#<- I mean. I guess it’s an abstraction? The guy’s in the middle of abstracting so

[dearestsilhouette]

“EVERYTHING. HURTS.”

[Damn. He done abstracted]

[hannahssimblr]

Jen is fully awake, bright eyed and stomping around looking at the art when we arrive at the gallery. I suspect she's hopped up on sugar after I bought her a plate of overpriced pancakes in a cafe in the middle of town. 

“Woman, yearning,” after reading aloud from a gallery placard next to an abstract work she stands back to ponder it for several seconds. “Where’s the woman? I just see blobs. Ugly blobs too.”

“Is that a serious question or are you just giving out?”

“I’m offering my critiques,” she says haughtily, narrowing her eyes at it. “The point is that I wouldn’t hang that in my house.”

“Hang it where? It’s like, fifteen feet tall.”

“Well, all I’ll say is that I’m now a woman, yearning for my ten seconds back.”

Evie titters. 

“Don’t encourage her,” I mutter, “It’s better to ignore it. She did this when I took her to the zoo once too.”

“You don’t like the zoo?” Jen doesn’t hear her because she’s already rushing to the next room, and as I suspect, to the merciful end as quickly as possible. I answer for her, “No, she hated it.”

“Was it the sad animals?”

“No, her feet just hurt. There was too much walking.”

The room we follow Jen into is stark and completely bare, save for an enormous, rusted iron sculpture dangling by a chain from the ceiling. I know what she is going to say about it before she does. 

“I just don’t understand how this is art. It’s just ugly, and it makes no sense to me. I’m sorry if that makes me sound ignorant, but I just don’t see the skill in this.”

“It’s not really about the skill though. It’s all in the process,” I'm explaining this for probably the fourth time this hour, but I can see in Jen’s face that she's frustrated, genuinely so, and I really do feel bad for her. While it was nice of her to come, I feel I should have just let her stay at home and hang out on the beach with one of her magazines for the day.

Evie bends to read the placard, “It’s supposed to evoke a reaction, and I guess you being confused by it counts as a reaction, so you could say that it’s done its job,” She turns and flashes a sympathetic smile at Jen. This is a very nice thing she’s done, attempting to help her to relate to the art, but I suspect from the aura of complete resignation emanating from her that we are past the point where such a thing is possible. 

As a last ditch effort I try to gently explain the purpose of modern art in a way that sounds accessible, and not like I’m just regurgitating my art history textbook, but her eyes have glazed over. She doesn’t care about the sculpture, she doesn’t care about what it means or how it’s intended to make her feel, she’s simply had enough. 

“I don’t know, guys, I think I'm going to go browse in the gift shop. I’m not picking up what this exhibition is putting down,” she trudges off towards the stairs and leaves us on our own, her footsteps echoing, distant, then gone.

I’m aware of the quiet once she isn’t there anymore, poking fun at the exhibit, and Evie, who was quiet already, becomes even more so. As she examines the sculpture for longer, I wonder what meaning she’s found in it. Really, to me it is just kind of a big rusted lump, but I’m nervous about admitting that to a person who seems to understand what she's looking at. I stand and pretend to enjoy it for an amount of time that feels more acceptable.

When she wanders into the next room I follow. This one has an old TV in the corner, and sunlight streaming in through the big sash windows catching specks of dust drifting through the air. We watch this uncomfortable performance art video of a man stripping down to his underwear and climbing into a bed. It feels sexual in nature, while also feeling kind of weird and not that way at all. I don’t know the intention, or which emotion it’s supposed to awaken in me. I say “cool” so that she thinks I understand the point of it, though I’ve never much liked performance art. I find it embarrassing to watch.

I don’t think she’s going to try and make any kind of conversation, but maybe she doesn’t want to make too much noise in an art gallery. Maybe she’s shy. My nose runs so I sniff, and even that sounds offensively loud. 

“So what’s your deal?” I ask her as we move onto another exhibit. 

She pauses, surprised, “To be honest, there’s not much to say about me.”

“Of course there is.”

“No, well,” she laughs self consciously, “I’m not that interesting, is all. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Seriously, I want to know.”

Her eyes dart around the room as though she might find something to distract the conversation away from herself, then failing, says, “Like, Tullamore is dull, I go to an all girls’ school and really, nothing very interesting happens day to day.”

I exhale a laugh. These are her bullet points. I bet this is what she says to everyone to make them stop asking. Unfortunately for her I'm only comfortable when someone is speaking. “So you wish you could leave.”

She makes a small sound of agreement, and then says nothing for a few seconds. From the centre of the room I watch her drift about glancing at the works. “Yeah,” she says eventually, “all the time. I kind of feel like… I don’t know, like I don’t belong there or something. It’s a small town and I think I’m just a bit different from a lot of people.”

“I understand that.”

She nods, “I’d love to be somewhere with likeminded people. That’s why I really envy you going to Berlin, I just imagine what it’d be like to be able to be fully myself and everyone would be just… fine with it.”

She envies me? Already?  She won’t for long. “Oh well, it was an easy choice for me. I feel the same as you sometimes too, like, I just want to know what else is out there. I don’t want to go back to the US, but I don’t really want to stay in Ireland either. I don’t know about needing to be a different person though. Don’t you think that if you were yourself here then people would be fine with it?” 

She runs slender fingers along the plush velvet of a barrier, and I’m struck by how easy she makes it to have this conversation, even with the back of her head. I don’t usually talk with strangers like this, but maybe it’s precisely because we are strangers that we can.

Michelle complained sometimes that strange men would corner her on the bus from time to time and start spilling their secrets entirely unsolicited, things like affairs they’d had, money they’d gambled away, unforgivable lies they had told. They unloaded it all on some random girl in her school uniform who couldn’t ruin them, who they’d never see again. I wonder is this like one of those demented conversations. There isn't much about Evie that strikes me as especially demented though. Her openness is refreshing.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’ve such a history of being… odd, and doing weird things, and I don’t know if I can come back from that,” she admits, “I’d rather just start again and be a new, better version of myself somewhere else.”

I suppose she is a bit odd. Not in a bad way, but there’s a certain manner in which she moves, floating about the room, this dreamy cadence to her speech, these brief moments of intensity that cross her face and interrupt that other worldly, spacey look she has. She’s her own person. I'm not surprised stuff is hard for her, since teenagers resent people they cannot understand.

I picture her at my school, how the girls might have spoken about someone like her, what the rugby boys would have thought. Yeah, obviously she’s real fine, imaginary Fitzy says in my head. He’s picking dirt out of his studs with a twig, bit kooky, though, isn't she? Weird. Like she’s an alien from Mars or something like that. 

She meanders over to a bench and sits. “What about your friends though?” I join her, “and your boyfriend? Don’t they like this current version of you?”

She squawks out a raucous laugh that ricochets through the room, and several people look at us. Her eyes widen and she clamps her hands over her mouth, like what I just heard was the expulsion of a demon and not just a natural laugh, “Sorry, I don’t know what that was!”  

“Did I say something I shouldn’t have? Sorry, your reaction was just-”

“No no, just you said that Liam is my boyfriend and-”

“Oh, shit, he’s not? My bad, I just assumed,” I assumed because he told me as much. Was he lying or does he just not know? 

“No, he’s not. I don’t know what he is, we just hang out and stuff. He’s a really nice person.”

“He is,” I debate whether to say more. “Hm. I always feel so bad about Liam.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we used to be so mean to him when we were younger.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was just this happy little kid, he always wanted to be involved with us, but it was like, he was always way too eager, you know what I mean? We thought he was this hokey little country boy, we used to think it was really funny to mess with him.”

“What kinds of things did you do?”

“Nothing terrible. Just… it was more like…” I shouldn’t have started this conversation, “He thought that we were really grown up or something, I guess, and he wanted to come and hang out the whole time, which was fine. The guys just had this thing about not sharing our drink with him, you know, because it’d be a waste because he’d just end up getting sick and having to get his mother to come and pick him up from the party. So we started pouring him drinks out of a vodka bottle filled with water, and he never noticed.”

“That’s not bad” Evie says charitably, “That’s actually responsible in my opinion, and I honestly wish that Kelly would fall for that kind of trick, but she can sniff out alcohol like a bloodhound.”

“Nah, like the bad part is how much he really didn’t notice it. It was like a crazy placebo effect or something, and he’d still stumble around like he was drunk. We thought it was hilarious. And then one time when we were fifteen Joe got weed from this guy in town and everyone wanted some, but like, Liam was there and we knew it’d be a bad idea to give him some.”

“So what did you do?”

“The classic - I got some herbs from the kitchen cabinet and rolled them up for him, and then guess what?”

“He didn’t notice?”

“Right! He didn’t even notice. He smoked our little fake joint and then-” God, why am I laughing? Shouldn't this story have stopped being funny? “-and then after an hour he was rolling around on the rug saying that he could taste colours and that like, the fibres of the rug felt so soft. We had to get his mother to collect him again.” It’s my turn to let out an obnoxious, echoing cackle, and once again, everyone in the room looks at us.

“You’re a mean boy,” Evie chides, but she doesn’t look like she means it. She looks like she likes it.

“I know. I’m a bastard.” 

I get to my feet. “We should go and see the rest of the exhibits. I don’t want to leave Jen down in the gift shop all day, she’ll be bored.”

Evie’s smile wavers, but she nods, “Okay. Sorry... I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

“You didn’t, I just thought you’d be rearing to see the rest of the art.”

“Yeah,” she says, then hesitating, “it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?”

I chuckle, “To be honest I’m not sure I like it.”

“Oh, thank God you said that. I hate it too, I didn’t think I was allowed to say it.”

We giggle and I swerve straight for the exit. “C'mon then, let's do something else.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[curedblack]

ivantill week day 6 - crossover

alien stage x slow damage

disclaimers:

- Luka might be the Taku in this universe but their relationship isn’t romantic by any means here!!,

- mentions of cutting someone up and blood etc. + self-harm, if you read the vn expect pretty much the same stuff lol,

- Ivan is the Fraise of this universe,

- changed the “Fraise drugged Towa” situation to Till fainting from too much alcohol.

Every resident of ANAKT knew this mysterious artist, who went by “Unknown”. Every work that they created was a masterpiece. 

They were famous for their abstract paintings that would show one’s true feelings, nobody knew how they picked out their next candidates. Their identity was also pretty much a secret, that’s where their nickname probably came from.

Who would guess that the respected Unknown was some guy working as a receptionist at the doctor’s office? Till’s life was composed of smoking, drinking 

some booze and maybe doing something productive once in a while. 

He mostly worked night shifts, the day one’s were too tiring for him. The sun shined too brightly for him to step out from his cave (room). 

There were usually a few more employees around, but in the night the backdoor had more people coming through it - like yakuza and such, everything that wasn’t legal happened in the night, the doctors would take care of the guests themselves so Till usually didn’t have to do anything.

He freeloaded on one of his friends, Luka. He had a spare room in the basement.

 Luka picked up Till from the streets a long time ago, and decided to raise the kid. ANAKT wasn’t a place free of crime, it happened much more often there than in the mainland. The police never cared anyways, if they got enough money they could keep their mouths shut.

—-

“You received flowers, Till.” Luka said while looking at the card attached to the bouquet. “The card has something written on it too, it’s probably an address.”

“Again? What’s up with all that stuff recently… When will that person give up?” Till said while looking curious.

“I have no idea. If we get any more bouquets, we can start growing some sort of forest here.” 

“I should probably head there, my admirer is pretty ambitious it seems.”

Luka nodded and then went back to doing whatever he was doing previously, surprisingly he was liked by most people in ANAKT - with a few enemies of course, who wouldn’t have them.

—

‘So the address is the flower shop here. ’ Till thought while looking at the building in front of him. The shop was located in the middle of the shopping district, a good business location for sure. The name of it was “Sorrow”, pretty unfitting for a flower shop in Till’s opinion.

There were some rumors that the shop had hired a handsome part timer not too long ago, he had black hair and eyes that reflected the universe in them. People tend to over exaggerate a lot, so he didn’t expect much.

—

There was a guy reorganizing flowers next to the exit, with care that was even obvious to someone like Till.

“Welcome to the store!” He said, then turned around and blushed. It was now obvious that he was the one that sent the flowers, no normal person would react like that.

“Were you the one that sent the bouquet earlier?” Till said while he gave the card to the employee. “Forget I even asked, it’s obvious.”

“Ah yes, that was me. I’m sorry it’s a bit awkward to be discovered this early… Am I really that obvious?”

“Yeah, and what do you mean early? You sent me more than 10 of those. That’s a lot.”

“I guess I went a little overboard…”

“..What do you mean by little?”

—-

They somehow ended up in a bar, Till started scolding Ivan (that was the employees name)  in the shop and it got a lot more awkward than it was, so some drinks would definitely lift it up,  at least that was what Till thought - who has no idea how socializing works.

“I’ve been looking at this site a lot recently, and this artwork really piqued my interest.” Ivan said while showing a picture on his phone to Till. “At first glance it looks like a fresh self harm wound but if you look into it those are flowers.”

“You know a lot about flowers, huh?” Till said while he looked directly into Ivan’s eyes.

“I guess so.. I work in a flower shop for some reason. It must’ve been pretty natural to learn.”

“Good point. Now let’s order some more alcohol.” Till said while waving at the barman, which was Hyuna. Her bar was pretty famous. 

—

“Are you okay?” Ivan asked, looking genuinely concerned.

“Probably not.” Till replied “If I faint you can leave me here.”

—

‘An unfamiliar roof, huh. I can feel something stinging on my body.’ Till thought.

There was a scar on his chest, a pretty big one to add. It was bandaged, so there wasn’t anything to really worry about. He started looking at all the flowers scattered around the room, it was pretty messy here.

“I’m sorry for the mess… I didn’t have time to clean up.”

“It’s alright, my room isn’t clean either.” Till tried to cheer up Ivan. “But do you know why there’s a big scar on my chest?”

“You fell into the traffic when I guided you here.” Ivan was looking visibly nervous. 

“You know that’s not possible, right?” Till pointed at a sharp object across the room. “I don’t think that would be covered in blood either, what are your real motives?”

Ivan started shaking and started saying something. “Scars.. they look beautiful. On you especially, I love to see how the blood pours out from them.”

TIll started unwrapping the bandage around his chest. “C’mon. Pick up that knife and cut me up.”

“Are you… sure?”

“I am.”

Ivan picked up the knife and started placing cuts gently, but Till interrupted him.

“No need to be afraid.” He placed Ivans hand with the knife on his back and started cutting it fastly.

—

“You made that artwork you showed me before, right?” Till asked, all in blood now.

“Yeah, was it that easy to notice?” Ivan responded, still out of breath because of what happened earlier.

“The way you used me as a canvas was similar to how that piece looked, so I assumed.”

“You look beautiful… Truly.” Ivan said as he caressed Till’s wounds. “Can I put a flower in them?”

—

One of Ivan’s desires was to get painted by Unknown, something that was unachievable for most. He told Till that he approached him because he suspected something at first, but then he got genuinely interested.

As always, Till brought a person’s real self out to paint them. When he returned home he started painting, he wouldn’t stop even for a second. “Have you even eaten anything in the past 2 days?” Luka looked at Till, there was no response. “The Ivan guy left some donuts earlier, I’m gonna put them there. Also, don’t forget to show me the painting that you made.”

[industria-adastra]

[Twisted Wonderland x Puella Magi Madoka Magica] - What to do when you reload in the wrong universe? - [HEARTSLAYBUL] - PART 2

Prev | Next

Note: For some reason, formatting on tumblr is indeed a pain in the butt. Other than that here's an update

-----

It’s LUNCHTIME. The time when everyone would fistfight each other for the special meal of the day. Tbh NRC has nice lunches; it’s a freaking buffet, for goodness sake. 

The group goes to get lunch, and things seem relatively peaceful. So of course, Grim starts a touch of chaos the moment Homura thinks it’s safe to let him go. Should’ve just kept Grim in a death grip until you got lunch, Homura.

By a touch of chaos, I mean Grim breaks someone’s (an upperclassman) carbonara spaghetti egg. And because NRC students don’t know when to pick their battles, they attempt to start a battle in the cafeteria (an awful decision, really).

Is Homura going to intervene? Am I going to make her intervene?

Yeah but not exactly in the way you’re guessing

She’s going to try, in her own way, to defuse the situation. This means as per tradition she’s going to actually make it escalate because Homura and persuasive speaking are like oil and water. Or maybe even like a grease fire and water.

Homura tries to bring up how stupid it is to, you know, fight with underclassmen over slightly damaged egg carbonara, of all things. An appeal to common sense (and a poke to their egos). Besides, weren’t they going to break the yolk anyways, since they were going to eat it? It’s a small, paltry thing to get so worked up about, in her all too blunt opinion.

This absolutely does not make the situation any better. In fact, it makes it worse, because now the seniors think they’re being condescended by a child. 

Ace and Yuu think they have never seen someone so bad at defusing the situation they turn the fire up to eleven. Ace, however, is a shining example of a pot encountering a kettle and not realising it has shared traits. Perhaps this is also foreshadowing for Ace’s later unfortunate choice of language. 

Due to plot convenience, these guys have about one brain cell rattling around in an abstract, collective shared mind space. They take one look at this kid and go “Freshman. Small. CAN TAKE ON IN A FIGHT.”

Actually, canon does kind of actively shove it in our faces how extraordinarily eager delinquent-type NRC students are to fight literally anyone. So maybe I am justified in making them try and fistfight a middle schooler. 

They try to engage Homura in a fight. Aka they’re doing that thing where someone puffs out their chest and squares up (literally). Homura is trying to back out because:

She’s shown to be rather non-confrontational in canon. 

In her experience, ignoring these people often works because they’re at least more bark than bite. (Or rather, Homura has sort of thought that by clamming herself up—metaphorically speaking—things won’t affect her as badly because before things…never really changed no matter how proactive she was (I am referring to both her past as a bullied child over something she had no control over, and her long-term experience with other volatile pubescent girls)

Homura would really like to not get punched in a cafeteria.

One of them attempts to get physical with Homura, who’s darting away as fast as possible. She’s not looking for a fight and would like to not show up to her next class looking like she just got in one.

Yuu is not having it. Deuce is not having it. Grim is not having it because while Homura scares him a little (read: a lot) he’s not gonna let these guys push around his #2 Henchman (henchwoman?). Ace is seemingly vibing in the background but actually, he high-key wants to see the guys get pummeled it’s a case of fire meets fire. Like, he’s a jerk himself but these guys were also jerks (also Homura is a little bit baby to him so it’s completely justified in his honest opinion.

Yuu is putting that swim training to good use by yoinking the offender’s arms and going “DO NOT.” Grim bites one of them. I don’t think he has magic rabies. Deuce wants to clock them but doesn’t because he’s in the public eye, so he just allows Yuu to go to town on them. Ace watches on the sidelines, noting Yuu’s great attachment to the girl with the magical equivalent of an automatic gun. He also thinks it’s hilarious that the mages are being bodied by the new non-magical student—conveniently ignoring the fact that Yuu most definitely never skipped arm, leg, and the rest of his body, day.

Homura is left wondering about the feeling one gets when people are willing to stand up for you. (She’s also left wondering if highschool would ever be as ridiculous as the one she was experiencing right now) Perhaps it’s a completely out-of-place feeling to be felt when watching someone body two people for you, but human emotions are irrational. To her, it’s a warm sort of feeling, even if she thinks she could’ve just dealt with it herself.

Mostly, I think Homura needs a few scenes to be protected, rather than constantly trying to be the strong one. 

The fight is resolved, and everyone’s hungry. Yuu has an allowance for food and other necessities here because Crowley would get Mcmurdered Mcssasined in his sleep if the staff knew he basically dumped off a bunch of otherworlders into a large shack and called it a day. That and I ooc-ed him a little into someone that sees these kids/Homura and goes, ok maybe they need a little something, at least.

Just enough so that there are no additional PR problems. Or so he says to himself. Oh, he boasts about it for sure, but it sounds as phoney as always.

Elaborating on this: Crowley often boasts about his kindness/generosity when he’s…definitely not being generous. So I think when he is doing something because he actually cares, then he justifies it weirdly to himself. Of course, this is simply pure imagination, and not strictly in line with his canonically displayed personality. 

I call it the “Homura sympathy effect”. When you see this emo little kid you just invite yourself in as her family/friend because it’s actually kind of depressing watching Homura if you observe carefully enough.

They finally buy lunch. Homura gets a plate of omurice. Yuu says it’s because Homura is a growing child. Homura is suddenly violently reminded that, yes, she can actually grow right now. 

She does her best to not choke on her food. This means she instead stares blankly at her food as if she’s been confronted with a crisis of unimaginable proportions.

Oh god, Homura thinks, Madoka doesn’t exist. Oh god, she continues to monologue in her head, I can’t access my powers anymore.

(She can’t go back if something goes irreversibly wrong, wrong, wrong—)

The omurice, to her, tastes really good. The egg is fresh and creamy; the rice combined with the demi-glace sauce and the soft vegetables should be normal on her tongue but maybe it’s been years and years, and sometimes she’d find that food tasted like nothing at all.

(Distantly, Homura thinks that Madoka will never be able to eat something like this ever again. Distantly, Homura wonders when the taste of fresh food ever become so foreign to her.)

But I suppose any kind of actually fresh food would taste good if you’ve been sustaining yourself off determination and cup noodles.

Just the bare minimum so you don’t waste magic making up for hunger.

Yuu carefully watches her eat as he does so himself. Ace and Deuce are bickering in the background and Grim is tearing into his own food with gusto. Homura mechanically eats her meal with the precision of a surgeon and the speed of a machine. He hopes that Homura liked the meal. He wonders what Homura would normally eat, all alone by herself.

Yuu gets the feeling that Homura hasn’t really been eating well for quite some time.

And then Cater shows up. 

Who is this guy? Homura has zero ideas. The rest of the group has many violent ideas. Oh, they tricked Yuu (and the others) into doing his work for him. Hm. (Down goes a couple of points for Homura’s opinion of Cater. While I’d say Homura does try her best to be not as judgemental as possible because goodness knows how much she herself has received, these are people she’s bonded with on some level, so a little bias (TM) comes into play. Even if Ace can be a jerk, and Grim's basically a bratty kid)

Ever the conversationalist, Homura’s as quiet as a church mouse. But that’s fine, since Cater’s deadlift the majority of the conversation anyways.

Cater is already evaluating the new member of the group aka Homura. He remembers Riddle complaining about certain people breaking school rules during the assembly. He is kind of surprised she's still here though, since knowing the headmaster Homura should've gone home by now. So there must be something…

She’s definitely a little…quieter, and more solemn and serious than he expected a fourteen-year-old to be. Cater definitely remembers his sisters never being like Homura. But it’s probably a personality variation thing. After all, everyone’s different, and Homura's no exception to the individuality of people in general.

Yet her eyes still unsettle him, ever so slightly. He's not sure if the freshmen and the other unsorted student(?) realize it, but Homura's eyes… There’s a hardness in them, and an emptiness that lingers. (He wonders if she was ever forced to grow up too quickly, forced to understand certain hard truths of reality too quickly.)

Although, maybe at least one of them realises it, seeing as Yuu’s practically hovering over her like an oversized mother hen. Well, it’s not really his problem to deal with anyways. 

Cater laughs and smiles, acting casual and playing the perfect role of a relaxed upperclassman. He’s pretty sure it does nothing to ease their earlier grudges (which, well, fair enough—most NRC students aren’t really the forgive and forget type anyways)

And just in time for him (Cater’s one-hundred percent sure they’re all starting to get annoyed with him), Trey enters the scene, wielding his nonchalance like a well-sharpened sword. He’s polite, calm and collected—acting as a voice of reason even though he’s just slid to their table knowing full well their…colourful reputations in this school. (She had heart problems, not hearing problems)

Homura’s sorely reminded of Mami with this third-year, and his verbal slip regarding his less-than-stellar opinion of Ramshackle dorm (even if arguably justified) is one that has her also putting her opinion of him on the fence.

Cater brings up getting their numbers

The numbers are incompatible rip Cater (Homura simply didn’t bring up the fact that data roaming wouldn’t even apply in another world—he’d figure it out on his own later anyways. Or hear it from someone else. Whichever comes first.)

It’s not like isekai (aka inter-universal/inter-universal/inter-whatever) services are included in standard sims provided in Japan—no matter how prevalent the isekai genre is

But also I ask you all to imagine Cater looking at Homura’s utter desert of a contact list.

There’s like maybe three tumbleweeds and it’s:

The hospital she lived in for years on end

Her uncle(‘s secretary) — anyone who hasn’t read ANAI aka “As N Approaches Infinity” is missing out also screw Homura’s uncle in that fic he sucks

Mitakihara Middle School’s front desk 

Yuu, in comparison, has like a bajillion phone numbers. All with their own little nicknames such as “Core day every day”, “Down bad for pixels”, “(Putting) The L in LGBT”, or “Mission control centre” (That actually refers to his family phone’s number)

Very awkward for Cater, and Yuu, who are either starting to get or are getting more information on how socially disconnected Homura might’ve actually been

Briefly, Cater wonders if Homura was homeschooled

Trey is having ✨flashbacks✨ to Riddle’s own upbringing and wondering if there’s any connection to the few phone numbers and an implication of a lack of friends. He puts that thought out of his mind because he’s not really in any position to pry (and we all know how well the first and last time he tried turned out)

Then Trey starts giving an intro on the dorms like a tutorial menu narrator

Of course, when the obligatory ‘Epel is as pretty as a girl” statement pops up, Ace can no longer call Grim and Deuce morons as NRC is no longer an all-boys school with the inclusion of Homura

Anyways, Lilia shows up(side down)! 

Bat Gramps gives everyone a heart attack!! Homura wonders if this is how it feels to be on the other end of a time-stop

When Lilia says that Diasomnia is very hospitable and welcoming, instead of Silver and Sebek being 🗿 they are carefully inspecting (read: Silver is concerned but he looks dead serious. Sebek is less concerned and more “????they haven’t sent the tiny human back home??? Suspiscious.”)

Actually Sebek is both a little confused and a bit like “wow this new human child must be very good to still be here in a uniform”. Unfortunately for him he… looks more like he’s glaring. 

Homura is 🗿 tho. She just wants to have a peaceful lunch what on earth is happening

Ofc since Homuhomu is here, canon diverts as in Lilia stays a little longer and flits around Homura like a bat from hell. 

“My oh my, it’s you again. How have you been, young one?” (coming from someone who looks no older than 18)

“...I am…fine.” (be easy on her Homura’s doing her best)

Yuu just slides closer to her because who is this weirdo why is everyone in this school so weird maybe that’s what Magic highschool(™) actually does to people

To Homura, Lilia feels…odd. It’s not quite like Madoka (The Law of Cycles now), so young yet so wrapped within aeons of time; a newly born law, yet with a history beyond time. He feels more like Walpurgisnacht. There is an unspoken history behind this highschooler, and he’s just focused on her ring. Lunchtime was turning out to be terrible. Maybe it was a good thing she often skipped lunches at Mitakihara Middle School.

“Oh? Is that…?”

Homura has just given up and pretended she does not see™. If she tries to hide it she’ll draw unwanted attention. If she tries to explain she’ll give it unwanted attention and there was no guarantee her explanation would be credible enough. So she just… Did not see. If the others are interested they’ll watch anyways so it’s better to just pretend to be completely disinterested in the fact that Batman lite is staring at her literal soul—pretend it’s no biggie. 

Of course, her body language has completely closed off, and now Yuu’s gently pushing away Lilia. 

“Hey, maybe not so close, alright?”

“Of course, forgive me for that—and for disrupting your meal. I do hope we can converse again. ” He looks at Homura, Yuu, and Grim, before adding, “Especially the three of you.” Then he peaces out aka teleports back to his lunch

Of course, Ace still slanders Riddle at lunch like in canon. Even if Yuu frantically made abort motions. Homura just stares at the scene, already knowing how it’s probably going to pan out. 

No one likes being talked about behind their back like that. She’d know a lot about how that felt like. After all, that’s what happened to her.  

And wuh-oh wouldn’t you know? Riddle’s right behind Ace. Deuce puts Ace out of his misery. Yuu has his head in his hands. Homura quietly sighs and continues eating her lunch. Cater and Trey have stiffer smiles than overmixed egg-white mixtures. As Ace continues to dig his own grave—going past six feet and beyond, Homura takes the chance to observe Heartslaybul’s Housewarden. 

Her first impression is that: He’s…not that much taller than her at all (Riddle is 160 cm whilst Homura is about 158 cm). But he looks incredibly prim and proper—definitely the image of what someone expects of a Dorm Leader.

Her second impression is that Riddle is rather strict. And very used to having authority, if the way Cater immediately folds to his words is any indicator of that trait. Perhaps Ace wasn’t completely wrong about his dorm leader being rather unyielding, personality-wise.

However, Ace…isn’t doing himself any favours at all, so Homura also chalks it up to Ace having zero brain-to-mouth filter.

Grim identifies him as the guy who sealed his magic, and Riddle, in turn, identifies them as the students who nearly got expelled + singles out Homura like Why are you still here??? Presumably as a student too if the magestone is any indication. To him, it breaks the rules and sets a bad example. 

In fact, Riddle even starts a little speech about how rulebreakers only cause chaos, and shouldn’t be, under any circumstances, tolerated.

Aaand now Riddle’s reminding Homura of Sayaka, in a bad way.

So she goes: There is nowhere for her (and Yuu by extension) to go in Twisted Wonderland. They’re not inhabitants of this world (in case he uh, forgot that like how the story seems to often do that whenever you don’t know Disney/Japanese-inspired tradition #659 like an idiot because you come from planet Earth), therefore NRC kind of does need to bend the rules for them unless they want bad PR (She’s seen enough of what her Uncle used to get up to in the hospital through magazines, social media and the television. He flung around money and time as if there was nothing else to live for but his own hedonism.)

Riddle, of course, at this stage of the story, rejects that notion because he thinks there could be other alternatives. Bro is debating with a 14 year old.

Yuu, as nice and kind as he is, also gives his two cents. As in, “I sure hope you can get Crowley to reconsider then.” He says this with a singular (1) eyebrow raised whilst wiping Homura’s mouth.

Homura is blue-screening for a hot five minutes because wow ok that was ???? Yuu asked,  “Is anyone gonna take care of this kid?” and did not wait for a single reply.

Ace tries to get his collar removed even though he shit-talked Riddle in front of his face. Ace has balls bigger than Jupiter I guess. Not that it’s helping him or anything.

Homura also bears witness to Riddle’s ability to memorise rules. Not all 810 of them but he definitely knows his rules if he’s jumping from rule 271 to rule 339. He still reminds her of Sayaka in a bad way though. All too unyielding to others. 

Hopefully for him, it won’t be to the very bitter end.

Oh, and she also learns that Trey is vice-housewarden, which… She supposed there probably was an alternative reason as to why Cater and Trey approached them—seeing the way they interacted with Heartslaybul’s Housewarden.

And judging from the loud displays of dismay from surrounding Heartslaybul students, not only is Riddle a strict and unyielding dorm leader, but he also has his dorm students under an iron-clad grip.

Trey tries to do a little damage control after low-key informing everyone of Riddle’s extreme magical prowess (strong enough to become Housewarden before the end of his first week at school). He does so by attempting to soften the blow of Riddle’s actions by basically saying: he’s not a bad guy and everything he does is because he thinks it’s better for the dorm. 

Which, to be honest, Homura has heard many variations of that. Hell, she’s basically done outwardly terrible actions in the name of the greater good (for her friends). (Not like it ever worked)

She can get that. 

But Riddle still did mildly get on her nerves, even if Homura would never show that in a million years or resets.

Grim, thankfully, raises the question of the ethics of Riddle collaring anyone as he pleases—although it’s less that and more him airing out his own grievances with getting collared and having his magic sealed too.

Both Yuu and Homura are quick to remind Grim that it was kind of his fault for, you know, setting the hall on fire.

Diverging from canon again, this time it’s Ace and Deuce who ask about Unique Magics and thus Riddle’s particular Unique Magic. Now that they re-explain what Riddle could do with his Unique Magic… Homura is sure she’ll have to be careful around him.

She doesn’t want to know what would happen if she gets collared.

Would there be a way to learn how to prevent it from being applied to someone?

Of course, back to the story: Riddle’s loud and clear live demonstration of “Off With Your Head” does him no favours in portraying him as someone wanting the best for his students.

And as we skip past the further dialogue on Grim’s opinion of the Unique Magic’s name (i.e. completely bonkers and terrifying), Cater’s explanation of why exactly it feels so terrible to have a collar (mostly for Yuu’s benefit), and Trey attempting to downplay it by going “As long as you follow the rules, you’ll be fine. Riddle isn’t that scary.” 

We stop at Ace asking if he legitimately can’t be let into the dorm if he doesn’t get a replacement tart for the one he ate.

He can’t. In addition to that, it’s also an established rule. Homura thinks that’s kind of a stupid rule. Yuu outright says that it’s kind of a weirdly harsh rule. I mean, replacing what you unfairly took is important, but taking away your room whilst you haven’t…didn’t sound like the best rule.

Ace would like to add that it is, in fact, a really harsh rule—since he’s the one getting collared and being left without a place to sleep in (something that could’ve happened if Ramshackle wasn’t inhabited by Yuu, Homura and Grim, who tidied up some part because they are on another level of homeless)

Trey and Cater… definitely realise this, but currently at this part of Heartslaybul’s book, they don’t actually have the power to tell this to Riddle and not expect to be reprimanded or worse. So they just awkwardly laugh. Cater just tries to transition to telling Ace that Riddle usually looks forward to the tarts, and they’re hand-made by Trey—Ace just needs to replace the tart he ate with another one and things will be fine after that.

Homura…isn’t sure about that, but if it’s all about following the rules then the logic seems sound? But if not then… Ah well, she’ll see what happens then and take action from there. 

A little segment of Trey hand-made the tarts??? Those really good-looking really tasty-looking tarts??? (Ace’s words) 

Yeah he’s from a baker's family lmao (Just for you guys who can’t read my mind: this is Cater)

“Aren’t tarts like that extremely expensive?” That is true Deuce. “Ace, why don’t you try doing it by hand? It’ll be cheaper that way, although I’m not sure about the quality,” says Yuu. Wow Yuu, lots of confidence in Ace there. 

But Yuu is correct. Ace can’t bake.  

Well, perhaps Trey could help? He is the vice-housewarden. And the one who baked the tarts—so he’s well acquainted with Riddle’s tastes. That’s what Homura adds to the brewing discussion.

At that moment, Kalim and Jamil FINALLY ARRIVE ON THE SCENE… While the Heartslabyul dudes start talking about making a tart from scratch. 

Kalim’s like “Oh hey Homura!!! :D” He did say he’d find her and he did!!! Kalim’s so happy to spend the rest of his lunchtime with his new friend.

Jamil helped a lot. And by a lot, I meant he went through statistical analysis inside his head that culminated into nothing because Kalim rolled a nat20 on luck and perception.

Oh who are these people? Well, Homura introduces them as “My upperclassmen: Al-Asim— (Oops nearly used Last name–First name format) Kalim Al-Asim, and Jamil Viper.” With her soft, serious tone, it sounds less like she’s introducing potential new friends she made and more like management introduced new colleagues. Having around five (5), and quite possibly fewer, friends + her entire background makes this very much a work in progress.

She’s picked up on the fact that Twisted Wonderland uses the ‘First name–Last name” format instead of ‘Last name–First name’ like Japan. Although, Homura did noticeably stumble. But hey, she caught herself in time.

Yuu confidently says, with his whole chest out (figuratively), “Izumi Yuu, nice to meet you.”

I finally thought of a last name for Yuu, so he’ll be known as “Izumi Yuu/Yuu Izumi” from now on. I figured that if I’m also going to build Yuu as a character by adding information here and there about him, then he might as well get a last name.

Ace: “Wait your name was Izumi this whole time?”

Yuu: “Oh no that’s my surname. I’m Japanese.” (Which sadly explained nothing)

Ace & Co: “???”

Yuu: “Ah. Right. Forgot about that.”

Homura: “From where we came from, it was common to introduce ourselves using our last names first, instead of our first names.”

Kalim’s actually wondering what they were discussing earlier. They were discussing Trey helping Ace bake a replacement tart for the one he ate.

Trey can bake? Jamil’s also good at that!! Jamil corrects that he’s only mediocre at pastries/baked goods like the ones Trey makes (Which are more “Western” in design)

Trey would like to see how good Jamil is at baking. His glasses glint as his fingers lightly grip one of the sides again. In fact, speaking of baking, he could help Ace with the baking. But he’ll need something in return.

No one does anything for free in NRC, after all— No it’s not cash Ace. 

Trey wants chestnuts. Two hundred to three hundred of them. Boiled, shelled, and pureed. Riddle wants a chestnut tart so… Kalim thinks that sounds fun! Jamil is quick to tell Kalim that, no

Kalim, you have a meeting later Kalim you can’t go.

Maybe next time Kalim

Ace, Deuce and Grim are out though no labour for them no siree

Homura calmly sips on her tea and states that Ace doesn’t have much of a choice.

You’re right, Homura, but you could’ve said that a bit nicer lmao

Now Ace has to confront his unwanted reality aka he needs to go get two to three hundred chestnuts and prepare them for baking.

And then Cater and Trey team up to make them want to bake. The killing blow is being able to eat a tart after baking them. Hook, line, and sinker; just like that, they’re in.

Yuu’s in for it—He’ll make sure Grim doesn’t act out. Also, tart.

Homura…would like to study more ways to leave Twisted Wonderland. But then Yuu looked at her like he fully wanted her to join and ok she caved.

Mostly everyone is discussing chestnuts now. Where to get them? botanical garden? Alright. And Trey’s baking skills. And tarts. Mostly tarts.

Oh and Kalim’s plans to have Homura over for a mini-party aka eat Jamil’s food. Everyone in this group right now is also very much invited because the more the merrier!!!

But why does he want to throw a mini-party for Homura? Because one she helped him and two she’s baby. He does not say this outright but he basically implies she has a kicked wet puppy aura mixed with her serious aura and that’s no good for someone who helped him out :(   

It’s a mini-party because Kalim mostly just wants to get to know potential new friends this time. He can throw a spontaneous dorm-wide party next time!

Kalim decides to walk Homura to class again, because why not? She’s a new student and Kalim likes her—which means a potential new friend in his books! (And Jamil remembered her schedule + their classes aren’t too far away so Jamil’s fine with it) This time though, Yuu, Grim, and the rest of the Heartslaybul boys (minus Riddle) decide to tag along. It’s probably more entertaining than a normal day if they follow, especially for Trey and Cater.

Jamil just wants a (Twisted Wonderland) Ibuprofen. 

[dolisi]

Welcome to the mystical world of Dolisi - The language that literally casts spells. Well, well, well, look who stumbled upon the ancient tongue of the Saris! Congratulations! You've just unlocked the secrets of Dolisi, the language that once echoed through the halls of the most powerful magical empire ever to conquer the world. The Saris weren't just your average ancient civilisation. They were the ultimate overachievers, harnessing the power of magic through their language. And guess what? Now you get to join the ranks of these word wizards. Dolisi: A language so old, it probably invented time.

Dolisi isn't just any old language; it is THE oldest language in its world, spoken by people who thought regular words were too basic. So, they went ahead and created a script so intricate that it looks like abstract art (seriously, check out the image below). Every symbol is a masterpiece, designed to guide your tongue into the perfect pronunciation. Because in Dolisi, mispronunciation might just turn your coffee into a toad.

Get ready to speak in sentences... Or just one word. Dolisi is what linguists call "agglutinative," which is a fancy way of saying that the language likes to play word Tetris. You can stack syllables together to create words that are longer than your grocery list but packed with so much meaning that you'll feel like a linguistic superhero. Imagine saying "I'm going to be sick" in just one word. That's Dolisi for you. Efficient and a bit showy. Your first step into the world of Dolisi. To kick off your journey, here's a simple phrase in Dolisi that's both useful and gives you a taste of its magical flair: "Usime liferi" Translation: "I bring the light." Now, whether you're trying to light up a room or just impress your friends with your newfound magical prowess, this phrase is a must-know. In true Dolisi fashion, the verb comes first. The Saris were all about action and their language reflects this. And just like previously mentioned the words function like lego. Each verb consists of three core bricks, or "phonemes" as the smarties call them. Starting with the start we have the prefix "U-". Dolisi prefixes indicate when and how something happens, and how you feel about it. Kinda like whether you're late, binge-watching, or just demanding pizza. In the case of "Usime" it is the "u" that is the prefix. And in the case of "U" it tells you that it is a straight forward statement about what's happening right now. Like saying, "I eat pizza," without any drama, suspense, or extra toppings. Now for the middle part. Which is also the most important. It is called the "root" and is the part which tells you the core meaning of the word. In this case "sim" means to bring something. The end part of the verb is the "suffix". And in Dolisi, the suffix of a verb tells you something about the "grammatical person". It is basically a way of deciding who's talking, who's being talked to, and who is being talked about. Essentially, it's the difference between "I," "you," and "that guy over there." In this case the "-e" at the end tells you it is "I" who is talking. Now the noun is a bit simpler. It also has a root. In this case it appears at the start of the noun: "Lif". If you see anything with "lif" in it, you know it has something to do with light. The "-er" simply tells yoy that it is a concrete thing. And the final "-i" let's you know that it is "definite". The exact same thing as putting "the" in front of a word in English. Now I know that was a lot so I'll end the linguistics lesson here for now. But why should you stick around? Well firstly you've made it this far into my ramblings so something must have caught your eye. And secondly, because who wouldn't want to learn a language that's practically a spellbook? In the posts to come, we'll dive into the mysteries of Dolisi, unravel its complex grammar (don't worry, we'll make it fun), and explore the culture of the Saris. Whether you are a conlang enthusiast, a fan of ancient magic, or just someone who loves a good linguistic challenge, there's something here for you. Join the magical fun! Don't let this be your last stop! Follow this blog for regular updates, drop a comment with your thoughts, or let me know if there is anything special you would like me to cover. The Saris might have conquered the world, but you can conquer their language. One epic word at a time.

[degenderates]

ok fuck it. ranking covers of a home at the end of the world by michael cunningham because guys some of these covers slap and some of them are the ugliest shit i've ever seen. this is the kind of post i would have used to make back in my tiktok days but there's no way im opening that app by my own will again. so mutuals read this post.

last place/ugliest cover first.

the stock photo. literally what is going on here. the font is practically unreadable and makes no sense. the image itself looks like someone pulled it right off shutterstock. its giving my middle school vsco account. why are there three women on the front? the story is primarily about two guys and one girl. i mean there is a second female pov but she's not part of the polycule. font is clean but ugly. bye.

the movie poster one. i have so much beef with this cover, even as a movie poster. they literally took three screenshots of the movie and overlayed them into a weird collage type thingy. why is colin farrell standing like that?? why is the character jonathan in the back?? it's giving disney channel. it's giving early 00s--in a bad way. no rights at all. 🍅🍅🍅

the perks of being a wallflower one. i guess there was a craze for late 90s books to have typewriter font in the middle of a minimalistic cover?? i hate minimalistic, abstract covers. you could choose to tell us something about the book but no. here is an orange circle and a black circle. okay.

the modern cover (i assume). i like the watercolor and how it's not too busy but there's still a discernable image (unlike a CERTAIN cover i just discussed...🙄). the font kind of fucks up the whole thing though. it doesn't match the vibes of the book at all. it's very new-adult-romance and just feels off. because yeah technically the book is about new adults and their relationship drama but it's not this...cute.

the uk cover (?). the quality of this image sucks but i literally could only find it on abebooks.co.uk so. it's not bad, just really busy. the font has a shadow so it can be readable but that makes it feel even more cluttered. i like how the angel statue makes an appearance, but all the colors and how bright it is just makes it feel like a little too much.

the color burned one. honestly while i like the vibes i'm not quite sure who this lady is supposed to be. that looks like a wing so she's probably the white angel statue, but she looks too human. and angels aren't different colors like that. i like how this is simple and black, very classy. but ultimately it doesn't really make a lot of sense.

the grey one. this is simple, but nice. it's dark but with light shining behind the house--a nice balance of hardships but also hope, which fits the story. there's a swingset, which makes sense given the story is about growing up, in a sense. and there might have been a swingset at the actual house in the book. can't remember. the font is clean. a little sci-fi/futuristic for my taste but that's alright i guess. this is the cover i have. i guess i should be lucky it's not one of the previous ones but i really wish i had the next one...

the first edition. look it's classy. it's gothic. the angel is there. the sky looks like it could be ohio or nyc. there's powerlines. the font is stylish but not over the top. it's not too bright. it's slaying. one of my favorite things about this cover is how it emphasizes the angel, because the book itself was written around michael cunningham's seminal short story "white angel" which i have talked about a lot on this blog. it also is in a similar pose to the actual angel statue it was based on, the black angel of iowa city (shown below). i'm a fan. i wish i had this cover soooo bad<333

~~~

overall thoughts: most of these covers are kind of shitty lol. this book deserves better</3 if one of y'all live in the US, dont care much about covers, and want a free copy of this book i'll send my copy (the grey cover) to you for free just so i can buy the top ranked one on ebay lol. anyways if u got to the end and found this at all entertaining, tell me so. this was fun to do except when tumblr deleted the whole thing and i had to remake the entire post!!! lol!!!! and y'all should read this book because it's very good and very messy queer and i adore it deeply. <3

[katie-the-bug]

Guess who's back, back again

It's me. With my thoughts on The Indwelling.

The cast:

The Tribulation Force: Rayford Steele, failed assassin; Buck Williams, cyberjournalist; Chloe Williams, daughter, wife and mother; Kenny Williams, infant; Tsion Ben-Judah, internet evangelist; Leah Rose, nurse and spy; Mac McCullum, the Antichrist's pilot; David Hassid, IT guy of the Beast; Annie Christopher, David's girlfriend and coworker; T. Delanty, pilot and airport owner; Chaim Rosenzweig, the Antichrist's assassin; Hattie Durham (not technically a Force member), Nicolae's ex, on the run.

The Global Community: Nicolae Carpathia, Antichrist, currently dead; Leon Fortunato, Nicolae's boyfriend best friend and successor, in mourning; Guy Blod, implicitly gay artist.

We open with a scene from Leah's perspective. A female viewpoint character? They're really branching out!

We learn that Hattie was never in the Middle East for Nicolae's gala and has been in North America this whole time, despite clear evidence to the contrary in the last book. This would be okay if it were more than coincidence or did something for the plot, but as it is it's a cop-out by authors who don't want Hattie doing anything interesting.

Leon refuses to be referred to as "Your Excellency" as Nicolae was while Nicolae's death is still so recent. I'm starting to like Leon - he's a villain, but he's genuine, he cares for his fellow villains, and isn't eager to throw himself into power like your typical bad guy would be after his boss dies.

Annie jokes about running over Nicolae's makeshift coffin with a forklift, and while that particular idea is stupid, I wonder why the characters aren't trying to stymie Nicolae's eventual resurrection. If he stays dead, they have a lot less to worry about in the coming years. Prophecy says he'll come back, of course, but who says they have to listen?

David, thinking about the GC's "Arts and Sciences" department, recalls visiting once and being "so repulsed by what was considered artistic" that he left immediately. We get no description of what he saw, and the funniest thing to do is assume he just saw some abstract art and, like my Catholic school teachers, decided that it was evil.

We meet Viv Ivins, a middle-aged woman with blue hair and pronouns, who is allegedly Nicolae's only living relative. The connection is never elaborated on, and while I'm sure she's supposed to be important, she does nothing for the whole book.

In Chapter 3, Chloe announces her intention to kill Kenny before the GC could get him, seemingly based on a few news reports of children being trained to like Nicolae. While wrestling with this idea gives her something to do in the story - something she has been sorely lacking despite the narration's insistence that she's doing important work setting up an underground economy for believers - we never get a stronger motivation from her.

Rayford's fingerprints on the gun he definitely fired at Nicolae's gala have made him the prime suspect in the assassination. He's an active security risk to the Tribulation Force, but nobody calls him stupid or a liability like they do Hattie every time she exercises her right as an adult to leave them.

In Chapter 5, Tsion debates whether he's had a dream or a vision, based on whether he's an old man or a young one. The Scripture says "Your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions," and apparently that means that only old men will have dreams and only young men will have visions. There's biblical literalism and then there's this.

In Chapter 6 Tsion wonders, based on Nicolae's failure to resurrect immediately, "Was it possible he'd been wrong all along?" While it wouldn't make for a good story, I still think it would be hilarious if they'd had the wrong guy this whole time.

David's narration complains that there are no "god-honoring works of art" in New Babylon. A city with no religious art sounds awesome, actually.

Nicolae's last words were "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." This is completely out of character for both Nicolae in general and the concept of the Antichrist - shouldn't he say something inverted, ask Lucifer to condemn those who killed him?

The coroner says of Nicolae, "Truly this was the son of god," as though that's a normal thing to say about a dead politician to a bunch of people who don't believe in God.

Buck and Chaim are on the run from the GC, but still find time to debate religion. Buck warns Chaim that if he doesn't convert soon, God may "harden your heart," making conversion impossible. But sure, God is loving and wants people to come to him.

In Chapter 12, Tsion astral-projects into space and talks with Archangel Michael, which would have been cool if it had been established beforehand that such a thing was possible.

Buck's remaining family is killed by the GC because reasons, but they became True Christians before they died, so...yay?

Someone mentions "the difference between religion and Christianity" and I smell a familiar variety of bullshit. Some Christians, evidently trying to create a sort of "gotcha" for people who say they don't trust religion, try to argue that Christianity isn't a religion based on a definition of religion used by nobody but them. It boils down to "Christianity isn't a religion because it's real" and I don't need to explain how stupid it is to try and argue that.

Leon commissions a nude statue of Nicolae containing a furnace that burns Bibles. Do with that what you will.

Nicolae's funeral involves "street entertainers, jugglers, clowns, strippers, and vendors" and I have to wonder who thought that was appropriate for the memorial of a beloved head of state who was never particularly eccentric.

In Chapter 16, the Tribulation Force's "safehouse" is compromised, which would be a source of tension if they hadn't just gotten back from exploring a high-tech skyscraper hidden in an area thought to be irradiated that David had found for them some chapters ago. I would've though an arc about the Force going on the run with no safe haven would have been interesting, but oh well.

Leon, in mourning, institutes mandatory worldwide worship of a deified Nicolae. Imagine your OTP.

Nicolae, after some fanfare, comes back to life and starts quoting Jesus for some reason. I guess they're trying to show Nicolae as a deceiver who imitates Christ, but all this is doing is giving me ideas for a crack theory that Nicolae is actually a badly botched Second Coming.

Well, that was certainly a book.

[bluestar22x]

A Splash Of Red

A Splash Of Red: A Baby Fever Oneshot

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female!Reader

Summary: You met him at an art gallery

Rating: 13+ but it's a really innocent oneshot

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,292

Author's Note: I was going to wait until I had this series up and running for this oneshot but it spoke to me today. If you want you can read this as a standalone.

xxx

Why not? you'd thought.

You were standing in front of a small time art gallery for novices in the heart of Washington D.C., your hometown, with nothing better to do. Your best and only true friend was working the night shift at her job so you'd been stuck alone, wandering the streets for something to occupy your time as the sun set.

You weren't exactly an art connoisseur, but you did like looking at art on occasion in museums, and you did spend a good portion of your childhood drawing. You couldn't say you'd been gifted, but it counted as something, right?

So you'd paid the entrance fee and wandered about the large room, eyeing the paintings on the white walls carefully like the rest of the patrons inside.

Most of them were landscapes or fruit bowls, what you considered typical beginner stuff, though you had to admit to yourself they were a lot better than what you could ever muster up in your mandatory art class in high school.

There were a few portraits of people you did not recognize, probably relatives or friends of the artists, that truly did impress you, the details in the color of their skin and the lifelike hair not going unappreciated, but there was one painting that really confounded you.

The only word to describe it was color. It was just swirls of black and gray and white with hints of blue. All dull, except for the big splash of bright red smeared over it, an inch in width, spanning from the lower left of the painting to the middle right.

You stared at it, wondering what could compel a grown adult to throw a few layers of paint on a board and call it art. You could do a better job, you thought.

Money, you mused. You knew if the artist got famous, a painting like this would be well sought after and on occasion sold for millions. Rich people paintings.

You shook your head.

"Not impressed?" Someone with a deep voice asked from behind you.

They stepped forward, beside you, inches away from your left shoulder, and you glanced at them.

He was tall, and handsome, was your first thought. Overdressed for this particular gallery, in a black suit and tie, a white dress shirt, and black dress shoes. The man's dark brown hair was cut on the shorter side but was long enough to flop a little over his forehead, and he sported a well-trimmed beard. The neatness of the trim almost hid the patchiness of it, but you still noticed a few of the spots that stubbornly refused to grow hair. It was cute. You personally thought imperfections like that added character. Most guys didn’t have full beards anyway.

You were studying him for so long you almost forgot to reply to his question. "I don't know if I'm into art enough to be able to appreciate this kind," you finally told him. "It just looks like something a five year old would make in their spare time."

The man chuckled. "Yeah, I guess sometimes it does. Abstract Expressionism is certainly not for everyone."

Though his tone was light and kind, you felt dread as something awful occurred to you. "Oh my god, you're not the artist, are you?"

Please, please, don't be, you begged silently. You'd die of embarrassment if he was. You hated hurting other people’s feelings over something as trivial as art styles.

He grinned at your concern and you were briefly able to focus on how gorgeous and contagious it would be to you if you weren't so worried over possibly having criticized his artwork in one of the worst possible ways.

"You're safe," he assured you. "I'm just an observer here too."

You pressed a hand over your heart, massively relieved. "Thank god. I'm not trying to be mean; I just truly don't get it."

"It's alright," he said. "I didn't get it either at first."

"But you do now?" you prompted. You were curious what he had to say about the painting.

He pointed to the red streak. "Red over dark colors. The artist is expressing a dark mood, most likely depression, tinged with anger."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. "That's such a basic answer," you said boldly. "And it's wrong."

"Oh?" The man raised his eyebrows and nodded at you to go on.

"Pretty sure it is depression in the background, but that splash of red is love," you answered confidently.

"How can you be sure?" he inquired, apparently impressed by your conviction on the topic.

"There's more lighter grays and white around the streak of red suggesting that color is brightening the darkness around it," you pointed out cleverly. "And the nameplate says this is Love Through The Dark."

You smirked. You'd noticed the name of the painting while he was busy explaining what he personally saw in the work.

He belly laughed. It was loud, but pleasant to your ears. "Pretty and smart."

Your heart fluttered at being called pretty by him. Being called smart was nice too, but you got called smart a lot more than pretty, and being called pretty by him in particular was pleasing. It also made the conversation clearer to you. You hadn't been sure until then that his intentions for you were something beyond small talk about the painting.

You turned to him and smiled. "I try."

"Well, you succeeded," he told you, before extending his right hand out to you. "I'm Marcus. Marcus Pike."

His hand dwarfed yours when you shook it and said your name to him.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, still smiling warmly at you. "I was wondering if you'd like to go out to dinner with me sometime? We could exchange phone numbers and decide on when and where through text?"

You were caught off guard by his forwardness and you hesitated long enough his expression turned into one of insecurity. He brushed a hand through his hair. "Sorry if that was too upfront."

"No, no," you said quickly, flashing a smile to reassure him. "It's refreshing. I hate how society makes it feel like we have to dance around questions like that for an hour. Especially since I would like to go on a date with you, Marcus. Do you have your phone on you?"

"Of course." He pulled it out of his back pocket as you drew yours out from your purse. His was an iPhone like yours, but several generations older. You tended to keep up with the trends of technology, if being one year behind counted (the discounts were decent) but he apparently had little concern about that.

You both swapped numbers, writing them into your contract lists, and put your phones back away.

"Well, I better get going," Marcus declared a moment later, his tone regretful. He was truly sorry about it. "I have to get up early for work in the morning."

"That must suck," you figured, showing him sympathy.

He shrugged. "Depends on what the day entails. I enjoy my job for the most part, even if it takes up some of my weekends. And…I'll tell you more about it on our date."

You grinned. He was holding out on you, like you needed more reason to go on that date. "Alright. I'll text you later, after I think of the best day for it."

"And I'll text you with location ideas," he told you.

"Perfect."

He backed off and you exchanged waves before he strolled away towards the front door.

You watched him go, not shy about starring at his...assets, even though you were in public.

Cute, you concluded.

You were really going to look forward to that date.

xxx

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

xxx

[asrisgratitudejournal]

Selesai

Jadi… kemarin memutuskan untuk nggak keluar rumah samsek karena terakhir nggak keluar rumah itu adalah tanggal 1 September 2023, yang adalah 2 minggu yang lalu. Selain itu, literally sejak sampai Oxford lagi selalu ada aja agenda keluar rumah… Ya gapapa juga sih, tapi pengen aja ga kemana-mana for a day. Terus yaudah pagi jam 11 (nggak pagi sih itu bagi banyak orang, tapi bagi diriku itu adalah pagi), ku randomly memutuskan untuk menyelesaikan painting yang ku-kerjakan back from tanggal 5 Februari 2023. Dua hari itu dulu (5 dan 6 Februari 2023) adalah hari yang cukup berat sepertinya, ku sampai nge-post 4x: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Terus yaudah setelah 7 bulan ni kanvas ku-anggurin, ku memutuskan untuk pick it up lagi… Meaningnya awalnya ga se-deep itu sih, tapi pas dipikir-pikir lagi semoga memang menyelesaikan painting ini juga berarti ku healing dari wounds yang kupunya waktu itu. Kalau baca my previous posts yang ku-link di atas, intinya ku mikir bahwa membeli knives set, brushes, dan oil colour will somehow help me coping with my problems… Terus malamnya setelah beli itu semua, aku decided to try the knives set I bought. Dan waktu itu sebetulnya merasa cukup puas. Ku kayanya sempat mikir “Wah enak juga ya painting pake knives, nggak secapek kalau pake brushes”. Tapi sebetulnya instead of inspired, waktu itu mood-ku lebih ke sad and upset, dan nyoba pertama kali itu ya lebih buat channeling out anger aja.

Sekarang setelah 7 bulan berlalu, dan 1 atau 2(?) jam meddling about with colors, here it is the final result!: (LAH TERNYATA BELUM SEMPAT FOTO FULL JADINYA LOL super clown, anyway, tapi ini beberapa snippets while I was on the making of it – tidak lupa ku-kasih caption to give more context yes)

(Ini pas mau mulai, lihat si palet masih kosong bersih. Cukup lama kontemplasi mikir warna apa lagi yang belum keluar karena there’s only so much you can do with 12 colour palette. Awalnya mau bikin semua yang kosong putih itu abu-abu aja biar gampang…)

(Ini setengah jalan. I filled the blank in the middle with grey tapi terus bosen. Yang corner kiri bawah dibikin sama ijo juga aja biar cepet. Terus baru sadar si cokelat dan ochre belum kebuka, jadinya pake itu di corner kanan bawah)

(Ini iseng aja mem-foto tekstur karena KU SUKA BANGET PAKE KNIVES O M God… Ini emang kayanya kualitas kanvasnya aja yang jelek jadi putihnya nggak terlalu bisa nutup…)

(Ini tekstur di corner kanan bawah yang bagus banget juga... Ku sangat suka cokelatnya dan kuningnya UGHHHHH. Plus, my fav knife adalah yang kotak persegi panjang!)

(Nggak ada gambar full selesai kayak apa… Tapi the more reasons for you guys to pay a visit to my house -YANG PANAS ITU HEHE. Ini corner kanan atas yang berhasil kututup dengan (awalnya mau bikin) violet/purple-ish… Nggak terlalu keluar warnanya karena jujur asli susah banget mixing paints buat bikin warna ungu… Ini pun dengan banyak sekali trial and error… Tapi akhirnya lumayan puas sih dengan result ini… Asli bagus banget juga lagi si warna putih yang ada di antara merah-orange dan ungu... SANGAT PUAS HUHU)

Udah itu aja gambar-gambarnya. Terus sebetulnya ide dari post ini adalah mau giving meaning to the final product. Tapi sayangnya foto final productnya nggak ada. But issokay! I still can go rambling about that I guess…

Jadiii, kalau dilihat memang konsep painting ini adalah abstract painting aja. Nggak menggambarkan suatu landscape atau benda apapun. Tapi seperti judul post ini, judul paintingnya adalah “Selesai”. Belakangan ini lagi banyak banget contemplating “sebetulnya apa sih yang dicari di hidup ini?” dan berhubungan dengan context di atas pas ku lagi sedih-sedihnya 5-6 Februari 2023 kemarin itu di mana ku sempat mikir “apakah di hidup ini menikah itu sepenting itu? Emangnya kalau kita punya value lain yang dikejar di hidup ini selain membangun keluarga dan beranak pinak, salah ya?”. Ku menghubungkan painting-ku yang abstrak ini ke pertanyaan-pertanyaan tadi. Ku ngelihat si painting ini sebagai hidupku. Memang abstrak aja, nggak kelihatan ada rumah di situ, pemandangan sawah atau gunung, mobil, anak, manusia, tapi colourful. Dan selesai. Semua bagian di kanvas itu full ku-warnain. Nggak ada bagian yang kosong. Sama sekali. Mungkin emang ada yang tipis-tipis aja kewarnanya sampai tekstur base dasar kanvasnya masih kelihatan. Tapi memang itu intended effect yang kubuat supaya paintingnya nggak terlalu “full” dan “too much”.

Ku juga nggak bikin semua bagian tertutup dengan warna yang SUPER TERANG/mencolok/outstanding. Bagian-bagian yang nyala ini kuanggap sebagai representasi dari “bright” side of my life. *Bling-bling*-nya seorang Asri lah: sekolah di top school di Jakarta, anak olimpiade sampe medali perak internasional pulak, masuk institut teknik yang katanya menerima putra putri terbaik bangsa, sekolah master di Perancis (pake beasiswa), PhD di universitas terbaik di dunia (pake beasiswa juga), dosen di salah satu PTN. Keren-kerennya pokoknya di situ semua. Kalau di painting, ada di warna merah, orange, dan kuning 3 garis yang di tengah itu. Bisa dilihat kaya api/flame juga kali ya, karena orang kalau nggak kenal aku beneran ya emang yang dilihat cuma “bright” side atau silau-silaunya aku aja).

Tapi kemudian quite a big portion of the painting ada warna hijau di bottom, grey, sama dark purple itu. Ada biru juga sih, tapi nggak terlalu mencolok. Ini masing-masing warna nggak akan ku-interpretasi secara detail tapi intinya selain semua *extraordinary achievements* tadi, ku juga melakukan banyak hal lain. Orang belum betul-betul kenal aku kalau nggak tahu aku juga sebetulnya struggling with A LOT OF THINGS: ya dengan mencari jodoh tadi dan memahami konsep pernikahan, dengan PhD-ku, dengan menulis article manuscript (to the point I feel so hopeless and having intrusive thoughts and therefore seeing mental health counsellor in uni), dengan loneliness/kesepian… Kemudian, terlepas dari betapa sosialnya I come across to some people, ku juga sebetulnya sangat enjoy my precious alone time, I enjoy solo TRAVEL so much, tapi juga at the same time sangat seeking deeper emotional connection from other people. Intinya berbagai macam dimensi dan fasad yang ku-punya lah. Itu semua colors tadi bergabung menjadi satu dan getting intertwined/berbatasan dengan 3 streaks merah-orange-kuning yang di atas tadi.

Hasil dari semua hal di atas adalah ya aku ini, hidup aku. Bagi beberapa orang (atau common people), painting ini mungkin “ga enak” untuk dilihat. Atau menimbulkan banyak pertanyaan: “Gambar apaan sih ini? Maksudnya apa sih?”. Beberapa juga mungkin: “Aku nggak ngerti, tapi bagus kok, aku bisa nikmatin.”

Paintings punya orang lain mungkin lebih enak dilihat bagi common people. Mereka ngegambar (yang udah ku sebut di atas tadi): rumah, sawah, gunung, anak-anak, mobil, kabah di mekah, bahkan mungkin beberapa ada yang pakai swarovski buat teksturnya. Tapi ku cukup yakin beberapa paintings (yang pernah kulihat at least) ada yang nggak selesai. Cuma rumah dan orang-orang dan mobil aja tapi langitnya masih berupa kanvas kosong. Ada yang full kewarna semua juga, selesai juga, tapi semuanya hasil brush strokes yang tipis-tipisss banget, nggak ada tekstur yang nunjukkin karakteristik khusus dari painting itu. Kebanyakan orang paintingsnya template, mirip-mirip satu sama lain, sampe gak bisa dibedain antara painting satu dengan yang lainnya. Ya nggak salah. Bagi beberapa orang memang lebih mudah nengok kanan-kiri, ngeliat sebelah-sebelahnya ngegambar apa kemudian mereka tinggal niru aja. Atau bisa juga mereka ngelihat gimana mereka diajarin dulu di kelas melukis sama guru mereka dan akhirnya sampai sekarang mereka literally ngelakuin 100% yang diajarin tanpa improvisasi sendiri and giving their own touch. Beberapa ada juga yang sama colorfulnya, sama full-textured-nya dengan paintingku sampai aku pun kadang ngambil mereka sebagai reference, picking the colours and textures they used. Aku tapi termasuk yang cukup bersyukur karena Alhamdulillah paintings di sekitar-ku sangat inspiring dan heterogen sehingga ku bisa belajar banyak dari semua paintings tersebut.

Dan sebetulnya ku ga peduli gimana orang lain ngelihat painting-ku ini sih, yang paling penting adalah apa yang AKU rasakan dan pikirkan saat ku melihat painting ini. Dan gaada kata lain selain: PUAS. Ku sangat senang I finished this one. It’s VERY BEAUTIFUL in my eyes. The TEXTURE, the color clash/combination… UGHHHHHH. Ku juga berharap itu yang kulihat terhadap hidupku sekarang. PUAS. Udah sejauh ini. A VERY BEAUTIFUL life and journey indeed.

Tentunya nggak berkat usaha-ku sendiri. Guru-guru painting-ku, paintings di sekitar-ku yang jadi inspirasi. Semoga painting-ku ini juga bisa jadi inspirasi bagi painters lain. Semoga kita semua bisa merasa HAPPY dan PUAS ngelihat painting kita sendiri, baik itu painting yang abstrak, yang template pemandangan, yang selesai, yang belum selesai, yang tipis-tipis, yang bertekstur, yang colorful, yang cuma satu atau dua warna. Dan yang paling penting juga: we can always RE-PAINT. Sampe meninggal masih bisa diselesaikan, dibetulin, di-improve. Asal kita nggak berhenti.

VHL, 14/09/2023 16:19

[shinra-makonoid]

@menalez

Replying here because it would be too long otherwise, but I put a short version for the people who would read our exchange in the post so they have full answer.

I don't have access to the methodology. Only the abstract and the raw data because it's deposited and you could request it if you asked the scientist (there is an email). And you barely grasp Joel's position yourself, as evidenced before in my long post you didn't read.

Edition because I used the wrong link, this is the good one: I don't think my personal opinion on the method is worth anything, but here is my best guess. On the data analysis, they put:

They also say:

They say themselves they arbitrarily chose the 33% for the extremes. And obviously, if you decides that 33% "is in the middle" by default, then you'll probably find that you can't categorize anything at all. The study looks even more stupid now to me. If I decide that the "extremes" are actually the 20%, I'll have suddenly even more intermediate zones and I'll find even less categorization. But if I choose to have actually 40% on the extremes, I'd probably see some different results. It's fucking dumb. This is such a dumb study I don't even understand how it could be used by a student in the field. I don't understand why you're convinced this study is good.

I could choose to classify biological sexes with 33% "in the middle" (by using secondary sexual characteristics for example) by default and then conclude based on that "see look, you can't categorize biological sexes, it's all a mosaism uwu" with the same technic lmao

But again, I'm just a guy, I think it's best to refer to the scientists who criticized Joel's paper, my opinion is very much unprofessional and uneducated on the matter, and I don't need to have a personal opinion about that study for it to be heavily criticized by peers in the field.

I was talking about peer reviewing in the process of general publishing. See that I added "commentaries from other scientists" after. It's right there. You are grasping at straws to save your ego. I had a whole post that I spent hours on you just ignored because it pissed you off and didn't go your way. That's the kind of person you are, that's the kind of scientist you are.

The "engineer" you're talking about is Rosenblatt and you can see here he has a PhD in statistic methods for neuroscience.

He has a rather good report on google scholar for his publications too:

He is exactly the knowledgeable expert you'd expect to comment on a study like Joel's, he is perfectly in the right to comment and in the good specific field of knowledge, way more than you'll ever be. But you saw the little thing here from the reply he made:

And you stopped there. You didn't look more, you didn't even read the next part of the next paragraph:

Which already showed that he probably had a whole foot in neuroscience, a bigger foot than you do.

On top of it all, you don't need to put down people's degrees and researches like that, it is disgusting. Those people spent way more years than you did in the university to perfect their knowledge about the specific field they argue in. Have some fucking respect for them, if not for me. If you have any comment against them, it should be about the facts, not their personal life of educational background. Having a diploma just means you spend an amount of time in education, it doesn't show what skills you have or how good of a scientist you are. You prove that very fucking well yourself.

And every time you make an assertion, I have to go and refind it just to answer you, it takes a lot of time, meanwhile you don't even spend any minute reading what I am writing, nor spending any time in reading or researching your arguments before posting them. It's a disgrace.

You just grasp the straws and then say "I'm literally a student in a MASTER's degree in NEUROSCIENCE" and "you're MANSPLAINING my OWN fieldddd". None of that protects you from being wrong, which you are. I have only contempt and disgust against ""scientists"" like you. It's like playing chess with a pidgeon, you just en up shitting everywhere because the game doesn't go your way.

Classic TERF move, and why I don't think debating with any of you is interesting: you are not interesting to talk with, you are not interested in science, you just masquerade as knowledgeable people by misusing it, just like any other pseudoscientific guru out there.

[smthngw]

Small

I'm not writing this for any of you ------------- out there. This is not for you. Whatever this is. If anyone reads this.

I don't know who I'm writing this for. Myself? I guess? Why does anyone pursue anything artistic, really? There's no point, if you think about it.

We are not artists. Even the greats. No one, in the history of anything, ever, has come even remotely close, contains even a modicum of comparable artistry to bird flight, or tree leaves, or sun rays. Because behind every brush, pen, and camera is always at the end of the day just some guy, or girl, or human being who really has no ------- clue who they are or what they're doing here, and none of them ever have any business being behind that camera, or holding that brush, or typing out that story.

None of us, really, have any business being here. Are you on tiles? Floorboards? Carpet? Maybe a mattress. You have no business being there. We are as populous as ants, large as elephants, and have the footprint of a sea monster in the Bermuda Triangle.

What are we doing here? Why are we here? And not in a philosophical way, where we put ourselves above everything else in the universe. In a literal way, why are we here? We have no business being here. We're invasive, all of us, a thousand times over, more than Argentinian ants. More, even, than cats and dogs and domesticated animals, who, arguably, are really just a more pathetic and fucked up extension of ourselves.

Oh, we have emotions and feelings, sure. Our lives matter, individually, yes, but as a society, nothing we do can ever make a wave in the massive ball of eight billion people divided into abstract ideas called countries. That's the paradox of living with other people, really. You matter and you don't matter. Because there's always other fish out there, eight billion, to be exact, and you are somewhere in the vast, vast, middle of that eight billion, trapped of your own accord, crammed into little concrete and metal boxes, projecting how you feel onto everyone around you.

Maybe that's just how I feel. Tiny voice, screaming a little drop into this massive little global world of internet and wifi and posts. A whatever quotient that doesn't really matter much at the end of the day. Probably I will die one day, and it won't mean much to anyone, really, but that's ok. Because as long as I'm happy for these 80-odd years I have, it's all going to be ok. And not sarcastically. I mean it. Really. Don't hurt other people, don't hurt yourself. I won't.

[seakclauswinkler]

My neighbors wive was commenting unwanted that I was eating my own nose pickings.

Don’t know the English slang word for that. In Germany it’s called ‚ Mümmes ‚ oder ‚ poppel ‚ .

I was complementing her how good she was/ is holding her mouth the last weeks, and that she should shut her mouth (I used slang ‚ babble/ babbel (bubble)).

How beautiful it was.

What have you expected from a guy who has ‚ fucking ‚ tattooed on his chest.

Iam happy that I live mgtow, free from females with in her masculine polarity.

Just because they rewarded me with the cultural price 20+ years ago, doesnt mean, iam not a toxic, anti social (assi) asshole, etc.

females must test males.

I guess the women are just mad, that i don’t fxck myself thru the village.

Don’t hunt where you sleep. Once you start caring what the others think your are there prisoners.

Maybe I should have told her that I have posted a video online a few days ago where you could see & hear me sitting on the toilet, doing a large business.

Being real, authentic is a form rebellion in a fake world/ society.

Interesting is that those compliance, ‚ shit ‚ tests, are although come from femininsed men. Trying to destabilize your masculinity. Although with in friends circles, where that one friend is betasized by the female which controls him, and or a lack of present strong masculine father, the creeping woke virus.

Other perspective, maybe she felt a certain bad conciousness, weakness, with in me, a lack of pride how I ate the nosepicking. That’s why she was Shouting. Similar to when women complain about a unconfident weak burp, but love, accept, a masculine loud confident burp.

I don’t see the point in acting like the middle class, till I own children.

#SEAK #ClausWinkler #SEAKClausWinkler#artistworkingon #artistinthephoto #Späne #abstracted #arts #artistinthepicture#interiortrends #newpaintings #Spawns #mixedmediartwork #studioartists #artiststudioworks #germanpainters #abstractpaintings #stylewriting #interiorarchitecturesymbiose #neuekunstwerke #zeigenössischerKünstlerimAtelier #sprayartist #newcontemporaryartist #interiorart #kunstwerk #abstract #oldpainting #collecteur

[kthynes]

a fuck stop

18+

With every journey there’s a destination.

trucker!ransom x fem!reader

warnings: course language, brief mentions of harassment, smut, bordering dub-con (but both parties are willing participants), either way MINORS DNI. This contains the following acts: oral (m receiving), face fucking, semi-public, rough protected sex (p in v), cum play, pet names. Slightly innocent fem!reader.

author's note: I was definitely over my head while writing this. Lmao it is what it is.

taglist: @patzammit @mrs-djokovic @ysmmsy

This has not been beta’d, any fuck ups are my own.

Somewhere in the middle of sandy, bum-fuck Arizona, Ransoms rafting truck churns to make a short pit stop. Al’s Handy Gas Mart, the peeling marquise board reads.

Get where you’re going with Al’s help.

The scorching summer heat sirens a gradual buzzing noise that is distinct to the human ears and could have easily been mistaken for the seasonal cicadas that did their usual dance.

There's some reluctance as the delinquent trucker squints past the harsh orbital rays and flips off the switchboard radar that proctors every signal and call. In this groveling instant, his transporter buddies, mostly old and balding men in their late 40s, were having a hoot, cruising down the winding i-95 and every interstate toll. Their whereabouts were scattered with very little indication. Some could be laundering south of the border, maybe shuttering the eastern seaboard or comrading the mid-west. Inevitably, Ransom didn't care to know, tuning into utter radio silence and a pint size of disassociation that came along with it.

The gravel rickets and crunches against the tough leather tires as he slowly approaches a designated haul over. While still learning shift, he finally yanks down the gear shift into park while the engine chugs on for life, rattling the offloaded truck bed behind him. Eventually the keys fall out of the ignition slot and he starts to regather his thoughts.

He does this a lot. Contemplates. Staggers. Hopes to get a call of some sort but then is left disappointed. Harlan's dead. Marta has a settlement order out for him and his own mother has disbanded the idea of spawning a son in the first place. Insipidus if you ask him. But that was it. He'd have to work for his money now, see counsellors, his PO, Callista who retrains him to be a better man and not reoffend if there's ever a given will and/or reason. His odyssey is only his and for that he exhales, profoundly.

While distracting himself through means of people-watching, Ransom runs a steady hand over his now abundant 5 o’clock shadow that covers his once cleanly shaven and youthful physiognomy. He holds himself at the sight of nothingness.

It’s a piss off and with more than two days on the open road he's finally had enough.

🌵

“Well there’s a tune you don’t hear often.” A stocky, old man rivets the second he steps into the shoebox shop. “What a guy, I tell ya.”

Hans Olson was the topic of discussion. His music inflates from the dodgy surround sound. You, on the other hand, barely gave a rat's ass.

“I guess.” You carelessly gnaw on your necklace, looking past the sprawling window pane to make sure that no cracksman stole gas from the loose latches. To your surprise there’s not a single soul that idles by, gas prices were at an all time low (in a utopian society) yet you could never be too sure.

“Pump 2, doll face.” Pudgy Patterson states, leering over the counter as a way to grab your attention. He’s inadvertently chewing on something, tobacco? Gum? His unfinished meal you’d assume.

"Credit, debit or cash?" You dryly reaffirm, scrunching your nose at his heady body odor.

His unsaid expectation falls short when you start up the till, punching in an abstract combo code and then punting a hellish smile that demurs your discomfort.

“Can you break a hundred?” He eventually sifts through his wallet and puts down a mangy, water damaged bill.

Your hesitation persists, slowly retrieving the note as your eyes return to survey the outside yonder.

Ching! The register drawer pops open and you begin to count his change while doing a not-so-subtle double take out the glass aperture.

In the orange hue glow, you owlishly stare at Ransom Drysdale who hops out of the truck and slams the door shut. He stands his ground while adjusting his Guns ‘n Roses ball cap that sits atop his mousy swept tresses. You admired the fine, towering man, clad in a pair of faded blue jeans and a size too small black tee. His large feet were anchored the muddiest pair of Windriver boots as he kicked up his stride.

Your watchful eyes go dry with interest, quivering innately at his presence. He’s someone new. Someone absolutely insatiable.

“You know, a pretty little thing like yourself shouldn’t be working at a truck stop.” You’re forgetful of the grimy stranger who’s still around, leering at your candor that falters just the slightest.

“Shouldn’t be your concern.” You snap while giving him his exact change. “Have a good day now.”

“Not so fast peaches. Gimme a pack of Dunhills will ya?” He wags a finger behind you where there’s a closed filing cabinet stocked with easy to buy cigs and cartridge pens.

“All out.” You say.

“You’re a no-good liar. You didn’t even check.”

“I don’t have to, I know my inventory.” You deadpan.

“Why don’t I check for ya.” He rudely insists, coming around the counter to ambush your parole.

“Oh what the fuck dude!”

One by one he rifles through the unit and tosses each box onto the plexiglass counter.

“Let’s see we’ve got Camels, Marlboros, Pall Mall, Backwoods…” And then he looks at you, deviously licking his chops, eyes darkening like the abysmal night. “Hmm and what’s this?”

Behind the till you’re a sore sight to see; frayed short shorts and a busty white v neck that has a matching grease stain the size of Arkansas, compliments of the job in itself. He pokes his nose forward, sniffing out the sweet aroma of flora, gasoline and the slight notes of coffee you had prior to. Like a predator drawn to his prey, you have his vices in check.

“A dainty ol’e Sue... Oh would I love to taste you.” He touches and tosses your hair, you recoil with disgust upon contact. He longingly sneers, taking on your discomfort as a power play to get his erection going. Fucking wacko. “I gotta say, Al is a true Hefner for hiring ‘em young and ripe.”

The stranger edges forward and you scoot back, letting your manicured claws drag along the porous ledge with each walk in step. You heed caution and warning, something you were so desperately trying to work on as your voice trembles.

“I’d appreciate it if you back the fuck off.”

“No can do sweets not until I get some.” His dirtied paw reaches to cup your face and you narrowly turn away, ready to invoke a knee jerk reaction. “C’mon baby, give me a chance, hmm? I promise it’ll be good fun…” He sanctions right under while you pinched your eyes shut.

“We can do it right here, where no one's watching—“ His knuckles rub up the side of your thighs, coaxing you to spread your feet apart and be a willful contender. It’s broad daylight. Sin becomes a sinuous resolve. “What do you say?”

Ransom clears his throat right in time. It’s a glottal record scratch that stops ‘Jimmy’ in his place. His jaw ticks in stride of his heinous pursuit, a hand that rests by your bare leg turns into a balled fist.

There’s some dense relief. Your malignant heartbeat steadies and soon after an easy, unintentional breath escapes your lips, thanking your luck and savior.

“One of the pumps out front isn’t giving. You might wanna throw a sign on it.” Upon interaction, Ransom modulates a low, dangerous twang that isn’t native to the county you were in. Your curiosity piques while he awaits his turn, barely meeting your eye.

“Oh OK, I’ll, um, have that looked at shortly.” You salute his less than verbose demeanor. “I-I can help you whenever you’re ready.”

“I don’t think we’re done here.” The man encroaching your space sticks an arm out and cages you back into the corner. Your dismay stouts him as he expects you to turn the other trucker away.

Ransom stands stock still, eyes drawn to his flap wallet. He’s nonchalantly looking through cards and loose change, thinking out loud almost.

“Come meet me out back.”

“How ‘bout you hit the road, partner.” Ransom finally grovels. He doesn’t tolerate bullies and weak men who assert their sexual dominance on women who counter with no, a full perfunctory sentence.

“Not a chance. You can pay and leave us be.”

Ransom sibilants in defeat, murmuring something crassly unheard of. There’s a daunting fixation that furrows his brows together, deciding he’d pay you with fortitude instead.

“You know this guy, sweetheart?” He turns to stare at you and you’re astounded by the brightest baby blues known to man.

“U-Uh, no sir.”

Sir. Ransom liked the sound of that. He sucks in a deep breath, not expecting to cause a scene or be an unfavorable vigilante. But the sweet look on your face was absolutely beguiling, merciless of his ill-thoughts that came to him in the darkest hour. It’s been a long time coming, maybe you could be a pure succor. Suck or…

“Hmm,” he hums to himself. Toady Tom eyes him with vengeance that silently remunerates the atmosphere that grows heavy. “And do you want him to stay or leave?”

Ransom slides a weightless 50 on top of the scratched up counter and you swallow thickly, finding your voice again. “Leave.”

“Well then, I guess that settles it.” The perverted man behind the counter scoffs. He’s incredulous, tongue pressed against the shallows of his cheek. He almost surrenders but the jaunt stubbornness prevails.

"Yeah right."

"You heard the lady.” Ransom reminds the impolite patron.

“Far from a lady.” He instantly sneers before turning to you with a loaded threat. “You watch yourself now little one, I’m only just a few doors down. Don’t think I won’t find ya.”

“Fahk outta here.” Ransom enforces, growing agitated by the second. They share some imparted words, one man sizing up the other.

After a few Milkyways and bags of Lays splatter across the tile floor, the door chimes violently rattle with his obdurate departure. He’s gone like the wind. But that isn’t enough to detract you, to have you thanking the beautiful man in front of you who now looks completely unfazed.

“Thank you… for that.” You shakily express and he nods, properly sighting your illustrious figure.

“Of course.”

“Will that be all for today?” You mistakenly ask, mid-transaction and innocuous of his furthering insinuations. He simply smirks.

🌵

Your naivety and his spare will took an iniquitous turn.

The ‘Be Right Back in A Jiffy’ sign is flipped over while you’re quaffing down a nicely sized dick to the hilt. The warm, heavy appendage slides against your tongue that grafts each vein along his shaft. His leaky tip knocks at your tonsils while you manage to savor him to the fullest.

Ransom is helplessly in awe of your talents as he lets out a foul, debauched whimper. You’re glomming onto his cock for dear life as a thank you, needn’t he forget.

“Fuck sweetheart, you ain’t holdin’ back one bit.” He bucks as your hands go to knead his bare ass, gyrating him into a slow release. His large hands gather themselves in the root of your hair, yanking your head back when your testy teeth gently graze against his shaft.

“Watch the teeth, pretty girl.” He grits and you listen, humming a doe eyed look that overcomes him with a painful groan.

You’re a slobbering mess, jaw slack and locked in place. Your bare knees were planted on the perforated safe grip mat behind the till. His back, pressed against the ledge and away from an unseen crowd.

Midday was a rueful misdeemed fuck and you both reveled in it, letting out a symphony of taunting moans and grunts.

“So, so fucking beautiful.” He growls as you retreat, using your saliva and hands to sloppily lube up his manhood. You start fisting him, swirling your tongue just around the tip and that was enough for him to meet your eager pumps. He’s completely wrecked, caroling his sound praises and the ebb of your motions. His face puckers when the endorphins tingle right through his cock, an impassioned ache that needs relief.

“Just like that.” He breathes, feeling himself emancipated with tightness that recoils deep in his balls. “Mmm, that’s it. Fuck.” He tightly binds his eyes shut in the climb.

“Christ, I’m gonna cum.” Ransom is so close. His hands move your head back and forth with the propulsion of his hips sawing into your mouth.

With determination, you milk him dry, suckling on his tender flesh that slowly sears a hot opening and releases his furling spend in your oral cavity. The syrupy white substance coats your throat as you slither away to graciously swallow, stringing along spit and pride in your resurgence. His wet cock is semi-hard, bobbing after a good blow. His chest rises and falls as you rest on your haunches, appeased by the savoring musky flavor. The glassy look in his eyes stagnates when he tilts your chin up between his forefinger, assessing the damage with high praise.

“Well done princess.” He runs a thumb over your bottom lip, collecting a bit of his cum that seeps out before bringing it to his lips to taste.

“Anything else, sir?”

Oh you were a helpless one. “Get up.” He orders, wanting something quick and dirty.

“You don’t ask, you take,” You mewl at his disorderly aggression as he turned you around, his front pressed against your back. You swell at his dominance, not taking into account that you could be gutted any second and left for dead. "But only if you want to. Do you want this?"

You wordlessly nod at his manifesto.

“What was that?” He breathes heavily in your ear, hands trailing up the side of your body.

“Yes, sir.” You meekly reply, all the air vacuumed out of your lungs.

“Good girl.” Not letting a second pass, Ransom yanks down your cut offs and thong, bearing him your wet throbbing cunt and an unsparing ass. He takes his time admiring your backside and spreads your cheeks apart, bemused by the line of slick that glistens under the fluorescent lighting. He wets his bottom lip as a sign of fascination, adjusting his stance forward while you’re preening with anticipation.

“Please.” You pathetically whisper letting his thick fingers swipe through your folds, just merely grazing your entrance.

“Please what?” He curtly rasps.

“Please fuck me.”

“Fuck you good or fuck you quick?”

“Both.” You pant, slumping forward with your body halfway across the countertop.

“And would you like my fingers or my cock, princess?” He tests even though his middle and ring fingers are already circling your clit and making you cower.

“I-I don’t know.” You cry from pleasure that clouds your overall judgement, brows furrowed at the bubbling sensation in your core that short circuits your poor brain.

“You don’t know?” He mocks, going up a baritone.

“I—“ You wheeze, feeling his deft fingers work in and out of your pussy with slow tenacity. The way your body gave out to him was humiliating. From the slurping wet scissor thrusts to your shrewd little moans egging him on, Ransom couldn't be any more dignified. He needed this form of control and ousting, it made him feel godly, salaciously taking him back to the way he's always been. “Oh god.”

In your blissful state, Ransom reaches for the accordion pack of condoms that were left hung up on the side. He uses his teeth to rip one open before abandoning his finger fucking strife to properly pinch and roll the condom on. You moan at the loss of contact and then he harrumphs with a compliant thrust just to shut you up.

You squeal, feeling his fullness only reach halfway into your cunt. You were ill prepared. The initial burn and stretch was agonizing and it became too impermeable to let go.

"Shit." Ransom respires with discomfort, he didn't mean for that happen as your mouth falls open and your head rolls back, impartially cock drunk.

“I need you to relax, princess. Can you do that for me?” He whispers in your hair while using a hand to leverage your legs apart, slightly bending at the knees to ease his drive. Your pelvic floor muscles loosen up a bit as he fed you inch by inch. Your toes begin to curl up against the rubberized mats, your bodies finally come together as one. Your tight cunt does the honorable thing and sucks him right in without give. With a sharp intake of breath, Ransom tries his damned hardest not to bust his load in you, stiffening his movements to implore a faintly found. “Fuck... you feel s'good, princess.”

He’s fully seated in you, not budging one bit and questioning his need to cherish the moment.

“Mmm.” You hum desperately rolling your hips to alleviate the straining ache in your core while bracing the ridged tabletop.

"All for me, huh?" Ransom took it upon himself, your seldom plea, to fuck you senseless. He soon grunts and ruts his hot cock into your weeping little cunt, startling you in the endeavor.

Your squeaks prevail at a piercing octave. The fiery sensation, thrust and drive has your eyes rolling in the back of your skull. The sounds of slapping skin, loose change rattling in the register and the breathy high pitched moans calibrated the impactful sex. It’s an infinite juxtaposition of two strangers sharing bodily fluids and momentary, carnal pleasure that remained completely oblivious to the ghost towners around.

“God you’re taking my cock so well.” His hand comes around and cups you above your pubic mound, feeling his bulge and sidling some pressure to amount your acclimating climax. He intuitively stimulates your g-spot and that’s enough to drive you buck wild.

“Fuck!” You flutter around his cock as a sure fire sign that you were about to cum.

“You feel that?” He husks, steadily rocking his hips.

“Harder, baby.” You urge, a hand reaching over your shoulder to ghost his cheek, craving his physical closeness in your undoing. He follows through on your order, tightly gripping on your waist to continue his ramming thrusts.

Your straining breasts jiggles as both your hands slam onto the wooden flange for support. After a few rigorous pumps, your internal coil snaps, a warm electric release floods through you.

Ransom continues his chase through your pulsating schlump. He hisses as the dam bursts and ropes of his seed balloon up in the condom, unfulfilling you of him.

There’s that clarity. You’re both breathless and spent, wasting in each other's coital recollection. It’s fucking bleak for two self-effacing individuals who weren’t on a first name basis, wrapped up in a shoddy service station and dribbling in each other’s cum.

“You good?” Ransom asks while hovering over you. He lets his dick soften before pulling himself out and leaving you warmly hollow.

“Yeah.” You murmur, looking over your shoulder to dazzle a light grin. He’s appeased, carelessly eyeing the line of your bitten lips and mirrors an opaque smile of his own. He's not a mind reader but there's definitely something more to you that he can't ascribe.

“Sure?”

“Mhm.” You sing.

“Good.”

He discards the banded condom and lets you redress. There’s some muddling silence that thrives with naughtiness.

“Thank you for stopping by Al’s Handy Mart. We hope you come again.” You charm while readjusting yourself behind the till, very well knowing that you're probably going to have to take a bird bath in the restroom later. Ransom is fully dressed for his travels, trouser button left open as he rounds the corner to grab some Gatorade from the stock fridge and a couple stray bags of chips.

“Oh I'll definitely come for you.” He jokes, swigging his drink with one foot out the door and his dick still twitching for more.

[dragoncityinteriordesign]

The yashou are as consistent about their makeup as they are about their jewelry, which is to say, they're not. I don't mean usual cosmetic makeup; I mean the dark lines of paint on their faces.

If I had to guess, on a production level, I'd say the guiding principles for applying this makeup were 1) not on anybody in the main cast, so you don't have to do it every day; 2) not on women; 3) on other speaking roles and extras as you have time to get them in the chair.

Flowers and cats don't wear any such paint, so that's easy.

Crows generally get an all-or-nothing approach. Both the guy on the left in the phone booth street and the guy in the feathered cloak at the Snake Village standoff (snandoff) appear to have the same full face of three dots at the outer corner of each eye and between the eyerbrows, V shapes that taper to a point by the middle set of dots, and a Ψ-looking shape above those dots that's probably meant to look like a crow's foot.

But there's also this henchcrow, who has the three dots under his eye, but only one line over his eyebrow, and no discernible marks in the middle of his forehead. Crow casual.

It's entirely possible that there are variations other than these, but there are very few crows, and even fewer of them get close-ups. Squinting at the back rows of crowd shots, I can see that there's definitely some paint on at least some of the crow extras. They're just never in focus long enough to give any good detail, and that's even before the matter of how their goofy hoods get in the way.

On the snake side of the yashou world, Snake Fourth Uncle (snuncle) has hands-down the best makeup in the entire series -- just the two little subtle points from the inner corners of his eye toward the bridge of his nose. They look tremendous. I understand why they didn't do this on Zhu Hong (see principles 1 and 2 above), but I wish they had. Fanartists, get on that.

The other snake makeup (snakeup -- ha! that one actually worked!) is much more uniform. It's a mark in the center of the forehead and a dot on the outer side of either eye. It all comes and goes, I guess depending on how the boys are feeling that day. Maybe they think it's more of a night look? Maybe they'd just shed their skins and hadn't gotten around to reapplying it? Could be.

What I am left wondering is this: Is the mark on their foreheads meant to be the sacred stick? It's right in that weird grey area where either it looks like somebody was trying to imitate the sacred stick design and got real abstract with it, or it looks like somebody was just making a cool snake forehead design and the design they landed on just happened to be vaguely sacred-stick-shaped.

Either way, the Snake Tribe clearly understands branding in a way the other tribes do not, making them exactly the bold visionary leaders needed to bring the other yashou forward with them into snake-guided modernity (snodernity).

[desultory-novice]

If you're still doing this, what are your thoughts on Fecto Forgo, if I may ask?

I'm not even the biggest fan of horror movies, but for some reason, I end up getting caught in a rewatch of John Carpenter's The Thing oh, every two years or so...

So ah, yes, Fecty. (It's not exactly correct, but I'm going to call Fecto Forgo that, because it's easier.) I was pleased with Fecty, to be honest. By the time I got to Lab Discovera, I had completely forgotten about the "fear" rating and then, as I went down the tour hallway, I suddenly remembered it, along with a shiver up my spine.

<Warning: I don't go into any details, but mentions of cruel scientific experimentation, psychological horror, trauma-derived disassociation, and torture here>

I'm not super fond of the "fetal" look they went with (feels a bit of a cheat - that and in phantom form, ends up looking like some kind of evil koala) but otherwise, Fecty was perfectly creepy in all its forms. Oh, and I love the choice of color palette! I watched a video breakdown of the NES Castlevania games once that pointed out how the original game, with its bright oranges, blues and other heavily saturated colors, looked far scarier than the 2nd game's dull stone gray, dull blood red, dull zombie green and black palette. So making Fecty all oranges and teals was an excellent aesthetic choice. So often, chimeric monsters made of the still-living slush of a dozen other creatures are all red and brown and pink and just, doing their best to make your stomach churn. But I'm trying to beat the game, not lose my lunch! How am I supposed to set a new time attack record with one hand over my mouth?!  

Anyway, if it wasn't clear before, it should be clear now that Director Kumazaki really is the master of child-friendly horror...that can still get to adults!

Marx and his ilk of "scary last bosses" are, let's be honest here...not REALLY scary. Creepy elements, sure. But not as scary as some of the truly messed up stuff in the world. The not-safe-for-life-I-wish-I-could-un-learn-this-knowledge tier stuff. But they are more than scary enough. They work with our minds to create an image of horror that ages with you and always plays fair with your experiences AND your tolerance level for scary stuff.

Personally, I almost always prefer a simple to depiction of something to an overly detailed one, as you can READ details into simplicity. A square, when taken as an abstraction, can be a hundred thousand different objects. But something that is upfront and shouting about how detailed it is (look at the PORES on this guy!!) restricts you to seeing only what is there. Of course, there should be a happy middle ground. Something that abstracts too far is going to stumble as much as something that removes any room imagination at all.

Pictured: "A Dragon"

...Ahaha. Got off on a bit of a tangent there.

Anyway, as a character, I think Fecty comes off really well. We're introduced to them as a dangerous invasive species. The tour speech has some questionable bits, but we know we're approaching the last boss, so we're obviously going to be a little concerned this thing really IS bad on our first meeting. And woah! Fecty lives up to the reputation with that 'all shall be consumed' and snatching Elfilin from you and turning Leon into soup and trying to kill you by throwing Popstar at you! But...

...the more the game goes on and the more you learn, the more Fecty becomes...if not sympathetic, then...understandable? 

We don't know WHY Fecty did such damage to the planet upon arrival. My current guess is that it was just...confused. Disoriented. Lost. Maybe it didn't even -mean- to cause the damage it did. With such powerful psychic powers, what if it was just projecting its hurt and sorrow as loudly as possible, and that was where the initial destruction came from?

But then it gets captured and experimented on. To the point that all remaining goodness in it's heart splits from it. Does this remind anyone else of trauma-induced dissociative identity disorder...? 

(DID is presently understood to generally be the result of childhood or early developmental trauma, but then, we don't exactly have a lot of case samples of older people who have lived through what Fecty has lived through - god, I hope not!! - to find out for sure...)

So, now we've got a large critter of, eh, questionable morals (but could still be completely innocent of the initial "attack") who was medically tortured FOR YEARS just because it couldn't be understood and controlled, and because it possessed something the original inhabitants were curious about...

Here's the thing. Fecty's "pure heart" aka, Elfilin, is...good. Like, TOO good. Now, regardless of your feelings on Elfy (heck, I like Elfy quite a bit, but I'm a fan of stuffed animals - and yes, I ordered the Elfilin plush...) I-like-eyes wrote a very valid criticism post on their lack of development and personality as a character in game and I would borrow from those to say Elfy is such a creature of cute, harmless, friend-shaped fluff (as in, "something of little substance," not fuzzy. Although Elfy is surely fuzzy) that Elfy's lack of emotional depth circles around and characterizes Fecty!

:resists urge to go into a huge comparison with “The House in Fata Morgana” in regards to Elfy and Fecty’s relationship:

There is, or WAS, a version of Fecto Elfilis that was far closer to this.

...I could be wrong though. My track record at predicting Kirby stuff remains really low, regardless of how many long essays I write about the series and its characters...!!

:clenches fist in frustration:

Ahem. While Elfy has been compared to the later "talkative" major NPCS (Magolor, Taranza, Susie) and the quiet helper characters (Ribbon, Elline) alike, I think Fecty shares a lot in common with Void. Being like...a version of Void who can talk.

Void is also only presented to us from outside Void's own perception (if it has much of one) being worshipped by Hyness as...well, exactly what Hyness NEEDS Void to be. Hyness was consumed with jealousy, bitterness, hurt, and need for vengeance. Hyness needs a god of destruction, so Void became one. 

Fecty is an invader, but only because we're seeing it on a planet that is not its own. Of course it is going to look and act like an alien. It IS a literal alien! (Also, also! The Fecto + Void comparisons get even stronger when you look at their names. Void, aka, "Ende Nil" and Elfilin, aka, EFILLIN, aka, "Nil Life." )

-

(EFILLIN comes from the morse code you can hear during the elevator ride. Yep. Kirby is now hiding lore in morse.friggin.code!! What's next?! Has anyone run the soundrack through a spectrogram analyzer to look for hidden messages?!)

-

...I'm also really happy for the true, true ending. Having Fecty and Elfy be reunited was a surprisingly powerful moment. And it was done quietly, without words, which is where Kirby does some of it's best storytelling.

I've been hopping back and forth between this essay and one on Galacta Knight, and so I was thinking about how Galacta destroys anything in sight whenever they are released from their prison because...what else are they going to do, really? They presumably fought their unlawful sealing tooth and nail, so the second the seal is broken, they.are.going.to.continue.where.they.left.off.

It feels a little bit like Elfy was telling Fecty they didn't have to keep fighting... 

"The people who hurt us are all gone now. No one is hunting us anymore. We won't be recaptured. You split me off from you to keep us safe. Thank you...

...Now, let me be the one to keep you safe."

[stalpra-and-100-fandoms]

A Concept: Red 🙵 White / The 100 | Spy × Family [Part 1]

This is sort of a continuation of this post with a few tweaks here and there. Might not be as sad. Or not, who knows.

Part 2

MANGA SPOILERS

So Anya ran away because of the whole detainment-of-the-test-subjects issue.

That's right.

There are more like Anya. More people who were involuntarily involved in human experiments.

In total there are 100 children around her age who had been tested on.

They all aren't telepaths (thank goodness) but they all have some power relating to the abstract usage of the brain's capacity. (I'll get to those in a bit)

In hiding, Anya had decided that she would round up all of these misfits like herself together so that they can have each other's backs.

In a world as cruel as this, no one but themselves can understand their position.

As is the nature of her powers, they grew stronger and she was able to catch "signals" from nearly a 10 km radius. She could also cancel out voices as she wished.

─────────────────── ⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅ ───────────────────

One day, just lazily listening to everyone's thoughts in Hugaria, Anya caught this interesting voice:

"Okay, so at a height like this I'll need to procure 4 arms and scale up the wall. I also need to make sure those police aren't gonna catch me. "

Turning around and straining her eyes to the corner of the street, she saw this tall burly boy with a brown jacket on. And to her confusion (and secret delight), bubblegum pink hair. He had no gadgets on him, so what did he mean by procuring arms? Anya thought.

No sooner than she was able to finish her thought, the boy floated? to the top of the building.

It seemed like floating at first but after thinking through his motions, Anya noticed that there was a certain gravity to it. As though he were climbing. But he didn't use his arms. He looked like he was climbing...

With multiple invisible limbs.

Knowing that this wasn't an ordinary person, Anya ran parallel to him on that the other side of the street. It was a good thing that she learned her parents' technique of running silently or else he would've noticed her, and who knows what he would've done then.

Her parents.

Whatever. Now's not the time, Anya brushed it off.

Keeping pace with him was trying. He's definitely been running away longer than I have, Anya mused.

As she turned around the block, she caught sight of two policemen who were chasing him from the ground, yelling at him as they did so, "Get down here, kid! If you stole something then give it back! Get down from the roof!"

"I didn't steal anything!" the boy yelled back, still running.

"Then get down!"

Anya could see that the guy was in trouble. Why is he running on the roof, anyway? Maybe he just felt like it. Anya decided to opportunize and save this misfit's ass. She swam through his mind and found all the information she needed.

"Hey, Adrian, cut it out already!" she yelled as loud as her voice could carry.

The runaway stopped dead in his tracks. How the hell does she know my name? Is this 034? No, it can't be. Doesn't seem like someone he's seen. Who is this person?

The same was for the policemen.

"It's not funny anymore. I want my bracelet back!" Anya yelled.

The confused fellow on the roof decided to be honest, "I have no idea what you're talking about," he yelled from the rooftop.

"It's in your right pocket, you dumbass-"

"Language, young lady," one of the policemen, looking like he had a big metallic frame in him, interjected (thank goodness he spoke in Ostanian [1]), "Do you know this man?" it looked rather comical that he pointed to the top of the building.

"Like yeah, I do," Anya huffed, putting all the stuff she learned from her Papa and Mama's acting into practice, "We go to the same middle school, Grapevine."

The policeman's thoughts asked for context to this current situation.

Anya continued, hands on her sides, looking totally irritated, "I just said that he couldn't steal my bracelet and run off on a rooftop. I guess he took it personally." she ended with a shrug. To be honest, she was quite proud of her acting.

Both the policemen looked up at the figure on the building. Finally taking the hint, he nodded with embarrassment to the best of his acting ability.

"So, that sums it up!" the other, stereotypically good-natured and stout, policeman said as he clapped his hand on the back of his colleague, "When it comes to youngsters you shouldn't take it so seriously!"

Bidding the children, both on the street and the rooftop, adieu, the policemen walked away.

Anya nonchalantly waved them bye before frantically waving her arms up and down so that this mystery guy comes down, which he does. He skidded down the building, ran across the street (getting a few violent honks from the cars), grabbed Anya's hand and lead her into a bookshop.

─────────────────── ⋅⋆⋅☆⋅⋆⋅ ───────────────────

(Pulling her into a bookstore that was barely maintained anymore was a smart decision on his half, no doubt.)

"How the hell do you know my name?" (for instance, no one's gonna tell him to shush)

Well, he doesn't waste any time.

"Easy now, I'll explain. Just chill."

Feeling humourous, Anya merely gave her HEH face. Surely harmless, right?

Apparently not.

Anya quickly learned that this guy is hot-tempered as he stretched his arm back to propel a punch. (I got a different reaction the other time I gave it to someone on the first meeting...)

"Who the hell are you!?"

The fist came flying in, you could hear the air move out of the way. From where she was standing, it rather resembled a certain sucker punch she had thrown once.

thunk!

How the-?

How did she block it?

It was merely the result of what happens when you put rock against paper.

Anya didn't know why she said what she said. But for that moment, to that person, it felt like the most natural words on her tongue.

"I am 007."

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[1] As mentioned in the Post-Strix post, Anya decided to live in an Ostanian community in Hugaria as it allowed her to wander somewhat freely with all the hunters on the loose. I just put Ostanian over here but I actually don't know the name of the language. It's a common language between Ostania and Westalia as I didn't notice any translating among the characters of the two countries. If anyone knows what this language is called, then please tell me in a reblog or reply and I'll correct it and give credit accordingly.

Also, this is just Part 1 of the Red 🙵 White / The 100 concept I've made. I haven't got to the actual "group" part of it so stay tuned! (I sort of got burnt out as I wrote this, even tho I'm pretty sure I've written longer things than this, and I now need a refresher before coming back to this)

I'll do some proper explaining of the names (Red 🙵 White and The 100) and mention some of the names and powers of the members.