#does this count as a liminal space photo?

[belladrawsstuff]

[papermatisse]

Don't Look Back || K.JM

† genre: horror

† word count: 2.7k

† warnings: automatonophobia, liminal spaces/warped reality, explicit death scene

† synopsis: one of these mannequins is out of place...

† (a/n): third installment of my spooktober anthology event, but ironically the first story I actually finished! this one is based on this mannequin game I played once where you were being chased by mannequins. at first it was creepy, but as it dragged on, it got kinda funny lol. this one does not get funny ☺️

† taglist: @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @hydroyaksha

anthology | main masterlist

Working in retail is hell on earth, but it's not so bad when you have your best friend to suffer alongside you. Shenanigans between tasks, shared breaks for lunch dates at the food court, inside jokes to keep you going through the shift. One inside joke in particular was in regards to a certain mannequin in the men's section.

"Why is he… hot?" Jennifer asked as the two folded clothes on a shelf situated before said mannequin. (y/n) looked up at the mannequin towering over them, wearing the articles of clothing they were currently dealing with, prompting her to snort at the commentary.

"Only you would point out a mannequin's physical attributes."

"No, I'm serious!" Jennifer pushed in her defense, chuckles bubbling out by the end of her sentence. She raised a hand to the man as she began passionately explaining herself. "He has gentle eyes, and the classic Disney prince smolder! And his hair!"

"It's all painted on!" (y/n) couldn't stop laughing along with her friend, who only seemed to grow even more offended with the ongoing dismissal of her newfound beau.

"You're telling me you've never found a painting so beautiful that it keeps you awake all night thinking about it?" At this interjection, (y/n) grew quiet, knowing she's done exactly that and Jennifer knows that just as well as she does. Nevertheless, (y/n) continued her folding with a dismissive grumble, Jennifer giggling to herself as she did the same.

(y/n) spared a few glances to the mannequin, acknowledging the details Jennifer highlighted. The soft, faded brown of his round painted eyes, the chiseled molding of each of his strong features, the almost Adonis like creation of this seemingly out of place mannequin.

The store was older with a variety of mannequins. Blank ones of varying poses, delicate ones with makeup styles straight from certain decades, many of which were broken or dilapidated in a way. The mannequins on display were, of course, the most put together of the bunch, and this included the mannequin perched atop this men's shirt display.

Since that day, the two would continuously tease each other about him. Snapping photos of him as they pass by to send to the other, faux discussing a boy they met only to reveal it was the mannequin the entire time, or merely the subtle winks and glances that fully conveyed their jesting intentions.

Nevertheless, the mannequin, of which the girls had affectionately nicknamed Suho, remained a permanent fixture of the store, even during remodeling. Instead of tucked away at the back in the men's section, he now stood on a display only a mere few feet in front of the cash registers, facing out towards the customers. With his back facing them, it prompted a few more jokes out of Jennifer, easy bait that they both knew was practically handed to them on a silver platter, but still as funny as ever.

"Hey, are you okay manning the station on your own?" Jennifer asked, nervously glancing up from her phone.

"Of course. Why? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, my mom's car broke down on the highway." She sighed, shooting another text from her phone before looking back to (y/n).

"That's tough. Go ahead, I'll be okay."

"Thank you. I seriously owe you one!" With that, she ran off to the back of the store, leaving (y/n) on her own at the register.

She really did mean it when she said she'd be alright. With only about a half hour left until closing time, and with only a handful more customers remaining, it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

The air was stuffy and the fluorescent lights above were somewhat irritating. A monotonous pop song that has played about a hundred times today alone droned distantly from the speakers, and without her friend to drown it out, (y/n) was beginning to lose herself to the elements of the store.

Discreetly out of the corner of her eye, she could see an old woman, bundled up in a dense purple cardigan, carding through the rack of dresses. As far as (y/n) was aware, this was the last customer, and she highly doubted she'd be buying anything from that selection.

She drummed her fingers along the counter, eyes getting lost in its beige void, waiting for her day to end so she could leave this long and tedious shift. Beyond the grainy ambience of the playlist, she listened to the metallic screech of hanger against bar as the woman pushed aside each article of clothing.

Screech.

Screech.

Screech.

It was a cycle of monotony encircling (y/n), in which every element blended together in a jarring cacophony of noise. The woman with her hangers, the next pop song starting up, the low hum of the fluorescent lights above.

But between all of this, an element of surprise somehow managed to slip into the mix. A scrape which sounded so distinct, yet something (y/n) could not pinpoint. It grated upon her ears however, drawing a grimace out of her that had (y/n) immediately glancing up to survey the woman again.

Instead, what she was met with was Suho. More specifically, Suho now fully facing her.

She felt her stomach drop at the sight before her, her jaw falling in a silent gasp as he now faced the cash registers. The positioning of his limbs were all the same, that lifeless and distant stare still directed aimlessly forward.

He was just… turned around.

There was no one here. No one to have moved him at that very moment. The thought rattled her brain, hopelessly attempting to conjure some reason to the almost supernatural display before her, but nothing came to mind. No explanation as to how Suho could have moved.

"Excuse me," a voice startled (y/n) out of her stupor, redirecting her to the customer awaiting service. The old woman. She had chosen her dress.

(y/n) had quickly rung her up, bidding her a good night and thus being condemned once more to a bout of solitude. The fluorescent lights still pulsed above her, the next pop song now well into its playthrough, and Suho was still very much so facing her.

The moment her phone had indicated closing time, (y/n) all but rushed out of the cash register nook, not daring to look back at Suho. She had instead opted to retrieve her phone, quickly texting Jennifer the freaky encounter she'd just had. Though before she could make it very far, however, she patted her pockets, realizing her keys were not there.

In a brief moment of panic, she patted her other pocket, worry shooting through her as she was sure she just had them. That must mean they were dropped by the registers or something.

She sighed, turning around to retrace her steps, though stopping immediately as she stared down the walkway of the store.

In regards to the general layout of the store, carpeted sections of varying genres surrounded the reflective ceramic tiled pathways. Men's section, women's section, children's section. And among those sections were, of course, mannequins. So many mannequins. Mannequins which usually stared forward with a blank canvas of a face.

They do not usually crane their necks to stare at the exact spot you stand in—though that's the reality (y/n) met when she turned around.

Every mannequin in her general vicinity stared at her with those barren faces of theirs, heads all turned in her direction no matter where they stood. The sight had her entire body leap with fright, a brief yelp of shock expelling from her lips as she was greeted by such a sight.

(y/n) took a tentative step forward, eyes nervously bouncing from one figure to the next, monitoring for any movement of the sort, looking out for that telltale scrape of their porcelain-like joints shifting. Yet as she reached the end of the aisle, there was nothing of the sort. No change. They remained staring at the spot she once stood, and as she turned the corner to head back to the register, she felt silly for even toying with the idea of mannequins moving.

As she arrived to the registers, she began rummaging through the various hideaways she could find, coming up empty. The counters were spotless and the drawers contained their usual miscellaneous items tossed in over the years. She began considering other locations to check, and while she stood there in her own thoughts, her eyes naturally wandered up and ahead of her to where Suho usually stood.

Except now, there was no Suho.

(y/n) froze for the umpteenth time tonight, though only for a moment before she rushed over to the now barren spot. And where Suho once stood, there lay her keys, abandoned on his pedestal with no sign of the mannequin.

Without sparing another thought, (y/n) grabbed her keys and booked it for the backroom. Her feet slammed against the tiles beneath here, breath already heaving as she barreled down the long aisle of mannequins whom she ignored at all costs. She didn't care where they were looking. She didn't care if they were even still sitting there. All she knew was that she needed to get out of there as soon as humanly possible.

She yanked open the door to the backrooms. The walkways between the different storage areas and facilities of the store, and the only way to get to the back where she was parked. The fluorescent lighting here was more sparse than that of the store inside, bringing a repetitive pattern of lit spots alongside dimmed ones down the gray walled corridors which seemed to stretch as far as the eye can see.

Why was the corridor so long? Was it always this long?

Why was she out of breath? How long has she been running down this corridor?

She suddenly came tumbling to the floor, gasping as her body collapsed onto the concrete floors of the backrooms. She lay there for a moment in shock, gasping for air, wincing at the scrapes now lining her hands and forearms. A grimace slipped out of her as she pushed herself up, the sound of her weak voice reverberating off the endless labyrinth she had found herself in.

There was only the sound of her huffing and puffing as she attempted to regain herself. And then there was a sound of porcelain dragging against the floor.

With a gasp, (y/n) whirled around. He was a distance away, though still as clear as day. Standing beneath one of the fluorescent light fixtures from above.

Suho.

His expression was unchanged, as was his pose. He just… stood there. Staring at her. Yet even with his painted, stoic face, (y/n) could feel… contempt. Disdain. Like he meant her harm, and would do so at all costs.

She whimpered beneath his glower and quickly staggered to her feet, turning around to keep running down the corridor, though the moment she had stopped looking at him, the sound returned. And when she looked back at him, he was in the ray of darkness between the light he had just stood in and that of the next.

He was approaching her.

A sense of dread washed over her as the realization struck, and hot tears began pouring down her face in endless streams. With one last ditch effort, (y/n) turned and dashed down the corridor, arms swinging rapidly back and forth as her numb legs carried her as quickly as they could, purely fueled off the adrenaline which coursed through her feeble body. Blood pumped through her ears, and the sound of her pulse and her labored breathing masked whatever sounds may have transpired behind her.

She couldn't turn back. She knew turning back was certain death. And at this point, she realized that something was wrong with her surroundings. Something was wrong with the corridor. But there was no time to dwell. There was no time to rest. The moment she stopped running would be her final moment alive.

As if a miracle, the door to the outside finally came into her vision, right at the end of the corridor as it usually is. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips as she booked it for the exit, slamming her body into the dense slab of metal, though screaming in agony as she was met with resistance. She pushed again, pressing at the release, yet it didn't budge.

A screech tore at her throat, fear and rage broiling within her as she repeatedly slammed her fists at the door, begging for anyone to perhaps hear her desperation—her final moments. Yet as the sounds of her yells fizzled into that of sobs, she knew there was nothing more to be done.

In the suffocating silence of the dimly lit corridor, she found herself weakly sliding down the door, trembling breaths and quiet tears coming out shallow and broken. She had hit a deadend, and there was no way of escape. No hope left in her to even believe in any righteous intervention of the sort.

The scraping sound of porcelain drew nearer, and she finally looked up at what was coming for her.

He dragged himself forward, gliding across the cement in a smooth and unhindered manner. His lifeless eyes and unnerving smile continued to penetrate forward, straight ahead at the door, and somehow the lack of attention directly on her struck more terror into her. Inch by inch, he drew closer and closer, fading in and out of the beams of light until he had finally reached the patch of light directly before he'd be where she stood.

And then he stopped. He stood there. Unmoving.

(y/n) felt her hands scrambling for something, reaching out as far as she could from where she lay, hoping to find something she could as a weapon. Though she came up empty with only her set of keys trembling in her hands. She clutched them between her fingers, each key protruding forth like a set of claws, and she cradled her only defense to her chest, waiting for his next move.

It had grown deathly silent for moment, her breath hitched at her throat, and she quaked upon herself in whole body tremors.

Then his finger twitched. A sickening crack like breaking bones, yet he remained perfectly intact. Merely his finger was in a different position. And then his hand. And then his arm. Each followed by that resounding snap as he shifted in a broken and robotic manner. She watched with bated breath and trembling gasps as Suho began ambling forward once more in this terrifyingly decrepit manner, limbs contorting all while those cracks continued to resonate in the atmosphere surrounding her.

Her heart pounded hopelessly against her chest, utter fear squeezing at her throat with a vice like grip. There was no way of escaping. No way to evade the sinister presence creeping towards her with this impenetrable persistence.

As Suho drew nearer, this unsettling sensation washed over, as if the air around her had grown thick with pure malevolence all but emanating off him, suffocating her with endless dread and despair. She felt a presence unlike anything she'd felt before. Something more than just the lifeless form that stood before her.

Suho stood where her feet lay, limbs still jerking sporadically. And in the midst of these jolts, his head finally snapped down to where she lay, prompting her to press even further into the door. A loud and fearful gasp ripped out of (y/n) as Suho collapsed onto his knees, crawling up her body on all fours as she all but begged for mercy—desperate and incomprehensible mumbles while her trembling hands which gripped her keys fell limply to her side.

The cold, icy touch of his porcelain fingers grazed her hot skin, stretching along the planes of her neck, light as they encircled her throat before suddenly clenching with a furious might. Panic suddenly encompassed her as her airways became obstructed, her hands flailing up and grasping at his arms, nails scraping against him, though sliding off with no effect whatsoever. Meanwhile, his fingers constricted against her throat, their stone-like surface burrowing into her skin and drawing warm blood which trickled down her body as black spots began blurring her vision.

His force was unrelenting, all the while staring down at her with those soft brown painted eyes and that charming smiling, the last sight she saw before she finally faded away.

[teddibility]

backrooms ficlet ?? lmao

A/N: idea from a backrooms shitpost my friend sent to me --> link!

Well, you think, this is quite the place to die.

It’s difficult to stop those thoughts from circulating. Thoughts of death, particularly of starvation, as there was absolutely nothing here. You had been walking for what seemed like hours, possibly days, at least an afternoon - but who knew for sure? You were just so hungry and alone; how could one possibly think straight in a time like this? And of course there were no clocks, and all the walls looked the same pale shade of murky yellow, and all the carpet smelt the same musty odor, and every room tasted of the same mildew, weighing down the tongue with the same staunch dryness…

Maybe it would be thirst, actually. You would die of dehydration. 

Somewhere nearby you heard the wet schlip, schlip of a leak in the ceiling creating a dark stain in the rug. Absolutely dehydration, you were not drinking that. You’d rather shrivel up on the scratchy polyester carpet and die than risk that.

You sighed and caught a whiff of the room you were idling in. The sour stench clung to your nostrils and you shook your head as if to loosen it from your skin. It was no use of course, even if you were to stumble into an open meadow, you would still reek of it, you’re certain. With how long you’ve been here — wherever here is — this whole place has certainly rooted its mold spores somewhere under your skin, in the back of your throat, at the forefront of your mind.

It’s funny. Stumbling into an open anything seems impossible. The only places you’ve been stumbling into are more rooms with the same eerie pale lighting and crooked yellow wallpaper as the one you’re in now. A white baseboard trim that you’re sure has been there for decades — centuries? — loops each wall. Oddly darkened corners, or miniature alcoves the size of broom closets with no doors show up sporadically. There are no windows, no furniture. No matter the shape or scale of the room, no matter how wide or deep, with every step each one seems to press in on you as you traverse it, as if this cursed yellow labyrinth is swallowing you whole.

You should keep walking.

Your heart rattles in your chest as you turn another corner. You anticipate the arrival of something each time you do so. It’s a sheer terror that trills up your spine like a current — or maybe it’s a desperate hope that something good awaits you. At this point, your fatigue has made you so weak that you prop a hand against the wall to keep upright. The wallpaper design seems to move like bulging sores under your fingertips. You convince yourself it’s a trick of the senses.

You’re only half-convinced.

It seems you wander in a daze. You probably do, footfalls heavy as falling stones. It’s a pointless task, anyways, the wandering, and you don’t have much to help you through it. You muttered to yourself once you ran out of happy tunes to hum, but now your thirst has stripped you of even your voice. The static buzz of the overhead lights replace any would-be silence. They hum constantly. You don’t know anything but the buzzing and the yellow. You turn a corner. Buzzing and yellow. You pass through an open doorway. Buzzing and yellow. You teeter against the wall. Buzzing and yellow. Buzzing and yellow. Buzzing and yellow.

You lean against a wall and feel the drywall against your back. You close your eyes. The lights blaze even behind your eyelids, but the yellow is gone. All you hear now is the buzzing.

Buzzing.

Buzzing.

Buzz-

And then it’s not just the buzzing. 

A ringing. A ringing not unknown to you, one happily acknowledged. Your eyes snap open.

A telephone.

It sounds old, not ancient, but old-fashioned. From a past decade, likely long-forgotten. Its trill sounds more like a clattering of old plastic. You turn your head, and there it rests. Alone, seated on a mahogany table, tittering at you from the next room over. You think to run to it, but you hesitate. 

Why do you hesitate?

What is it you fear?

It goes silent, but only for a moment.

Your heart rate stutters, and you stumble forwards. Through the open doorway (of course there’s no door), into the other yellow room (of course it’s yellow), across the open polyester carpeting (of course it’s carpeted), and stop in front of the tacky rotary phone. You stare. It’s red. So red, and shiny, too. It rings so loudly you tune out the electrical buzz you’ve grown accustomed to. You release a shaky breath and reach out to grasp it.

It lets out a clunk as it’s lifted off the receiver, and the ringing is cut. You lift it to your ear. Your voice rolls soundlessly in your throat, scratchy from disuse. Thankfully, you hear something answer for you.

“Yes?”

The voice is gruff, but friendly, you think. It says nothing else, it’s tone questioning but polite. You scramble to think of a response for it. What do you say? What could you say? Would this person even understand if you tried to explain?

A thump echoes from somewhere behind you. 

Your pulse thunders in your ears and you whip around, eyes racing to find the source of the noise. The coils of the telephone cord twist around your wrist and yank the phone from your sweaty palm. You pay no mind to the sound of it hitting the wooden table, or the tone that omits faintly after impact. Your eyes still strain to see anything amiss. Only yellow. More yellow. Constant yellow.

There. A blip, the edge of some surface. The object is cut off by a doorway, and clearly far away, but there it is. Red.

Equally as bright as the vintage telephone, shiny like a new jacket. You slowly pace the room you're in to peer around the doorframe beside the one you came through. Your adrenaline lingers in your limbs like a livewire. Your breathing feels shallow, tasteless, irregular, fast. You see it. Your brows furrow.

An armchair, red leather, a side table identical to the one you were just standing in front of propped next to it. Another red rotary telephone sits on top, and holding the handheld is a dog. A beige dog. Just there, sitting upright on this red leather armchair, holding this red telephone to its floppy ear. Its black eyes bore into yours.

You clear your throat. It doesn’t even blink. Somehow, you know its name. 

“B-Ben?”

He doesn’t reply, but he does blink. You gulp in a much-needed breath.

Taking a shuffle towards him, you call again, “Ben?”

You think you see a twitch of his nose. Then, quickly, a flash of his teeth as he smiles widely. He opens his mouth as he begins to laugh. It’s a strange noise, a guffaw deep from his belly, but you still feel inclined to nervously laugh along. He ho, ho, ho’s, and you hiccup out something strained and desperate whilst trying not to cry.

Your smile, however, wilts as his eyes trail over your shoulder. He sets down the phone with a rough clatter just as you begin to hear the thundering of heavy footsteps racing towards your turned back.

yeah idk either lmao

[beemers-hell]

All right we all know that Hank has an inexplicable love of blenders, but what about Bank? Does she have any weird stims or special interests?

oh ABSOLUTELY lmao

The big thing is that she's just a useless information machine. She'll soak up any random trivia about anything and it'll stay stuck in her brain for her to just ramble about if she gets an opportunity to talk about it. Hank can't count the amount of times where he's said a single thing about a subject and Bank has chimed in with some random ass piece of information that he's never heard before.

When it comes to weird SIs specifically, she's got a couple:

She is obsessed with liminal spaces. And being that Nevada is the way it is, im CERTAIN itd be liminal space central. She has a little Polaroid she carries around specially so she can snap photos of places she deems liminal, and will ask her Tíos to snap photos for her if they get an opportunity. There's a wall in her closet covered in these pictures.

No one knows exactly why she got so interested in it, but she's extremely fascinated by nuclear disasters/other man-made science/factory adjacent disasters. If Chernobyl exists in Madness, she could go on for hours talking about it and all the crazy shit nuclear radiation/radiation poisoning does or how weird Corium is, etc etc

She loves studying the culture n aesthetics of late 80s/90s/early 2000s shit. Really into the stuff that vapor/synthwave focus in on as well as grunge/underground/punk/alt sub cultures are all about. Fuckin constantly begs 2b to tell her about his days as a hardcore anarchist punk from his youth lmao

Weird stims? Shes got plenty!

She rocks back and forth frequently, she'll chew on her knuckles, she clicks her fingers and tongue, recites phrases or words to herself, talks to herself a lot, spins her pistol around a lot, taps parts of her skin in specific rhythms...you know how It goes lmao

[hughiecampbelle]

Unraveling (James Rhodes Oneshot)

Character/s: Rhodey, Wanda, Avengers mention

Word Count: 1,429

Inspired By: Alone In A Dark Room by Gilanares

Requested: Hey!! I love it so much when you are writing drabbles from just words, I mean you need so much creativity for that! You are amazing! Could I possibly request the words Desperate and Broken glass with James Rhodes from Marvel pretty please? Thank you very much! 💕💕💕 ~ anon

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines  @lilyswritings  @encounterthepast @writerdream22  @brithedemonspawn  @megnotfound  @ladyeliot  @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon  @fangirlsarah16  @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston  @diana-westmoon @glitchybrit @lost-girl-of-onceuponatime

A/N: I did just finish rewatching Age of Ultron, so this is based off that :) I really love this idea!!!! I hope you like it too my love!!! Thank you for requesting!! It's angsty, it's dark, and I'm in love!!!! By far one of my most favorite fics ever!!!! :D I know it doesn't fit the prompts exactly (?) but these are the idea that came from them!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Summary: Wanda never left your mind.

FIC MASTERLISTS / TAG LIST / WANNA REQUEST A FIC?

Your psyche wasn't just broken, it had been destroyed, shattered.

Fucking obliterated.

A house fire. The sort of crime scene that never left a body. That burned, and burned, and blew the whole place down. Nothing but ash left. Black char. The weakened skeleton of every room, a ghost of the past. This is where the bed was. The table used to be here. Family photos left here, now they were nowhere. Gone. Your language trapped in the past, confined to the liminal space of the Long Before and the Before. What was, what used to be, but could no longer. Not here. Not now. Not in your state. Remnants of your former self. A haunted house. Gaps in memories, in understanding, in time itself. Set ablaze by the match she forgot she lit. An accident. A catastrophe waiting to happen. That's what it was. The house dipped in gasoline long before she ever came along. If not her, then someone else. If not then, some other time. It was inevitable, as life and death are. A diagnosis lost in a metaphor, like sweetening your cyanide with sugar.

It was a lost cause.

So were you.

He blames himself. Of course he does. The same man, with his heart of his sleeve, carried his burdens for the world to see. Rarely did they see it, though. If he'd caught it. If he noticed sooner. If he'd smelled the smoke. The gasoline. Heard your screams. The red in your eyes lingered far longer than it should have. It left them rosy. Lifeless. Scared. Bursting blood vessels pooled through your iris, loud and bold and monstrous. Bright. All seeing. It happened to everyone. All of you lost in your own personal Hell. A form of torture one had to admire. It was effective. It was fast. It was anything but painless. The Witch, she crawled into your deepest, darkest fears and settled in. She made herself comfortable. She lit the match. Disoriented. Dangerous. Defensive. Desperate. Fighting because it was the only thing you found do. It was the last thing you could do. After that, there was nothing. It was the end. Calling out for help, crying out until you tasted blood. No one was coming. No one was going to save you. Too late.

It was always too late.

You couldn't put it into words. None of them bothered, but you? Your teeth rattled in your skull, gums left inflamed. Holy. Your tongue chopped off. Lips sewn shut. Impossible. How could anyone explain it? Humanity was gone. Extinct by their own hand. A mass suicide. Whatever happened before, whatever lead to the end of man, that was for you to decide. She didn't bother. It was her job to get to the punchline. Bodies dropped where they stood. Limp, but warm. There would have been a time where you would have broken every rib as a means of saving them. Cracked their sternum open. But you couldn't move. Part of you didn't want to, that was the sick part. You were compliant. You liked it. A faceless, nameless thing left gurgling on their own blood. Countless like them. Strangely serene, to be able to breathe freely. Arrogantly. Behind you, you heard the low, guttural groan of someone you knew. Big. Green. Choking on his own liquefied insides. Hulk. Dr. Banner. Next to him, a God. The Soldier. The Assassins. The Mad Scientist. And finally, your Rhodey. Succumbing to the same mysterious end as if they were like them. You had a feeling, one that made your heart race, that you were the one causing this. Saving them from themselves. Putting an end to the madness. It wasn't supposed to, but it brought a smile to your face. Easy. Effortless. Horrifying.

You were annihilation.

You couldn't shake the feeling. You couldn't scrub it off. Every reflective surface, checking, feeling, your hands patting at your cheeks, your lips, making sure you weren't wearing that smile. Every time you closed your eyes, it was there. That place. That world. The sick satisfaction. It made you want to vomit. It made you want to tear your hair out at the root. Claw yourself to bits and pieces if it meant escaping this vision. Or, a prophecy. Could it really happen? Were you capable of such things? They befriended her, The Witch. They trusted her. You could not help but get lost, the line between real and not burned to death. Stepping through a doorway, surrounded by death. No matter where you ran, no matter what you said, you were cornered. The deafening silence too heavy. Too much. Crushing. Suffocating. His hand on your arm, sudden, bringing you back too fast. It was jarring. It was too real. A passing side-effect. Residual. Nothing more.

It was never supposed to last.

It had never been her intention. The others, rocked but stable, beginning to move on. Forward. There was red in your eyes, in your brain, seeping between memories and thoughts, between what is and isn't until nothing exists anymore. Until you can't trust yourself. Flecks, nothing more, freckled in the whites of your eyes. The only sign. The smallest. No one had the time to look that closely, no matter how hard he tries to convince himself. Your Rhodey, always so hard on himself. You considered yourself lucky, at least this one was alive. An accident. A fluke. She never intended for it to happen, for it go this way. Get in. Get out. Scare you, that's was all, just as she'd done with the others. Her powers, her magic, it stuck. It loved. It burned holes in your head. There was no extracting it. Not by her own hand. Not with any technology. They tried, they really did. He made them exhaust every last effort. Men pretending to play God still couldn't save you.

Go figure.

Too small, too strong, it was a beautiful curse dotted in your subconscious. There was no formal diagnosis, no plan of action to combat, only an apology. Rarely did that fix anything. There's no saying what would happen, if it would wear away through time, if it would end up killing you. It was all they could offer. There were tests, studies, monitors. They did all they could, you truly believed that. They still were. That's was too many years ago. Lifetimes. Shaking you from that dream, that world, another universe you were convinced in the end. It was too real not to be. Imprisoned in one world, your body in another. Sometimes you tried to resuscitate, bring them back. Sometimes all you could do was close your eyes, pray it would be over soon. Seconds or hours, one time days. That was it. The door wasn't just closed, it was padlocked. It wasn't a hunch, it was an understanding. A loss you've come to terms with: one day you would never come back. One day, it would all be over.

Catatonic, that was the word they used. A perpetual state you've found yourself in since that fateful day. Unmoving. Unseeing. Unfeeling. Your eyes the color of rubies. He sat beside you, your hand in his, rigid, as if the rigor mortis were already setting in. The bags under his eyes grow heavy, the worry lines in his forehead etched deeper. He is paying the price as well. There was no luring you out, bringing you back. Not anymore, now that it's stronger. It was a waiting game. A gun with enough enough bullets for the two of you. All hours of the day, it happened. Getting lost, he called it, but you knew exactly where you were going. What you were doing. Only she knew what you saw, what you were so fearful of. You've never told them, not even him. He is too good to know. Too sweet. Saving him from that was the one thing you could do. When you came back, because for now it was a matter of when and not if, it was always the same story: hysterics, confusion, panic. His words can only do so much. You're exhausted, you're shaking. He'll lead you somewhere safe, somewhere familiar, too much smoke in his lungs. Things will be okay for a while. You will laugh. You will recognize him. You will love him, and he will love you. But it is always there. It will always come back.

It is part of you now. The fear. The disease. The reality that, if you wanted, if you lost control, you could kill them all.

[prettywarriors]

Ok ill bite whats the worst mg series

alright, whats the worst magical girl series in your opinion?

Thanks you two for letting me do some yelling. The obvious guess would likely be one of the recent edgelord shows right? Magical Girl Site or something similar? But nay I say, for while MGS and Day Break Illusion and such and what not generally tell you what to expect right away. Don't like super violence and suffering? Watch something else is the clear message from the get go. One of the bait and switch series then like Madoka or maybe Yuki Yuna? For what faults they may or may not have, at least these series do something and are interesting, even if you're not huge on what goes down in the series. A parody then? They range from affectionate to banned in New Zealand but regardless of quality and their feelings for MGs, it's a parody. It's a joke and shouldn't be taken seriously (plus they're usually short so you can just forget about them forever).

So what makes a series terrible then, I am sure you are asking. IMO? Setting expectations for an interesting and enjoyable series, and then dashing them to hell.

Come with me below the cut, as I talk about Key Princess Story: Kagihime Eternal Alice Rondo!

Spoilers abound so if you care about those for a 15 year old series, click away.

Background: Kagihime was a 4 volume manga that ran from 2004-2006 that was picked up for a 13 episode anime adaptation near the end of its run. The manga is created by a pair (Kaishaku) who you may know for making Magical Nyan Nyan Taruto. Kannazuki no Miko, and Steel Angel Kurumi, and the anime had a script written by the same writer (Mamiko Ikeda) for Tenshi Ni Narumon who also did some script writing for Princess Tutu and Seven of Seven. The anime also had 6 character music videos which are fairly simple but a nice addition to the series for the main girls. Discotek has been publishing the anime in the states in recent years, and the manga was brought over by *squints at book spine* Dr Master Publications.

The Premise: Girls transform and enter weird outside of reality spaces to fight each other with giant keys to take each other’s stories to create a third Alice In Wonderland story.

Well, an off-brand Alice story written by Alternate L. Takion, rather than Lewis Carroll/Charles Dodgson, that while the series uses all the aesthetic hallmarks of the tradition Alice, the little we see of the in universe Alice story is clearly different. Which is fine, at the end of the day, it’s still about someone who loves the Alice stories and wishes there was more, and even makes his own fanfiction version. His? Oh yeah, while the girls do all the fighting, the main character is Aruto, a teen boy who loves Alice, and for reasons we don’t know till late game, can enter the liminal spaces that the ‘Alice Users’ fight in. He chases a girl who looks like the Alice he sees in his story, who is named Arisu, and gets roped into this fanfic battle royale. He is also the older brother of the very needy Kirihara, who also ends up being and Alice User. As does Kirihara’s bff Kisa. To round out the group of enemies-turned-friends-who-will-work-together-to-collect-the-Eternal-Alice-without-having-to-fight-eachother group is a young genius researcher Kirika who wants to know more about Aruto’s connection that allows him to enter the spaces where the girls fight.

Then there’s all the other girls, some of whom still have real importance to the story and some who have a few panels or 2 scenes total. But with a whole bunch of girls to design, the creators reached out to a whole lot of other people to have them create designs! Eventually the battle gets down to the last few girls, there’s a confrontation with the guy running the whole thing, and while the anime and manga vary quite a bit the whole time, in both version Aruto ends up with Kirihara. Oh and Arisu was created by Aruto’s super imagination powers.  

The Promise: Here on is subjective, particularly with what I personally saw as potential from this series. because I need you to understand how much I want to like this series. 

~Alice in Wonderland themed: I know some people aren’t alice fans and that’s fine you do you but as a big alice fan this is great. We have a few alice episodes and themed characters amongst series like CCS and MGRP, and even Alice themes in other series like Tweeny Witches and Alice 19th. But damn it I am down for Alice series.

~Giant Keyyyyyyyys: Yeah yeah Kingdom Hearts but these keys are much more staff like for a lot of the characters which ads and air of elegance rather than the KH ones that for me at least feel well designed for big ol props rather than actual weapons. We also get...

~Weapon variety: It counts as a key if it’s a thorn whip that can be shaped like a key right? How about a giant pocket knife? Crossbows can also be keys. Hush. And we have this variety because

~Guest Artists: For magical girl series where we have a variety of outfits designed by different people, we have Kagihime, Uta~Kata, and uhh I guess Magia Record? But that’s a mobile game with a hella number of characters and with how mobile game works I wouldn’t count it just because it’s less the intent of the series to have variety and more the nature of having lots of girls. (Precure doesn’t count because unless I missed a memo each season’s set is still by one designer). If a series isn’t about a team and therefore doesn’t need cohesion, bringing in other artists is a great way for variety and new looks. 

~The long term goal: Fighting with other people who love the same piece of media you do in hopes of creating new material that will be viewed as official? That’s just fandom nowadays. But it’s a legitimate interesting concept, and opens up so many doors for a message for the series, be it ‘what you create is no less valuable than the canon work’ or ‘it’s hard to let go when something you love doesn’t have more to it but you can still love it for what it is’ or ‘bond with the people who like the thing you like ya idiot instead of fighting about it’. The concept is interesting and there are so many narrative ways you can take this.

~Gays: Between the anime and manga, we have at least 5 wlw. Is it a magical girl series without some gays? (side note- the manga had a short thing where the MC wears a girl’s uniform and is pretty comfortable in it and while there is no way this was the intent, between that and the emphasis on the stories that live in girls and how the fight zones have no men, I’m just saying, Trans girl Aruto.)

~Greater Fairy Tale Premise: We meet a Little Match Girl based MG who is obsessed with Andersen rather than the Alice books, and touch on a Sleeping Beauty character in the manga. The manga at least implies that classic stories and fairy tale authors uh. Live on in a liminal space as immortals with world warping powers within that world and there could be opportunities for other girls in the real world to fight for Little Mermaid 2: Electric Boogaloo.

The Good: Everything has positive points, no matter how bad it is.

~Character Designs: Some of those looks slap. As do most of their weapons. 

~Backgrounds: I have a strong opinion on backgrounds in anime that can be easily boiled down to old watercolor backgrounds good, modern filtered photos as background bad, and as a 2006 series, this might not be Memole nice but they’re quite attractive. 

~Splash Pages: Easily my favorite thing after the designs, each chapter’s title page for the manga just has a character standing in a setting. Which is not everyone’s thing I’m sure but it’s a nice simplistic way to let the characters breathe imo. Even if at least some of the settings were deffo traced. But that’s how backgrounds work to some extent? If I ever get to the Met again, I am tracking down this exact photo, but here is a likely candidate for an example.

~Different Versions: I do not understand the need to make an adaptation that tries to be a 1:1. Kagihime had the same ideas and characters and did some of the same beats but very much had a different finale story and a lot of changes in the middle (like the Alice cops in the manga). Again, not something everyone probably wants I’m sure, but I very appreciate this, especially since the Anime kept good pace with the number of Manga chapters (reading the manga again while watching the anime at 3.8x speed just now was very interesting to see the different interpretations of events in a different medium.)

The ‘Fine’: Yeah.

~Anime Visuals: Look 2006 was still early enough into digipaint that I will give it a total pass on these. The colors are too bright but in a very bland way, the lineart is nothing interesting, and the faces are. Iffy. But it’s not total garbage to look at (probably helped by backgrounds and character designs...) it just came out in an era where not enough people knew how to stylize things to account for the weakness of the tools of the time. (It was 4 years earlier but I feel Kagihime is the polar opposite of Chobits with its painfully bland color palette while still being just. Flat. Sorry for the drive by Chii.) 

~Music?: There sure were songs. Obviously, they are nothing to me.

The Bad: CW for.... somehow all the big things to an extent. 

~Fanservice: Look, I am fine with fanservice, especially for a series that’s, ya know, not targeted at kids, big Mai Hime fan here even if I would recommend skipping the panty thief episode. And honestly the series generally isn’t fanservicey, at least by the modern standards of having the camera choosing under the skirt rather than an over the shoulder shot like I’ve seen plenty in other shows. Even the sexier outfits like the rose whip dominatrix aren’t bad BUT. When the girls fight. One takes her phallic key and drives it into another girls chest between the boobs while the loser cries in pain and then her book comes out and when the victor rips out pages, the loser’s clothes also rip. It is very SuperS Amazon Trio assault metaphor-y. There’s also a bit of fanservice with the sister becauseeeee....

~Incest: If you read the premise up there, first wow good job because I’m sure not re-reading that, you might have noticed I said MC ends up with his sister. As someone who is a big mythology fan and watches plenty of anime, I have a decent tolerance for your obligatory ‘oh we’re siblings but actually cousins so our feelings are okay’ or whatever the fuck Citrus has going on I don’t know that series and I don’t vibe BUT. I have limits and boy did this series go beyond that because multiple episodes are dedicated to the sister being in love with the brother? And the brother returns her feelings but knows that they are wrong so he put everything he likes in his sister into his version of Alice who, of course, physically manifests as Arisu who he creates accidentally with his uh. Magic imagination powers. But again in both versions MC still ends up with his sister. Hey, at least the manga eventually said the boy was adopted when the sister was like, 3, so if nothing else no blood relations? The anime did not ad this. -_-

~Under Utilized Characters: Arisu’s gradual revelation that she has no childhood memories because she isn’t a real person is so interesting and they don’t do nothing with it but also? That’s the kind of thing I personally would love to dig into and Kagihime, while touching on this world shattering revelation, easily loops back to So Anyway She Should Fight For The Man and to hell with developing a life or personality outside of what has been written for her. The rest of the main 5 were 2 note characters which. Could be worse? The most interesting character ends up being the child genius who accidentally murdered her childhood bestie (and/or lover? depending on version) and her coming to terms with that (the friend is alive but the version changes how and why she thinks she’s dead). Then the villain has the motivation of ‘i lost my creativity and now have become an immortal living outside of normal space and am getting girls to fight each other because that’s like a story so I’m still relevant right?’. But shoutout to the anime for then taking death of the author literally. The numerous other girls are canon fodder outside of like. The manga version of the dead gf and the little match girl.

~Battle Royale: This is not a thing I have an issue with generally. Again, but Mai Hime fan, I need to read MGRP 11, BUT by not developing the non-main girls there is no emotional connection which makes them just canon fodder and that’s boring as sin for a royale system. The initial main character fights revolve so much around the MC guy being there that they fall flat, and the 2 or 3 final battles in both versions still feel without any stakes. Also for a royale thing most of the characters don’t actually die, which cool! Neat! Except when they do? Some nobodies and a somebody are murdered (at least in the manga) and the tone never feels like it’s supposed to be upping the stakes, it’s just. Some people are dead now. And do you want to guess which of the main characters died?

~Gays: Oh boy the best friend of the brother-complex sister is in love with her and (in the manga) dies. She does apparently get better for the last chapter but the death itself is only felt by the rest of the cast for a page or two before we go back to feeling sad big brother wants to kiss his mentally generated sister clone rather than his actual sister u_u. Bury your gays is nothing new, but I wonder if it was also intended to be justified because Guess Who Is Creepy and a bit Perverted? Oh look the lesbian keeps the used swimsuit of her beloved and manipulates events to get an indirect kiss and when she sees the sister trying to strange Arisu for a moment she decides to do it for the sister? It’s not good. You want bad gay rep in a magical girl series, well here ya go. We also had a nobody in the first(second?) episode whose story pages reveal her having a kiss with a girl, and then we also have the prodigy again and- in the manga- her. Uh. childhood lover who she thought she killed but the girl has been wiping her mind over and over so prodigy remembers ‘killing’ the friend and not the she’s alive so she can keep? fucking with her? Toxic!

~Sexual Content: But wait you say, you already covered fanservice! Ah but that is sexual content for titilation. This is sexual content for dramatic backstory! The red riding hood character was sexually assaulted, another character was manipulated into sex first as a teen and then more often to ‘get into the publishing industry’, and the same writer forces some aggressive kisses on the MC. None of it is gratuitous which is nice, but also, was it necessary? Not making a new point for this but read riding hood’s dog was also murdered so unnecessary animal death gets tossed on in there. 

~Male Lead: You can have a male, non magical character as the main character surrounded by magical girls. This is not how to do it. If I can make a vicious and hopefully not understood reference, Aruto is basically Tate from the Mai Hime Manga. If you understood that, I am so sorry. If you didn’t, congrats! Don’t read the manga. Or do and send me asks about the iconic final page of the first volume (18+). Anyway, this dude is boring, everything revolves around him, BUT I’ll be generous and say at least this isn’t a harem series? It looks like it out of context but it’s just a triangle with a fun attached scientist and token lesbian.

~Premise: They didn’t make good use of it. The initial goals of ‘take other girls pages from their soul books because if we get enough we unlock a third alice book’ is good! And then we add the twist that that was never going to happen and either if we get all the pages we can grant a wish, or these fights are just happening for the amusement of and asshole. Either way, yeah okay I guess. But at no point do we ever achieve this forbidden wish granting book and the asshole just. Lives. Nothing happens to him. His peers don’t even dunk on him. The only real changes from the beginning and the end of the series are: the siblings are now chill with dating, and the scientist lady won’t turn into a child in magical spaces. Oh. Yeah.

~Why did we make this adult a child sometimes?: I think we know why. Stop trying to get those types of folks to watch your already meh series. I also could have sworn at points in the past looking up images for this series I’ve seen extra art for Yuuri the Thumbelina-y Alice User that seemed like it would fit alongside anything by POP. You know, the Moetan guy. If you don’t know, god I wish that were me. 

Wrap Up: I have definitely forgotten some points and am well within my rights to ad to this whenever I remember more points but uh. Yeah.  

Listen you want an alice themed battle royale with nice outfits? Rozen maiden is right there. Battle Royale magical girl series that’s good with fanservice? Mai Hime. Series with different outfits while being based on a classic story? Pretear.

Hope anyone who read all of this at least got what I was saying, even if they don’t agree with it. And thanks for reading because whoops. 

[dannyphantom-rewrite]

What's "how to get to cracker barrel" ?

What's "how to get to cracker barrel" ?

Oh now that, that one isn't Actually a wip. It's a short story I finished ages ago that later ended up being inspiration for one of the plotlines in an anthology style audio drama podcast I want to make some day. There's 4 main characters:

The Mckellen sisters Jamie and Lady who aren't Actually sisters but pass rather well for twins since one of them is actually a changeling, Natalie Anderson, photographer and lady's GF, and Gavin Walker, a mage still haunted by the death of his fiance, Caleb Adams, mostly due to the fact that his fucking ghost won't leave him alone.

Art by @unded-bun (click image for higher quality)

I'm leaving out a lot of details, but I'd be happy to fill in the gaps if anyone asks.

I'll Also throw the story itself under a read more here, bc I'm still super proud of it even though it's a few years old now.

A small hotel on the outskirts of Savannah, Georgia. There is a Sonic Drive-in across the busy street. Bright neon lights in the window state, “Open 24/7!” A Greyhound bus is idling in the parking lot. A man, Gavin Walker, climbs off and crosses over to the hotel. He walks easily, but not confidently. Approaching the hotel’s entrance, he spots a cat eating from a plastic bowl in front of the door. The feline is small, and feral. He is black, with white paws. He does not pay Gavin any mind as he enters, only continuing to crunch on dry cat food.

There's a desk on the left side of the lobby. The receptionist smiles kindly as he checks in. Her eyes are tired. Gavin gives her a knowing nod, and travels deeper into the building. There is a sign marked, “Out Of Order.” on the elevator. This is a good thing. Gavin takes the stairs, of which there are three flights. This is also a good thing, because three is a good number. He enters the hallway, which is old, and worn. The walls bear chipped yellow paint, and the floor, faded red carpet. Gavin continues down the hall after checking the time on his phone. It is exactly 11:59PM. He turns the device off and begins to count the seconds. At sixty he has stopped in front of the elevator. The fluorescent light above him flickers. The elevator does not have an out of order sign on it. It is the same elevator as before. Gavin enters.

He presses the button for the first floor. In the lobby the check in desk is now on the opposite side of the room. The lights are off, the receptionist is gone. It is daytime outside now. The bus is gone and the Sonic is closed. The road is vacant. There is a cat outside. She is white, with black paws. She looks up at Gavin as he approaches. They lock eyes, and he kneels in front of her.

“Hello, cat.” He says.

“Hello, Mage.” Says the cat.

She flicks her tail, “What is it you seek?”

“Direction.”

She nods and stands, before making for the road. The Sonic across the street is closed, but it was never empty. A Sonic is not a sit down restaurant. Customers are expected to pull into a parking spot and order over an intercom, and then a waitress delivers their meal directly to their car. Gavin’s pretty sure places like Sonic were more common in the 1950’s, and he knows that drive in diners are a dying breed now a days. The thought gives him a strange sense of nostalgia for something he’d never actually experienced, and he shudders involuntarily.

The cat sits down in the parking spot furthest from the building. She watches as he presses the the button on the intercom, listens, ears swiveling, as they are greeted with static. Looking out of the corner of his eye, Gavin can see something moving within the darkened restaurant. An outline of a figure, only vaguely humanoid. The thing moves like a deranged ape, long, long arms dangling to the floor and dragging it forward. Its back is hunched, legs short and stumpy. Gavin can not see its face, and he does not wish to. The intercom crackles to life.

“WhAt can aH’ do fER ya’lL?” Drawls The Thing in the Sonic. It’s got a southern accent thicker than congeling visera, and the pitch of it’s voice fluctuates wildly. Gavin glances uncertainly at the cat, and she nods.

“I’m looking for Direction.”

“Ahhhhhh……” groans The Thing, “WEll, watch’ Yer goNna wanna dO is hEad doWn the road, bout maybeEEee…..foUr, five miLeS, an’ yer gOnna wanna look fer’ weEl, watch yer gonna wanna fiNd is soMeTHing’ idEaliZed, ya knOw? Like uh, somethin’ kinDa romanticized, an’ a liTtlE faKe in sOme senSe but reAlLy true in anOther, ya follow?”

“Yeah.” said Gavin, even though he did not follow at all.

“Yep,” Continued The Thing, “n’ yer gOnna wanna gEt yourself sOme rasPberRy lemONade when ya get theRe, It’s some gOod shit, lemme tell ya.”

“Alright, I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”

“Good, GoOd, That’s Good. Y'all have a niIiiccceee daaaaaay nooooow.” And then the intercom crackled once more, and returned to spewing static. Gavin released the button and looked around for the cat, hoping, maybe, for some more guidance, but she had long since abandoned him. He started walking down the road, away from the Sonic Drive-In, and The Thing inside, and hopefully towards where he needed to be.

Gavin started to think as he walked, which was not something he liked to do often. He much prefered to act in the moment without much consideration for the consequences of those actions until they themselves became the moment. Gavin did not like to think because he often thought much too deeply, and it sometimes scared him. Gavin thought about a lot of different things in quick succession, he thought about the missing greyhound bus, and The Thing in the Sonic, and wondered if the disappearance of one had to do anything with the appearance of the other. It probably did. He thought about what The Thing had told him to do, and why he was doing it. He thought about why he’d come here in the first place, to this inverted little section of Georgia. And he thought about Liminal Spaces, about busted elevators and darkened hotel hallways and empty stairwells. The air shifted suddenly as a pickup truck speed past him, it had a faded confederate flag on the back window.

Liminal Spaces, simply put, were the areas between one place and another. The small spots in the middle of point A and point B where reality seems to be altered in such a way that the change is almost imperceptible, and yet, it is still enough to leave you feeling so impossibly strange.

Liminal Spaces can also be doorways, if one knows how to properly open them.

Gavin isn’t sure how long he’s been walking down this empty stretch of road, but it’s been long enough that he can no longer see the Sonic Drive-in behind him. It’s not even a dot in the distance now, just gone, as though it were never there to begin with. He keeps going. He walks until his feet hurt, and his legs ache, and keeps going even after that. At some point he sticks his thumb out towards the road, tired enough to risk hitch-hiking, but no cars have gone by since the pickup truck. And at some point he takes a moment to rest. He sits down on the shoulder, and just breathes for a while. And then when he stands again, he sees the Cracker Barrel just down the road. Exhausted as he is, he knows it isn’t possible for him to not have seen it earlier. Gavin decides it’s best not to dwell on that, though, because this is exactly the kind of place where Cracker Barrels can just pop into existence. (Although, as he enters the restaurant, he remains somewhat annoyed that it couldn’t have decided to do it a little sooner.)

The front of the Cracker Barrel is a store selling all manner of things. There's a back corner full of vintage candy, a small section of organic make-ups, and another full of knick-knacks like salt and pepper shakers, and dreamcatchers, as well as the usual crap that tourists like to buy, T-shirts and mugs and what not. Gavin has never actually been in a “regular” Cracker Barrel, so he’s not sure if this is a completely normal thing, but he’s certain that a “regular” Cracker Barrel would not also be selling such wares as bottled crocodile tears and Unicorn meat slim jims. There aren’t a lot of people in the store, and yet Gavin finds it impossible to get a good look at any of them. The people look normal, but they move like extras in the background of a film. The only person in the room with any notable features is the waitress standing by the back. She’s short, and her hair and eyebrows have been dyed a vibrant blue. As Gavin follows her into the seating area he can't help but stare at her hair, and he finds himself thinking that it can’t possibly be dye, it’s too bright, somehow. She smiles at him as he sits, and her teeth are a just little too sharp.

Once he’s seated, she says, “Can I start you off with a drink?” Her voice has a pleasant, lilting tone to it.

Gavin thinks back to The Thing in the Sonic, “A Raspberry Lemonade? If that’s something you have here?”

She nods, and goes off to get him one. Gavin leans back in his chair and takes in his surroundings, trying to relax. The decor in the Cracker Barrel has a sort of vintage, rustic feel to it, there’s things like black and white photos, and old advertisements on the walls. All the furniture looks antique. There are quite a few other customers present. Most of them look like the same nondescript folk from the front, but a few stand out. There’s a woman in the back corner, she’s dressed in black furs and her head is an ember eyed wolf skull. She’s sitting across from a man with the skull of a stag upon his shoulders, the antlers adorned with ivy. There’s something resembling a giant moth sitting two tables away, slowly crunching its way through a Caesar salad. Occasionally, there’s a figure leaning against the kitchen doors, they look as though they’re made up of television static. Gavin’s eyes start to hurt from trying to look at them, so he turns his attention to the menu instead. The waitress returns with his Raspberry Lemonade, and he orders the Country Fried Shrimp.

Gavin takes a sip of his drink and finds that he agrees with the Thing in the sonic. It’s definitely some good shit.

“Funny seeing you around here, Gav.”

Gavin looks up from his drink, almost spills it in surprise.

“Is this seat taken?”

Gavin manages to shake his head.

Caleb Adams pulls out the chair across from him and sits. Gavin stares at him. He’s wearing a T-shirt that reads, “NORMAL HOROSCOPES: Making your day a little more magic whether you like it or not.” Gavin’s not sure if it’s supposed to be advertising for a psychic’s shop or if it’s some strange indie band he’s never heard of. Knowing Caleb, it’s probably the latter.

He finally manages to speak, “You’re dead.”

“Yeah?” Caleb leans an elbow on the table, and props his head up in his hand, his smile never wavers, “And?”

“And- and I don’t know, Fuck, I don’t know.”

The waitress briefly interrupts his existential crisis by depositing his Country Fried Shrimp on the table. Gavin looks down at it and tries to focus on the smell of greasy seafood instead of the dead man sitting across from him.

“You seem confused.” Caleb’s voice sounds uncharacteristically sympathetic.

Gavin nods.

He sighs, frowning “Eat your lunch, and then we’ll talk.”

Gavin eats what he can, but it’s a large portion, and he’s somehow not that hungry. He takes a final bite, and pushes the plate across the table, silently offering Caleb the rest of the shrimp.

The barest hint of a smile returns to his face, “Thanks, but no.” And then he’s frowning again, “Why’re you here, Gav?”

“I just went where I was told to-”

He shakes his head, “No. I don’t mean the friggin’ Cracker Barrel, I mean Here.”

And Gavin doesn’t really know what to tell him. That he’s here because he felt lost and desperate? That he didn’t know what to do anymore? That it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s fine, everything's fine and he’s just tired?

But he doesn’t tell Caleb any of that, he just says, “I miss you.” And he can’t keep his voice from cracking.

“I know you do.” Caleb places a hand over his, “But this is damn near one of the dumbest things you’ve ever done. You knew this place wouldn’t be safe for you.”

He feels numb, “I didn’t really care.”

“Gavin,” Caleb grips his hand now, “Look at me, please. I mean, really look at me.”

So he does, he looks up at him, and finally, meets his eyes.

They have not changed. Death has not reduced the amount of compassion behind them, nor faded the sea blue color. Gavin stares. Eyes are supposed to be a window into someone's soul, a way to truly see into them, and Gavin just stares because Caleb’s eyes are still capable of conveying so much, and he can feel tears running down his face…..

“It’s time to go home, Gav, okay?” He gestures to the window, and the Greyhound bus has pulled up, “Your ride's here.”

And Gavin knows has to force himself to look away and loosen his grip, and he can’t bring himself to.

“It’s alright.” He says, “It’s going to be alright. I’ll take care of the bill, Please just let go.”

And Gavin finally, Finally manages to tear himself away.

He does not feel anything but relief as he leaves, as he boards the bus and settles into a seat. He leans back, and watches through the window as the world shifts and shimmers and is suddenly dark and starry once more. As the Greyhound pulls out of the Sonic parking lot, Gavin closes his eyes, and slowly falls into the comfort of a deep, dreamless sleep.

[jlf23tumble]

Top 10 Niche Interests

Fixations? Obsessions? This is incredibly hard because I have wayyyy too many niche interests, so instead of stressing about it, I tried to channel the 10 things that immediately speak to me and maybe aren't so obvious from what I post here, like how much I'm obsessed with wigs, doll furniture, incredibly specific blogs, all forms of clothing with pockets, swimming pools, whimsical bus stops, over-the-top bathrooms, etc. etc Instead, I opted for some specifics that feel a little more evergreen and long tailed, like, so LIFE-long tailed that it's tough to nail down when or how they became part of the national psyche. I thank @alienfuckeronmain​ for the initial tag, and I'm tagging her AGAIN for round two because I know she has a billion additional niche things, and she'll post them, and I'll scream because it'll trigger five other things I neglected to post here, and I'll probably post my own round two, arggggh, insert aggressive sighing. Anyway, I tag ANYONE who wants to do it, just tag me so I can see! 

1. Indoor Trees

I have no idea why this concept PULLS so hard because houseplants are kind of meh to me, but you want to plant an entire-ass TREE indoors, in the place where you live? Me, too, and I'd add a conversation pit plus a combo gold/red bathroom, among other things, and, bam, we're in my imaginary dream home, which I have literally, constantly ALWAYS mentally constructed from the time I was about six or so. (If you're curious, it has multiple themed rooms, and the closest I've seen to it recently is the outstanding Dita von Teese AD feature, but Amy Sedaris’s apartment comes close, too). There are two (2) 1960s houses in Long Beach with magnificent indoor trees, but I can't find them online, so have this modern interpretation and cry with me about how I can't visit the multi-story fake tree inside Clifton's Cafeteria for a good long while:

2. Conventions of Fans of Any Kind

One thing that I don't think I'll ever lose is how much I *love* people who are fans of SOMETHING, people who have a passion and create something about it or cosplay it or simply gather to celebrate it and connect to other people through it. The Internet provides in all kinds of ways, but I'm talking specifically about IRL conventions and the way my heart pitter pats when I first walk in those doors, SWOON! And it doesn’t matter how big the convention is or how random, I've been to smaller events like CatCon and the My Little Pony convention all the way up to biggies like WonderCon and Comic Con, and I have yet to be disappointed. I might know jack shit about what I'm walking into, but I want to see the merch, hear about the panels, and check out the people who are fucking PUMPED to be there. Sadly, I think it's gonna be a lonnnnng time until these come back, but I can live vicariously through my old photos, sigh:

3. Dutch Wax Fabrics and African Fashion

I'm not the snazziest of dressers, but textiles, colors, and patterns have been an obsession that has soothed my visual soul for as long as I can literally remember. Wax fabric marries all three of those touchpoints, plus throws in a healthy dose of style, and I count myself lucky to have seen two big exhibits on the subject (this was one of them), oh, how I wish there were more! For sure, there's a fucked up underlying colonial/imperialist history here, but there's also humor and color and vibrancy, a reclamation of sorts, and multiple levels of fashion that take my breath away. I cannot do the different patterns justice at all, but the fan motif is one of my faves:

4. Hearst Castle vs. Madonna inn

These two fall into my #home tag because they're where I'm from, and they speak to me as equally sublime and ridiculous, camp and kitsch writ large and small, different (yet similar!) versions of Xanadu that two rich white men built as shrines to their own personal "taste." And the irony is that a lot of people shit on Alex Madonna for being tacky (the Madonna Inn is...uh, something else), yet praise WR Hearst for all the high-class art and architecture, most of which is fully lifted from desperate churches between and after world and yet they're both more or less the same concept (lodging for weary travelers, self-aggrandizement, questionable taste-mixing). Hearst Castle edges out slightly for me because it's bigger and has spectacular scenery and history, plus it gives me doses of LA noir thanks to the way Hearst killed a guy in a jealous Charlie Chaplin-related rage and Hedda Hopper covered it up, all kinds of old Hollywood shenanigans happened up there, etc. But I'm low-key an expert on both houses of the holy, I'm OBSESSED with both, and we can leave it at that. I mean, come on:

5. Snow Globes

I had to cull my personal collection slightly just to fit it all on the dedicated shelf in my bathroom, and I seriously need to refill all the water lines, but nothing beats a snow globe in terms of memorable souvenir, especially when you put it in a bathroom. The majesty!!! The jewel of my collection is the one from Sherwood Forest because WHY NOT celebrate a historic place and moment in the basic way?? He robbed from the rich to give to the poor, and the gift shop about 100 feet from the tree he hid in does the same! The circle of life! The irony of all the watermarks on this blessed image...protect:

6. Highly Specific Museums

Look, we can all agree that the more venerated museums in the world are a form of garbage in terms of what they represent, what they've done, and who runs them, but I'm here for the museums that collect and celebrate things that tend to get overlooked. There are too many to list that I love that are still thriving, so I'm going to say goodbye to four recently departed faves. RIP to the Pez museum, I'm so glad I saw you and purchased your stale candy souvenirs. RIP to the museum of terrible food, you were a pop up when Phoenix and I saw you, and I will forever think about the worker describing people literally vomiting during their visits. RIP to the currywurst museum in Berlin, I've had currywurst exactly once and it was not for me, but I respect the Journey you took me on, including obscure east German TV shows that helped make you so popular (??). Finally, RIP to the velvet painting museum, there's no way to mince words, the person who owned you was crazy AS FUCK and had zero clue how to run a business, but I'm so glad I saw you multiple times and purchased my own velvet treasure (not this exact one, but remarkably similar):

7. Liminal Spaces: Grocery Store Edition

Confession time for those who don't know me all that well, I'm a big time voyeur, and nothing fills my heart with joy like a walk at 7 or 8 pm, the witching hour when people haven't pulled the curtains, and I can scope out their decorations/furnishings without it being "weird." Another confession is how much I unabashedly adore grocery stores in other countries and will spend at least an hour wandering aisle by aisle, falling in love with how much everything is different yet completely the same:

8. Agatha Christie Novels:

As a child, I was a fairly compliant reader--I had to read something for school? Okay! For my mom? Sounds good! But the books that sparked the initial fire for me to read something purely for myself were second-hand (probably fourth- or fifth-hand, judging by cover art) Agatha Christie short story anthologies, which were the gateway drug to full Agatha Christie novels, then other mystery novels, and so on. But getting back to Agatha, I obviously loved all the stories, but every decade spawned incredibly good cover art (like, exceptionally good), and this particular artist's are right up near the top for me (I go back and forth on a lot of the '50s and '60s ones):

9. Scopitones

I link my obsession with scopitones both to my love of music videos in general and a shop in Austin, TX, that sold DVD compilations of them in particular, but either way, they're underappreciated and kitschy all in one! Francoise Hardy and the rest of the ye-ye's are my forever girls for this medium, but seemingly every country cranked them out, both actual set videos and "live" performances? If you don't know what they are, scopitones were machines that played music videos in French cafes in the '60s (??), so it was sort of your proto-MTV way to see your faves sing and dance. Oh, Francoise...so moderne!!

10. Cover Songs

I have so much patience and love for cover songs of any stripe, the more genre-bending and/or surprising, the better! My only minor beef is the trend in slooooooooowing down songs to make a point, but even those ones have a special place in my heart if they're effective. Live Lounge feeds my hunger the best, but my meta fave for representing this concept is Pulp's Bad Cover Version, which was already lyrically INSPIRED, a song about bad cover versions in terms of relationships, but then they did a video that was a visual "bad" cover version, with actors lip synching over an audio "bad" cover version, and all of it just worked? The cover for the single is someone in the band as a boy, making his own bad cover version of a Bowie album cover, it's meta meta meta, and I love love love, here's the video, if you're curious. In the more sublime cover category, I'm absolutely addicted to all of Orville Peck's covers, I truly hope he officially releases them sometime soon, but I wholeheartedly support any artist who does it:

[lewisibarra1512]

At the Tucson Mall, I scored a couple photos while no one was around. Does that count as a liminal space?