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thejakeformerlyknownasprince · 5 months ago

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So I'm putting together an In Defence of Cassie PowerPoint for a PowerPoint night with friends. Do you have any arguments for or against her? I trust your opinion and am curious.

Let's see.

"She's too powerful, too unique, too far-seeing, and not good enough for Jake! What a Mary Sue!"

Counterpoint: May I introduce you to the reigning champion fan favorite, Sad White Boy Tobias?

Only nothlit ever to regain the ability to morph

Only known human-andalite hybrid ever to exist

Regarded as savior by entire hork-bajir species

Entire existence is a time paradox the war hinges upon

Pulls the canonically "most beautiful girl in our grade", who turns down 6 or 7 other offers in favor of Bird Boy

Correctly predicted planetary ecology 65 million years in advance

Believed to be immune to 2-hour limit

In conclusion: y'all wouldn't be crying "Mary Sue" if Cassie was a sad white boy, and I can prove it.

"She's too weak and hand-wringing, and she never helps the war effort!"

Counterpoint: First of all, the fact that the same people say this in the same breath as "she's too powerful" is... telling. Secondly:

She saved the entire team's lives in #24, in #29, in #44, and in MM1, among others.

Specifically calling out #44 — that ending shows she is willing and able to be ruthless when her friends are in need. She doesn't like slaughtering human-controllers, but if the alternative is everyone she loves dying, then she'll fucking well do it.

Much like Jake (see: Sad White Boy), she's more willing to risk herself than her friends, hence the end of MM1

Her medical knowledge saves Marco from rabies, Ax from brain!appendicitis, and Tobias from bird flu.

Her survivalist knowledge saves everyone in #25 (the Arctic), MM2 (Cretaceous Era), #11 (rainforest), and #14 (desert).

In conclusion: Cassie's only idealistic-looking by the standards of this extremely morally gray team.

"She's so unfair to Jake!"

Counterpoint: Jake? The Jake who refused to speak with her for weeks? Jake who proposes marriage while they're still broken up? Jake who announces he'll never trust Cassie again because she [checks notes] saved his brother's life? That Jake?

Also:

She gives him tons of emotional support in #16, #21, #47, and other times he's feeling low.

They have a healthy argument where they air differences and come to an understanding in #9.

Did I mention he doesn't just dump her but ghosts her in the middle of the war's endgame?

They're teenagers. Their relationship isn't perfect, but it is built on open communication and mutual respect which is more than Rachel and Tobias can say

She's fighting a war, and PTSD for that matter. No, she doesn't have infinite emotional bandwidth.

In conclusion: Their relationship is fine, their breakup is mutual, and her behavior only looks bad if, once again, you're holding Cassie to a different standard than you are Jake.

"She shouldn't have trusted Aftran!"

Counterpoint: friendly reminder that the alternative was killing a 6-year-old for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. If that's what you think Cassie should've done, that tells us more about you than about her.

"She spends too much time moralizing!"

Counterpoint: this is a book series about war, not a friggin' video game. If you want moral pornography, go play Call of Duty. If you want sci fi realism, then you're going to have to accept that a majority of humans prefer not to kill their fellow humans if at all possible.

"She's a ripoff of [insert character here]!"

Counterpoint: literally every single one of these says more about the commenter than about the source work. "Every dystopia is set in the U.S." is the kind of thing only people who only read books by American authors would think. "All epic fantasy is Eurocentric" => tell me you only read books by white people without telling me. I'm glad you think Cassie is too similar to Willow Rosenberg, but there are at least 6 other stories in the known world, and I hear some of them even feature sweet/dorky/caring characters who are secretly ultra-powerful.

In conclusion: You don't have to like Cassie as a (fictional) person, but 85% of criticisms directed at her are bad-faith attacks on one of the 1990s' only fat Black female gnc ultra-powerful superheroes.

#animorphs #cassie animorphs #misogynoir #tbh this was fun #and cathartic #now i kind of want to go to this powerpoint night #mama nature

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diurnalvl · 1 year ago

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the real reason why velvette had to go to the overlord's meeting is that the other two are even more insufferable;

vox gets wayyy too into his presentation (see: climbing onto chairs and sparking), at once mansplaining and assuming advanced knowledge, resulting in getting extremely wound up when the other overlords aren't as impressed as he wants them to be.

valentino comes with a packed lunch and a body cam, with explicit instructions to shut the fuck up. he sits with the automatic powerpoint that vox prepared playing until he gets bored and starts saying whatever to tick the other overlords off. he singlehandedly wins the idgaf war.

funnily enough, the body cam footage is the most useful, but the other vees are deeply aware that someone will actually murder val one day.

#hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel valentino #vox #valentino #hazbin hotel fanart #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette #diurna draws #diurna writes #hazbin hotel vees #the vees #hazbin vox #hazbin valentino #staticmoth #voxval #hazbin hotel headcanon

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karvokr · 15 days ago

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unscripted

it was all for show– until it wasn’t. now the lines are blurred, the feelings are real, and no one remembers who’s cast in what role.

pairings: actor!gojo x actress!reader x actor!geto content warnings: mdni, smut and angst, unprotected piv sex, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), infidelity/cheating themes, love triangle, fake dating/pr relationship, secret relationship, they did NOT rehearse their lines series masterlist • episode 2 >>

S1, E1: casting call

You sign the contract on a Wednesday.

It arrives in your inbox under the subject line: “CONFIDENTIAL.”

A PDF. Nine pages long. Paragraphs of stipulations, contingencies, and conditions dressed up in PR language so pristine you almost laugh. Coordinated appearances. Joint interviews with dates staggered across press cycles. Exclusivity clauses for red carpet events. “Spontaneous” candid moments approved in advance. At least four public outings a month. A shared stylist to align aesthetics without making it too obvious. No real intimacy, but enough illusion to stir the right kind of attention.

At the bottom: “Duration: Minimum 6 months. Option to renew through awards season.”

Your name is already typed in the signature line, blank and waiting.

It’s ridiculous. A fake relationship designed to sell a real story– two beautiful leads, off-screen romance bleeding into on-screen chemistry, timed just right to catch the eye of the Academy. It feels like theater. Like marketing dressed in Dior and Versace.

Your publicist says it’s “industry standard,” and your agent reminds you that an Oscar doesn’t just happen. It’s built.

And Suguru Geto is a very good brick.

So you nod. Sign. Smile.

The next morning, you wake to two calendar invites and a wardrobe fitting already on the books. Friday is a blur of meetings– PowerPoints, color swatches, talking points, binders stacked with everyone else’s expectations. You’re poked, pinned, and polished into someone just glossy enough to photograph well. Saturday is quieter, technically free, but your nerves don’t get the memo. You feel it in your chest, in your skin– the stillness before something begins.

By Sunday, Suguru Geto is your boyfriend– on paper.

It’s not like he’s a stranger. You met him once– briefly– at a film festival in Toronto. It was years ago, before your first major role, before the PR teams and stylists and publicists started forming a protective wall between you and the world. You were still wide-eyed, still watching everything like it was a dream you’d wake up from. The kind of version of yourself that lingered too long at open bars and felt guilty for answering questions during panel Q&As.

Suguru was already someone then. Not yet a household name, but he was well on his way– fresh off a Cannes nomination and a string of indie shoots that made critics go quiet in their chairs. You knew him the way everyone in that circle did: respected, rumored, slightly haunted. He carried himself like someone older than his age, like the world had already tried to take something from him and failed.

You ended up in the same green room by accident. He was tucked into the corner of a velvet couch, thumbing through a paperback that looked older than both of you. Everyone else was networking, talking too loudly, smiling too hard. He wasn’t. He barely looked up when you walked in, but when he did, he blinked like he recognized you– from the festival lineup, probably– and offered the barest, quietest nod.

You’d been introduced by someone else– your manager at the time– and it was awkward. His handshake was warm but brief. He said your name like he didn’t want to forget it. And he was polite, thoughtful, soft-spoken.

But mostly, he seemed tired. Not rude. Just spent. A little hollow around the edges. Like he was doing his best to stay upright in a space that wanted too much from him.

You remember liking that about him. Not the weariness, exactly, but the honesty of it. There was no fake smile. No attempt to charm you. Just a quiet man in a crowded room who didn’t pretend he wasn’t drowning in it.

You’d watched him from across the room later that night at a private party. He leaned against the balcony railing, lit cigarette forgotten between two fingers, eyes unfocused like he was somewhere far away. When he laughed at something someone said, it was sudden. Soft. Real. You’d only heard it once, and it had stuck with you.

The festival ended. You moved on.

You didn’t think you’d ever get close to him– not because he wasn’t interesting, but because men like Suguru Geto didn’t orbit close to people like you. He existed on a different rung. Quiet, unreachable, curated by some invisible machinery you hadn’t yet learned to navigate.

And besides, you didn’t think you’d want to. At the time, you still believed in real chemistry. In relationships built on off-camera glances and unspoken moments. You thought PR couples were hollow. Manufactured. Maybe even sad.

That version of you didn’t know anything yet. She didn’t understand how useful illusion could be.

So when they first floated Suguru’s name– your team, the studio, the awards consultants already plotting headlines and camera pairings– it felt surreal. Distant. Like a ghost reaching back from a past life.

You were already flipping through moodboards and shoot schedules when they said it. “We’ve spoken with Geto’s team. He’s open to it.”

Open to you.

The version of him you remembered didn’t do this kind of thing. He didn’t fake romance for the press. He didn’t post birthday selfies or tweet cryptic captions about breakups. He was… reserved. Controlled. Private.

And yet here he was. Signing the same contract you were. Ready to stand beside you in softly blurred photos, his hand on your waist like it belonged there. Willing to laugh at your red carpet jokes, low and close enough that the cameras could catch it– but not close enough to be real.

The first staged outing is in West Hollywood. Lunch. Alone. Private– but not private enough to escape the paparazzi’s watchful lenses, peeking through bushes and around street signs. But it’s shaded, the espresso is good, and Suguru is already waiting when you arrive.

He stands when he sees you.

He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t overact. Just offers a gentle smile, takes off his sunglasses, and says: “Hey. You look… perfect for the role.”

There’s a pause. He lets you laugh.

You press your cheek to his in greeting. A soft brush. His palm grazes your waist. You smell cologne– cedar, bergamot, maybe vetiver. It lingers on your dress after you sit.

The cameras click in the background, but it’s easy to ignore. For a little while, it feels like lunch.

You talk more than you thought you would. He asks about your last film– not the big one, the little indie one that barely got distribution. You’re surprised he’s seen it.

“It stayed with me,” he says, stirring sugar into his coffee. “The way you didn’t say anything in that scene by the river. That kind of stillness is hard to find.”

You blink. Most people missed that scene entirely.

When you compliment his recent performance in a war drama, he winces a little. “Too loud,” he says. “Too much grit, not enough meaning. But thank you.”

It’s rare, you think, to meet someone so deliberate. He listens. Really listens. He’s not trying to impress you. He’s not trying at all.

And that makes it easier to relax.

The lunch ends. He walks you to your car, lingering just long enough to let his hand graze your arm– not for the cameras, not to garner buzz for the movie. Just to steady you in heels. A small gesture. Unremarkable, maybe, to anyone else. But it feels intentional.

You think maybe it’s just how he is. Quietly thoughtful. Present without pressing. Almost caring, but in a way that never risks anything.

You don’t hear from him the rest of the day. Not the next morning, either.

But late the following night, just as you’re settling into the kind of silence that feels too big for the room, your phone lights up.

Suguru [11:12 PM]: Are you awake? Suguru [11:12 PM]: If not, don’t worry.

You stare at the screen for a moment– thumb hovering, heartbeat heavier than it should be.

Then you call him. It rings twice.

Then his voice, low and unguarded: “Hey.”

You sit back in bed, tuck the phone against your shoulder. “Hey. Sorry, I just saw your text.”

“No, it’s okay. I wasn’t sure if I should bother you. It’s late.”

“I’m glad you did.”

Silence stretches– not awkward, not tense. Just quiet.

You hear a door shut on his end. Something rustling. Maybe a blanket. Maybe a cigarette box. You imagine him in some hotel suite somewhere– dim light, half-buttoned shirt, bare feet on cold tile.

“Rough day?” you ask.

Suguru breathes out. “Long. Not bad. Just… hollow.”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I get that.”

Another silence. This one more personal.

You don’t know why it’s easier to talk to him like this– through a line, without his eyes on you. Maybe it’s because there’s no script here. Just the two of you, drifting closer in the dark.

“I didn’t think I’d enjoy this,” he says eventually.

You blink. “The… PR thing?”

“Mhm.” You hear the faint creak of a mattress. “Figured it’d be fake. Cold. But you’re… not.”

A soft smile tugs at your lips. You tuck your knees up under the blanket. “You’re not what I expected either.”

“Oh?” There’s a teasing lilt in his voice, just a hint.

“I thought you’d be more–”

“Arrogant?”

“I was going to say distant.”

He hums. “Maybe I still am.”

“You’re here, though,” you say. Quiet. Honest. “Talking to me at midnight.”

“That’s true.”

You listen to each other breathe for a few seconds. It’s strange how comforting it is– the intimacy of being heard without having to perform.

“You don’t have to be anything with me, you know,” you say softly. “Off-camera, I mean.”

There’s a pause.

Then, quietly, “that’s the hard part. You make me want to get to know you.”

Your chest aches a little at the way he says it. Not fragile, but resigned. Like someone who’s used to being alone in rooms full of people. Beautiful, adored, unreachable.

“I don’t mind you,” you say, teasing just slightly.

He laughs, just barely. You wish you could see it.

“You’re easy to like,” he murmurs.

You feel warmth creep into your throat, your chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for a moment, it’s just that. The softness. The space. The two of you suspended between pretending and something that might not be.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say eventually.

“Looking forward to it.”

You hesitate. “Suguru?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you texted.”

Another pause. This one full.

“Me too.”

You hang up a minute later. Your phone lights up again after a few minutes. A photo– from him. A blurry one. Just your feet next to his on a sidewalk after lunch. You hadn’t even noticed a camera had caught it.

Suguru [11:46 PM]: This one feels real.

You stare at your phone longer than you mean to. Then you type: “Maybe it was.”

You don’t send it. You just watch the words sit there– half-formed, unfinished– like a secret only you know.

The next day, you're both scheduled for a surprise sighting at a bookstore in Silver Lake. The type of place where the press just happens to catch you with your fingers brushing over the same dog-eared copy of some retro novel no one’s actually read.

But Suguru gets there early. You spot him near the poetry section, tucked into a quiet corner chair like he was born to inhabit silence. There’s a book in his hands and a pair of wire-framed glasses balanced on his nose. He doesn’t look up when you walk in.

He looks up when he feels you.

You crouch beside his chair, the hem of your coat brushing his shin, and he smiles at you like he knows something you don’t.

“Tell me that’s not just for the cameras,” you say, eyeing the book.

“It isn’t,” he replies, closing it gently. “But I wouldn’t blame you for assuming.”

You end up sitting across from him on the floor, backs leaned against the same bookcase. No photographers yet. Just you and him and the faint smell of old paper and something woodsy lingering on his coat.

He reads you a line from the book– something Rilke, something sad– and doesn’t flinch when you look at him too long after. Neither of you says anything about how close your knees are. Or the way he looks down at your hand like he’s memorizing the shape of it.

Another night, it’s a low-profile dinner. Outdoor patio, dim lighting, no press invited this time– just a couple of phones in the hands of distant patrons who might or might not realize who you are.

Suguru orders for both of you without asking. You let him.

You talk about dumb things. Favorite comfort foods. Least favorite roles. He tells you about a movie he almost did, then didn’t. You tell him about the one you regret turning down. When dessert comes, you end up sharing it.

He doesn’t touch you. Not once.

But his knee brushes yours beneath the tablecloth, and he doesn’t pull away.

You wonder if he notices how close your breath gets when you laugh.

There’s a photoshoot the day after. Joint promotional spread. All silk and soft light and posing like your arms fit naturally around each other’s waists.

At one point, you’re positioned facing him, chests almost touching, eyes locked.

“Closer,” the photographer says. “Tilt your face toward him, not the lens.”

You do.

Suguru’s breath is steady. So is yours. But something in the air between your mouths feels like a wire strung too tight.

The shutter clicks.

Later, he shows you a shot on his phone. One no one else has seen yet. Your face is turned toward him. His eyes are on you, not the camera.

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you for a second longer than he should, and then locks his phone.

You text more than you mean to.

Mostly in the late hours. He sends you half-thoughts. You send him blurry photos of your takeout. He sends you voice notes when he's tired– one of them is just him humming something you don’t recognize.

You listen to it three times before you place it– Erik Satie, maybe. One of those pieces that feels like a memory you forgot you had.

You [12:03 AM]: you always sound like you're somewhere else when you talk at night Suguru [2:14 AM]: Maybe that’s the only time I’m anywhere at all.

There’s one afternoon where it rains unexpectedly and you're both caught leaving a meeting in Midtown. No umbrella. Just the two of you ducking into a covered alley behind a hotel entrance, laughing like you’ve been running through puddles your whole life.

He’s soaked. You’re worse. Makeup smudged, hair plastered to your cheeks.

He takes off his coat and gives it to you without thinking.

“No cameras,” you whisper, curling into the warmth of it. “You don’t have to play the part.”

He glances at you, a drop of rain sliding from his temple to his jaw. “Maybe I want to.”

You don’t answer. Not out loud.

But when the valet pulls up and you climb into separate cars, you realize the smell of his cologne has already settled into the lining of your sleeves.

A few days later, you’re on the rooftop of a downtown hotel for a fashion house pre-party. Your heels are too high. Your dress is too sheer. And the wind is just aggressive enough to ruin every shot the team set up.

You step aside to fix your hair and find him standing by the railing, holding a glass of whiskey and watching the skyline like he’s trying to memorize it.

When he sees you, he doesn’t say anything. Just lifts the glass in a lazy toast. You walk over.

“Cold?” he asks.

“A little.”

He shrugs off his jacket. Drapes it around your shoulders.

You both stay there a while– saying nothing, not moving. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like pretending.

Then comes the gala, and it’s all polished surfaces and curated light– a sleek event for the casting reveal of the film you’re starring in with Suguru and the opportunity to go officially public as Hollywood’s latest co-star couple.

You stand beside him for photos, and his hand settles against your back like it belongs there. Warm. Steady. Measured down to the inch.

He leans in between flashes, voice low and careful, whispering little things to keep you calm.

“You’re doing great.”

“Don’t lock your jaw– just breathe.”

“You’re a natural, stop stressing.”

It doesn’t sound rehearsed. It sounds like he means it. And for a moment, you let yourself believe he does.

And then, like a needle skipping over a record, the elevator dings. The air changes. A new energy enters the room like a shift in temperature. Like a spotlight without a switch.

Satoru Gojo walks in– late, unbothered, and dressed to be looked at. White tux. Shirt slightly unbuttoned. Sunglasses dangling from the bridge of his nose like he forgot they were there. He’s in the movie too, but everyone knows he’s better suited for chaos: tabloid rumors, non-committal nights out– the kind of press you can’t plan for.

You? Tied to someone like that? No one would’ve bought it for a second.

He looks at Suguru first. Smiles like there’s history in it. Something private. Sharp-edged.

Then he turns to you.

And suddenly, the room feels too small. Too loud. You’re hyper-aware of everything– how your body holds itself, how Suguru’s hand rests on your waist, how close you are, how visible it all is.

Like just standing there, being touched by someone else, is enough to offend Gojo. Like your posture alone is a challenge he’s already accepted.

But you don’t realize what’s shifting– not yet.

Not until he starts walking your way. Not until he says your name like it tastes good. Not until the weight of his gaze makes you feel like the scene has already started– and you missed your cue.

thank you for reading! <3 ily

comment to be added to the taglist: @twilightsumu

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weaselandfriends · 3 months ago

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Kill la Kill (anime)

So, twelve years on, did Trigger save anime?

Existing in the present will invariably inundate one with lifeless, disposable, trend-chasing pop media, no matter the medium. Not only do moneymen like to imitate whatever made money before, but artists like to imitate the art they enjoy. The current moment will always seem bloated by dreck, while the past, filtered via the sieve of time, will always seem to contain only gleamingly original works of greatness. Were the 1980s not a golden age of blockbuster cinema, with Aliens and Indiana Jones and Ghostbusters? Please ignore the 1,000 shoddy E.T. knockoffs, thank you, or the million formulaic action hero flicks aping the Schwarzenegger formula.

Anime in 2013, when Kill la Kill began airing, was no different. The past two years had seen Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Hunter x Hunter, Fate/Zero, Stein's;Gate, Kuroko no Basket, Nichijou, Nisemonogatari, Psycho-Pass, and Attack on Titan, all popular and well-regarded shows both when they released and today. So the memetic idea in the anime community that Trigger was "saving anime" with Kill la Kill is patently ridiculous. (If you don't believe how widespread this idea was, two of the three top reviews for the show on MyAnimeList, written the same day the show finished airing, allude to it.)

It's easy to see how the idea became so popular, though. Trigger was a brand new studio formed primarily by staff from debt-stricken Gainax, the legendary studio that in 1995 revolutionized anime with Neon Genesis Evangelion. Eva's main creative figure, auteur director Hideaki Anno, wasn't with Trigger, but many of the people behind Gainax's other popular shows like Gurren Lagann and Panty & Stocking were, so the studio had a new-look fresh-start feel while drawing on a proven lineage of success.

At the same time, Kill la Kill itself promotes its revolutionary nature. Its plot revolves around a lone rulebreaking badass taking on an entrenched system defined explicitly by its aesthetic uniformity. It's not a difficult leap to read this storyline metaphorically, Trigger battling the waves of copy-paste seasonal anime.

However, what is most striking, most obviously eye-catching and unique about Kill la Kill, what hits the viewer with the immediate sense that this show is something different, something new, something like nothing you have seen before, is that it looks like nothing you have seen before. Kill la Kill is brimming with unique and memorable images, from the gigantic red block text used to introduce every new character and concept, to the bizarre ship-like architecture of Honnouji Academy, to the blend of fluid sakuga with choppy PowerPoint animation for comedic effect, to smaller iconic moments like Satsuki clicking her heel. It's always in-your-face about it, too. The opening scene sets the tone when a dry history lecture gets interrupted by Gamagoori squeezing through a door like a behemoth, utterly ignoring any rules regarding on-model consistency.

It's this devotion to the unique image that sets Kill la Kill apart from most of the other 2011-2013 shows I listed previously, shows that, while they might have a consistent aesthetic sensibility (such as Stein's;Gate's washed-outness or Fate/Zero's glimmering post-processing effects), are often conforming at their core to ideas of what anime "should" look like in terms of character design, setting, and animation. (The two Shaft shows I listed are an exception, but by this point Shaft's Akiyuki Shinbo had been doing his idiosyncratic visual style for over a decade, and wasn't exactly a fresh face.) Trigger's staff previously created Panty & Stocking, a show imitating the look and feel of western cartoons; Kill la Kill advances that idea into a wholly unique fusion of western and Japanese animation traditions, allowing it to break free of the insular anime landscape and its expected visual signifiers.

Obviously the counterpoint lurking beneath this preamble is that, under the unique visuals and tone, Kill la Kill isn't all that innovative at all, even painfully standard at times. Battles are decided by the power of friendship or the power of staying true to oneself (Don't Lose Your Way!), the hero is mind controlled and her friends call out to her until she breaks free, the one-dimensionally evil villain has a big end-the-world plot that everyone teams up to defeat. Even within the parameters the story establishes for itself, Ryuko proceeds linearly, starting out by fighting small fry club captains, then the Elite Four student council, then Satsuki the student council president, and finally Satsuki's mother who owns the school, with only a few speed bumps along the way.

But Kill la Kill makes the argument that aesthetics are too intimately interwoven with content to be disentangled that way. It's the crux of the conceit of the show, which is founded on a series of puns. "Fascism" sounds like "fashion," so in the world of Kill la Kill those concepts are now entwined. "School uniform" ("seifuku") and "conquest" ("seifuku") are homophones, so uniforms are the method by which Satsuki exerts her intra-Japanese imperialism. (Early on, Satsuki delivers a monologue in which she remarks on how Japanese school uniforms are aesthetically modeled on military uniforms, making it natural for her to militarize her school.) The title is itself a tripartite pun, combining words for "kill," "cut," and "wear." (Notably, this is a pun that blends the English and Japanese languages, much like the blended animation style.) Despite the visual, slapstick nature of Kill la Kill's humor, puns abound throughout. Some are obvious even in translation, such as the "Naturals Election" used to choose the new student council, while others can be difficult to catch. Nui, for instance, apes Dio Brando's catchphrase of "muda, muda, muda" (useless, useless, useless); later, when her arms are cut off, she screams "ude, ude, ude" (arms, arms, arms).

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The core idea of most of these puns is that superficial similarity indicates similarity of content. Sometimes, this is an insightful observation, such as with the pun between fashion and fascism. Fascism is notoriously difficult to define rigidly in relation to other forms of dictatorship, but what is easy to define about it is its aesthetics, to the point that films like Star Wars are able to use aesthetic signifiers of fascism to define the politics of its villains even when withholding any actual explanation of those politics. Star Wars never has to show what the day-to-day rule of the Empire is like, because its army looks like the Nazis, so the audience gets the idea. Fascism as a political ideology and fascism as an aesthetic are, effectively, the same thing.

And if aesthetics are equivalent to meaning, then doesn't that mean that Kill la Kill looking new in fact makes it new? That its plot, generic in dry summary, is elevated by the distinctive way it's depicted? One pun, delivered upon the revelation that parasitic alien clothes have influenced humanity's evolution for the purpose of harvesting them for food (a story beat itself derivative of Puella Magi Madoka Magica), is that "the clothes make the mankind." The common refrain of Satsuki and Ragyo that people are "pigs in human clothing" hammers the point home: Aesthetics are everything. There is no meaning without aesthetics, just as people without clothes are unevolved animals.

Ultimately, though, Kill la Kill rejects this statement. Clothes are the enemy, literally, and the heroic organization fighting against them is Nudist Beach, whose members fight naked. At the end of the show, all clothes are destroyed, and the final image before the credits is of the entire cast in a giant, naked, triumphant huddle, an assertion of the inherent value of humanity even without aesthetic adornment. Isn't that the point behind all those power-of-friendship, power-of-believing-in-yourself speeches that Ryuko, Mako, and Senketsu use to turn the tables and win the battle? An appeal to a hidden inner nature that one must remain true to (Don't Lose Your Way!!!), that can overpower superficial displays of strength? Ryuko's mind control arc depicts this idea most overtly. She is controlled by having clothes sewn to her skin -- having an aesthetic forced onto her -- but Mako manages to dive into Ryuko's inner world to bring her back to her "true self."

This kind of undermines Kill la Kill as a work, though. What does a "nudist" Kill la Kill look like, stripped of its unique visual language? Certainly not something that would stand out from the waves of high school battle shounen that have been a fixture in the anime landscape since time immemorial. Kill la Kill's thesis might assert that there's a reason these power-of-friendship cliches endure (a sort of, if you'll allow me to become a parody of myself for a moment, post-postmodern reclamation of a narrative mode tarnished by irony and cynicism), but it contradicts the unique visual style that Kill la Kill developed to convey that idea.

In some ways, Kill la Kill does strip down to a nude, or at least semi-nude, state by the end. Many of its earlier concepts, including the connection between fashion and fascism, vanish as the story progresses. Satsuki and her fascist system are revealed to have been a deception while she secretly worked to betray her mother (playing on Ragyo's mistaken belief that aesthetics mean everything by Satsuki looking compliant while not actually being so), and once the twist occurs, the entire fascism plotline goes out the window. It's never really mentioned again; even when Ryuko gets on Satsuki's case for her past misdeeds, she only calls her out for "Looking down on people from on high," a general and ideologically-agnostic call against elitism. The 1-episode OVA set after the series briefly touches on the fascist system Satsuki enforced, with the episode's villain accusing Satsuki and the Elite Four of generating real, actual terror and abuse despite their ultimately pure motives (an assertion, once more, that aesthetics mean everything, that looking fascist makes you fascist no matter your true beliefs), but Mako quickly dismisses the claim with another power-of-friendship speech. Satsuki and the Elite Four have grown as people, she says. They're no longer bad like they used to be!

Kill la Kill also gets stripped down tonally by its end. The show's opening scene depicts a disobedient student being whipped, seemingly to death; later, his nude corpse(?) is displayed over the school gates. Combined with the title "Kill la Kill," it sets a dark, violent tone that lends weight to the otherwise cartoonish animation style. By the end, though, this dark tone is revealed as a false aesthetic; there is remarkably little killing in Kill la Kill. Stripped of real narrative stakes, the climactic battles diminish to flashy lightshows, action figures bouncing against each other. Worst of all, the blend of "fluid sakuga with choppy PowerPoint animation" I mentioned earlier increasingly tilts toward the latter. This is largely due to the prominence of Nui as an antagonist, since her cartoonishness is part of her character, but given Gainax's track record of running out of money and/or time by the end of its shows and phoning in parts of them, I wonder whether the habit transferred over to Trigger.

In short, as Kill la Kill strips down, it becomes a weaker show. In doing so, it not only undermines its own theme, but undermines itself as a truly new and innovative work, exposing its reliance on superficial aesthetic. The notion that Trigger "saved anime" would depend not only on Kill la Kill's individual success, but on its influence; twelve years out, and the only other notable shows like Kill la Kill were also made by Trigger. Perhaps you can see some influence on Masaaki Yuasa, who also blends high-quality sakuga with deliberately cheaper animation for comedic or stylistic effect, but he had already established himself in 2010 with Tatami Galaxy. Another show with a distinctive "Trigger" feel, Flip Flappers, was a flop flopper that caused its studio to immediately pivot to generic seasonal stuff.

My friend Lurina, when I asked her whether Trigger really had any influence over the larger anime landscape, suggested that Trigger sparked a general desire for more high-quality animation, which can be seen today in shows like Chainsaw Man or Dandandan. I would counter that those shows, while well-made, lack the distinctive blend of high and low, east and west that defines Trigger; if anything, the notion of the high-quality seasonal shounen adaptation comes from My Hero Academia, where Bones eschewed the traditional 500-episode weekly low-effort adaptation style of Naruto, Bleach, and One Piece and set the blueprint for shows like Demon Slayer, Jujutsu Kaisen, and so on, which adapt their source material in 12-episode chunks with lavish production values.

At the same time, I question whether Trigger even saved itself. Kill la Kill would be the studio's peak, and much of its subsequent output is a pale shadow of the show. (Its only other megahit, Darling in the Franxx, had an even more disastrous ending.) This culminated in BNA, a show that takes Kill la Kill's themes and iconography but does them cheaply and lazily. Since then, Trigger has rebounded -- but not by being "Trigger." Cyberpunk Edgerunners and Dungeon Meshi were both popular and well-regarded shows, but they were adaptations where Trigger had minimal control over the storytelling or aesthetic; Dungeon Meshi, other than a few sparse sakuga moments, doesn't even look distinctively like a Trigger show. It feels like any competent studio could have turned Dungeon Meshi into a hit. Trigger still exists, and in its partnership with Netflix is possibly stronger than ever, but it is losing its unique identity, becoming more standard, more similar to the crowd. Another conformer. Maybe the upcoming Panty & Stocking sequel can turn it around, but who can say.

Either way, Kill la Kill's moment has passed, without the cataclysmic ripple on the anime industry fans at the time expected or craved. Honestly, though, despite how I opened this essay, I can't blame them for their desire to see anime "saved." After all, the biggest anime of 2012, the year before Kill la Kill aired, did cause a cataclysmic ripple, one undoubtedly felt to this day. Unlike Kill la Kill, the biggest anime of 2012 spawned countless imitators, an endless flood of imitators, imitators that have themselves spawned imitators and imitators of imitators. That anime of 2012 has even extended its reach past anime, coating the current webfic scene; one could say that the site RoyalRoad would not exist if not for it. In face of such an oppressive, daunting influence, perhaps those fans of 2013 were right to clamor for something, anything, that would reveal a new direction, a way out. In such a context, one might even see it as tragic that Kill la Kill failed to deliver, that at the last moment it came up short. If Kill la Kill was the fork in the road leading to sunnier pastures, this anime led the industry into a deep, dark forest.

The name of that anime?

Sword Art Online.

#kill la kill #anime #review

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amuyyi · 11 months ago

Text

unfiltered y/n .

synopsis; two drabbles of y/n being the oldest of newjeans, yet arguably the most chaotic and childish. 21 year old y/n who's very gen z coded and borderline chronically online from a young age.

trope; platonic! newjeans x f!reader, just danielle + hyein bc im lazy

wc; 1.9k

cw; n/a

a/n; guys i think i fr forgot how to write erm so sorry this is dookie but i needed to write something lighthearted to keep my sanity even tho writers block is real rn thumbs up emoji ... also y/n is just me again LMFAO

Humming, your eyes glaze over the Phoning chat. You and Danielle sat comfortably within your practice room, the younger girl joining shortly after seeing you had started a livestream. There was no particular reason for this stream, you simply felt like entertaining your fans for the day. Throughout the livestream, you and Danielle simply talked, being some of the most social and extroverted members of Newjeans, it wasn’t hard for you two to popcorn different topics from one another.

“Did you ever read Warriors?”

“What, that book series about the emo cats?”

“They’re not emo– well…. Actually…”

Both you and Danielle burst into a fit of giggles as you tried to explain the lore of the Warrior Cats series, which then went into you making a powerpoint on why your company should allow you to have a cat in the dorms, which then went into a conversation about how you guys wanted to decorate your ideal home…

When you and Danielle were put into a room together, it almost seemed like you two fueled each other's energy in a never ending cycle. Still, as your laughter dies down, the pair of you decide to just chill, even for a moment. Your attention gets drawn back to the comments whilst Danielle aimlessly scrolled on her phone for a bit.

“y/n, who are your favorite kpop artists??” You read out loud.

Your eyes light up at this question. Before becoming a trainee, you were a die hard fan of many groups back when you were younger. Honestly.. You were a bit of a chronically online kid, despite your social tendencies. Back in the day, you ran a kpop stan twitter, and are well versed in the new vocabulary of online meme culture… as embarrassing as it was to admit the more you thought about it.

After reading the comment, the mischievous and playful glint in your eye was impossible to ignore, and Dani seemed to pick up on the shift in energy. Shooting you a suspicious glance, you decide to speak up.

“Ah there are so many groups I love… But.. I’d have to say Red Velvet and LOONA...!”

It was an innocent enough answer at a glance, but to some, the underlying message behind it was glaringly obvious.

Almost immediately after speaking, in the most obvious and not discreet fashion, you freeze, arching a brow making a curious looking expression at the camera as you pucker your lips. It was undeniable that you were referencing an all too familiar meme within the LGBTQ community.

Honestly, you were never one to shy away from your sexuality. You were lucky enough to know who you were from a young age. (All of your odd childhood crushes practically spoke for themselves. Rain from the movie Spirit, for example. The horse.)

It wasn’t long before the girls caught onto you, and they have been nothing but supportive since. Oftentimes they would tease you over your clinginess with your other members, or how you’d very publicly fawn over other female idols, while nearly all of the light drained from your eyes when approached by a man.

In hindsight, it was a surprise that they didn’t catch on sooner. The way you acted so stiff around male idols when forced to do Tiktoks with them, or how you never entertained their advances. However, it seemed like Some fans did seem to notice faster than your own members, and deemed you “Irene's daughter” as a result— a title in which you wear with pride, might you add!

That wasn't to say you didn't have your own hardships and struggles with your sexuality at the same time, though. Of course, being a part of one of the biggest kpop groups of your generation, you couldn’t express your sexuality publically. Not yet. It was too risky. A large chunk of your fan base consisted of straight men anyways… Potential backlash would be detrimental. You didn’t want to drag the others down with you. Not when you guys have so much ahead together.

So you keep your head low, put on your best smile, and focus on your members.

….Until moments like these, of course.

Eyes practically boggling out of her head, Danielle bursts into laughter, shoving your shoulder with one hand while she covers her face with her sweater sleeve.

“Unnie…!” she scream-whispers, baffled by your words. Of course she knew what you were hinting at, she didn’t live under a rock her whole life.

Seeing Danielles reaction only seems to egg you on though. What? You weren’t saying anything explicitly queer. Only the people that mattered would know. Worst case scenario, you’d be in some odd rumor or speculation that had no real evidence to back you up. Maybe you’d be seen as an ally. Humming once again, you pretend to think.

“Though if you want to know about male artists….” You take a significantly longer time to answer this as Danielle is left a giggling mess next to you. She seemed almost a little distressed through the laughter, but she trusted you.

“I would probably say I like EXO and Shinee the most.”

Once again, you make that damn face, and Danielle throws her head back in hysterical laughter. She grabs your shoulder and shakes you around, whispering quiet scoldings into your ear as you snicker, feigning an innocent look as the chat practically blows up.

[cha3wonz] – HELLO???? [kaheii] – y/n blow a kiss if u like women [luv__newjeans] – okay ally

Unsurprisingly, clips of your shared live with Danielle went viral. Many stan accounts on twitter began to speculate that you were queer, whilst others fully embraced it. Your favorite posts were the edits of you with the rainbow flag followed up by a question mark. It was all too good.

Honestly, you didn’t even think it was a big deal. You didn’t pay much attention to other male groups– you never did, really, but when you looked at the new incoming generation of boy group members… They practically had the whole pride parade following them.

There were a few minor articles about you here and there, but you were mostly off the hook.

Danielle lay sprawled across your back whilst you lay on her bed, scrolling through Twitter aimlessly as she laughs at the comments on your recent instagram post.

“It seems that your fangirls can't get enough of you, lovergirl,” she teases lightheartedly as you wiggle beneath her weight, giggling.

Maybe one day you’ll share the news to your fans, and maybe one day they won’t even be surprised. But you’re glad to have what you have now. Just you, your girls, and your ever growing folder of queer y/n memes off of Twitter.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Hyein was in the middle of a solo livestream within her bedroom, lying comfortably in her bed as she showcased various articles of clothing she had bought with Hanni the day prior.

The livestream was going well, peaceful as Hyein makes her way through several t shirts, sweaters, pants, and skirts of all colors and styles.

Right when Hyein was about to reveal her favorite article of clothing from the haul, loud, almost desperate banging rings throughout the room. An almost pathetic sounding yelp of surprise erupts from the girl before she curiously glances at the livestream.

Leaning forward, she whispers to the camera, “I think… I think there's a creep trying to break in…”

Suddenly, the door bursts open, with a very flustered and irritated y/n tumbling in shortly after. iPad in hand, you collapse into the bed next to Hyein

“Guys, guy, GUYS. The theme was scene!!! What the hell is this?! Look at THIS versus MY outfit!” You exclaim almost a little too loudly as you shove the ipad in front of the camera. Failing to focus on your screen properly, the viewers simply saw a bright white square as you groaned.

Baffled and still a bit in shock, Hyein speaks up, “Unnie, it's really not that serio–”

“This is bullsh–” You cut yourself off as Hyein snorts loudly at your near slip up. Clearing your throat, you grip your ipad a little tighter than needed, trying to calm down.

“This is unfair. And you know what's worse? Its probably some nine year old with their friends voting for them behind the screen!” You whine out dramatically. With how upset you were getting, it wouldn't be surprising if this genuinely was the one determining factor that would either make or break your night.

Hyein couldn't bite back the amused laugh at your seriousness.

You took your games pretty seriously. Even if it was roblox. There was something familiar and comforting about it all, really. Lighthearted games like this played a major part in your childhood— which was, of course, abruptly cut short once you became a trainee at age 14. Now that you were an adult with a job as an idol, you could buy your own robux, buy your own gamepasses and items… and most importantly, stomp on little kids in-game. You were here first, after all.

“Unnie, aren't you like, 21 years old? Don't you think you’re a little too old to—“

“And aren't you like— what, 12?!” You shoot back without even missing a beat.

A brief, yet suffocating silence passes as the both of you stare at each other, wide eyed. Never in your years of knowing the younger girl have you ever been so.. sassy to her. You were the oldest, after all. It was your job to take care of her.

Almost instantly, you drop your ipad and tackle the younger girl in a hug, crying out, “BABY HYEIN!!! IM SORRY…!!!”

Hyein on the other hand, was not as reciprocal to your attempts at apologizing. Upon being tackled, half of the air in her lungs practically got knocked out of her, and she finds herself tumbling backwards into the blankets below. Instead of accepting your obviously very real and very distressed apology, she began struggling to wriggle out of your grasp as she yelled out, “NO! LET ME GO UNNIE!! LET ME GOOO!!!”

Though the youngest towered over you by over half a foot, your grip on her was borderline deadly. Squeezing your arms tightly around her neck in an attempt at being soothing and sweet (you werent) you scream at yourself, rocking her back and forth.

“I'm so STUPID im SORRY IM SORRY IM SORRY I JUST WANTED YOU TO PLAY WITH ME.”

Incoherent screams and movement was seen from the livestream for about 5 minutes before Hyein tapped your arm, giving in.

“Fine, fine..! I forgive you unnie, just let me go…!”

The moments following Hyein’s acceptance of her fate seemed to actually go by pretty smoothly compared to the chaos that had just ensued a few minutes prior.

Laying in bed together, the two of you played dress to impress while on the live, occasionally interacting with the viewers, but mostly focusing on winning the game. A comfortable silence passes, the only sound being nails against iPad screens.

The pair of you would proudly showcase your creations to the camera, and shared mutual frustration when neither of you would even place despite the immense efforts you put into your outfits.

“I swear to god Hyein, I’m gonna buy both of us VIP and we’re gonna leave these girls in the dust…”

As you prepare to go up for your final round of the night, Hyein suddenly perks up.

“Oh look, unnie! This outfit is actually pretty good…”

“Huh? Oh!! You're right! This is super pretty…”

“…”

“Two stars?”

“Two stars.”

#kpop x female reader #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop x fem reader #gxg #gg fanfic #kpop gg x reader #kpop gg #newjeans x reader #danielle x reader #hyein x reader #danielle marsh x reader

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cottonlemonade · 3 months ago

Text

Marriage Of Convenience [Part 4]

word count: 1569 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That's why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

He knew it was only a matter of time until his wedded bliss would encounter its first stumbling block. And it would only take two months for it to return from a business trip.

“Did you put sprinkles in your granola?”

“I’m an adult with free will, what are you gonna do about it?” “You know what, you’re so right. Can I have some?”

Tetsuro pushed his bowl closer to you so that you could, with a superior smile, add some of your advanced granola to the rest of his plain yogurt.

Asana watched it all unfold, a knowing squint darting between the two of you over lunch at the office cafeteria, “You guys are cute together.”

You looked offended, but Tetsuro noted, “Honestly, I agree. We’re so good at marriage. I don’t understand why not more people do it.”

“Lack of convincing PowerPoint presentations, probably.”, you said wisely, and Tetsuro shrugged in agreement, then finished his bowl and got up, “I gotta run. Meeting with Maeda.”

“Enjoy.”, you said unenthusiastically and Asana waved.

“We should go by that Italian place tonight on the way home.”

“If you manage to get out of that meeting without another double date invite, I’ll even pay.”

“You’re on.”

As he walked away with his tray, he halted for a moment to talk to someone, greeting him happily, and then that someone came to your table.

“Hey, long time no see.”, the newcomer said, brightly.

“Oh! Welcome back!”

The young man took Tetsuro’s empty seat next to you and as he dug into his rice bowl, he asked, “Anything happen while I was gone?”

Asana exchanged a meaningful look with you that silently pleaded if she could be the one to tell him. You smiled and nodded, and your friend leaned casually back in her chair and announced, “Nothing much, just a whole wedding.”

“A wedding?”, the man asked, surprised, “Who?”

“Kuroo.”

“Kuroo? Wow, I didn’t even know he was seeing anyone.”

“And y/n.”, Asana added as if in afterthought.

The man turned to you in disbelief.

“You got married, too?”

With leisurely grace, Asana sat back up, elbows propped on the table and her chin resting on the back of her now entwined fingers, savoring the moment when she said, “To each other.”

You still chuckled to yourself at Hayato’s reaction. The shock and stuttering congratulations the news were usually met with, hadn’t gotten old so far. You were standing in the break room later that day, tapping around on the coffee machine for your afternoon special - hot chocolate with an espresso shot.

“Hi again.”, Hayato said and joined you, grabbing an empty cup from the overhead cabinet, waiting for the machine to finish your drink.

“Hi. I’m so glad you’re back, actually. I have a proposal I could use a second pair of eyes on, please?”

“Sure thing.”, he replied.

“Thanks! I’ll wait at my desk.”

“Y/n.”

“Hm?”

You turned back around. The earthy smell of his freshly brewed coffee slowly streaming into his mug and the low hum of the machine filled the space between you.

“You’re really married?”

Tilting your head a bit in surprise at the question, you confirmed.

“You’re not wearing a ring. And I never knew you guys were… you always said you were just friends.” He didn’t sound accusatory, just confused, and you didn’t understand why until he said, “Guess I missed my chance with you, huh?”

“What?”

He took his full cup from the machine.

“I even brought you something back from Italy. But with your husband… I don’t know now if it’s appropriate to give a gift to a married woman.”

He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand while you were too stunned to speak.

“Of course you can, I don’t mind. That’s super thoughtful of you, thanks, man.”

Tetsuro came up behind him and patted him on the shoulder. The impact or possibly the embarrassment of being overheard made Hayato startle.

“Ain’t that nice, darling?”

Tetsuro looked from Hayato to you. He seemed and sounded relaxed so once you’ve gathered your thoughts into a neat little stack after it was pushed over like a wonky Jenga tower, you nodded and said, “Very nice. Thank you, Hayato.”

Tetsuro followed the two of you back to your desk where he busied himself with Asana, most likely pretending he was working, because Asana was clearly not paying attention to what he was saying, opting to eavesdrop instead on the conversation that now turned to the aforementioned gift.

Hayato reached into his pocket and held out his closed fist to you. When he opened it, you noticed Tetsuro and Asana behind him craning their necks to see.

It was a keychain. You figured it was supposed to be cute. It was a pink, round little piggy with rosy cheeks and a wide smile.

“I saw it, and it reminded me of you.”, Hayato said, trying his hardest not to sound flirtatious - not that he needed to worry. You couldn’t suppress your frown completely and asked, only half jokingly, “I remind you of a pig?”

“No!”, he called out immediately, “That’s - I mean. No. I just… it looks so cute and happy and -“

Kuroo and Asana watched him fumble from one desk over, clearly giddy with barely contained laughter.

“Hey, we have to go this way to the restaurant.”, you said, catching the strap of Tetsuro’s bag to halt him in his long steps.

“I don’t really feel like Italian anymore.”

“Alright.”, you said slowly, letting go again, “What else are you in the mood for?”

“How about some nice seared pork, hm?” With that he led you determinedly down a side street crammed with different BBQ places, walking straight into the next best one advertising pork, leaving you to follow with a shaking head.

He didn’t say anything about the incident until the dessert came. You were just admiring the beautifully plated mochi and berries, when he muttered, “It’s odd, right?”

“What is?”

“He clearly knew you were married, and yet he still confessed to you. What’s that about?”

“I didn’t see it so much as a confession as more …”, you paused, looking for the right word.

“A sneaky seduction attempt.”

You snorted, “No. I think he was just trying to be nice while also sort of… clearing his conscience, I guess? Plus, what does it matter anyway? Before we got married, we agreed that if one of us finds the one, we’d just get divorced again, no hard feelings.”

“He is the one now, is he?”

“No, you know what I mean. I’m saying that we specifically agreed that dating isn’t prohibited.”

“You wanna date him? Pig guy?”

“Tetsuro.”

“Y/n.”

“It was just… nice to be wanted, that's all. It was nice to know someone liked me.”

“I like you.”

“You know that’s not the same.”

He sighed. “I just think it’s sleazy to hit on someone married.”

“And with that, you’d be very correct.”, you raised your glass to toast him, “Come on, Tetsu, let’s not fight. Please?”

“Fine.”, he clinked his sake to yours.

“One more thing.”, Tetsuro came to lean in the open bathroom door while you brushed your teeth. You had made it all the way home, watched some TV for a while, then each of you took a shower, all the while being almost back to normal. You should have known it wasn’t over yet. Not stopping your brushing, you turned to him, arms crossed as much as possible, ready to spit your toothpaste at him if he was being an idiot again.

“I don’t think you should date him. Think about it. At the office, we’re very clearly and indisputably married. It would look weird if either of us”, he made sure to highlight that part, “would date around within the company.”

He had a point, annoyingly, so you nodded.

“Okay.”, you mumbled through a mouthful of foam.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Alright then. Sorry about earlier. About my…”

“Temper tantrum?”

“Misplaced reaction.”, he preferred.

“Uh-huh.”

“You know I just wanna look out for you, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good. Hug?” He opened his arms questioningly, and you took your sweet time to rinse your mouth and toothbrush, putting it neatly into your cup and drying your face before you accepted.

“Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”, he said, and gently wrangled you a few steps down the hall before you managed to escape his bear hug.

“Night.”

“Sleep tight.”

Tetsuro made to leave to go to his room, and his eyes fell on the key hooks by the door across from your room.

“You should put the pig on your keys.”

“Nah.”

He turned around to look at you. You casually hung at the door, swinging it a little from side to side, not meeting his eyes but staring at the hooks instead.

“I got my keys sorted just right, and I don’t want it too cluttered. And it’s such a pain to attach things to a key ring, you know. Just got my nails done and everything. Wouldn’t make sense.”

“Of course.”, he grinned, “By the way, be ready tomorrow at 9 am sharp. We have to go somewhere.”

And he walked off.

“Go where?”, you asked, leaning out of your room to watch him.

“Ring shopping!”, he announced before closing the door to his bedroom behind him.

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

taglist: @etsuniiru @nocaffeineallowedtome @princessshart @aldebrana @grassbutneo @melimelisworld @yatoatyourservice @ranscutedoll @remiratboi @armeenix

[part 5]

#kuroo x chubby reader #husband kuroo #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro haikyuu #kuroo x reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #chubby reader #haikyuu x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x curvy reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo testuro #haikyuu kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x you #kuroo tetsuro x you #kuroo tetsuro fluff

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angelicgirlmj · 6 months ago

Text

an angels guide to: holiday dinner parties ˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

if there’s one thing i love it’s hosting! especially dinner parties with a theme meaning holiday dinner parties are my fave. this year ive already scheduled one christmas dinner party and am hoping to plan another. here are some tips focused on hosting advice, food and dr

ink, entertainment and outfits! enjoy angels and happy holidays!!

hosting advice `` ~ ୨୧ ♡ ·

organise early. there’s nothing worse than wanting to host but leaving it last minute so people can't come. plan your guest list and see what dates would work best for people!

think carefully about your guest list. it’s always a good idea to either invite people who all know each other or a mix of people some who know each other and some who don’t - the last thing you want is two or three guests sitting alone!

invite for the vibe you want. the dinner im hosting is small and intimate, i don’t want it to feel frantic or overly busy so ive kept my guest list reflecting that!

make a pinterest board.

find cute diys to make. things like table decorations, guests charts etc!

set the mood! light some candles, put on some music and make sure the space is clean and organised.

create a playlist - specially for the event!

make invites to send out. this is so cute and fun! digital invites are so easy to do and so adorable as are physical ones.

plan a time you want guests to arrive by at the earliest and at the latest. e.g earliest is six so latest is seven! that way you know when would be good to serve food or start activities.

food and drink `` ~ ୨୧ ♡ ·

plan your menu in advance - make sure you know all your guests dietary requirements!

keep it simple with snacks. shop brought cheeses, crackers, spreads and any other kinds of elegant snacks are always delicious and so easy to make look cute on a platter. plus they save you time!

create a cocktail or mocktail for the evening!

make your dessert ahead when possible. mousses, tiramisu, cakes and anything like that are always so perfect and crowd pleasers and can be easily made ahead.

make cute menu sheets. these are so fun and pretty to look at!!

it’s better to keep your menu simple and delicious than overly complex and risk messing it up.

plan your food around a theme! for example all japanese cuisine or love themed food for valentines day.

entertainment `` ~ ୨୧ ♡ ·

pick some board/card games to play all together.

plan activities based around the weather. if its really cold or rainy a cute movie night might be better! whereas if its warm or sunny an outdoor dance space or sports game may be more enjoyable.

plan for a range of activities - people arent always going to be up for everything!

suggest guests bring activities. people love feeling involved and this way you can ensure an activity will be popular and fun for everyone.

look on pinterest/tiktok/instagram for suggestions. for example, hosting a powerpoint night is so so enjoyable and funny.

set the night around a themed activity - such as a murder mystery dinner party or a costume dinner party!

bring a digital camera - such a cute way of capturing the night and you can make a scrapbook or photobook afterwards.

find a craft! at the dinner party im hosting around christmas we will be decorating gingerbread houses but there are so many other ideas such as painting, candle making, journaling or decorating items.

outfits/styling tips `` ~ ୨୧ ♡ ·

find a cute makeup look on pinterest to fit your theme! i love a glittery fairy inspired look for christmas parties.

make sure you have an apron or that your outfit wont show any potential mess - remember you may be in and out of the kitchen!

wear something that makes you feel pretty and confident.

find an elegant way of styling your hair - a simple updo or pretty braid can make you look ready for a more dressy occasion.

commit fully to your theme/evening vibes. as the host its so important to make sure all of your guests feel like they can dress up or try something different and feel comfortable!

accessories like bows, hairclips, rings, bracelets, necklaces, hair scarfs or pretty hairties and cute shoes can really make an outfit stand out.

either have a layer on you or a layer you can easily take on and off in case the temperature changes.

make sure you plan time for a shower or bath and are able to do your fully selfcare routine! it will help you feel at peace and less stressed for the dinner ahead.

thank you for reading angels - let me know if any of you are hosting a dinner party or any tips you have!! i love this time of year and its such a great opportunity to see friends and families. remember a dinner party can be as big or small as you like, in fact you could have a dinner party just for yourself in order to treat you! whatever you get up to im sure youll be the most wonderful of hosts.

love, m.

#girlblogging #girlhood #just girly things #it girl #becoming that girl #glow up #it girl energy #clean girl #that girl #dinner party #party #holiday season #festive #winter girl #tumblr girls #this is a girlblog

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