moving west at the time and mixing with low-brow actors in Los Angeles. But the weird malevolency feels like Mean Girls more than anything honest about adults.

Further, the career-ender for our one Black character is a justifiable moment of fury cribbed from real issues cropping up as Southern exhibitors let it be known they wouldn't show things like "mixed race" bands performing - something that wound up impacting what one would take as a general impression of how race worked in other parts of the US at the time. But, yeah, they ask a Black character to do Blackface to better fit the way more dark-skinned members of the band appear.

Maybe it's my 4K TV's color settings are inadequate or something, but the actor wasn't particularly light-skinned, nor the other actors particularly dark-skinned. Nor was lighting or other ideas trotted out before someone reached for fucking shoe polish. And, fair enough, horrific and painful sequence. But there's no follow up, really. We see the musician has gone back to just performing for audiences - he never says anything. It's... a very strange lack of giving the character a voice of his own.

There's suggestion that the morals squads have begun to crack down on Hollywood, but no filling in the blanks as to why - which is a rich tapestry of reasons, really. 90% of which was political posturing bullshit and campaigning for boring cultural hegemonization. But at the same time, this movement is impacting our lead characters and in part why the worst part of the party scene shown at the beginning goes underground and metastasizes into something infinitely darker (I have no clue if this is based on anything, but it's wacky!).

Things I don't entirely understand include

why Chazelle seems averse to the actual wardrobe and hairstyles of the period. It's not just Robbie's hair, make-up and wardrobe. Almost all of the women in the film look like they stepped out of a club in 2022, except for Jean Smart. And I don't know why - if you're making this movie, you decide to *not* embrace flapper chic, the up-do's and headbands of the era. I mean, if he thought "well, this could take place NOW", well... every other detail is pretty period specific, so it's just confusing.

Or why his few clips shown of what is supposedly filmed for the movies being made bear minimal resemblance to the actual films of the era, which never saw a camera not in plane to the horizontal surface except in wide shots or establishing shots.

similarly, the soundtrack never feels remotely like that of the era, which I assume is part of point 1's "could be anytime" thing. Still, the soundtrack is pretty solid! But you're gonna hear the same refrains over three hours, and that's... a lot.

And it gets in the way of whatever points he's trying to make.

If the movie has a scene where I think everything just absolutely fails, that may be the epitome of the film, it's the final meeting of Jean Smart's gossip columnist and Brad Pitt, who is realizing he's on his way out, his career past faltering to wrapping up. He's no longer Hollywood's A-List leading man, and he'll be in supporting roles to give clout to movies that aren't going to be good and need his stilted gravitas. And then..?

Somehow I guess Pitt just enters Smart's house? (okay) And then confronts her about the front page article she's placed about how he's washed up.

Smart has demonstrated for decades that she's truly one of the greats. She's had a late-career renaissance that must drive her contemporaries insane, turning in amazing performances one after another. Here, she's given what is supposed to be a profound speech about how they're just part of a continuum of people in their jobs and roles. And how this will go on forever, but it's okay, because Pitt will be immortalized on celluloid.

Chazelle has an idea that this is matter-of-fact, shown in the most pedestrian way possible.

The speech is widely open for debate. It's shot like a scene in a TV hour-long drama while having absolutely nothing you haven't heard anywhere before, from Sunset Boulevard to name-your-movie-about-the-movie-industry. And I can't figure out if he thought the idea was boring and hollow, or if he thought this was somehow profound and muffed it.

Either way, it's a crucial moment for Pitt's character, and the movie does want to sell the idea that people want to be part of something bigger, and that's why they're in Hollywood. So the notion that being part of something bigger also means the show goes on without you is quite the blow - nor does Smart's speech necessarily make that connection, that's up to us.

I'm not sure Chazelle sticks the landing of the "and therefore..." bit of it as the film accelerates into the inevitable tragic conclusions for each character. I want to know how many times Smart's character has given this speech. I want to know if she's exhausted by it. I want her to say who came before and who will come next. I want it to feel like it matters and isn't an obligatory part of the film, a check-box in a film about Hollywood history where the audience knows what's coming for everyone, and we're working with that ironic tension.

I hope this isn't just a "here's what I would have done" moment. Smart is so good, she papers over the inadequacy of the scene, just as Pitt's character is a hired gun to paper over scenes in his mediocre films. But, nonetheless, the scene ended, and I was like... so, that's it?

And then braced myself for the wholly perfunctory ending.

Look, the movie ends on a montage meant to say something about the continual change in motion pictures, and, as always, point back to the start in those silent pictures and say "wasn't this pure? Look what we had!" but we all know that's some hand-wavy stuff. Or maybe it's a warning to all of Hollywood that they're the dinosaurs even now. Anyway, yeah, time and technology move on.

But landing those ideas is a complicated thing. And wrapping them in the package of some boring characters and celebrating excess (and let's not pretend Hollywood ever really stopped. I've seen The Oscars.) buries your thesis, making it's delivery the same bullet-point concept as you made everything else.

I opened by saying I don't know what Chazelle was trying to say or why he wanted to say it. I can point to what I've pointed to about specific ideas, but very little of it is novel or a new take. It feels processed through prior films touching on specific ideas on the same material, and pieces borrowed from here and there. But if he has something illuminating to say about any of it that was his own thought rather than echoing back current film-buff consensus, I didn't find it. And if he's borrowing from other films and reflecting back what I've been told, I'm hard-pressed to not just spend time drawing comparisons and asking questions. In the end, I was waiting for some unifying argument or novel concept, and it just never arrived.

Like I say, I actually liked many parts of the film. I like that Chazelle swung for the fences. I think everyone in the movie turned in sterling performances. But in the end, this thing just got away from them. And at 3 hours, I am not rewatching any time soon to see how wrong I was.

In some ways, this movie seems like it would have been a tremendous 10-episode thing on Prime. All the things the movie can't make time for, building up characters into three-dimensional beings instead of outlines. Giving the audience a chance to get invested and feel some sense of actual pathos when anything occurs instead of "oh, ok. Check that off, I guess.". But Chazelle is making movies, and that's television. And if we're not going to change to meet the new format, we might just get steamrolled.

*for more on the path and history of the actual film reels of the silent era and what happened, I recommend viewing Dawson City: Frozen Time

**here's a fun thought experiment: what if Hollywood had embraced the Brooklyn accent? Given that we all now sound weirdly region-free in the US - based more on accents from television and movies than our own parents, would we all be speaking with some version of Brooklynese?

***ironically, the shot from JP used to illustrate this point was of a puppet dinosaurs

#babylon #movies #movie review #golden age hollywood #Youtube

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fastigiums · 11 months

Text

Konstantinos Volanakis, Argo, after 1850

In which Jaesun strikes some deals. Alternatively: Oops! All Bargaining. SETTING: May 2023 FEATURING: Hwang Jaesun, Lee Taein, Park Yundam WORD COUNT: 3.1k

“No lawyers” is Taein’s only stipulation. To be honest, Jaesun hadn’t even considered bringing a lawyer in the first place. It’s only when Taein starts talking, and he’s stuck sitting across from him in the dim lighting of a fine dining restaurant specializing in contemporary Korean cuisine with two Michelin stars—all Taein’s words—that he realizes he should have brought a lawyer anyway.

Taein talks in circles, about his entertainment company and his credentials and his experience. He barely touches his food. Jaesun, on the other hand, does not find the way the portions are dwarfed by the plates appealing. He’s cleared all eight courses and a full glass of wine so far. He has little to add to the conversation. More importantly, he’s trying to keep from eating or drinking too quickly. Taein’s words are so dry and draining that Jaesun starts at his second glass anyway.

Eventually, Taein shifts the subject back to Jaesun’s future—the much more important topic. Jaesun could find everything he wants to know about Taein on the Internet. He didn’t need to hear it from the horse’s mouth.

“What are your goals? What are you looking for?”

He’s been waiting for this for too long. Without any preamble, Jaesun says, “I want a debut. Now, or as soon as possible. The next few weeks would be perfect.”

Taein takes a sip of water as the tenth course is served. “That’s a very crunched timeline. There’s still the matter of your contract, your creative direction, marketing, design, manufacturing, promotions. It's not as simple as you may think.”

Jaesun can feel his ambitions slipping and sliding away. He grabs hold of them again. “It might be hard, but it would benefit us both.”

“You sound like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I have. I want to be Zenith Entertainment’s next artist.” He made up his mind before tonight. The days are passing faster and faster, and each one he spends out of the public eye correlates directly with a decrease in his popularity. He isn’t sure how much longer he can wait. His appearance on Boys Planet was nowhere near as explosive and momentous as he thought it might be. Jaesun didn’t win, and is currently fielding offers from no more than three companies, all of which are small and insignificant.

“You’ve changed your mind since the last time we met,” Taein says.

Jaesun doesn’t remember ever meeting Taein. He tries to think of any situations that would put him in the vicinity of any entertainment company CEO.

“You’ll have to refresh my memory,” he says. It sounds smoother and cleaner than admitting he’s forgotten.

“It would have been about six years ago now,” Taein says. He laces his fingers together, resting his forearms on the table. “You attended a Zenith Entertainment audition—the only Zenith Entertainment audition. You passed, but you declined the offer.”

Six years ago means Jaesun was in high school. He did a lot of auditions at the time. Six years ago also means that Zenith was still a fledgling company. Of course Jaesun hadn’t paid them any mind.

“I doubt that counts as a meeting,” he says.

“You made quite an impression. Attending audition after audition and never accepting an offer.”

Was his high school self really that transparent? “You knew that, and you still made me an offer?”

Taein shrugs. “I’ll admit I was conceited and thought I might be different. I saw potential in you then, and I still do now.”

Jaesun loves the sound of that, although he’d argue he has more than potential now. What has he done, if not prove himself, televised to the nation and the world? He clasps his hands together, forearms flat on the table, and leans forward. “You seem hesitant.”

“And you’re overly eager.”

Jaesun is young and energetic and afloat with hope. He’s supposed to be eager and accommodating and willing to give more than he’ll get.

“I am,” he concedes. He has to retract his arms from the table so the twelfth course can be served. Suddenly inspired, he adds, “What if I find my own debut album?”

Taein saws delicately at his meat. “Find? Not write?”

“I have nothing at the level I want to show,” Jaesun says. It sounds better than saying he doesn’t write music.

“You’re confident in your ability to find an album?” His voice is heavy with doubt.

“Yes,” Jaesun replies with more confidence than he feels. Good acting might be genetic, he thinks. It’s that, or the alcohol, coursing through his veins in the form of liquid courage. “You know who my parents are.”

“On the off chance you’re unable to procure yourself an album, you’ll debut according to my timeline and direction.”

Jaesun swallows his beef and agrees. It won’t come to that. He craves agency and control—he was never going to let anyone else dictate his image or his future.

He relaxes considerably after that, polishing off a second glass of wine. The meal is fifteen courses long and Taein peppers him with meaningless questions most likely meant to reveal something about his psyche until the end. Then he foots the bill, just as Jaesun expects.

“I look forward to working with you,” Jaesun says after, as they stand in the bustle of the mall outside of the restaurant. He straightens the hem of his suit jacket.

“As do I,” Taein says curtly. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “The exact terms and conditions of your contract will need to be discussed. I’ll contact you to discuss everything further. Good night, Jaesun.”

“Good night,” Jaesun says to his back, slightly slighted by his dismissal. He watches Taein’s quick clip across the tiled floor.

Not long after, he sobers up and regrets his bravado. He lets himself into his house, scrolling through his contacts at the same time. He wedges his phone between his shoulder and his ear, listening to the dial tone.

“Jaesun.” On the other end of the line, his former dance academy rival, Yundam, sounds surprised. “It’s been a long time. I thought you would have lost my number by now.”

“Why would I do that?” Jaesun puts the call on speaker as he struggles to untie his shoelaces.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you stopped talking to me years ago.”

“That was the past.” Jaesun flicks the living room light on and lies down on the couch, crossing one ankle over the other. His parents are rarely home and his younger sister, Sara, happens to be out with her friends. That’s good, because he doesn’t want to talk to his family about the shitty deal he made tonight.

“If you want to gloat, then get it over with. Did you finally pass a HYBE audition? No, wait, I have it. HYBE scouted you.” His voice drips with condescension.

Jaesun curses his younger self for being so idealistic and open with his dreams.

“That’s not it. I have a favor to ask of you,” he says. “Do you know any producers? I need an album in a few weeks.”

There’s a very long pause.

“We only speak when you want something from me,” Yundam says eventually.

“I don’t remember the last time we spoke.”

“And now you want something from me.” Yundam clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “We’re not friends, and we never were.”

Jaesun sighs. He didn’t expect him to say yes immediately. “What do you want? A shout-out or something?”

Yundam laughs. “You can’t seriously think that’s all a debut album is worth. Do you know how important it is? Don’t answer that. I want a cut of your profits and your continued goodwill. That includes shout-outs.”

“My goodwill,” he repeats.

“I mean it would be a disaster for you if people knew who you really are. Narcissistic, self-centered, arrogant, rude, spoiled, entitled, overbearing, a braggart, and unable to talk about anyone other than himself.”

Jaesun listens to the—unequivocally false—laundry list of his worst traits, staring at the ceiling in boredom. It wouldn’t be the worst scandal anyone’s ever faced. At the same time, it’s not a risk he wants to take. He’s never known Yundam to be so malicious. Or maybe he’s never known Yundam at all.

“Forget I asked,” he says. “I’m sure my parents know someone. Coming from you, it isn’t a guarantee anyway.”

Jaesun is loathe to ask his parents for help. They’d tell him he should give up being an idol, then. He can do this on his own. But it’s a better option than letting Yundam blackmail him.

Yundam changes his tone. “We can work something out. I’m sure Myungseo-hyung knows someone.”

He must want something from Jaesun just as badly as Jaesun needs this album from him.

“Then ask him,” Jaesun says, “and find out what else you want. I won’t let you extort me.”

“I know you like to exaggerate, but extortion is a reach.”

“I don’t, and it’s not.”

Jaesun ends up the call and drops his phone onto his chest. He’s so fucking screwed.

Two days later, Yundam sends him six audio files. The attached message reads, so myungseo does know a guy. one of his uni classmates. his name’s sungjae. this is meant to be an entire ep. if you don’t take it in two days he’ll sell it to someone else.

That gets Jaesun to sit up in his bed. Two days to decide if the files he’s just received are what he’s willing to stake the rest of his career on. Even without listening to it, it doesn’t feel like he has much of a choice. He’d rather die than ask his parents for help. He puts his AirPods in and presses play.

Nineteen minutes later, Jaesun’s worst fears are assuaged. The songs fit together well enough. The producer has the same low tenor voice range as him. He assumes that’s the producer singing his own demo tracks. It makes him feel as if he has a bit of a connection to the music.

He decides to let Yundam wait for some time. Jaesun will take the EP. He’d take it no matter what it is, he thinks. He’s more desperate than he realized. Even if it was fifteen minutes of incomprehensible noise, he’d have to use it.

He hates how trapped he feels. It isn’t supposed to be like this. He’s supposed to do so much better. He’s supposed to be so much more—not in the midst of signing a contract with a third rate entertainment company.

He spends a tense three hours trying not to think about his future or Yundam. He spends all three hours thinking about his future and Yundam. When he can’t wait any longer, Jaesun sends a text from his normal position splayed across the couch.

i’ll take it, he tells Yundam. Belatedly, he wonders if he should have asked Taein first. It’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission. Besides, it was his responsibility to find his music and his sound, and now he’s done that.

great! Yundam sends back. i want 40% of your profit. also, you can tell him yourself.

Jaesun chokes on his own spit, barely noticing the second part of Yundam’s message, which includes an attached phone number. That’s ridiculous. Sara sits across the room from him at the dining room table, editing a video. She doesn’t even look up.

He coughs once and sits up.

15%, he sends back. Is Yundam trying to rob him? It seems like it. He’s not making money. Jaesun knows that for certain. Field Day never took off—Jaesun kept more tabs on them than he’d like to admit, maybe out of jealousy or resentment or something else he’s not quite sure of. For as disappointed as he feels in his own career trajectory, he knows he’s more popular than Yundam is or was or ever will be.

30%, is Yundam’s extremely annoying answer.

20. An extremely uncomfortable thought occurs to Jaesun. this is only from the music profit, right?

Yundam doesn’t text back. He calls instead. Jaesun has to lie back down to get through this.

On the other end of the line, Yundam is laughing. He doesn’t try to hide it. The flush of anger that spreads through Jaesun’s chest is entirely unfamiliar. Yundam didn’t act like this years ago, when they were closer. That, he’s sure of.

“Music doesn’t make money, Jae,” Yundam says through sharp bursts of laughter. “God, Siyun must think I sound insane.”

“Don’t call me that,” Jaesun says coldly. He knows music doesn’t make money. But money is the one thing he’s never had a need of, the one thing that’d be so easy to give Yundam. Just not so much of it.

Yundam ignores him. “You’re so stingy. A miser. You’ll have it all soon. The endorsements, the commercials, the advertisements, the acting roles.”

There’s an obvious hint of resentment in his voice.

“Fifteen percent,” Jaesun says slowly, “and we’ll be friends in public.”

Yundam is silent for a moment. “That won’t help.”

He doesn’t know how much bargaining power he has. He makes another promise he’s not sure he can keep anyway. “I’ll get us a variety show. Just the two of us. You and me.” He knows he’ll have his own show. It’s an unnegotiable part of being an idol in the current era. The involvement of another person is a bit more unprecedented.

“You and I,” Yundam corrects sardonically. “I’ll settle for 20% of your profits if you get your show. 25% if it falls through.”

It still feels like highway robbery.

“If you do fuck it up,” he continues, “I’ll go straight to the tabloids, like I said before.”

Jaesun sighs. There’s no incentive for him to ruin anything. If he burns his bridge with Yundam in public, it could signal the beginning of the end for him too. He won’t even need the baseless rumors.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “Focus on yourself first.”

He ends the call before Yundam can get another word in. There’s no way they can pretend to be friendly with one another.

Jaesun will cross that bridge when he comes to it. He sends an introductory text to Sungjae. It occurs to him that he’s never done so many seemingly small and menial tasks for himself. He’s gone from the son of celebrities to a celebrity himself. There should be people willing to do all of this for him.

Disgruntled, he sends a borderline passive aggressive message to Taein. He attaches the music an almost secondary thought.

Taein reads his message almost instantly. Jaesun waits in suspense for a response. A full minute passes before he realizes he’s waiting for something that won’t come. As much as he hates to admit it, there’s nothing else he can do right now. He decides his time would be better spent standing behind Sara and breathing down on her neck until she notices him.

The days stretch slowly into a week. And then, just when he thought he couldn’t wait any longer, Taein calls him in again. He hasn’t responded to Jaesun’s texts in days.

Jaesun spends a few hours listening to Taein’s representative go back and forth with his aunt, a corporate lawyer who previously negotiated his trainee contract at Cube.

Then Taein makes the very strong suggestion that the two lawyers should leave. Jaesun’s aunt squeezes his shoulder. “You’ll

The ink has yet to dry on his idol contract when Taein says, “I have a few matters to discuss with you.”

Jaesun does not like the sound of that. He’s more entranced by the featureless white walls than anything else.

“First, about your album,” Taein continues.

Jaesun snaps to attention again.

“Before we go any further, I want to meet your producer.”

He feels his house of cards begin to waver. He’s never met him himself. All he knows is the little bits and pieces Yundam’s told him.

Grasping at straws, Jaesun says, “His name is Sungjae. He’s always busy, and he’s secretive about his work.”

Taein folds his arms. “How did you meet?”

“Through friends. One of my friends went to university with him.” He gives a highly simplified version of the true story. Jaesun isn’t friends with any of Yundam’s group members. He’s not going to explain that.

Seeing the stony expression on Taein’s face, he elaborates a little more. “They both studied music composition at Dankook University.” He has no idea what Myungseo studied. He’s certain Taein doesn’t either.

One more trivia fact comes to mind. “He’s a session musician now. I think he used to be in a band.”

“That’s enough,” Taein says, cutting him off.

Jaesun wonders what’s gotten into him. It works out, because he’s exhausting his store of information.

“The music is enjoyable. One more track will be added, and another will include a feature.”

Jaesun balks immediately. “With all due respect, sajangnim, that’s unnecessary.” And I don’t want to do it, he adds in his head. He already has six songs to learn, and not nearly enough time.

“I’m a soloist. I want to be the only person singing my songs.”

“This is not a discussion,” Taein says. “These are the changes I will be making to your album. I’ve given you enough concessions with your freedom to find a producer. Have you forgotten what you’ve signed?” He taps the stack of papers that make up Jaesun’s contract.

Jaesun makes the saddest, most desperate puppy-dog expression he can muster. It’s something he hasn’t had to do since he was thirteen begging his parents to please come and see his performance in Fiddler on the Roof.

“Don’t do that,” Taein says, looking unaffected and unamused. His tone softens slightly. “This will be good for you. See it as a chance to expand your reach as a celebrity past the people who saw your previous television appearance.”

Jaesun doesn’t quite believe him, but he lets it go for now. He has more to ask. “I have one more request.”

Taein looks like he’d rather eat glass. “What is it?”

“I want to have a variety show with a friend.”

Taein’s brow creases. “I assume your friend is a celebrity. Would it be too far to assume your friend is friends with Sungjae?”

Jaesun feels like a pane of glass—he’s been seen straight through. “That’s correct. He’s an idol too. I want to do this as a favor.”

He sits uncomfortably under Taein’s sharp gaze. It takes some time before he responds. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He doesn’t know who Taein would have to consult with, but that isn’t Jaesun’s problem. He’s done all he can. He reaches across the table for his contract and a pen. Flipping it over to the empty backside of the last page, he scribbles Yundam and his manager’s names and numbers.

Jaesun stands up and bows shallowly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sajangnim.” And nearly every day for the next seven years. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

#( ☆ ) ⸻ here i am : [ writing. ]#ficnetfairy #fictional idol community #idolverse #idol oc #kpop fanfic #kpop oc #mixing greek and latin influences bc i speak english and therefore idc #i actually don't know if i like this or not but we ball

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