#neo is such a strange world where the worth of something makes no sense to me | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puppywritings · 4 years ago

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you make it feel like christmas - kim doyoung x gender-neutral reader

⇢ synopsis: when you entered your job a few years ago, you found your best friend, doyoung. the two of you were partners-in-crime, platonic soulmates. however, during a drunken phone call with doyoung’s mother, she catches the wrong idea and invites you to spend christmas with their family… as doyoung’s partner. ever the mama’s boy, doyoung doesn’t want to disappoint her. and you? you’re counting down the days until you can stop this lovers pretence and slap your best friend upside the head.

⇢ word count: 5.6k ⇢ trigger warnings: alcohol use resulting in minor memory loss, swearing, slight suggestive references. this piece is suitable for all audiences!

⇢ a/n: this is my piece for @pastelsicheng and @dearyongs‘ a taste of winter collab. quick disclaimer that doyoung’s family in this fic may not represent his real life family situation, however this is a work of fiction and isn’t meant to mirror real life. i don’t know doyoung, nor do i know his mother, and the characters represented in this writing are fictitious versions of them. furthermore, the christmas traditions depicted in this story are mainly based on my own experiences celebrating the holidays in england.

⇢ taglist: @hunjins @ahgase55g7 @mmoondance @notnctu @orange-nimon-cross @yeoshwa @infnteen @neonun-au @luvlala @neo-shitty @yutacrush @ethaeriyeol @fairyinaflowercrown @in-my-neofeelings @dreamieofu

"All I want for Christmas is youuu, baby!"

Doyoung's voice was almost deafening in your ear, which would've been a problem if you were sober. Your voice, too, merrily drunk and far too loud, belted out the holiday tunes. Your best friend's arm was slung around your shoulder, and yours was around his waist. It was like the blind leading the blind, however; neither of you were keeping your balance very well. The two of you staggered together, navigating the city's streets back to his apartment.

The Christmas party that your office held would have been okay without your favourite coworker - you would've had a good time and enjoyed yourself, sure. But with Doyoung's presence, paired with the copious amounts of alcohol, it had been a riot. Even if you had peaked too early and had to depart by 11pm.

Doyoung was, undoubtedly, the best part about your job. The workload wasn't overwhelming, nor was it tedious, and the salary was nothing to sneeze at. But, without a shadow of a doubt, the best thing your job had ever provided you with was the opportunity to meet your best friend. Doyoung was your platonic soulmate, and your favourite person.

"Hey," Doyoung slurred, calling out to you suddenly. "Is that your ringtone?"

Squinting, you listened closely. "No, Doie," you hiccupped. "I think that's your ringtone."

"Oh, shit,'' Doyoung mumbled, diving into his coat pocket to retrieve his ringing phone. "My mom! She's facetiming."

Your vision was blurred, but you very vaguely saw Doyoung answer the call, bringing up his mother's image on his phone screen. Though you’d been best friends with Doyoung for a few years, you’d never met her. Doyoung lived and worked alongside you in the city, but his mother lived a while away in the countryside, and so your paths had never crossed.

"Hi Mom," Doyoung waved at her.

"Doyoung? Where are you?"

"I'm walking home, Mom," he responded, beaming at her through his phone.

"You sent me a strange text message," she told him, her voice raised a little more than necessary - Doyoung had mentioned that she was somewhat inept when it came to technology.

"Huh?" Doyoung looked confused.

"Something about lunch the day after tomorrow," she elaborated. "Doyoung, you aren't coming home for the holidays until next week, right?"

"Ah," Doyoung said, understanding. "That was meant for somebody else, sorry Mom."

"My boy," you heard her tut, and you laughed. "Is someone there with you, Doyoung?"

"Yeah," Doyoung nodded, "Y/N is here."

"Hi, Mrs Kim," you waved, as Doyoung turned the screen towards you. If you weren't so drunk, you would've been nervous about meeting your best friend's mother for the first time. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it) your bloodstream was mainly rum at that point, so you had absolutely no worries nor qualms.

“Kim Doyoung! Why didn’t you tell me you had a partner?” his mother blurted out.

“Huh?” exclaimed Doyoung, utterly confused.

“Oh Doyoung, you must bring Y/N home for the holidays! I can’t wait to meet them,” she cooed.

“Mom, wait-”

“See you two next week!” she cheerily said her goodbyes before hanging up, disappearing from the screen and leaving the two of you in silence.

Doyoung looked at you. You looked back at him.

“Did she…” you began, not quite wanting to end your sentence.

Doyoung nodded gravely. “She thinks we’re dating.”

The look on Doyoung’s face - eyes wide, lips in a straight, serious line - it was too much for you. You snorted, gripping his arm as you buckled in laughter. He wasn’t far behind you, bursting into a fit of giggles too. You and Doyoung loved each other, that was indisputable. But it was completely and entirely platonic. The two of you laughed together the rest of the way home.

As you were coming to your senses the next morning, you groaned. Why the hell did you feel so lousy? you wondered, full to the brim with self-pity. Your head pounded, a throbbing ache so strong you were certain somebody was banging pots and pans in your brain. Your throat was so, so dry, and you felt as though you could drink a whole gallon of water and still be thirsty afterwards. And then the memories of the previous night came flooding in.

Ah, you thought, Now it all makes sense.

You sorted through the events of last night, mentally flicking through the filing cabinet of your memories. A filing cabinet that was sorely empty when it came to the night prior. You remembered arriving at the party with Doyoung; you remembered the first few drinks, but following that your memories began to fade. You remembered Doyoung pressing a sloppy kiss to your boss’ cheek - a rather stoic middle-aged man - and you had no doubt that Doyoung would be apologising profusely on Monday morning. You had absolutely no recollection of the walk home, but since you had awoken in Doyoung’s spare bedroom, you supposed the night could have gone worse. At least you made it home safe.

Begrudgingly, you threw back the blankets and lifted yourself out of bed. Doyoung - bless his heart - had left you some painkillers and a glass of water on the bedside table. You consumed both of them gratefully and emerged from the spare room, wincing at the sunlight that met you. As you made your way down the hallway, whistling met your ears. How Doyoung could be so lively after a night of heavy drinking, you had no idea.

“Why the hell do you never get hungover?” you grumbled at him as you entered the kitchen, finding him at the stove.

“Good morning to you, too, sleeping beauty,” he greeted you with a smile.

“Seriously,” you continued as you took a seat at the kitchen island, “I swear I get hungover enough for the both of us.”

“Thank you for taking on that burden,” Doyoung replied sweetly, which you responded to with a spiteful glower. It doesn’t last long, however; Doyoung finishes cooking breakfast, and dishes you up a serving. Sausages, bacon, scrambled eggs, baked beans, hash browns, and toast. As much as you playfully bickered with Doyoung, he was an absolute treasure.

“Doie, you’re a gift from the heavens,” you praise him, the sight of the warm, greasy food reviving your soul almost immediately.

Doyoung took a seat next to you, placing down a plate of his own breakfast. “So,” he began, “How much of last night do you remember?”

“Huh?” you asked, suddenly wondering if you’d forgotten something drastic. “Did we…”

“Oh my god, no,” Doyoung denied quickly.

“Thank fuck,” you sigh in relief. Your best friend was attractive, definitely. But you saw him as more of a sibling than a lover.

Doyoung waited a moment before explaining, and with each second that passed, your suspicions rose. “My mom… She’s invited you to spend the holidays with us.”

“Oh!” you exclaim. That confession was a lot tamer than what you’d expected. “Sure, that sounds great. I was spending the holidays alone this year anyways.”

“There’s a catch.”

You dropped your knife and fork onto your plate. “Doyoung,” you groan, “Why is there always a catch?”

“My mom thinks we’re dating.” Doyoung pointedly avoided your eye contact while he spoke.

“And you corrected her, right?” you asked, fearing the worst. Doyoung’s silence only confirmed your fears. “Right?”

“She was so happy when she thought I was dating someone! And she’s been on my back about settling down forever,” Doyoung rambled, trying to save himself from your wrath - to no avail.

“Doyoung!”

“Please, Y/N. It’ll only be for a few days,” he pleaded, clasping his hands together and giving you his very best puppy-dog eyes. And you had to admit, they were some top-notch puppy-dog eyes.

You gave a resigned sigh, and Doyoung cheered. “Fine. But only because I really want to try your mom’s cookies.”

“You’re the best friend in the world,” Doyoung complimented you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. You whined at him, fighting the urge to bat away his affections; in your hungover state, you were not at all ready for hugs.

“Then make me some more hash browns,” you grumbled. If Doyoung was prepared to put you in this situation, he’d better also be prepared to pay you for it.

“You got it, best friend,” Doyoung beamed at you, getting up to obey your command. “You should pack those Christmas pyjamas you’re wearing, by the way. My mom would love them.” You scowled at him. He immediately backed down, waving away his previous statement. “We can figure out the logistics later.”

“You better make this worth my while, Kim Doyoung.” When he served you your hash browns, you were still scowling.

As the taxi pulled up at Doyoung’s childhood home, you couldn’t help but marvel at it. You raised a hand to the cab’s window, looking out at the idyllic cottage, rooftop covered in snow, decked out in twinkling Christmas lights. The environment had grown increasingly more peaceful as you had travelled out of Seoul and deeper into the countryside, picturesque hills and winding valleys rolling past the train windows. This place felt worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and it was difficult to feel even slightly stressed. Even if the situation your best friend had put you in was less than ideal, this was an absolutely beautiful place to spend the holidays - it looked like it had jumped straight out of a Christmas card.

Despite the beautiful winter wonderland before you, you still weren’t prepared for the cold that hit you when you stepped out of the cab. You busied yourself getting the luggage from the trunk while Doyoung paid the driver.

“Are you ready?” Doyoung asked you, looking into your eyes sincerely.

You sighed. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” You gave him a smile, reassuring him. The truth was, you were truly excited to spend the holidays with Doyoung and his mother; you were excited to meet her, to eat her home cooking, to hear stories about Doyoung in his youth. You just had some qualms about the whole fake relationship pretense, and you really didn’t want to let your best friend down.

“Y/N?” Doyoung spoke, taking bags out of your hands.

“Yeah?” you asked, watching wistfully as the taxi drove away.

Doyoung smirked at you. “Just try your best not to fall in love with me for real, okay?”

You rolled your eyes so hard they practically fell out of your head. “You wish.” Just as the cottage door swung open, you reached for Doyoung’s hand, holding it tightly. So began the relationship charade.

“Doyoung, my boy,” his mother beamed, coming out to greet her son. It was hard not to smile upon seeing her - she was clearly over the moon to see you and Doyoung, and her joy was infectious. She was a small woman, but you had gathered from Doyoung’s description that she certainly had a big character. She welcomed her son into an embrace, kissing his cheek. “You don’t visit home enough, Doyoung,” she chided lovingly.

“And you must be Y/N,” she spoke, moving her gaze onto you. She looked at you fondly, and you beamed back at her. “You’re so beautiful,” she praised you.

Your cheeks, already red from the cold, blazed a little brighter. “Thank you, Mrs Kim.”

She wagged a finger at you. “Mrs Kim, you make me sound so aged. Please, call me Mom.” She turned around, welcoming the two of you inside, and you shared a smile with Doyoung.

The interior of the cottage was every bit as charming as the exterior. Family photos decorated the walls, and warm rugs hugged the floors. You supposed the home would have a cozy feeling all year round, but now, in the festive season, the place was dressed up to the nines. Lavish paper chains were strung up, along with twinkling lights and boughs of holly. Not to mention the Christmas tree; though not huge it was still sizeable, likely the biggest Mrs Kim could fit through the cottage door. It was embellished with golden tinsel and crimson baubles.

“Your home is so beautiful,” you commended. “Did you decorate yourself?”

“All by myself,” Doyoung’s mother confirmed proudly.

“This must’ve been a beautiful place to grow up,” you marvelled, your comment pointed towards Doyoung, who smiled back at you appreciatively.

“Oh, the stories I have about Doyoung growing up,” Mrs Kim said, and you detected a mischievous tone.

“I can’t wait to hear them,” you grinned.

“And see them!” she added. “I have so many photo albums.”

Doyoung groaned, while you and Mrs Kim laughed in the presence of his misery. Yes, you decided. You were going to enjoy this visit very much.

When you settled into bed that night, you were beyond exhausted. Doyoung’s mother had kindly set you up in the spare room, which was delightfully warm and snug. Doyoung’s childhood bedroom contained only a single bed, whereas the spare room had a double bed to accommodate you - the ‘couple.’ Though it had only been a few hours since you’d arrived that afternoon, the gravity of your situation had well and truly sunk in. The performative affection you and Doyoung had been carrying out was alien, equal parts strange and comical.

“I can’t believe the amount of times you called me Honey today,” Doyoung scoffed amusedly, dressed in his blue flannel pyjamas with his dark hair laying flat and fluffy on his forehead. He turned off the big light to leave the room illuminated by the warm glow of the table lamps, before climbing into bed beside you.

“Mock me all you want, Doyoung, but I think I put on a pretty convincing performance,” you return smugly.

“Well, I can’t imagine it’s hard. I’m very easy to love. You on the other hand?” Doyoung faked a weary sigh. “I have my work cut out for me.” You flicked Doyoung on the forehead, snickering when he yelped.

You yawned, depositing your phone on the bedside table and snuggling down into the blankets. Though you were exhausted, and the cottage was immensely cozy, it always felt a little strange to fall asleep in a new place. You were thankful for the company of your best friend, who always put you at ease.

“I hate sharing a bed with you,” you grumbled your complaint. Despite the comfort he brought you, he wasn’t the easiest person to sleep with. “You starfish. I always wake up with, like, one centimetre of bed space.”

Doyoung dropped his phone, letting it fall onto the blankets. He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “One centimetre?”

“Yeah, one centimetre!” you insisted.

“Well, I always wake up with your cold feet on my legs,” he rebutted.

“Yeah, well-” you sputtered. “It’s not my fault you’re a living hot water bottle!”

“And it’s not my fault you’re always cold. Yet I’m always punished with your horrible cold feet.” You laughed back at him; the normality of your bickering helped to put you at ease.

“Let’s get some rest,” you suggested, yawning again. “I don’t wanna miss your mom’s cookies tomorrow morning - I wanna try them while they’re warm.”

“Mmm, good idea,” Doyoung agreed, eyes wide with the thought of his mother’s cookies.

“Goodnight, butthead,” you teased your friend, turning off the lamp beside you.

“Sleep well, idiot,” he replied fondly.

Thoughts of warm chocolate-chip cookies were the last things on your mind before you fell asleep, and you were lucky enough to have them drift through your dreams that night.

As you slowly woke up, gradually returning to the land of the conscious, you first became aware of how delightfully warm you were. A light winter sun was shining through the gaps in the curtains, bathing the room in a soft white light. You sighed, hugging your pillow closer to you, but furrowing your eyebrows in confusion when you found it to be much firmer and less pliant than a pillow.

“Nice to see you’ve finally awakened. You drooled on my pyjamas.” Doyoung’s voice was gentle, and lacked any real annoyance.

“What time is it?” you asked, rolling off the boy.

“Half nine,” he told you, looking at his phone screen. You digested the information as Doyoung got out of bed, stretching his muscles which had stiffened from sleep.

“Now that I’m finally free,” he stared at you pointedly, “I’m gonna take a shower. There’s another bathroom down the hall if you want to wash up.” You nodded, accomplishing your own satisfying stretch in bed.

A while later, fresh and ready for the day, adorned in your favourite comfy sweater, you made your way downstairs, trying to dampen down your high, high hopes for cookies.

“Good morning, Mrs Kim,” you greeted the woman with a smile. A smile that increased tenfold when you saw she was, in fact, in the middle of preparing cookies.

“I already told you to call me Mom, darling,” she chastised gently. “Did you sleep well?”

You gave her a nod, silently thinking about the several times you woke up to Doyoung kicking you through the night.

“Lovely,” she commented. “I’m making cookies, would you like to help?”

“I’d love to,” you answered honestly. “Your cookies are kind of famous back in Seoul. Doyoung never stops talking about them.”

“That boy and his cookies,” she remarked with affection.

Doyoung’s mother set you off to work making another batch of mixture, as she began her duties with the rolling pin. The two of you worked in a comfortable silence, and you marvelled at how much she put you at ease. She was a warm lady, the kind of mother figure a person is lucky to have.

“Y/N, I want you to tell me everything,” she spoke after a while. “How did you and Doyoung meet?”

“Ah,” you mumbled, gearing yourself up to talk about your fake-boyfriend. “Well, we work together. I joined the company about two years ago, and Doyoung was the one to show me the ropes.”

“Was it love at first sight?” Mrs Kim asked you sweetly.

You turned away from the cookie dough, choking a little at the mention of romance with Doyoung, as you remembered the first time you met the man.

You were almost trembling as your new boss showed you around the office; this was your first “grown-up” job and you were the very definition of nervous. You were thankful for your brand-new black blazer which covered the sweat stains that you knew were building.

“And this,” your boss introduced you, “Is Kim Doyoung. He’ll help you settle in.”

“Hi. Y/N Y/L/N,” you offered Doyoung your hand to shake, which he accepted.

Doyoung waited for your boss to leave before speaking. “So,” he began with a smirk, “How hard did he try to be ‘relatable’ and ‘down with the kids?’”

You hid your laugh behind a cough. “He’s a little out of touch, huh?”

“A little?” Doyoung raised an eyebrow, laughing alongside you.

“Is it okay to talk about the boss like this? We’re supposed to respect him, right?” you asked your new coworker, a little uncertainly.

“Ah, Y/N, of course we respect him,” Doyoung tutted at you, before adding, “To his face.”

Doyoung had you in stitches your entire first day. Though he tried not to show it, you hadn’t seen anybody try so hard to help you become comfortable and calm. He had been easing your nerves since day one.

“Yeah,” you confirmed as you recovered. “I think it was.” Maybe it wasn’t love at first sight in a romantic sense, but the two of you definitely connected on a personal level right away.

“So romantic,” Doyoung’s mother cooed as she rolled out the dough. “What do you love most about him?”

“Hm.” You paused, taking a moment to think. It was true that you loved a lot of Doyoung’s qualities - he was your best friend after all. He was always supportive, an ever-present shoulder to cry on. He was funny, and kind, and pleasant to be around. You always had fun together. “I love a lot of things about him,” you answered truthfully.

“He’s wonderful, isn’t he?” she agreed with you jovially, to which you smiled and nodded. “Now, I don’t want to rush you,” she continued, “But will you and Doyoung be giving me grandchildren any time soon?”

You choked on your spit, just as Doyoung entered the kitchen, coming to your rescue.

“Speak of the devil,” his mom noted affectionately, as she loaded the full trays into the oven.

“Cookies?” Doyoung’s eyes glinted hopefully. His hair was still damp from the shower, dripping and leaving wet droplets on his plain white t-shirt.

“Yes, in about fifteen minutes,” she confirmed. “You can wait that long, right?”

“Oh,” Doyoung moaned, “I don’t know. I can feel my life escaping from me as we speak.” He collapsed at the kitchen table behind you, falling onto the chair as he pretended to faint. You chuckled at his antics, reaching over to ruffle his still-wet hair adoringly. You caught his mother looking over at the two of you fondly, and you smiled, a little self-conscious.

It felt more natural than you’d imagined, being cute and cozy with Doyoung in this false relationship. You supposed your friendship was a little more affectionate than you realised. Now that you thought about it, there was a certain tenderness that was common between the two of you - aside from the constant snipping and bickering, that was.

You’d never considered that you could be suited to a life outside the city, but the longer you spent in the charming countryside, the more ideal it felt. On your second morning of your winter break, you and Doyoung had donned your warmest winter gear (hats, scarves, and gloves included) and set out on a walk down the rustic lanes that your best friend had once called home. Though there were no eyes on you, and logically you didn’t have to keep up your fake-dating pretence in these hidden moments, shared only by you and Doyoung, the two of you held hands as you ambled down the snow-covered roads. It was an unspoken act, and one that felt strangely comfortable and oddly natural. You didn’t accredit too much thought to it; best friends could hold hands, if they wished to.

“We’re almost there,” Doyoung told you, after a short time of walking.

You tilted your head in confusion. “Where?” You hadn’t thought you were walking with any specific location in mind - you’d assumed the pair of you were meandering through the countryside with no direction.

“You’ll see,” was all he said, leaving you wondering.

Not long later, Doyoung directed you towards an opening in the shrubbery at the side of the lane, maneuvering himself over a stile before helping you over. The field you found yourself in was empty, the normally green meadow blanketed in completely untouched white. The only thing standing in the field, other than you and Doyoung was an old, rather dilapidated-looking barn. You imagined it once blazed a beautiful scarlet, although the years and the weather had chipped and faded its coat, leaving it a patchy maroon.

“Who does this belong to?” you asked, reclaiming Doyoung’s hand as you approached the barn together.

“I don’t know,” Doyoung countered. “Nobody, I think. It’s been abandoned as long as I can remember.”

“It’s a little creepy,” you commented apprehensively.

“Don’t worry, there aren’t any ghosts,” Doyoung mocked you, although it was devoid of any cruelty.

The door creaked as Doyoung pushed it open, and you didn’t entirely trust it not to fall completely off its hinges. The interior of the barn was a dark contrast to the stark white of the winter wonderland outside, although some sunlight filtered through the gaps in the wooden structure.

“Welcome to my secret clubhouse,” Doyoung introduced you. Your hands fell apart, as Doyoung left your side to venture to the back of the dwelling, finding a rickety swing that hung from the rafters, constructed of two pieces of rope and a plank of wood. He sat on it, swinging lightly and you were surprised to find that it managed to support his weight.

“How many of your romantic conquests have you brought here before me?” you teased, examining his hangout.

“You’re the first.”

The barn wasn’t particularly exciting, but there was a certain buzz to be derived from gaining a little bit of insight to Doyoung’s past. The floors of the building were no longer lined with hay, but dirt and dust, featuring intermittent weeds and plants. A tree had reached its spindly branches inside the structure, intertwining itself with the beams and pillars. You perched yourself atop an old stool that was sitting amid the weeds and rubble.

“Did you put that swing up yourself?” you asked, eyeing its stability.

“Yep,” Doyoung confirmed. “All by myself. I climbed right up into the rafters to fasten it.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself,” you remarked. The barn was a rather significant height, and it can’t have been safe for a young boy to scale the wooden bones of the building, likely aided by the serpentine branches of the oak tree.

“When I was a kid I thought I was superman,” Doyoung said, and you could see him reminiscing internally. You watched, captivated, as he looked around the tattered old barn which was clearly a sentimental place for him. He was beautiful, your best friend. Eyes that shined, dark as the night; a nose that sloped almost perfectly; pink lips that looked best when smiling. Though the winter was a cold one, your heart was warmed by your love for Doyoung. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, simply existing together without any demand or pressure to make unnecessary conversation.

“We should get back home,” Doyoung spoke after a while, standing and stretching. “My mom is making hotpot for lunch.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you said with enthusiasm. Spending time with your best friend, taking walks through the beautiful countryside, and being fed homemade dishes for every meal. This Christmas holiday may just be the best thing to ever happen to you.

Christmas morning came much more swiftly than you expected. The homely atmosphere of the cottage, the domestic haven where Doyoung spent his youth, felt like a sweet sanctuary that existed outside of the linear flow of time. Early morning walks down dew-covered lanes gave way to plentiful lunches that you savoured, which morphed into homely afternoons that eased into sleepy evenings around the fireplace. It was the sweet retreat you hadn’t realised you’d needed, and you were remarkably upset that you had to return to the city the following day.

“I know it’s not much, but I hope you’ll put this to good use,” you grinned at Mrs Kim as you handed over the Christmas present you’d brought her. She unwrapped the parcel, although the shape didn’t quite leave room for a discreet gift, to reveal a bottle of red wine.

“I’m sure I’ll find some way to use this,” she responded, a teasing twinkle in her eye as you shared a laugh together.

“Y/N,” Doyoung spoke, handing you a small box wrapped in festive paper. “Here.” He was already wearing the watch you had gifted him with. You peeled back the wrapping, opening the box to find a delicate silver necklace, hanging from it a shining silver jewel. It looked expensive; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was a real diamond.

“Wow,” you gasped, at a complete loss for words.

“Let me put it on you,” Doyoung offered, and you let him.

“It’s beautiful,” you smiled at him. “Thank you.” He smiled back sincerely.

Doyoung’s mother reached under the Christmas tree, bringing out two identically wrapped packages, square-shaped and squishy. “You kids open your presents together; I made them matching for you.”

You tore into the paper, opening the bundle to reveal a mass of knitted wool, soft and burgundy. You lifted it up to reveal a beautiful, intricate Christmas sweater - and noticed that Doyoung was holding an identical one.

“They’re so beautiful, Mrs Kim,” you complimented her, a little starstruck; though you knew Mrs Kim had handcrafted them, they looked like they were bought from a shop. They were of the most perfect quality, and looked splendidly snug and cozy.

“Yeah, thanks Mom,” Doyoung added, admiring the material. He waited until she looked away, taking a sip of her hot cocoa, before turning to you and muttering “Matching Christmas sweaters?” accompanied by a fake gag. You looked away, finding it almost impossible to stifle the giggle that bubbled up within you. They were beautiful, and you were endlessly grateful for the homemade gift, but Doyoung’s comment had amused you.

Mrs Kim looked at you with a knowing expression, and you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d noticed the exchange.

“Now you know I wasn’t kidding about my mom’s homemade cooking,” Doyoung said as he worked on the mountain of dishes in the sink.

“You really weren’t,” you agreed, stood next to him with a towel to dry the porcelain. You typically weren’t such a big fan of turkey, but something about the way Mrs Kim cooked it meant that it was surprisingly delicious. You had gone back for several helpings of the meal, encouraged by Doyoung’s mother, who seemed to derive pleasure from keeping people well-fed.

“I need a nap,” Doyoung declared, and you shared his experience of full-stomach sleepiness.

The pair of you finished up in the kitchen, and moved to the living room where Doyoung’s mother had relocated.

“Ah!” she stopped you in the doorway, before you could enter. “Look.”

You followed her pointed finger, to the green sprigs hanging in the archway. Mistletoe. Doyoung gave an awkward chuckle.

“Mistletoe for the lovers,” his mother chortled gleefully.

Doyoung captured you in his embrace, and your heart began to beat a little faster - was he really going to kiss you? You closed your eyes as he moved into you, and felt his lips peck your forehead. You smiled, before pulling him in for a kiss on the lips. In the spirit of Christmas. Doyoung’s eyes widened, and you laughed as his mother cheered. You followed her into the living room, making yourself comfortable on the couch that had no right being as cozy as it was. Doyoung’s cheeks were still red when he joined you, taking a seat on the couch alongside you.

The television was on, playing some old Christmas movie you vaguely recognised but had never seen. You brought your legs up onto the couch, snuggling into Doyoung’s side and nestling in further when he wrapped his arm around you. The film was already halfway through, and you were too sleepy to pay attention. It wasn’t long before you began nodding off to sleep, and you knew Doyoung was doing the same. Comfortable and relaxed, you let it happen, easing into a well-deserved nap with your best friend. Just as you fell into the unconscious, you sensed Doyoung’s mother draping a blanket over you both, and you smiled gratefully before letting yourself go.

“Taxi’s here!” Doyoung announced from his point of watch at the front door.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” Doyoung’s mother pouted.

You agreed with a sad smile. “It was wonderful to meet you, Mrs Kim,” you bid her goodbye as Doyoung took your luggage out to the car.

“Beautiful Y/N,” she smiled back at you, taking your hands in her own. “Tell me the truth here.”

You blinked, surprised at her direct request. “Of course.”

“You and Doyoung aren’t really dating, are you?”

“I-”

“It’s okay, my love,” she reassured you. “Don’t worry about it. That Doyoung, he’ll do anything if he thinks it’ll please me.”

“He’s a good boy,” you commented, to which Mrs Kim nodded in agreement. “But how did you know?” You’d thought you’d given a pretty convincing show.

“Nothing gets past me,” she responded, her eyes glinting. “Listen. Doyoung’s partner or not, I can tell that you’re important to him. And for that, you’ll always be a member of this family. You’re always welcome in this home, Y/N.”

You swallowed back tears, touched by her warm words, and by how genuine they were. “Thank you, Mom.”

The older lady pulled you in for a hug, just as Doyoung called out to you, “Y/N, we gotta go.”

“You have my number, right?” Mrs Kim checked, and you nodded. “And keep that cookie recipe safe - three generations old, that is!”

“Of course,” you assured her, retreating to the taxi as Doyoung said his goodbyes to her.

“Come back soon, you two!”

“We will,” you and Doyoung promised her in unison.

Settled in the back of the taxi, you heaved a sigh. It had been a beautiful holiday period, but part of you was happy to be returning to the security of your own home. And an even bigger part of you was relieved to drop the act of being Doyoung’s partner.

Doyoung looked at you, a tired look in his eyes. “Y/N, I love you so much-”

“But we could never date,” you completed his statement, sensing its direction.

“Never,” agreed Doyoung with a laugh.

The two of you were much better off as friends. It would be a lie to say you’d never wondered what it would be like if your relationship ever happened to cross that boundary, but you were sated by the lesson you’d learned over the last week. Your relationship was platonic, and was destined to remain that way. That didn’t mean your relationship was any less significant than that of a romantic couple, though. Doyoung was your family. And you were beyond lucky to have found him.

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skye-huntress · 4 years ago

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RWBY V8 Finale “The Final Word” Reactions

Thus concludes the first Volume I get to watch as it airs week by week, and react to it

MAJOR SPOILERS BELOW! SERIOUSLY IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE EPISODE YET AND FOR WHATEVER REASON STILL SEE THIS EVEN WITH THE SPOILER TAG, CONSIDER THIS YOUR LAST WARNING

Sooo, I cannot not talk about this big one first because it gives me personal feelings. Penny is a character that is very precious to me, always has been. I binged the show up to Volume 7 last year so I didn’t have to go through years of new episodes knowing she was gone and then when she came back and throughout Volume 8, she cemented herself as one of my favourites, right up there with Ruby and Weiss. I even warmed up to Frosen Steel. I honestly did not think nor did I want to think that the show would kill her again, even knowing this was going to be a rough volume for her being the central figure in the whole conflict. The only consolation I have is that she died on her own terms.

While we’re on this note, my sympathies to Jaune for having to be the one to send her on her way. My sympathies to a lot of characters because whether or not Nuts and Dolts is platonic or romantic, she was particularly special to Ruby who once again was not there to save her.

Penny finally got her song, and it hurts

I could tell from the beginning that the Ace Ops were overrated. They seemed cool on the surface and as individual fighters they were probably up there, but I’m also sceptical of the ones that everyone (including themselves) called the “best” at anything. The reality is that they were a mess, they told to bury their feelings, and told to always accept their Jimmy’s judgment over even their own. Clover died a meaningless death because he ignored his own better judgment. That said, for Vine, the least expressive of the whole bunch to not only talk Harriet down but make a sacrifice for his team friends was not something I would have called. And yet I remember how he tried to comfort Elm, and how when Marrow was nearly killed how expressive he was in his shock and fear. Honestly, I should know better, as someone who isn’t able to express the full depth of my emotions very well, I should have known that Vine was probably the one who cared for his friends more than they ever realised.

Qrow was actually lucky for once. I have a theory. If Ren’s semblance can evolve from masking emotions to sensing them, maybe Qrow’s semblance could evolve so that he could change his or others’ fortunes for the better and not just for the worst. At the very least, rubbing the pin made him believe he could in fact be lucky, maybe that’s all he needed.

Harriet has a lot of issues to sort through, but maybe now without the toxicity of the military and Jimmy, she and her remaining friends can allow themselves to feel, grieve, heal and grow.

So we have Robyn, Qrow, Harriet, Elm and Marrow on a transport leaving Solitas through conventional travel. They probably can’t fly their transport straight to Vacuo so they may have to make some stops on the way, probably at Argus or Vale.

As for Ironwood, what a fitting end. He always saw himself as the hero of Remnant, the one with all the answers, the one who was always right, and who would save the day. But in the end, he wasn’t anyone even worth killing. To the villains, he was always a joke, someone to be used, and right when he is finally face to face with his greatest enemy, she never even looked at him once. In the end, neither he nor his precious Atlas proved to be very relevant or impressive.

Neo thought she was clever but she was a fool. That’s what happens when you let anger and vengeance consume you, it warps your judgment. Cinder was always using her, to get what she wanted, and as a means to get her own vengeance on Ruby.

Speaking of not letting not letting vengeance consume you, Blake. She saw how close she was to losing everyone else she cared about she switched tacts. I’m proud of her. And she risked the fall to save Ruby, unfortunately this risk was too great for her.

My WhiteRose heart cheered when Weiss went to back up Ruby. I assume Blake knew the partners could assist each other better than she could. It hurt that she had to watch the rest of her team family fall, to be the last one standing, using Gambol Shroud. And then she fell right in front of her sister.

Ruby really needs more practice with her eyes before she faces Cinder again. It was impressive though how she goaded Neo and knocked her over the edge. Unfortunately, there was more than one person there who really wanted her dead.

As for Ruby’s mental state, she never really had time to process anything that had happened, she was in survival mode the entire time. Falling into the same place as Yang did might give her hope that her sister is still alive and if she fell with Blake, all the better, then she won’t be alone. But like I said, Penny was very important to her, and this is the second time she has lost her. Just imagine though, if Penny’s body falls into the void with them and Ruby finds it, that’d be all the worse than just hearing about it from Weiss or Jaune.

Now, Winter, she is the MVP of this episode. Winter is now the Winter Maiden, not because Ironwood chose her to be or because she actually chose it herself but because Penny chose her. Penny believed in her friend. My love of Penny gives me a lot of conflicting feelings for this and the implications but it was satisfying to see Winter own Ironwood and hold her own against Cinder. And now she is the champion for Atlas’ refugees, but failing Weiss and Penny is going to have a significant impact on her. At least she’ll allow herself to feel and she still has some family left.

Now for the weapons. When Crescent Rose fell, it was like watching an entirely separate character fall as well. Gambol Shroud and Neo’s umbrella fell on their own, too. And Jaune’s weapon that was reforged with Pyrrha’s ruined weapon was destroyed by none other than Cinder. So basically the only ones still completely armed are Weiss and Yang, but of course the latter also has a concussion.

It wasn’t the complete victory she wanted but it was decisive. I figured a victory for Cinder would be getting both relics and she did. But I knew she wouldn’t get the Maiden powers, that’s always the part she fails at again and again. She tries to syphon a Maiden’s magic only to be interrupted. Every. Single. Time. Seriously, Cinder will just never learn from this mistake and its why she will likely never have more than one Maiden’s power at the rate she is going. But as decisive as this victory was, it will cost her in the long run. She needed help from Jinn, Neo and Watts in order to beat Team RWBY but they’ll come back stronger, smarter and more pissed off and Cinder won’t have all of that help next time. If anything, she might have put herself back on top of Neo’s shitlist.

Watts’ end is also rather fitting and also completely expected. Like Jimmy and Jaques, he represented a lot of what was wrong with Atlas, particularly the elite. How annoyed would Ambrosius be with Cinder though? “More fire, that’s it? This is my cosmic karma for being annoyed about being used by the same kids twice in a row.”

Atlas fell as I always knew it would, after all the relics exist to help humanity and a flying city did nothing but fuelled the egos of those who lived on that floating rock. Mantle was something to be proud of, but Atlas was a lie. Now Remnant’s “greatest kingdom in the world” reduced to ruin and it’s people refugees in a land their ancestors made a wasteland. This will have dire consequences.

So in the end, no help came for Atlas. Not surprising in retrospect. Atlesians didn’t have the best reputation to begin with, then Ironwood made a series of terrible decisions (that everyone around him strongly advised against), destroying Atlas’ relations with the other Kingdoms. Then came Ruby’s broadcast out of nowhere where she dropped some insane bombshells and then her message was cut off and global comms went down again. Few can vouch for Ruby’s character and even fewer can verify anything of what she said. I still believe it had an impact and we’ll see it as we visit other Kingdoms again, but the full pay off won’t be for quite some time. As I said before, the message was just the first of many, many small steps to uniting the world against Salem

So now for the detour, and that cursed image of Crescent Rose alone, slammed into the ground. It’s likely Volume 9 will focus mostly on our girls, Jaune and Neo, surviving in this strange environment and finding a way home.

Was that everything? Probably not. Now the mourning period begins as I try to process all of that.

#rwby #rwby8 #rwby8 spoilers

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kaciread04 · 3 years ago

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The stories we tell

Neo became more anxious as their eyes scanned the library shelves over and over again but with no success. Even after 15 minutes their eyes had not made contact with the one book they needed. This must be the universe’s punishment for leaving homework till the last minute, Neo knew better but it had simply slipped their mind. As time ticked on they began to question how important the history of the Tower of London really was to their studies. But then they remembered they chose to specialise in London history so it was fairly integral to their ultimate success. This realisation resulted in Neo questioning even more of their life choices that lead to this moment. Who even chooses to specialise in London history? Idiots, that’s who. At least that’s the conclusion Neo came to after a few seconds of deliberation.

Time ticked by more and more, the opportunity to create a standout piece of work had passed 10 minutes prior. Neo had accepted they would either need to wait for their desired book to be returned, settle for a second best book or search the information up online and hope it’s all correct. At least in the meantime they could enjoy the pleasures of the university library. Neo exclusively reads romance books or fantasy with heavy romance themes but today they decided to branch out. Nothing else had gone right in their day so why not try something new? Even if they don’t enjoy it, it’ll only be in keeping with the theme. In an effort to expand their literature experiences beyond enemies to lovers tropes and sword wielding lesbians Neo’s feet lead them to the non-fiction section in the hopes of finding a book about an interesting gay astronomer or crazy criminal politician. The more they thought about the second option the more they realised how many options there were.

Browsing the shelves only served to fuel Neo’s boredom and overall hopeless attitude of the day. That was until their eyes came in contact with a dark green, cloth bound book decorated by only a name. Their name. As the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat, though in this case it killed Neo. Their hand slowly reached for the lonesome book as questions swirled around their head. Had they unknowingly named themselves after a celebrity? The book felt heavy in their hand, an estimated 800 pages at least. Eh, reading it would kill some time till their desired book is, hopefully, returned and they could start their project.

‘September 3rd 1999, rain poured outside the hospital window as the screaming baby worked their way through the world. Well, their mother worked to bring them into the world.’

Strange. That was Neo’s birthday. What were the chances that this unknown celebrity had their name and birthday? The thought that this was a book based on their life was briefly considered but then immediately rejected as Neo had never done anything of importance to write about. Neo was no celebrity or crazy smart scientist. They were just themself, their boring, history obsessed, queer self. Nothing worth writing about so what was this book? A prank their friends pulled in the hopes they would find it? An insane coincidence that a celebrity had the same name and birthday as they did? A fever dream that they would soon wake up from and be dazed for a few seconds but ultimately move on from and accept as reality? After the day Neo had had all options were just as likely to be the truth. In the hopes of narrowing down the possibilities Neo decided to continue.

The book remained fairly boring through the next few pages as it just described the generic life of a baby. Nothing stood out as it being a book about Neo, though nothing that ruled out the possibility. There was a temptation to put the book down and forget about it but something stopped them. Something Neo couldn’t quite describe. A draw, an intrigue, a compelling force that kept the book in Neo’s hands.

‘At six years old Neo Sharma loved to play with neighbourhood children in their garden, they were the only one of the children with both a trampoline and a slide. The other children had great fun and their parents were thankful for the hours of peace and quiet. Though, one day they decided to try something new and played a ball game on the usually empty road in front of Neo’s house. While playing, unknown to Neo, a car sped around the corner. Neo was hit and while it wasn’t too bad it was enough for their parents to worry incessantly, while running out the house to check on them, while they were inside looking Neo over, while in the car on the way to the hospital and while Neo was having a cast put on their leg. This led to the worst 6 weeks of Neo’s life. No playing, no friends, no PE and, in the private mind of the six year old, no fun. Just inside with books and their parents worry.’

That was strange. Neo had been hit by a car at 6, and they had broken their leg. This passage only served as evidence that this book was not written about a celebrity. This was a book about Neo, the Neo that didn’t have an interesting bone in their body, the Neo that seriously needed to put the book down and start on their homework, the Neo that was now extremely confused and concerned that they had just found a book in a public library that dictated their life. What did they do now? Put the book back and hopefully forget about it? Ignore the homework and read the book? Try and find clues as to who wrote it? Call their friends and tell them their prank wasn’t very funny? No option was particularly fun.

After moments of deliberation Neo decided to forgo any responsibility to university work and settle down in a more comfy chair and continue to read the book. What more damage could it do? The chance of making a with while homework piece had long since passed so they may as well make good use of their time.

‘By eleven years old Neo’s seemingly perfect life had begun to fall apart. Just two weeks prior to their twelfth birthday their parents had made an announcement. To some more naive children it would've been amazing, what child wouldn’t want two Christmases? But to Neo, they knew it wouldn't be just that. They knew of the arguments, the accusations, the pain it was causing everyone involved. They knew their life would be nowhere near as easy as it had been the past 12 years.’

An unsettling feeling crept up Neo’s spine, like the feeling you get in when you’re in a dark room. The feeling of looking into the dark abyss and feeling alone, yet not quite. The feeling that, while you couldn’t see it, that there was something staring back at you. Something that you rationally knew wasn’t there but couldn’t shake the feeling of its presence. A feeling that this book was no prank pulled by friends with a bad sense of humour. Neo still wasn’t sure what this book was but they knew it wasn’t good.

Homework forgotten Neo stood and began to walk to the library’s main desk. Janette was working today, she was Neo’s favourite librarian. Her red rimmed, sharp glasses contrasted her pale white skin yet matched her red short cardigan that covered her simplistic floral blouse. Some would say was a stereotypical librarian but that’s what Neo loved about her. She was completely unapologetically herself, Neo had taken a few pointers from her on that front.

“Hey Jan, could I check this book out please?” Neo hoped Janette wouldn’t ask about the shaking voice and hands as they placed the heavy book on the desk.

“‘Course lovely. Got any big plans for the day?” Her kind smile brought a little comfort to Neo’s anxiety, not much but at this point anything was better than nothing.

“Not much, just sitting and reading.” The attempt at a casual answer came out more awkward than intended, hopefully Janette wouldn’t notice.

“Well then, have fun doing nothing then.” She gave me one final smile before scanning the book and handing it back to me.

“Thanks, have a good one.” With one final wave Neo walked out of the library doors head swarming with even more questions.

How come the scan worked? Where did this book come from? Had the library ordered a book about Neo? Did someone take a barcode out of another book and place it in this one? Is this all one big joke?

Neo almost immediately dismissed that final one. They had no evidence but their gut instinct was enough, there was something off about this book and they vowed to find out why.

#Original Work #original content #original writing #original post #original fiction #writing #creative writing #writing practice #writing prompt #writing stem #non-binary main character #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbt pride #lgbtqia #fantasy #mystery #chapter 1

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lovejustforaday · 4 years ago

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My Top 10 Albums of 2019

Rose Gold - Kitty

Main Genres: Electro Pop

A decent sampling of: Chill Hop, Chill Wave, Alternative R&B, Cloud Rap, Future Bass, Synth Pop, Trip Hop, Wonky Kitty's sound keeps changing from EP to LP, but one thing that remains constant is her witty, hyper-feminine cool girl persona. On "Rose Gold", she explores a variety of electronic genres while maintaining a near-perfect chill mood and atmosphere. "Rose Gold" easily avoids falling into the traps of repetitiveness prone to a lot of lo-fi chill music thanks to Kitty's charming personality and clever lyricism on tracks like "B.O.M.B. (Peter)" and "Florida". I feel like this is definitely a late night album, one you might listen to while sneaking around your kitchen to make a late night snack while wearing your cutest pajamas. Alternatively, this is the album your stuffed animals all get up and vibe to while you're sleeping. Oh yeah, and "Counting All The Starfish" samples FF7 which is pretty cool. Highlights: "B.O.M.B. (Peter)", “Don’t Panic (Interlude)”, "Mami", "Counting All The Starfish", “Disconnect”

8/10

House of Sugar - Sandy (Alex G)

Main Genres: Indie Folk, Neo-Psychedelia

A decent sampling of: Folktronica, Psychedelic Folk, Indie Pop, Americana I admit, I was completely unfamiliar with Alex G's material until this album came along and garnered a lot of attention. I'm very excited to explore his back catalogue now thanks to this album. Fitting to its name, "House of Sugar" is somewhat like a psychedelic sugar rush, feeling at once strange and whimsical yet also sickly sweet and delirious. Under the album's upbeat folky veneer lies darker themes about loss both personal and conceptual. "Gretel" and the album title itself are both inspired by the fairytale of Hansel and Gretel, which makes a lot of sense because I really just want to get lost in the woods while listening to this album. "Project 2" is a noticeable outlier and the weakest track, forgoing conventional song structure completely for experimental synth music yielding mixed results, but even this short track manages to be oddly beautiful and adds to the overall experience. Likewise, "House of Sugar" is an exceptionally interesting musical journey even at its weakest. Highlights: "Gretel", "Sugar", "Hope", "Walk Away", "Taking"

8/10

Titanic Rising - Weyes Blood

Main Genres: Art Pop, Baroque Pop

A decent sampling of: Progressive Pop, Psychedelic Pop, Soft Rock, Progressive Electronic, Alternative Country Most acclaimed album of 2019? Quite possibly. While it's not my top choice of the year, I can definitely understand the widespread praise this album has received. At its best, Weyes Blood's "Titanic Rising" is a truly lush and cinematic experience, incorporating musical influences from the best of 60s and 70s era pop music with a moving lyrical narrative of coming to terms with depression and getting older. Mering's voice is warm and tender, and her insights about generational woes on tracks like "Everyday" and "Something to Believe" are mature and nuanced. If you're new to being an adult like I am, and you find the prospects of trying to build a fulfilling and meaningful life in the kind of world we live in scary, then listening to "Titanic Rising" will feel like a very bittersweet soundtrack written for a movie based on your own real life. Considerably front-loaded, but the concept for this album is very fresh and ambitious, and when it's good, it's brilliant. P.S. definitely the best album cover of 2019 Highlights: "Everyday", "Movies", "Andromeda", "Titanic Rising", "A Lot's Gonna Change"

8/10

Grey Area - Little Simz

Main Genres: Conscious Rap, UK Rap

A decent sampling of: Jazz Rap, Hardcore Rap

Little Simz sounds like she knows exactly who she is and what she's doing on "Grey Area", like she has her flow and writing lyrics down to a science. The album really feels like seeing the world through her eyes, and Simz holds nothing back, talking about everything from institutional racism and violence, to things like therapy, motherhood, and even video games. "Grey Area" succeeds as well as it does largely thanks to the strengths of Simz's offbeat personality, lyrical insights, and excellent delivery, while the production on the album is mostly smooth and slick in a way that never overpowers her as the main focus. I'll admit, I find at some points that the production on some of the songs falls considerably short of the standards set by Simz's own talent as a rapper, but when the production does reach that level on tracks like "101 FM" and "Venom", the pay off is brilliant. "101 FM" in particular is such an interesting and unique hip hop song, in the same way that Simz is a very interesting and unique rapper. Honestly this album is worth the listen alone just to hear what Little Simz has to say about everything.

Highlights: "101 FM", "Selfish", "Offence", "Venom"

8/10

Pang - Caroline Polachek

Main Genres: Art Pop, Alternative R&B

A decent sampling of: Electro Pop, Glitch Pop, Ambient Pop, New Age, Downtempo Of all the albums I've listened to this year, "Pang" feels like the most varied journey with an impressive collection of 14 songs in under 50 minutes. On this LP, Caroline Polachek takes the listener through her world of romantic fairytales and magic. Some of the songs are poppy bangers like the funky "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings" and the rhythmic "Ocean of Tears", while other songs are more mood-driven and meditative like "Parachute" and "Insomnia". Many of the songs place emphasis on the vocal gymnastics of Polachek herself, who makes great use of her range and techniques like heavy breaths on "So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings". The production work of Polachek and Danny L. Harle is sophisticated and intricate, with a lot of attention to detail on tracks like "Door" and "Pang". A lot of the songs are mysterious and cerebral, especially the penultimate "Door" which has an equally cerebral and trippy music video. Overall, I'd say that "Pang" definitely opens and closes with its strongest few tracks, but there’s enough variety and intricacies throughout its entirety to make the album experience highly engaging on repeated listens as you explore the different musical worlds that each song has to offer.

Highlights: "Door", " So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings ", “Parachute”, "Pang", "Go As a Dream", "Ocean of Tears", “Hit Me Where It Hurts”, "The Gate"

9/10

Norman Fucking Rockwell! - Lana Del Rey

Main Genres: Art Pop, Soft Rock

A decent sampling of: Dream Pop, Chamber Pop, Contemporary Folk, Psychedelic Pop, Piano Rock, Blues Rock, Americana, Pop Soul So yeah, this album happened. Lana Del Rey has always been an artist I appreciated for her unique sound and persona, but I found that her 2012 LP "Born To Die" mostly didn't quite live up to her potential as an artist, and I never really bothered with the rest of her work apart from individual songs until now. I'm so glad I checked this one out because "Norman Fucking Rockwell!" rightfully deserves the wave of acclaim it has received this year. Lana Del Rey's songwriting has become so sophisticated on this LP, and the warm, rich soft rock sound that she's adopted on tracks like "The greatest" compliments her vocals better than any other genre she's explored so far. Like most of her work, "Norman Fucking Rockwell!" explores American identity and femininity, and the songs are tinged with sadness and nostalgia. That being said, I actually find parts of this album very uplifting, especially on "Love Song" and "Mariners Apartment Complex". "Venice Bitch" is, simply put, a true masterpiece. It's the reason I checked out the album when I heard the single last year, and it damn near blows everything else out of the water with its gorgeous soundscapes and 9 minute length that could go on for an eternity if it wanted to. Regardless, there's a lot of songs here that I love, even if the LP is a little front-loaded. Lana has outdone herself this time with "Norman Fucking Rockwell!", and I already look forward to the projects she's announced for 2020. In the meantime, I should check out the LPs that I missed in her discography. Highlights: "Venice Bitch", "The greatest", "Mariners Apartment Complex", "How to disappear", "Cinnamon Girl", "Love song", "Norman fucking Rockwell"

9/10

Keepsake - Hatchie

Main Genres: Dream Pop, Indie Pop

A decent sampling of: Shoegaze, Synth Pop, Twee Pop, Jangle Pop

This album pretty clearly derives a lot of its sound from a particular era of early 90s dream pop, shoegaze, and jangle pop. So what makes "Keepsake" so special? For one, Hatchie knows her sound niche and does it incredibly well. Songs like "Stay With Me" and "Kiss The Stars" feel like lost gems from an era when they could've been heard on college radios in between the Cocteau Twins, MBV, and the Cranberries. While her sonic timbre is pure retro, Hatchie's own take on classic dream pop from a songwriting perspective is fresh and unique. Her lyrics and melodies are pure and saccharine in a way that reminds me of feel-good teen romcoms about sappy high school romances, only I mean that in the best way possible. Songs like "Without A Blush" and "Secret" feel like what I thought falling in love was gonna be like when I was 11 years old. "Stay With Me" is a rush of euphoria, and the song feels like prom again whenever I listen to it. Her pop songwriting sensibilities are well-crafted in a way that makes it look like she's been doing this for years and years, when really Hatchie only started putting out her own music in 2017. The sequencing of the tracks is well thought out, and I find "Keepsake" is at its strongest in the middle portion. There's just a certain essence of carefree youth and sentimentality that Hatchie has captured so vividly with this album. If you're looking to recapture the feeling of your best memories as a teenager, "Keepsake" will take you there. Strongest debut LP of the year, and I super look forward to whatever she does next. Highlights: "Stay With Me", "Secret", "Her Own Heart" "Kiss The Stars", "Without A Blush", "Unwanted Guest"

9/10

Djinn - Lingua Nada

Main Genres: Indie Rock, Psychedelic Rock, Noise Rock

A decent sampling of: Noise Pop, Progressive Rock, Math Rock, Neo-Psychedelia, Indietronica, Experimental Rock

Lingua Nada is that one really cool indie band that only I and a few others seem to know about. The band has a very distinct and creative sound which combines explosive noise with jerky, whacky rhythms and upbeat melodies. Last year's "Snuff" was a very raw and experimental album experience, and another year-end favourite of mine. This year's "Djinn" boasts slightly more conventional song structures, but the sonic timbres and rhythms are just as strange and beautiful, if not more. As its name would suggest, "Djinn" is partly inspired by Arabian folklore and evokes a sort of mysterious, ghostly presence on songs like the title track and "Salam Cyber". The mix of noise, acid-y psychedelics, and complex rhythms on "Habiba" and "Dweeb Weed" results in alien, otherworldly sounds. "These Hands Are Royal" is a very evocative track as well, with its propulsive beat and dusty guitar riffs giving me the distinct imagery of travelling a desert by foot. Lingua Nada never overwhelms the listener with their explosive songs on "Djinn", and the band takes time to mellow out a bit towards the end of the album with the bubbly, psychedelic indietronica bop "Yalla Yalla" and the minimalist folk tune "In Limbo". Lead vocalist Adam Lenox is buried pretty deep in the mix of guitars, and I wouldn't exactly say he has the strongest presence as a vocalist, but I can't say that this takes away much of the appeal because "Djinn" is clearly meant to be a more impressionistic experience. Lingua Nada have come out of the past two years with a strong 1-2 punch of innovative noise rock albums, and with "Djinn" they've proven themselves to be one of the most daring and multi-talented rock bands of the decade.

Highlights: "Habiba", "These Hands Are Royal", "Djinn", "Salam Cyber", "Yalla Yalla", "Proto", "Gucci Mecca"

9/10

Ginger - Brockhampton

Main Genres: Pop Rap, Contemporary R&B, West Coast Rap

A decent sampling of: Alternative R&B, Emo Rap, Conscious Rap, Indie Pop

This album feels like it's all about growth. Brockhampton have undergone a lot of changes as a band since they first blew up in 2017 between sudden fame, signing a major label, and kicking Ameer for his toxic behaviour. Last year's "Iridescence" felt like a raw, anguished, and messy response to the sudden changes the band had to cope with. Now it's 2019 and we have "Ginger", a more lowkey and sometimes deeply sad album, where members of Brockhampton are still processing many of the same problems. This time, however, the album is far more consistent, more nuanced, and overall, masterfully crafted. There's a lot of talk of male identity and what it means to be a man on "Ginger", and some of the traits brought up are moral integrity, honesty, and vulnerability, all which are part of emotional maturity and subvert machismo gender expectations. True to its album cover, "Ginger" is like a big hug for young guys struggling with depression, but anybody can get something out of this brilliant piece of art. The highlights are many: Joba's verse on "BIG BOY", Kevin's verse on "BOY BYE", and Matt's verse on "NO HALO" just to name a few. But the defining moment of "Ginger" is Dom's takedown of Ameer at the end of "DEARLY DEPARTED", a brilliant 66 seconds of anger, remorse, pain, and condemnation. Guest rapper Victor Roberts rapping about his traumatic childhood experience with the police on album closer "VICTOR ROBERTS" is also a key highlight, and serves as a fitting note to end an album that so forwardly tackles depression and coping with traumatic life changes. The production is fantastic, from the effortlessly cool R&B jam "SUGAR" to weirder tracks like the off-kilter "IF YOU PRAY RIGHT" which is built around a cartoonish trombone riff. I simply can't praise this album enough. Brockhampton have matured as artists, and "Ginger" will go on to prove their legacy as one of the best rap groups of the 2010s. Highlights: "DEARLY DEPARTED", "NO HALO", "SUGAR", "GINGER", "BOY BYE", "VICTOR ROBERTS", "IF YOU PRAY RIGHT", "BIG BOY", “ST. PERCY”

10/10

Magdalene - FKA Twigs

Main Genres: Art Pop, Glitch Pop

A decent sampling of: Progressive Pop, Ambient Pop, Alternative R&B, Post-Industrial

It's hard to describe what makes this album so brilliant because it's so subtle. "MAGDALENE" slowly unravels to reveal its beauty, in the same way that a flower slowly blooms, petal by petal. Likewise, FKA Twigs slowly strips away all of her defenses, track by track, to reveal the heart of a wounded lover. "MAGDALENE" is all about the breakup of Twigs' highly publicized relationship with Robert Pattinson. The lyrics explore her lover's emotional distance on "home with you", her feelings of inadequacy after being thrust into the broader public eye on "cellophane", her lover's lies on "fallen alien", and the physical pain she endured undergoing fibroid surgery that rendered her feeling weak on "daybed". Like the rest of her work, many of the songs on "MAGDALENE" juxtapose the unnerving with the beautiful, with tracks like "mirrored heart" and "fallen alien" alternating between ethereal vocals backed by piano and glitchy, spine-tingling production that evokes earthquakes and mirrors shattering into hundreds of pieces. There's also a lot of empty space on this album, and a general appreciation for minimalism. Tracks like "mary magdalene" and "cellophane" are made stronger by allowing enough room for Twigs' vocals to carry the music, and boy does she ever. Twigs breathes, moans, cries, screams, whispers, and commands with her voice to utter perfection throughout. The vocal highlights are all over "MAGDALENE", but my absolute favourites include the last line of "home with you", the dark incantations of the verses on "fallen alien", and the withering refrain after the beat-drop on "cellophane". "cellophane" is the centerpiece of "MAGDALENE" and the perfect closer, like listening to the music of a dying flower as it slowly wilts away. Overall, "MAGDALENE" is a stunning piece of art. Twigs has reclaimed her pain on this album by turning one of the lowest points in her life into the most beautiful album of the year. Highlights: "cellophane", "home with you", "fallen alien", "mary magdalene", "daybed", "sad day", "mirrored heart", "thousand eyes"

10/10

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the-concession-stand · 4 years ago

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Recommendations!: Netflix

I get asked a lot for recommendations. With that in mind I wanted to start a new feature here at Concession Stand called “Recommendations!” which will be a list of 10 or so movies on any given streaming service or maybe even physical media. For the first of these let’s go with the biggest service out there, Netflix.

(These are in no particular order)

10. Tucker and Dale Vs. Evil

Genre: Horror, Comedy

Released: 2010

Starring: Alan Tudyk, Tyler Labine, and Katrina Bowden

Synopsis: A group of college kids go camping near where Tucker and Dale, two redneck friends, have purchased a cabin in the woods. When one of the college kids falls and hits there head and is taken in by Tucker and Dale, a misunderstanding spirals out of control.

My Thoughts: Probably the pinnacle of horror comedy this movie nails it on all fronts. It’s hilarious, intense at points, and delivers an amazing story that would be good even without the comedy.

9. As Above So Below

Genre: Horror

Released: 2014

Starring: Perdita Weeks and Ben Feldman

Synopsis: A group of explorers travel into the catacombs of Paris where they discover dark secrets and what may be an entrance to hell itself.

My Thoughts: This. Movie. Is. Intense. I know a lot of people will be turned off by the hand-camera aspect of it, but it’s not just a gimmick, it works in this movie. it’s one of the few movies that really stuck with me and got genuinely creepy.

8. Creep

Genre: Horror

Released: 2014

Starring: Mark Duplass and Patrick Brice

Synopsis: A videographer takes a one-day job to record the last words of a dying man, however when the man starts to behave strangely the videographer has to question the mans true motives

My Thoughts: Another hand-camera movie, but again it works in and for this movies benefit. Another one where one scene in particular really got me with a true what the hell am I watching holy crap moment. It and it’s sequel are worth your time.

7. Enemy

Genre: Drama, Thriller

Released: 2013

Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal

Synopsis: A college professor discovers an exact look alike for himself in a movie. After hunting him down and learning of the others life, things spiral out of control

My Thoughts: I gotta prefece this movie wont be for everyone, it’s weird. A lot of it wont make sense on first viewing. HOWEVER, this to me is why it’s so good, it’s one you’re gonna wanna look up what other people got from it and talk about it with your friends. Also you get double Gyllenhaal so that’s always a plus.

6. Super Dark Times

Genre: Crime, Drama

Released: 2017

Starring: Owen Campbell, Charlie Tahan, and Elizabeth Cappuccino

Synopsis: Two teenagers experience a gruesome accident that leads to a cover-up and a secret that drives a wedge between them and knocks them into a world of escalating paranoia and violence.

My Thoughts: This one came out of nowhere and I’m disappointed more people haven’t discovered it yet, it’s a great crime thriller. The kids in it are phenomenal in the roles and can be genuinely scary with how good they play these kids who have to cover-up something horrible. Go in blind to it and I assure you you wont be disappointed.

5. Good Time

Genre: Drama, Crime

Released: 2017

Starring: Robert Pattinson, Benny Safdie, and Jennifer Jason Leigh

Synopsis: After his brother is arrested in a robbery gone wrong, a man has one night to try to get him out of jail by any means necessary

My Thoughts: I’m so glad “Uncut Gems” was such as hit for the Safdie brothers because hopefully that means more people will look into “Good Time”. This is the movie I will forever throw out whenever anyone wants to question Robert Pattinson’s acting abilities. He disappears into this role as a criminal. So many great things here, the acting, directing, score.��

4. Green Room

Genre: Horror

Released: 2015

Starring: Anton Yelchin, Imogen Poots, oh and Patrick Stewart as the head neo-nazi (yes seriously)

Synopsis: On the tour that took them to the west, a D.C. based punk band ends up inadvertently playing a neo-nazi club. When one of the members enters the green room after they have packed up, he discovers a murder and the band ends up in a stand off with the neo-nazis.

My Thoughts: Oh Green Room, how I love you. Just writing this I want to immediately go watch it again. I’ve recommended this movie a lot and everyone whose seen it has come back saying they loved it. It is the definition of an edge of your seat thriller. Also, did I mention the beloved Patrick Stewart plays a neo-nazi?!? it’s wild. He said in an interview that just reading the script he had to turn on all the lights and kept looking out his window.

3. 13 Sins

Genre: Thriller

Released: 2014

Starring: Mark Webber and Ron Perlman

Synopsis: After receiving a strange phone-call promising him riches if he can complete 13 task, a man is sent on a disturbing journey where each task is more sinister than the last.

My Thoughts: Another one that came out of nowhere, I hadn’t even heard of it before watching but man did I love it. It’s a great thriller that really sucks you in and makes you worried for the characters and invested in everything happening. Also makes you question what you would do in their shoes. There is a lot of those “do something crazy for money” movies out there but this is hands down the best.

2. The Invitation

Genre: Horror, Suspense

Released: 2015

Starring: Logan Marshall-Green, Tammy Blanchard, and Michiel Huisman

Synopsis: A man and his new girlfriend are invited to a get together at his ex-wife’s house with all his old friends. However, the true intentions of the host are unknown.

My Thoughts: This movie reminded me why I love movies. I was so happy after watching and just remembering why movies can be so great. While it may not be as ambiguous if the host are actually dark or normal, I assure you you will just love the ride.

1. The Guest

Genre: Action, Thriller

Released: 2014

Starring: Dan Stevens and Maika Monroe

Synopsis: A mysterious man shows up at the house of a family whose son has recently died in the military. Claiming to be a friend of the sons, the man gets closer and closer to the family, however not all is as it seems with this new mystery man.

My Thoughts: I have been singing this movies praises since 2014. Made by the same team behind “You’re Next” it’s really hard to decide which is better. What I do know is Dan Stevens kills it in this movie and it’s one hell of a ride.

So those are just some of the great hidden gems on Netflix. I had a lot of fun doing this and may just do another one going over another 10 on Netflix or another streaming service. Let me know which you would like!

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player-1 · 5 years ago

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The Near-Death-Experience Theory (KH Unchained)

Oh boy...Don’t I have something fun here... (Also a TLDR at the bottom)

With the translation to the Union X novel finally released, in-depth secrets come to light, of course, with a little bit of digging as well.

In my case, one thing seems to puzzle me more than ever...the Player's connection with Nightmare Chirithy; something that eluded most of the fanbase since Unchained and Union X was released. Of course, the Chirithy the Player has acts more like a parental figure than a close friend (now implied with Elrena and Blaine’s Chirithies), but maybe there's a reason for that...What if something happened to the Player and he had to have his Chirithy replaced?

As the title says above, what if the Player suffered a near-death experience just before Unchained and his Chirithy "disconnected" from his wielder to later become a Nightmare? And what if said Nightmare becomes the focal point of the War? (To avoid running on old steam, I'll call the Player Hero (personal headcanon name) and the Nightmare Chirithy OG Chirithy. I'll mostly go off the novel for the fine details and list the pages, so have fun following along if you have the novel too! [I’ll add some screenshots of the pages or just explain the major details, don’t blame me if it’s a bit sloppy or all over-the-place..It’s more than recommended to read from start-to-finish, just in case.😉])

Comment or reblog if you’re interested!

First, I'm going off some unusual traits Hero possesses that might describe some past "incident" and the repercussions that follow.

How Hero obtained the Keyblade (Page 15) The one thing that contrasts between the novel and the game is the introduction. Of course, it means the Keyblade hero of Light goes through some weird dream sequence at the Station of Awakening and gets their Keyblade, right? Well, not for Hero's case. The mobile includes that feature (albeit the lack of self-portrait glass mural) while the novel doesn't even bother to describe the scene at all. Why, you ask? Well, most people ignore this key detail...

Out of every dive in the heart in the series, they usually wake up from that sleep (either on the beach for Sora or in Twilight Town for Roxas), but Hero starts off fresh out of Dive-time at the Fountain Square. (Little tidbit and KH3 spoiler, the Station of Awakening is akin to the veil between life and death. The more you know...) In my opinion, I would suppose that the Foretellers would pick their wielders, or the wielders pick their Master, vice versa; just a normal application or suggestion to get the ball rolling...

Hero's sense of navigation (page 22) Little sidenote honestly. But how does a kid who was born and raised in Daybreak have no idea how to get to the Waterfront Park?

Screw that, he should know the place like the back of his hand!

The Neo Shadow Trio (Pages 31-33) Now, this trio caught me a bit by surprise. Of course, even if they didn't survive the Neo Shadow attack, the last member managed to hold them off for a couple of days until their final breath. That's a bummer, I know, but it's strange how Hero never considered working with a team beforehand. But the question still remains...

Here's a simple answer for you; kids die!

The Power Bangle (Pages 33-34) Isn't it just a coincidence that when Hero wants to get stronger, especially when he wants friends that actually stay with him, a Chirithy comes around with all the answers he needs? Even if the promise is enticing, he hesitates.

"Wasn't guilt that awful feeling you got when you did something wrong?" In my opinion, Hero's definition of Guilt is somewhat confusing. While the Neo Shadow Trio "left him", Hero felt guilty about not being strong enough to protect others. In a strange sort of way, those are the two things he feels guilty about, and the two things that all Keyblade wielders have to follow. Having friends to give them strength, and power to protect themselves. Hero, for that brief moment of loss and confusion, was guilty about not following either of those pieces of advice.

Finally, Hero's little speech before throwing himself into the jaws of possible death (Pages 84-85) While it was pretty inspirational and moving, even if this reaction was spurred on by Ava, he had a lot more of a burden to get off his chest after Ephemer's "death". He explains how, no matter how hard he worked for Anguis, it felt incredibly unfair to have that all taken away from him. What caught me off guard was his realization of the Darklings and how he was ready to throw his life away to "avenge" Em.

I had to fight who I considered my friends? Did Hero know that the Darklings were the Neo Shadow Trio?

Of course, for such a young and ambitious wielder, none of the Foretellers take the time to describe what Darkness should be. Even with his sense of heroics, no one would have the balls to go against a Foreteller, especially not the one they follow. Also, don’t just be a child soldier, be a child soldier with feelings!

Alright then...even if this seems like a stretch, but it feels like Hero holds some kind of untold trauma in his heart, but just doesn't understand (or remembers) why. He's way too quiet than other people, doesn't think a lot about others (or getting help from other wielders), and even if he got friends, he can get pretty defensive if something happened to them or blames himself for something out of his control. It's a bit interesting, right?

Well don't worry, it gets far more interesting with the OG Chirithy, believe me!

OG Chirithy reflects Hero’s original personality before the accident (Pages 33-34, 79-80) As mentioned earlier with Elrena and Blaine, I believe that, if given enough time and partnership, they can reflect their wielder's more intimate and personal interests and personality. (ie, Elrena's Chirithy is caring and considerate of others, as opposed to Elrena being spunky and more of a lone-wolf kind of girl. Blaine's Chirithy is sassy and demanding, something Blaine puts aside for a cool and charismatic mannerism.)

With that little fact in mind, we can put together Hero's "original" personality based on OG/Nightmare Chirithy's appearances.

First, when Hero is given the Power Bangle. The first thing OG Chirithy does is congratulate Hero for all the hard work and how much he grew since day one (something the other Chirithy tones down to a teacher-student kind of exchange), and Hero was just thinking about getting stronger; offers him the Power Bangle. The entire conversation seems relaxed and straightforward; with the Bangle, Hero can collect Lux and Guilt for his Union and himself respectively. It's also worth noticing that "The sparkling Power Bangle fit so comfortably that it was hard to believe you'd only just put it on. You were so pleased you couldn't help but show it off." (pg 33). It's really surprising to consider how that Chirithy knew Hero's wrist size, even for a simple accessory. It's tempting to say the least...or he just knows his measurements, something like that.

Second, after the battle with the Darklings. Despite the surprising revelation with the Darklings' origin, OG Chirithy was surprisingly calm about the whole situation. "I thought if I took away everyone's Lux, there'd be no reason to fight anymore." Of course, this was all because of Hero learning about the coming end-times and wielders starting to fight over Lux from Skuld, so it's strange to consider why taking wielder's Lux would solve the problem. In my opinion, this means something more: for everyone to be equal. Lux means fighting stronger Heartless, and the more Lux a wielder has makes them arrogant and prideful. By equalizing wielders' Lux income, that would mean them working together as a group, producing more Lux as a whole than a single overpowered tank could. Surprisingly enough, that's also the one thing that Hero desires; friends he can relate to and fight alongside with. Even if the manner of achieving this dream seems drastic, it's something Hero's current Chirithy wouldn't understand. All in all, OG Chirithy seems to be calm and in-control of everything around him, wants to be strong so he has friends that care about him, and he’s more than happy to make sure his wielder is happy too...albiet in some pretty unusual ways.

Now, even with the existence of a Nightmare Chirithy, everything about it seems to break a recognized loophole in Unchained. When a wielder dies or falls into Darkness, their Chirithy disappears alongside them. And even if a wielder falls into Darkness (ie turning into a Darkling), they're unable to wield a Keyblade or use Medals in their state. Well, here's where everything gets blown out of the water!

How in the world does the OG Chirithy know about Spirits and Nightmares, while Hero's Chirithy doesn't? Even if the novel is in the point of view of Hero's new Chirithy, there seem to be some key points that Chirithy 2 doesn't mention (the story with Backcover and the Foretellers, and even the Master of Masters himself), but here's where it gets interesting. The only Chirithy that knows about Nightmares is the very first Chirithy MoM created. What I'm trying to say is this...If Chirithies are so interconnected with their wielders they're all "If I die, I die with you", what if the first Chirithy was a prototype Spirit?

While that warning with a wielder falling into Darkness and creating a Nightmare seems threatening enough, not a lot of wielders have enough strength to even control that Darkness, nonetheless use it with their humanity intact. A Chirithy becoming a Nightmare, at most, would be an extremely rare case; that would mean the wielder getting overcome by Darkness and surviving on their own, and I'm pretty sure a bunch of teenagers wouldn't live up to that if they even tried.

So why, pray tell, does this mean with Hero? Some interesting connections, actually. In pages 65 and 87, Ava seems to know that Hero can easily be overwhelmed with his emotions (more so in the heart), but Hero seems pretty resilient to the Darkness as a whole. If an ordinary wielder knew that their friend was offed by a Foreteller, they would've been acting a lot more brash and destructive than that; but Hero doesn't, he just acted far too calm about it all.

The day before Hero meets Ephemer, Chirithy meets OG Chirithy, though a bit darker in shade (pg 38). At that time, Chirithy remembers the Foretellers "Who's the traitor?" scene in Backcover (pg 52). Isn't it a bit of a coincidence that just as Hero finally gets a new friend, the Nightmare starts to make a move?

Even if the Foretellers knew about the Nightmare, they only looked upon themselves as this "traitor". After all, isn't it easier to put the blame on those closest to you than a random stranger? And even if the Foretellers knew about the Nightmare's wielder, would you really think that they had to put down some random kid who just so happens to possess the root of all evil? Hero doesn't look or act corrupted at all, so he practically stays under the radar the entire time as the Foretellers eventually tear each other apart; focusing more on the "traitor" than getting rid of the obvious threat.

I know I'm rambling way too much at this point, but one thing also seemed to elude me...

Was this all part of the Master's plan?

To give a random wielder a prototype Chirithy and hope for the best? Well, if the Master didn't know what would happen, the War never would have occurred. If the Master predicted that, with the simple act of giving the first Chirithy to Hero, would eventually lead to him almost losing his heart to Darkness (or Heartless, idk), and eventually creating the Nightmare he warned about? And before the Foretellers could realize what happened, MoM just kept cranking out more and more Spirits to cover up the tracks; eventually leading to an army of identical Scottish Folds and absolutely way too many kids to count.

And if, after that horrifying accident, Hero suppressed his memories of the event; and in a sudden jump of adrenaline, somehow managed to reclaim his Keyblade? (I know it seems a bit dumb to mention this now, but try to relate this to the aftermath of Sora's almost-norting from DDD. Almost losing his heart to Darkness could put a lot of strain on it; and as a result, his Keyblade suffers a "soft reboot" of sorts. After all, a Keyblade is a reflection of their heart, right? If it gets hurt, the Keyblade reflects it, no matter how stupid that plothole might have been.)

The Master of Masters said about the traitor that would start the War, all that kind of stuff in the Lost Page, but the Page never described who or what the traitor would be. Just pick out someone evil who has a way of spreading Darkness and that's that...But that's the problem here. Only the Nightmare is spreading Darkness, not the wielder; even without the person's knowledge. Hero’s connection to Nightmare Chirithy is like a walking paradox; while the wielder collects Lux and works like every other Keyblade wielder, his Chirithy works behind the scenes in ultimately causing tension and violence across for the Unions and Foretellers. Despite the whole world practically revolving around you, maybe now you realize why...You the Player, in some crazy convoluted future-vision crap, was the traitor the whole time!

TL;DR The Master of Masters gave Hero the very first Chirithy, but Hero almost died from Heartless/Darkness, causing him to lose his memory from the trauma (that PTSD jazz) and resetting his Keyblade's abilities. Meanwhile, with Chirithy's bond weakening from the attack, obtains the bangles, taps into the wielders' Guilt, and spreads Darkness all throughout Daybreak Town; eventually becoming the traitor and the main cataclyst of the Keyblade War.

#kh #kh unchained #kh union x #Kh uion x spoilers #player character #Chirithy #Nightmare Chirithy #kh novel spoilers #Foretellers #Master of Masters #theory

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audreyxuan · 5 years ago

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Body and Biology: Cross-Cultural Depictions of the Human Form in Cyberpunk Media

My project will concern the portrayal and treatment of the human body in cyberpunk media, particularly the role of body modification and biotechnology. I will define the history and origins of cyberpunk, a dystopian subgenre of science fiction borne out of paranoia around technology, capitalism, and globalisation. The human body has always played a significant role in the genre, as characters adapt or themselves to reach a perfect ideal, whether for weaponisation or aesthetic self-expression. This paper studies different approaches to the idea of humanity and whether it is inherently tethered to the physical, organic human body. My project covers a total of six media, three from Western countries and three from Eastern countries: Blade Runner (U.S./Hong Kong), Altered Carbon (U.S.), Gunnm (Japan), Ghost in the Shell (Japan), ACRONYM (Germany), and Comme des Garçons (Japan). The first four sources are all filmic media (movies or series) and are listed chronologically to show the role that each one had on the following. The final two sources are fashion labels that have been influenced by the form-consciousness ethos of cyberpunk, and recontextualise the body in two different ways: deconstruction and protection. I will explain the sociological and historical reasons why each media addresses the concept of humanity differently, especially in relation to concepts such as globalisation, free trade, and cultural diffusion. By exploring the idea of the body in relation to technology and modification, we can learn more about what it means to be human.

Cyberpunk is a subgenre of science fiction that operates in a futuristic, dystopian sphere. The movement originated from the New Wave sci-fi movement, which sought to dismantle the lowbrow B-movie myths the genre had become affiliated with in the 1950s. New Wave prioritised deep philosophical and narrative concepts over sensationalist storylines and genre clichés, such as the monster movie or the damsel in distress (Parker 2011). The late 1970s saw the start of a technological revolution, as mass-produced computers were offered to the public in 1977 (The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica 2020). With unprecedented technological advancement, as with anything new and strange, came a healthy--though some may argue exaggerated--degree of skepticism and distrust.

Another important factor was that the birth of the subgenre came at the climax of the Cold War. The United States and Russia waged a war of beliefs, battling for ideological control; worldwide economic power and political systems would be determined by this outcome. “It is no coincidence that cyberpunk came of age in the era where capitalism was moving towards global dominance, culminating in its symbolic triumph at the fall of the Berlin Wall,” writes Paul Walker-Emig for The Guardian (2018). Capitalism’s laissez-faire, non-interventionist policy enabled international trade, leading to the rise of globalism and cultural diffusion. It also, however, allowed for socio-economic inequality and gross exploitation, reinforcing frustration among the lower- and middle-class.

The intellectual elements of New Wave sci-fi, the advent of wide-spread technology, and globalisation as a result of capitalism all combined in a perfect storm of paranoia and cynicism, giving birth to the cyberpunk subgenre.

One of the defining tropes of cyberpunk media is its relationship with the human body. The nature of that relationship can fluctuate, but it’s often obsessive and damaging. Whether it’s the anti-establishment sentiment of personal expression or the militaristic goal of creating a human weapon, bodies are enhanced, implanted, and amputated to meet a “perfect” ideal. Whatever the rationale, all modification is derived from an inherent dissatisfaction with the natural human form. This project will examine the portrayal and treatment of the human body in cyberpunk media, particularly the role of body modification and biotechnology. I will consider both Western and Asian depictions and explain the sociological reasoning behind their choices. Finally, we will move past filmic mediums and into the world of fashion, exploring how cyberpunk and its obsession with the body has filtered into the realm of our reality.

Because of its dominance in the Cold War and its already-established film industry, the United States became one of the prime exporters of cyberpunk cinema. Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner, released in 1982, is considered to be one of the first cyberpunk films. The movie follows Rick Deckard, a bounty hunter tasked with killing androids known as “replicants”, originally created to populate newly-colonised planets. After some lead a violent uprising demanding freedom, all replicants are outlawed and ordered dead. Deckard describes the replicants as “more human than human and sometimes the ‘more’ turned out to be a problem” (Fancher 1980). If the replicants are sentient beings with who can think (and perhaps feel) like humans, should they be deprived of rights simply because they do not inhabit an organic human body? The Voight-Kampff machine Deckard uses to determine who is a replicant and who is not is about as reliable as a modern polygraph test, or perhaps even less so. In other words, it provides no safe answers about one’s true nature. The lines between human and robot are so blurred, some fans and scholars have adopted the idea that Deckard himself is a replicant, possibly without even him knowing (Organ et al. 12).

While Blade Runner takes place in the U.S., there are clear Asian influences, from the visuals to the production (American Film Institute). The city is described as “a futuristic Los Angeles, modeled after the Hong Kong cityscape”, but Scott avoids appropriating imagery for mere aesthetic merit (Zhu 2016). Hong Kong, with its colonial history and fractured national identity, was specifically chosen for its relevance to Blade Runner’s story. In his case study “Hong Kong’s Influence on Blade Runner, Ghost in the Shell, and Cyberpunk Cinema”, Ray Zhu writes:

A typical Hong Kong street scene represented in the protracted scenes of cityscape in Blade Runner serve to illustrate a society confused about its own identity, about to implode at any moment. In Blade Runner, the conflict and tension between the Replicants, or cyborgs mimicking humans, and people of flesh and blood parallel the modern day consequences of increasingly expansive consumerism and intrusive technology encroaching on people’s lives. (2016)

After losing funding from an American production company, the movie was backed in part by Hong Kong producer Sir Run Run Shaw, making it a joint United States/Hong-Kong production (Sammon 64-67). Even though the film is helmed by an Englishman, written by Americans, and stars American and European actors, it’s interesting to consider how cross-cultural diffusion had a role in the production of the film itself.

Much of the film is spent trying to pin down notions of what it means to be human, and a sense of uncertainty is woven throughout. Numerous rewrites and international releases have resulted in seven different versions of the film being released, leaving audiences questioning what the “real” ending is. In one iteration, the movie ends with Deckard and his replicant love-interest Rachael as they choose to begin their life on the run from authorities, their fate unknown (Grab 2013). This sentiment runs parallel to the narrative themes of Blade Runner: questioning what is authentic and what is not, never providing any definitive answers.

Gunnm, a 1993 anime adaptation of manga series Battle Angel Alita, plays with similar ideas of characters being defined by the nature of their bodies. Gally, known as Alita in some versions, is a dilapidated cyborg discovered by cyberdoctor Ido. Not even two minutes in, Ido proclaims “She’s human all right”, despite looking very clearly un-human; she has no limbs, only a disembodied torso of metal and wires (Gunnm 0:01:50). After her first fight, which she ends by dismembering two rival cyborgs, Ido rushes over to her, asking “Gally, are you alright? Is your body damaged?” (Gunnm 0:13:56). Her body is his primary concern. In every aspect except physically, Gally is human. She talks like a teenage girl, thinks like one, laughs like one. But Ido, her protector and father figure, sees her as a body, a weapon--something that happens to have consciousness, but never qualifies as fully human.

In 1995, Mamoru Oshii’s Ghost in the Shell was released. One of Japan’s seminal cyberpunk films, it takes place in a world where people can implant or replace their body parts with cybernetic tech. Major Motoko Kusanagi is a cyborg police agent in Neo-Tokyo, tasked with hunting down the Puppet Master, a hacker who infiltrates cyborgs without their knowledge. The Puppet Master appeals to Major as a fellow cyber-being, leaving her questioning her worth and humanity. By the end, he convinces her to upload his mind into hers, pooling their consciousness and knowledge and effectively betraying her human superiors.

By the mid-90s, Ghost in the Shell was able to touch on new topics and new tech; during the genre’s inception in the early eighties, notions of Internet networks and advanced AI were still too abstract to be analysed. “The rapid development of artificial intelligence [...] reveals the identity crisis of mankind as they are developing a more close-knit connection with machine over time,” write Hui-tong Zhou and Jing An (136). They explain how the “Ship of Theseus” problem applies to Major’s artificially-implanted memories: “if all of parts of physical body are superseded by machines, and if the memory of one is completely distorted or disappeared, is this human still the original one?” (Zhou and An 138). If her body parts (including her brain) were replaced with technology, piece-by-piece, is Major human? Her ultimate decision to join the Puppet Master suggests not. Ghost in the Shell debates not only the difference between how we should treat robots versus humans, but the essential differences in defining the two.

Almost four decades after Blade Runner, Altered Carbon (2018 to present) was aired, taking many of its stylistic and thematic cues from Scott’s masterpiece. In the future, human consciousness can be uploaded onto biotech devices called stacks, which can be implanted in any human “sleeve”. “Your body is not who you are,” speaks an unnamed narrator in voiceover. “You shed it like a snake sheds its skin.” (S1E1 “Out of the Past” 0:06:55). Like Blade Runner, it takes place in an endlessly-rainy, neon-drenched, globalised metropolis called Bay City, where the main currency is UN credits and characters often switch into Spanish, Arabic, Japanese, or German. The world is highly-stratified, as the rich live in towering skyscrapers far from the streets and slums of the poor. Activist groups demand rights for human sleeves, who can be bought and sold like slaves for billionaires who want a new body. Like modern-day cosmetic surgery, it’s an example of how capitalism lets the rich modify themselves to fit beauty standards.

Protagonist Takeshi Kovacs suffers from paranoia and PTSD, feeling a disconnect to his new sleeve and seeing his old face in the mirror. He was born as a person of Asian descent, played by Korean-American actor Will Yun Lee, but is resleeved into the body of a white man (Swedish-American Joel Kinnaman). Changing one’s physical identity is perhaps a more interesting concept than the straightforward physical immortality that the stack technology provides. Creator Laeta Kalogridis addresses the fact that switching bodies has particularly important implications for transgender and genderfluid people.“This kind of technology creates interesting intersections between your idea of your physical self and your idea of your inner or spiritual self, or your idea of being fluid in some way, certainly the idea of reassigning your gender,” says Kalogridis in an interview with The Wrap (Maas 2018). The series employs decades-old themes of identity, globalisation, and capitalism that are still, and perhaps painfully, relevant. Paying homage to cyberpunk’s body-obsessive origins but with an added social context, Altered Carbon covers new, socially-conscious ground in the genre.

The conscious examination of the relationship between the body and technology has transcended non-filmic mediums and found its way into various artistic disciplines. From Japanese illustrator Hajime Sorayama’s hyper-sexualised humanoid robots to upcoming biotech-themed video game Cyberpunk 2077, the genre’s unique aesthetic cues have been embraced by every corner of the design and media industry. But perhaps most fascinating is how cyberpunk, given its fixation on the human form, has been appropriated by the fashion world, from high fashion to streetwear.

Japanese fashion label Comme des Garçons, founded by Rei Kawakubo, is known for “deconstruction and silhouettes that reimagine the human form” (Smith 2017). They are not so much clothes as pieces of art, “objects for the body” that redefine our anatomy (Bolton 157). Her items are often abstract to the point of being unwearable, like an oddly-shaped plaid dress from her Spring/Summer 1997 collection “Body Meets Dress, Dress Meets Body”. This collection was described as “a reorganization of the body, where the symmetry of desirable curves is mocked, literally pushed aside and distorted by tumorous lumps and bumps” (de Perthuis 9). Other releases were driven by similarly disruptive ideas: “skirts and jackets were made entirely of shoulder segments [...] garments came with ‘spares’--one dress would have two more hanging from the shoulders, and jackets had extra sleeves” (de Perthuis 9). Her anti-fashion ethos seeks to evolve notions of clothing, and how it is more powerful as a tool of expression and emotion than as mere visually-appealing aesthetic. “Clothes provide a physical and symbolic barrier between ourselves and the world. Linked to gendered, cultural and social identities, they connect us to others, but can also separate and protect us from their gaze,” writes professor of design and communications Karen de Perthuis (11-12). By challenging the very definition of fashion itself, Kawakubo subverts not only beauty standards but body standards.

While Kawakubo supposedly works in a self-proclaimed “void of fashion history”, much of what we see on the runways is often a reflection of current trends in underground fashion (de Perthuis 10). In the past few years, independent streetwear brands have tended towards utilitarian clothing that values practicality over all else, owing much of its aesthetic to the world of cyberpunk. Techwear and tactical wear is nearly always black (though may feature shades of grey or camouflage), accented with straps and buckles and made of durable materials like nylon, mesh, and paracord. Popular items include cargo pants, waterproof Gore-Tex jackets, face masks, utility vests, and hooded parkas. German fashion label ACRONYM is one of the leading brands in the techwear scene. The brand’s proprietary features sound like science fiction, like “Sound Forcelock - A hidden magnetic function near the collar to hold earbuds in place while wearing the jacket” or “EscapeZip - Allows the wearer to quickly unzip the jacket with one quick pull” (Li 2016). The label’s unofficial mission statement is “maximum utility and a futuristic aesthetic that blends militaristic designs with a sleek science fiction minimalism”, and their promotional videos use “stylized sci-fi films and anime [as] major sources of inspiration” (Li 2016). ACRONYM’s integration of technology into clothing serves as a form of modification; while not implanted into the body itself, the tech enables and enhances the wearer to move differently and perform better.

Many techwear pieces are reminiscent of cyberpunk’s combat-ready costumes; an ALYX chest rig wouldn’t look out of place on Ghost in the Shell’s Major. The popularity of this militaristic aesthetic, writes Tyler Watamanuk of SSENSE, “crest[s] on a backdrop of heightened conversations surrounding gun violence” (2020). The cargo pants, strappy harnesses, and combat boots remind Watamanuk of an infamous security camera still from the Columbine shooting. Utilitarian style “can trigger memories of terror and violence, fear and panic. [...] Ultimately, the poignancy of an aesthetic is informed by what we collectively associate it with” (Watamanuk 2020). Like Kawakubo’s work, utilitarian style uses clothes as objects to rework our physiques; rather than deconstruct the body, tactical wear armours and protects it. Labels like Comme des Garçons and ACRONYM ask wearers for permission to change their bodies, or sometimes demand it--by putting on a piece of clothing, you become something else.

Cyberpunk emerged in a time of uncertainty, exploring rapid globalisation, economic inequality, international trade, and cultural diffusion. Most importantly, though, it asks the most essential question: who is human, and who decides? Over the past forty years, both the West (Blade Runner, Altered Carbon, ACRONYM) and East (Battle Angel, Ghost in the Shell, Comme des Garçons) have grappled with this idea, each work influenced by the history of their regions. From Fritz Lang’s social drama Metropolis to Cold War allegory Invasion of the Body Snatchers, science fiction has always used fantastical settings to study the emotions, actions, and reactions of people in unprecedented situations. By studying the way we view the body, we can discover what it means to be strong, to be beautiful, to be human.

Works Cited

American Film Institute. “Blade Runner.” AFI Catalog of Feature Films, catalog.afi.com/Film/68260-BLADE-RUNNER.

Bolton, Andrew. Rei Kawakubo/Comme des Garçons: Art of the In-Between. Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2017.

de Perthuis, Karen. “Breaking the Idea of Clothes: Rei Kawakubo’s Fashion Manifesto.” Fashion Theory: The Journal of Dress, Body and Culture, 7 Jan. 2019, doi.org/10.1080/1362704X.2018.1531621.

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Personal computer.” Encyclopædia Britannica, 31 Jan. 2020, britannica.com/technology/personal-computer.

Fancher, Hampton. “Blade Runner.” 24 Jul. 1980, screenplay.com/downloads/scripts/Blade%20Runner.pdf.

Grab, Eiskaltes. “Blade Runner.” Movie Censorship, 7 Jun. 2013, movie-censorship.com/report.php?ID=774077.

Gunnm: Battle Angel. Directed by Hiroshi Fukutomi, Madhouse, 1993, youtube.com/watch?v=tofSaLB9kwE.

Li, Rocky. “Master Class: ACRONYM.” Grailed, 30 Nov. 2016, grailed.com/drycleanonly/master-class-acronym.

Maas, Jennifer. “‘Altered Carbon’ Creator on How Show Could Examine LGBTQ Issues in Season 2.” The Wrap, 13 Feb. 2018, thewrap.com/altered-carbon-transgender-stacks-lgbt-laeta-kalogridis.

Organ, Michael K., Susan Jones, Anthony M. Rice, & Grant C. White. “Catching 'tears in the rain': Blade Runner and the archiving of memory and identity.” Australian Society of Archivists Conference: Archives in a Blade Runner Age, 2018, ro.uow.edu.au/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1734&context=asdpapers.

“Out of the Past”. Altered Carbon, season 1, episode 1, 2 Feb. 2018. Netflix, netflix.com/watch/80097693.

Parker, John R. “‘New Worlds’: One of the Most Influential Sci-Fi Magazines Returns This Fall.” Comics Alliance, 20 Aug. 2011, comicsalliance.com/new-worlds-magazine-returns.

Sammon, Paul M. Future Noir: The Making of Blade Runner. Dey Street Books, 2017.

Smith, Katie. “Comme des Garçons and the Kawakubo influence.” Edited, 4 May 2017, edited.com/resources/comme-des-garcons-influence.

Walker-Emig, Paul. “Neon and corporate dystopias: why does cyberpunk refuse to move on?” The Guardian, 16 Oct 2018, theguardian.com/games/2018/oct/16/neon-corporate-Dystopias-why-does-cyberpunk-refuse-move-on.

Watamanuk, Tyler. “Tactical Fashion: A Modern Love Story.” SSENSE, 9 Mar. 2020, ssense.com/en-us/editorial/fashion/tactical-fashion-a-modern-love-story.

Zhou, Hui-tong & Jing An. “How Cyborgs Define Themselves: On Ghost in the Shell.” International Conference on Education, Social Sciences and Humanities, 2018, pdfs.semanticscholar.org/81d9/6083bcaa47cfaa3768b3e994b238224e168e.pdf.

Zhu, Ray. “Case Study: Hong Kong’s Influence on Blade Runner, Ghost in the Shell, and Cyberpunk Cinema.” Medium, 31 Dec. 2016, medium.com/@ray.zhu/bridging-the-gap-sci-fi-cinema-and-depictions-of-hong-kong-sar-b15800678c29.

#paper #cyberpunk #scifi #science fiction #essay #writing

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hcpefulmarshmallow · 5 years ago

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💐

The Saddest Hours

Nagito was the one to find the body. Their friends were very kind about it. Offering their support, and reasoning that this was just an unhappy coincidence on his part.

They were wrong, of course, but he couldn’t bear to correct them.

He’d sensed something was coming for a while now. A weakness clung to Hajime; a sordid despair clouding the shining hope he brought to the island. Given all he’d done in the Neo World Program, it was no wonder the others had looked to him as a leader – an undoubtedly, Hajime hadn’t wanted to let them down. Nagito can only assume that’s why he’d downplayed it. After all, you can’t be dying and not know. As someone barely clinging to life himself, he’s well aware of that fact.

He’d lied so much, maybe he had convinced himself that everything was ❝fine, guys, really. I’m just tired, that’s all.❞ Maybe he didn’t think he was even worth saving. Maybe he didn’t know how to save himself. Whatever the reason, Nagito had woken that morning with something heavy in his stomach: a sense of dread that often preceded a bout of deep, insufferable despair. He’d gone straight to Hajime’s room, finding it, strangely, worryingly, unlocked.

He hadn’t bothered knocking. He’d let himself in and headed straight for the body slumped in the middle of the room where it had fallen, calling Hajime’s name over and over again. Pushing on his chest, begging him to say something, anything at all, even just open your eyes, yell at me, tell me to get out, I don’t care, just please–

The funeral service is beautiful, nobody can deny that. Least of all Nagito, who sits in the back, silent. Anyone left who can choke out a single word speaks fondly of him. Hajime’s legacy seems, for better or for worse, to be more pedestrian, and more beautiful, than Nagito could have imagined. They speak of his wit and intelligence. His steadfast bravery in the face of danger. His desire to know and help those around him. His kindness, his attentiveness; and when they talk about his greatest talent, the word Kamukura isn’t uttered once. What, instead, is remembered, is the way he put his heart and soul into those around him, bringing each and every person here out of their shell, one by one. Making them feel calm, relaxed, safe, even in the midst of all they’ve gone through.

It’s their first real loss since the Neo World Program, and it’s taken hard. Even those among them who are normally stoic cannot hide their grief. It’s sobering to see just how dear he is to everyone – only too late.

Nagito waits around until everyone has said their goodbyes and left, hoping to have a private word with the dearly departed. He walks, slowly, towards the statue Kazuichi and a few others put together for him, to erect in memoriam. It’s not a particularly handsome likeness, but the sentiment is well-understood.

❝They were wrong about you,❞ he murmurs in a soft tone, ❝and what you are. What kind of Ultimate Hope would bring about despair among his own friends? Everyone’s miserable, Hajime, and it’s all your fault. Wherever you are, I hope you know that.❞

He drops the flower in his hand at the foot of the statue, watching it land haphazardly among other bouquets and offerings. Seeming to think better after a moment, he kneels down to fix it.

❝Like I said: Talent is born, not made. You were better when you were a nobody, you know.❞ A small sigh: quiet, resigned; and finally, some emotion forces it’s way into his voice. Confusion. Grief. Anger. Sadness. Bewilderingly, he cares less about losing their leader, than he does about missing his friend.❝We all were.❞

#( i don't know where the idea of the project posing possibly long-term health dangers came from #bUT HEAR ME OUT OKAY #WHAT IF )#kiboumukou #answered #tw: death

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chrisgiuliano · 6 years ago

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Art & The American City

For whatever reason, Art Deco has been on my mind quite a bit lately, and I decided while in New York recently that I wanted to revisit some of the city’s more famous Art Deco landmarks - the Chrysler Building, the Empire State Building, the Met Life Building (the original one on Park Avenue, not the one above Grand Central), as well as the buildings of Rockefeller Center, and one of my all-time personal favorites, One Wall Street. I wanted to experience some of my favorite skyscrapers from the ground, the way they were intended to be experienced, and to circle them looking for new angles to capture them from, taking some shots but also planning more future shots.

One of the earliest and greatest Art Deco buildings, and another personal favorite, is Raymond Hood’s iconic American Radiator Building (pictured above in a Georgia O’Keefe painting). The American Radiator Building is on 40th St next to Bryant Park, occupying a prominent position near the public library, visible all around because of the park in front of it. After looking at the building, I remembered Georgia O’Keefe’s painting of it, and tried to picture it in person as she might have seen it. Her painting of the building is a homage to modernity. It was painted in 1927, and clearly shows how dazzling the new concept of an electrically lit city must have felt. Lights illuminate the middle floors, as well as the crown of the building, which is dramatically lit from below, and spotlights seems to search in the background from the ground. Another thing I get from this painting is the enthusiasm for verticality present in all Art Deco architecture. Raymond Hood was a master of verticality, and the American Radiator Building is one of the more impressive examples of the hopefulness of early skyscraper design, as the spires at the top point upwards into the sky, a theme that would become more and more prevalent, reaching its most exaggerated yet tasteful and handsome conclusion in the oddly under-rated Empire State and Chrysler Buildings.

Anyway, the above painting and all of my Art Deco escapades over the weekend got me thinking about originality and inventiveness in American art, and I discovered a few other painters and photographers with interesting and uniquely American works today that I thought were worth sharing. The Precisionists were American artists who made urban images that depicted the unprecedented scale and odd, cinematic beauty of American cities. Charles DeMuth, Charles Sheeler, and Paul Strand were three of the new artists I discovered, along with some of O’Keefe’s other, lesser-known paintings. Some of my favorites of all of these artists are posted below.

The interesting thing to me about all of these paintings is the obsession they have with uniquely American scenery. Scenes like these have been a big influence on the way I have been shooting recently. Above all else, they remind me of a quote in a book review of Jean Baudrillard’s travelogue America where the reviewer sums up Baudrillard’s account of American cities in the 1980′s: "The crowded cities are ‘electrifying’ and ‘cinematic’“. That sentence stuck with me, as I think it is an interesting representation of American urbanism, at least as American cities differ from other world cities. Americans invented the idea of the tall city. The skyscraper originated in Chicago and was perfected in New York. The evolution of the skyscraper was an exercise in engineering, as American cities soared to new heights and made their mark on the world. Unfortunately, our new skyscrapers do little to emphasize their height and have shunned the use of any traces of what makes the skyscraper American, instead opting to look like relatively bland glass boxes with no geographic or regional importance (with a few notable exceptions).

The paintings above draw on the unique sense of bigness and modernity that American cities, especially the large eastern cities, carried with great confidence in the first half of the 20th century when Art Deco was a prominent building style. Light, shadows, smoke, concrete, metal, and occasionally people mingle in an environment that was being pioneered and tested for the first time. In the great Northern cities (particularly New York, Chicago and some of the Rust Belt cities like Detroit, Pittsburgh, etc.), impressive and overwhelming structures became a part of everyday life. Whether in the tall, crowded, and chaotic granite walls of downtown, or the loud, noisy, traffic-clogged and smoke filled industrial districts where immigrants flooded to work in super-structure factories that made ships, steel, textiles, automobiles, or consumer goods, American cities were places of excess, filled with dazzling new architectural innovations. The machine age was in full swing, and American architecture (and art) reflected this bold new era in its flamboyantly optimistic designs.

At the same time, these urban environments created a bizarre sense of loneliness, exaggerated by the constant flow of human beings, transit, consumerism, and general American excessive-ness that has always been our best and worst trademark. These feelings were captured by one of the greatest American painters, Edward Hopper (below), whose works always included a sparse amount of people, often bathed in the glow of artificial light and sulking in their loneliness.

It says something about American attitudes towards urbanism today that Hopper’s urban paintings are much better known than O’Keefe’s or those of the Precisionists. As the 20th century surged forward, urbanism lost its luster. Cities were seen as dirty, grimy, and chaotic places that offered bad lives with polluted air. Anybody who could (though many could not), fled to the suburbs, and so we were left with white flight and urban renewal. The American urban consciousness was forever changed. Gone was art deco with its flashy vertical skyscrapers, exuberant urban designs and the flutter of industrial innovation that inspired it, and in came European Modernism, square glass boxes, American consumerist design, and the suburbs. It’s almost impressive how quickly Americans became disillusioned with what was by far our most impressive invention - the vertical city.

Even more bizarre is that we hardly even take Hopper seriously, and one of his paintings, Nighthawks, is one of the most parodied pieces of art in American history. On the internet, people have substituted the figures in the painting with all manner of characters from movies and pop culture, or set the diner in an imaginary place. We’re even disillusioned with our disillusionment. How post modern.

I think part of what has made me think so much about this was my recent trip to Asia. I visited Hong Kong, as well as several cities in South Korea, for two weeks. I think the trip revealed two things - first, it reinforced my love for the unfamiliar in cities (and there is not a more foreign, yet exhilarating experience as being a white person in Asian cities, something which Lost in Translation does an excellent job in capturing), and second, it showed me how much Americans are still admired in other parts of the world, despite my thoughts about our increasing irrelevancy and our current cultural and political circus that is on display for the world to see. In Asian cities that have taken and built upon all of the best things about American cities in the early 20th century, we were still met with awed looks when we talked casually about New York, or when people would ask us about the United States, and we would tell them about places like Los Angeles, Detroit, and Chicago. I realized that American cities do still have a strange ability to capture the imagination despite their flaws.

All of this has been informing the recent series that I have been slowly putting together from old and new photos, named Cities & Memory. The title is taken from Italo Calvino’s novel Invisible Cities, and comes from the feelings I got experiencing the cities of the Far East, which reminded me of my initial experiences of American cities. I felt, among other things, a sense of awe and confusion, in addition to being amazed by the architecture, infrastructure and cultural experiences.

I do sincerely wish we could build up our cities more than we do now, and that when we did so, we had something that made them look unique. I think architecture critics seem to think that American architecture is little more than a collection of variations on European architecture, but Art Deco is certainly a very American building style. I would love to see a return of Art Deco styles, like the new 9 DeKalb Ave in Brooklyn by SHoP Architects, SOM’s recently-revealed designs for the Chicago Spire site, or Pelli’s Wells Fargo Center in Minneapolis, which is perhaps one of the only buildings to be built in America in the last 50 years with so much as a nod to what makes American cities distinctly American (with some obvious inspiration from the designs of Raymond Hood). Instead of trying to compete with Dubai and Shanghai for the most oddly-shaped skyscrapers, perhaps we could look to our own history of vertical design for more inspiration. The bizarre experiments of our newest skyscrapers, which are beyond Post-Modernism now (though I still don’t know what to call them), seem to be experiments in what we can do with glass for the sake of experimenting with glass. It would be interesting to see a new crop of neo-decoism flourish and redefine American architecture. We could use something that draws on our unique history and innovations and inspires our imagination, reminding us that we once were, and could again be great city builders.

#architecture #american art #urbanism #georgia o'keefe #art deco #new york

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theultimatereapermailbox · 6 years ago

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Mod: I was requested to share how I came up with Keiko So all the italics is that process.

I’m in a Facebook roleplay community and essentially, I had a habit of making pages mostly for my OCs. Originally, Keiko was supposed to be a My Hero Academia OC with a quirk called Asphyxia (then I decided to make her multiverse and adjusted her capabilities accordingly after a close friend of mine started roleplaying with Keiko).

Anywho, in developing my little baby.

I had wanted to create a misunderstood female character who had a devastating ability that she couldn’t control and did not want to be born with. Her appearance hadn’t been thought of until a friend suggested that Keiko should appear extremely pale with intense red eyes and jet black hair. While I was developing Keiko with the MHA universe in mind, her Quirk would have her be able to kill anyone by touch and the cause of death for her victims would always be asphyxiation. With her backstory, Keiko would have never gotten quirk counseling.

The backstory: Keiko’s mother had left her father when Keiko herself was about three or four years old. It was shortly after that where her father turned physically and mentally abusive toward his small daughter. Her father consistently called her a “monster”, not once calling Keiko by her name and while the girl was aware of her birthday, it was never celebrated in her nightmare home.

Keiko’s father would lock her in a dark closet after beating her, which caused Keiko to develop nycto- and claustrophobia. This has been her everyday up until she was fourteen, when her father was beating her to within an inch of her life. Having enough and adrenaline kicking in, Keiko overpowered her father and strangled him.

That moment was the first time Keiko showed the “Face of the Reaper”. While Keiko is often kindhearted and gentle around her classmates and close friends at Hope’s Peak, her “Reaper” face is cold, devoid of any emotions. Her tone of voice also changes to a completely different fluctuation, to that of a Reaper.

In fact, the last words she said to her father were: “I asked myself why I existed for you to hate me so much.”

One wonders why Keiko hadn’t fallen into despair throughout her whole ordeal, but the scouts at Hope’s Peak noticed that, regardless of her Ultimate title as the Ultimate Reaper, Keiko carried more hope in her heart than anything. She entered the academy the same year the SDR2 cast did.

Psyche: Keiko is usually very gentle and intuitive to the feelings of those she is close to. She often has a kind word to others and tends to give a very faint smile. Despite this, due to the trauma her father had put her through most of her life, Keiko has difficulties allowing people to get close to her. She also cannot stand to be touched, only making limited exceptions for her close friends. On top of that, she suffers from nyctophobia and claustrophobia. While she is free to room at Hope’s Peak, her nyctophobia has not faded and that Keiko absolutely has to leave the lights on when it’s dark outside. She also suffers from PTSD from the abuse; shouting directed at her and the slightest touch are just a couple of her triggers that will have her flashbacking to the abuse she endured. Keiko also suffers from insomnia, which she is working little by little to overcome. On top of this, Keiko suffers from very low self-esteem and has a history of self-harming due to deep-seated feelings that she does not deserve to be happy and that she is a monster who shouldn’t be alive. Keiko also has a slight tendency to confuse platonic and romantic forms of affection and usually doesn’t know when someone genuinely cares for her due to the fact that she’s never had the emotional bonding during her childhood. As a result, she can sometimes appear a little clingy for her friends because of a lack of those emotional bonds that are vital to a child growing up.

Physical: Keiko has scars all over her back and her thighs. The scars on her back are from when her father abused her and the scars on her thighs were self-inflicted. Keiko often has all of her scars covered up, insecure about them; while she mentally feels she is an undeserving monster, physically she thinks her friends would think she is a monster if her scars are seen.

Relationships

With Sonia: Sonia was the first person to attempt to bond with Keiko. At first, the ravenette was distrustful of the blonde, paranoid at Sonia’s curiosity and kindness, that she resisted Sonia’s attempts at friendship at first. Sonia, however, kept persisting in pursuing a friendship with the mysterious Keiko who spoke very little of her past until Keiko decided to let Sonia in little by little until the blonde became Keiko’s very best friend. Sonia had also found Keiko before, in the midst of a depression so deep that Keiko had been cutting her thighs in her room and didn’t lock the door. Catching Keiko in the act, Sonia had begged the girl to stop, to reassure her that she was worth something; however, Sonia also maintains a watchful eye on Keiko whenever her expressions or mannerisms teeter on the edge. The girls are close enough that Keiko accompanies Sonia when the princess wants to find books or series pertaining to drama series or serial killers and Sonia sits through nature documentaries with Keiko. Sonia also indulges Keiko in her strange fascination with certain topics, which may have Keiko be slightly spoiled.

With Gundham: (this one is a little biased and long due to an active FB roleplay I have with a friend and we ship these kids together lol) Keiko was definitely curious about Gundham when he first approached her and proclaimed, “Calm yourself, oh dead one! For the ascendant ruler or ice has come to free you from yourself!” Keiko was so surprised by his words that the only thing she could muster up was “I’m not dead…”, to which Gundham curses that an overlord like himself was wrong. Despite this, however, he senses a “rancid” energy from Keiko, which results in Keiko becoming highly curious (and a bit enamored) in regards to Gundham. It wasn’t often someone approached her and could sense something that wasn’t quite like others. The two do bond slowly out of mutual curiosity of each other, though become friends when Keiko shows fascination in Gundham’s animals and his talent in caring for them. Keiko’s feelings do turn romantic with the amount of time she spends with Gundham; however, she keeps her feelings to herself, content to just maintain her friendship with the brooding overlord. Now, shipping-wise between my friend and I having headcanons, Gundham affectionately calls Keiko his “lotus” and Keiko refers to him as her “king”. He’s the only one she’s allowed to see her scars and she’s the person he’s allowed to come close. Gundham also becomes very protective of Keiko, adamant to make sure that she never bears another scar again since it angers him that she was hurt so many times in the course of her life. Likewise, Keiko is just as protective of Gundham and would do anything–even kill–to ensure his safety.

With Hajime Hinata: Hajime and Keiko have a very interesting friendship. Being the last person to meet the Ultimate Reaper, Hajime found it quite surprising that Keiko would dislike her Ultimate title, much less her status as an elite. Keiko had been curious of Hajime, in why he wanted to be part of the “elites”, as he called the Ultimates. Even after Hajime becomes Izuru and Keiko (with the rest of her classmates) become Ultimate Despairs, the two often ended up “working” together (i.e. Izuru monitoring when Keiko would “reap” someone). In the Neo World program, Hajime and Keiko get along quite amicably, with the ruby-eyed girl constantly amused by Hajime’s deadpans or sasses. Hajime is also fairly defensive of Keiko while they were trapped in the Neo World Program when the others tended to judge her based on her Ultimate title (especially when Nagito says that Keiko’s title sounds “despair-inducing”) and often tells Keiko she needs to speak up more for herself. Keiko and Hajime have a platonic-sibling sort of friendship where he would take the role of an older brother to a cautious younger sister.

#how mod came up with Keiko #complete with a whole dang index #keiko's birthday #she's a pisces #march 6th

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watusichris · 6 years ago

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“Desolation Center“: Joy at Sea

Tonight I’ll be attending a cast and crew screening of “Desolation Center,” Stuart Swezey’s new documentary about the unusual alfresco punk shows he promoted in the early ‘80s. I am a talking head in the picture. Lo and behold, while doing a little poking around on the web, I discovered that 34 years ago to the day today, I attended the event I talk about in the film, aboard a whale-watching boat in San Pedro Harbor. Here’s what I wrote about for the event in the Los Angeles Reader. **********

The biggest problem with rock ‘n’ roll performances is the wall socket. The music runs on electricity; hence it must be played in basements, garages, dives, and concert halls in which juice can readily be run. Over the years, the rock ‘n’ roll imagination has become hamstrung by a familiar proscenium-arch setting. It’s a thing of the stage and, no matter how much a band gussies things up with flash pots, fog machines, backdrops, and other theatrical gimcracks, we still know that we’ve been looking at a stage at the end of a forty-five minute set.

Not everybody in the world is happy with this set-up. Take the folks at the Desolation Center. For the last couple of years, mastermind Bruce Licher (the guiding light of Savage Republic and the most artful of local record packagers) and his cohorts have schlepped people out into the middle of the desert by the busload to witness rock ‘n’ roll in its most radical state, played in its most radical environment. Although I never made the Death Valley trek (must have something to do with having seen Erich von Stroheim’s Greed at an early age), I’ve always admired the idea of a rock ‘n’ roll outing – it limbers up the brain by providing a new imaginative context for the performance.

Last week, the Desolation Center hit on another original idea for taking rock ‘n’ roll out of the nightclub and into the real world: “Joy at Sea,” a three-hour “sea-going musical expedition” held on board a cruise vessel meandering in a circle from San Pedro to Long Beach through the Port of Los Angeles harbor. Since drowning has always been a more appealing way of dying than expiring of thirst as far as I am concerned, I signed on for the tour.

I approached the journey with some trepidation. Hell, I thought, this could be some kind of punk Pequod. I envisioned myself floating around San Pedro Harbor on the back of a coffin, as my capsized ship was sucked into a whirlpool and Robert Lloyd*, strapped by harpoon lines to the back of a great white whale, screamed, “Springsteen! Springsteen!” as he was carried to his watery doom. Call me Maurice.

This fantasy proved to be a case of too much Melville. The boat, the S.S. Cormorant, proved to be a sturdy-looking two-tiered cruise vessel; at the stern of the upper deck, a small stage had been erected. Lights and a PA system had been lashed to the sides of the stage. The good-sized boat sat comfortably in the dark, serene water. At the neighboring dock, a group of teenagers sang a loud, drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday” from the back of a small pleasure boat. My nerves calmed, I boarded merrily, washing down two Dramamine with a tap beer, and waited for us to cast off.

Shortly after 9:30 p.m., the Cormorant glided away from the dock. After a brief interval that allowed the 200-odd passengers to get their sea legs, the South Bay quartet Lawndale started cranking up below decks. They attracted a small group, since most of the assembled crew was jammed together up top, waiting for the Meat Puppets to begin their set. A pity, for Lawndale (in yachting caps and deck shoes) proved to be a completely entertaining neo-surf combo, who tore into their all-instrumental set with a vigor evidently born of the ocean-going setting.

After Lawndale wound up their brief but refreshing set, I moved upstairs and wedged my way next to the stage. The Meat Puppets were experiencing some technical difficulties, so I had a chance to take in the harbor as we coasted by. The notion of the cruise was plainly anti-romantic: The Port of Los Angeles is the home of heavy industry. One experienced a new sense of scale as the Cormorant sailed past docked oil tankers some three city blocks long; the petroleum refineries glowed an angry yellow in the distance.

After much fussing and fiddling with their equipment, the Puppets finally got under way again. The set progressed in fits and starts as the overamped trio repeatedly blew out the circuit breakers on the overtaxed vessel, but it proved to be an impressive showing, heightened by the shifting open-air backdrop of the harbor.

The Meat Puppets are a trio from Arizona fronted by two long-haired, somewhat retarded-looking siblings, guitarist/vocalist Curt Kirkwood and bassist Cris Kirkwood. With drummer Derrick Bostrom, the brothers stir up a fantastic amount of noise; Curt pushed his old gold Les Paul into overdrive. The Puppets have a rep as an on-and-off band, but last Friday they turned in a performance as sharp and bracing as the ocean air.

The group played a set that alternated between their own microcephalic country material (such as “Split Myself in Two” and the strange Grateful Dead-style instrumental “I’m a Mindless Idiot”) to some bizarre cover tunes. In a wobbly voice that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob, Curt Kirkwood essayed Elvis Presley’s “Trouble” and “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” Tony Joe White’s “Polk Salad Annie,” and the Foghat arrangement of “I Just Want to Make Love to You.”

The musical and visual high point of the evening occurred in the middle of the Puppets’ set. The band launched into a ferocious jam announced as “Enchanted Fortress.” As the music reached its peak, with Bostrom slamming his kit and Curt Kirkwood drawing gnarled, agonized lines from his Gibson, the Cormorant passed under the enormous bridge that links the two sides of the harbor. The structure is so high that the cars crossing it looked like planes flying low over the water. The force of the music and the feeling of motion and immense scale all fused to produce a unique sensation – a moment of joy, just as advertised.

Somebody on the top deck whooped and set off a signal flare in celebration.

After the Meat Puppets’ set came to a loud and triumphant close, some of the partiers ventured downstairs to score another beer and check out the “psychoactive sound/visuals” of Points of Friction, which proved to be a minimally interesting low-rent light show projected on a sheet/screen. If it had been a normal concert, this would have been the time to hit the lobby for a cigarette; instead, you could head for the outside areas fore and aft, to gaze at the darkened yachts or yell drunkenly at the diners aboard the sea-going restaurant the Princess Louise. The ennui that is so often a given at a rock concert disappeared, blown away in the mild harbor wind.

By the time the evening’s headliners, the Minutemen, were ready to play, the top deck resembled a seaworthy version of the Cathay de Grande’s basement, with the audience members shoehorned together in a tight, motionless pack. The little stage looked too small and the lighting buttresses too fragile for the peripatetic Minutemen; I wondered to myself if Dennes Boon, the leaping, bounding mountain who plays guitar for the group, wouldn’t send the whole kaboodle over the side with his elephantine dancing.

My fears again proved boundless; although bassist Mike Watt stood (somewhat nervously, I thought) behind one of the PA columns to give Boon more room, the gargantuan guitarist didn’t jar the stage loose with his galloping. San Pedro’s greatest contribution to Western Civilization played their customarily brilliant set, featuring crowd-pleasing oldies (including the appropriately nautical “The Anchor”), a devilish 20-second cover of Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love,” a moving slow version of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Don’t Look Now, It Ain’t You Or Me,” and a generous helping of the new, forty-five song two-record set Double Nickels On the Dime.

Another grand visual moment came late in the evening. As the Minutemen surged through their lightning-like songs, the Cormorant reached the point where the harbor joined the ocean; as the boat made a wide turn to head back into port, a vast expanse of the Pacific loomed up behind the trio as they steamed through a clipped, thrashing tune. The almost-full moon made the water dance into infinity. For a landlocked rock ‘n’ roller, it was a sight and sound to behold.

The Cormorant nudged up against the dock while the Minutemen were still playing. The show broke up quickly and I weaved down the gangplank, more than a little drunk and thoroughly exhilarated. It had been a surprisingly perfect evening – no fights, no hassles, no boredom. No seasickness. The combination of the fine music and the shifting seascapes had opened a new window in my head by taking rock ‘n’ roll out of dry-dock and into fresh performance terrain.

Sign me up for the Desolation Center’s 1990 moon shot. It should be worth the long haul.

*Lloyd, now a TV critic at the Los Angeles Times, was the Springsteen-loving music editor of the LA Weekly. (photos: Ann Summa)

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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Best Cyberpunk Movies to Watch Before You Play Cyberpunk 2077

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We’ve warned you of the dangers of overhyping yourself for Cyberpunk 2077 ahead of the game’s December 10 release date, but I understand if it’s hard to contain your excitement for 2020’s most anticipated game. However, that still leaves you with the question of what to do while you’re waiting to finally play CD Projekt Red’s potential masterpiece.

I can think of few better ways to pass the time than to curate a marathon of the best cyberpunk movies. While the definition of the cyberpunk genre (especially on film) has traditionally been somewhat debatable, these are movies that showcase a vision of the future where technology seems to have towered above the humans who designed it just as a new breed of revolutionists prepare to counter this growing culture.

So whether you want to celebrate the genre or just understand it a little better, these are the cyberpunk movies you need to watch ahead of Cyberpunk 2077‘s release.

Akira

Along with being arguably the most important anime film of all-time (at least in terms of the global growth of the genre), Akira is considered by many to be the definitive on-screen portrayal of cyberpunk style and the genre’s social commentary.

As the story of bikers in Neo-Tokyo who find themselves at the target of a manhunt after an incident grants one of them telekinetic powers that could destroy society, Akira checks nearly every cyberpunk box in its elevator pitch alone. Yet, the true joy of this movie will always come from basking in the beauty of its animation and the ways that it highlights a vision of the future where technological advancements were built on the crumbling foundation of forgotten souls.

There’s no world in which Cyberpunk 2077 isn’t heavily inspired by Akira. We wouldn’t be shocked if the game even featured a few Akira Easter eggs.

Blade Runner

While this list is simply arranged in alphabetical order, it’s certainly amusing that arguably the two most important cyberpunk movies ever find themselves at the top of the list.

Blade Runner’s story is an admirable attempt at an ambitious tale of identity and humanity in a rapidly evolving world, but this film’s greatest gift will always be its world design and practical effects. Blade Runner finds its “punk” in a noir-like atmosphere while the movie’s “cyber” elements shine in a largely unromantic futuristic city clearly dependent on often cold forms of technology.

Everyone should see Blade Runner at least once, and we can’t think of a better time to view it for the first time than before you play Cyberpunk 2077.

Burst City

If you’ve got the stomach for something totally weird and very raw, then I highly recommend this 1982 cyberpunk musical oddity.

Burst City leans heavily into the “punk” part of the cyberpunk equation with its story of various bands who battle the police and each other in a dystopian version of Tokyo. While the plot itself is admittedly barebones, it proves to be the perfect set-up for what amounts to a unique look at the underground Japanese punk scene of this era.

Cyberpunk 2077’s pop culture is clearly built around music, so it will be interesting to see whether the game borrows many ideas from this sometimes overlooked gem.

Cypher

Corporate espionage is a big part of the Cyberpunk 2077 universe, which makes it that much easier to recommend this 2002 film that’s all about the dangerous pursuits of corporate spies.

To be fair, that’s really the simplest summary of a labyrinthe of a plot that begins with a man taking a job in the lucrative field of corporate espionage. What follows is a series of mind blowing revelations that show us the lengths these corporations will go to and how dispensable everyone is in their pursuit of power.

If you need to be sold on Cypher‘s cyberpunk credentials, just know that its director once described it as “James Bond meets Kafka.”

Dark City

John Murdoch has a problem. He’s just woken up in a bathtub in a seedy motel with no memory of who he is or what is happening. To make matters worse, he’s being pursued by a mysterious group of strangers who chase him through a city where it’s always night. His only hope is a vague series of clues and mysterious psychokinetic powers that he’s only now just beginning to understand.

Dark City is an impossibly bleak and literally dark film that confronts the burden and the power of the human mind. It’s a complicated and often ambiguous film that benefits from grand ideas and an absolutely lovely noir-focused sense of style.

What Dark City lacks in scenes of high-tech glory and traditional punk design elements it more than makes up for with its bleak, intelligent, and unflinching vision of a future that absolutely belongs in this genre.

Dredd

Few people expected much of Dredd given how hard the ‘90s adaptation of the character fell on its face, but this 2012 movie proved to be one of the most compelling pieces of wide-release cyberpunk entertainment in years.

Dredd’s fantastic action sequences and small scale story that invokes the core concept of The Raid: Redemption and Die Hard sometimes disguise the movie’s brilliant cyberpunk world-building. In every corner of every shot, there are these hints at just how bad things have gotten and what desperate measures have been enacted to keep even the visage of civilization alive.

It’s easy to imagine that Cyberpunk 2077’s weapons and comments will mine a few ideas from this modern classic.

eXistenZ

Nobody goes into a David Cronenberg film looking for a straightforward feel-good ride, but eXistenZ still manages to stand out as a uniquely weird entry into the director’s legendary filmography.

Considered by many to be a spiritual follow-up to Videodrome, eXistenZ follows a game designer who must dive into her latest virtual reality creation in order to repair potential damages. The journey through that virtual world will certainly not disappoint any Cronenberg fans looking for memorable moments of body horror wrapped around an introspective plot.

With its VR concepts and meditations on the inevitable intersection of technology and flesh, eXistenZ offers a glimpse into a cyberpunk void that may not be quite as memorable as Cronenberg’s best works but is worth a look.

Ghost in the Shell

With very little respect to the 2017 film of the same name, I want to make it clear that I’m absolutely talking about the 1995 animated classic.

Released at the cultural height of the “Hackersploitation” genre (more on that in just a bit) Ghost in the Shell envisions a world in which people are neurally connected to the internet and cyborgs have been integrated into society. Into this future comes a hacker known as The Puppet Master whose unique abilities present a clear threat even as they raise questions about what remains of humanity that’s worth saving.

Along with Akira, this is absolutely one of those cyberpunk movies everyone should see even if they don’t typically consider themselves to be fans of anime or even animated feature films.

Games

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Hackers

Hackers is essentially the big-screen version of every regrettable high school yearbook photo ever taken. It’s a relentlessly corny slice of the ‘90s that will be particularly painful to anyone who ever thought it was truly the height of cool.

Yet, there is still something genuinely cool about Hackers. It treats hackers with the same bizarre cultural relevance as bouncers are afforded in Road House, but the idea of gangs of hackers and celebrity hackers taking over the digital age has always tapped into the heart of the cyberpunk genre.

We know that Cyberpunk 2077’s universe is highly inspired by ‘90s counterculture, so you should expect a few nods to this movie somewhere along the way.

Johnny Mnemonic

Wait, Johnny Mnemonic is a ‘90s sci-fi movie starring Keanu Reeves that’s all about a man who knows too much trying to escape from gangs and corporations? Are we sure this somehow wasn’t a soft adaptation of Cyberpunk 2020?

It’s not and, if I’m being very honest, this movie doesn’t always live up to its considerable potential. However, it’s a consistently entertaining piece of ‘90s technological absurdity bolstered by some genuinely fascinating world-building and the charisma of its leading man.

Don’t expect a masterpiece, but Johnny Mnemonic is the perfect movie for getting you in that Cyberpunk 2077 mood.

Robocop

Countless words have been written about Robocop’s status as both one of the best action movies ever made and one a biting piece of social commentary, but Robocop somehow never seems to get enough love as a brilliant slice of cyberpunk style.

With its roaming gangs and mega-corporations whose power has become fully integrated into and unchallenged in society, Robocop has the cyberpunk genre flowing through its veins. What’s truly remarkable, though, is the way that the movie so effectively balances the seemingly inevitable hopelessness of its world with a bleak sense of humor that speaks loudly even as it is delivered with tongue in cheek.

Since you probably don’t need an excuse to watch Robocop again, I’ll also take this chance to point out that Robocop 2 is a largely underrated sequel that somehow amplifies the original’s cyberpunk vibes.

Strange Days

Released in 1995 to divisive reviews and worse box office returns, Strange Days’ poor reception threatened to derail the career of legendary director Kathryn Bigelow.

Years later, though, it’s easier than ever to overlook Strange Days’ rough edges and bleak tones and appreciate its painfully accurate portrayal of racial inequality and sexual violence. Though it was only set four years in the future, Strange Days took the pulse of its time and imagined what would happen if society just reshaped itself around its problems rather than attempted to address them in a meaningful way.

Strange Days is a hard watch but a great example of the forward-thinking pessimism of the cyberpunk genre.

The Matrix

At the tail end of a decade obsessed with hackers but often lacking in truly great works of “Hackersploitation,” The Matrix came along and shattered all expectations by combining tech fears, underground style, high-flying action sequences, and jaw-dropping special effects that made it the most unlikely blockbuster of the ’90s.

Long after the special effects have become commonplace and the film’s most memorable sequences have been parodied to death, it’s The Matrix’s cyberpunk philosophy and setting that endure. The Matrix so seamlessly weaves its grander ideas and world-building into the movie’s legendary fights that it’s easy to forget how much weight they carry.

While you can safely skip your rewatch of the sequels unless you’re an apologist or sycophant, don’t forget that The Animatrix really got everyone excited about the grander implications of this movie’s promising universe.

Total Recall

Two Paul Verhoeven movies on the same list? Yes, but to be honest, Total Recall almost didn’t make the final cut.

While Total Recall lacks some of the philosophical depth and overwhelmingly bleak tones that so often help us identify the defining entries in this genre, it manages to tap into the cyberpunk genre’s sometimes overlooked elements of absurdity and uses them as the basis for a truly fun adventure.

If it’s been a little while since you’ve actually watched this movie, you might be surprised by how its complex and well-told plot expands a fascinating world where the false promise of anything being possible has been revived in a horrifying new form.

Upgrade

The final movie on our list is also the most recent cyberpunk film that I’d recommend you watch ahead of Cyberpunk 2077’s release.

Actually, one of the things that stand out about Upgrade is its video game sensibilities. As the story of a man who gradually begins to understand the extent of his newfound powers, Upgrade taps into that role-playing idea of building a character over time. While it showcases the potential horrors of body enhancements, it also gives us time to dream of having such abilities.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Cyberpunk 2077 is all about enhancing your character through implants similar to the one featured in this film, so check out Upgrade if you can’t wait to see what one of the game’s end game characters might look like.

The post Best Cyberpunk Movies to Watch Before You Play Cyberpunk 2077 appeared first on Den of Geek.

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absortio · 7 years ago

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// junko enoshima - verses

{ “Mutual Killing Game” } – ( ver ) .tragedy╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

The Mastermind behind the whole “Mutual Killing Game” as well as the person responsible for the literal state of disarray the world has fallen into – Junko Enoshima is a despair-ridden woman who has decided that the best way to continue to spread despair? Is to make the world watch the deaths of the people who were meant to represent the “hope for the future.” To this end, she has high-jacked every channel to force them to watch the killing game she’s set into motion, though? Her active piece in this game is Monokuma … given how indecisive she can be? This might not always be the case.

{ Danganronpa:IF } – ( ver ) .fate╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

Spoilers for Danganronpa:IF ;

1 ) Junko lost. She lost. And was left … humiliated and angry as hell. She was left alive inside what was once her greatest trap. However? The one person she figured could never betray her did. And? It’s filled her with despair. She lost. Lost. It was hardly imaginable. Yet, she hasn’t decided where to go from here yet – Revenge? That was the typical choice of actions, after a betrayal such as the one she faced. Or, what? Accept defeat? Follow after the survivors whom had left Hope’s Peak Academy? Ether was filled with despair. Ether would suit~ She just can’t decide which.

2 ) Due to Mukuro’s betrayal, she’s had to reset the game. Wiping everyone’s memories a second time, including her sisters, and leaving her just as much of a blank slate as she’d done to Kirigiri. However, this time she plans to play. She’s set Monokuma to act on his own – setting up an AI to act the way she’d approve of, by manipulating some help out of a classmate of hers. It’ll be complicated, but? It’d be worth it.

{ Normal School Life } – ( ver ) .fashionista╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

Masquerading as a normal student can be interesting. Sometimes. Though, this certainly hasn’t stopped her… hobbies. She has spent a lot of her time at Hope’s Peak Academy still attempting to spread despair. Though I won’t give specifics, Junko actually did quite a lot during this time~ Especially while still pretending to be a normal student. ( Not to mention her job as a model! Who could have thought one could accomplish destroying the world while so busy, eh? ) Regardless, during this verse, she usually appears to be a pretty average student of Hope’s Peak Academy. I mean, moody, but~ eh.

{ Non-Despair Normal School Life } – ( ver ) .perception╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

In this AU, Junko wasn’t born obsessed with despair. In fact, for the most part, she is a pretty normal girl. Except for her extraordinary ability to analyze situations and such – Predicting outcomes, noticing patterns, and so forth? She has always had a knack for it. So, it really was no surprise to her when Hope’s Peak Academy sent a letter to her, asking her to join their class. At first, debated turning it down – She’d predicted this might happen, and so it bored her a little. However, it did make her curious: Were the others there like her at all? In fact, it was that thought that got her to go. She wanted to know if there was anyone who was like her. People who could match wits with her. People she couldn’t always predict. And, since going, she’s been smiling more. Making more friends. ( She is the “Ultimate Analyst” in this verse. :’3 Since she had no reason to try to cover up her skills by making it appear that only a faction of her skill was what she really had. After all: It’s her observatory abilities that helped her be a Fashionista. )

{ AI Junko } – ( ver ) .data╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

A virus that slipped into the Neo World Program, as part of one of her many backup plans. She is a little unorthodox and a bit overwhelming. However? That’s no surprise. After all: The human one was still a bit crazy. And, though she doesn’t usually get herself involved until the “COUNTDOWN” has finished, this doesn’t mean she won’t – She does what she wants. It’s pretty much what Enoshima, virtual or otherwise, is famous for.

{ Vampire Junko AU } – ( ver ) .bloodstone (vampire)╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

Junko Enoshima was born a vampire. Born dead. This has always given her a strange outlook when it comes to those who are alive - A mixture of jealousy and superiority. Because despite never being alive, she will “live” forever. This mixture of emotions gives her a bit of a dangerous range of actions, however. Despite the fact that it’s better for vampires to stay hidden, she’ll sometimes purposely tell people exactly what she is. Just to see how “mortals” respond to finding someone like her. She enjoys the fear she sometimes inflicts on her prey.

However? Sometimes? Sometimes she becomes fond of these mortals. Drawn to them by the fragile beauty of a fleeting life. It’s a beauty she can never hope to obtain, but something she firmly believes would disappear if they were to live forever, like she does. ( She is very heavily, unlikely to ever change another person into a vampire. )

{ HnKnA Verse } – ( ver ) .white queen (hnkna)╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

Despite being the “White Queen” Role for Wonderland, she calls herself the “White Empress” and will become severely cross with anyone who gets it wrong - However, despite being an Empress, and being in control of the “Ivory Empire,” Junko doesn’t have any role-holders who work directly for her. Her ability of “FUTURE SIGHT,” the ability to see things that absolutely will happen (usually just things that involve herself, or those in her castle…) have caused her to long sense disband her group and kill the “KING” who was supposed to serve at her side. She considers herself the isolated queen though - as long as you can surprise her, you might earn her amusement, her favor, and even more. But? It’s no easy task.

You’ll find, however, she does have a certain amount of fondness for Role-Holders. At least, more so then “Outsiders”. Outsiders make her visions, her “future sight” more confused. More clouded. It makes her feel cut-off. So? Despite the fact that she has to like “Outsiders” and? She does. It’s just… is a risky business. Because if she doesn’t like you as much as she thinks your trouble? Her violence might show through.

{ Survival AU } - ( ver ) .castles crumble╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

Despite the odds, despite the fact that she even tried to execute herself? Junko Enoshima has still, somehow, found herself alive. What will come of this? Even she doesn’t know - she’s in a bit of a daze. How is she alive? How is she supposed to act now that she’s survived?

In this verse? People can ether assume she died and left (meaning they ran into her later), took her in at the Future Foundation to be punished, or saved her somehow? This verse is a little messy for details - After all: This can ether be the road to her attempting revenge or it can branch off to her attempting to redeem herself. She is chaos. It’s hard to know. ( When branches have started really showing up in threads, I’ll add more verses accordingly. )

{ Mystical AU / Orsus } – ( ver ) .bloodline (vampire)╰☆╮(❝Junko Enoshima❞)

Junko Enoshima and her twin are younger vampires – however? Like most purebloods, they were born vampiric. They are from an ancient line, origins tracing all the way back to Dracula’s line, and yet? Junko couldn’t be less interested in their origin – well, aside from being sure that their lot on Orsus was customized to her specifications. Including importation of dirt from her homeland ( for the entirety of the lot ) and even importing in the specific home she had wanted. ( And her sister went along with. )

They are less than a hundred years old – so? Relatively young, all things considered. However? They both inherited different abilities from their ancient bloodline. Junko was blessed with mesmeric eyes, able to draw people in or manipulate them by locking eyes with them. She needs to drink blood, however, to activate her augmented healing. She is not super human strong, however? She is quick and athletic. And giving humans ( living things ) he blood can create “ghouls” or “minions” out of them. She, like her great ancestor, can only be killed with a stake through the heart – she is weak to holy objects, but can exist in the daylight.

The only time she needs permission to enter an area is if the area is a holy ground of some sort.

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sunbrights · 7 years ago

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fic: brick by brick (2/10)

fandom: danganronpa characters/pairings: fuyuhiko kuzuryuu, peko pekoyama + the SDR2 survivor squad. kuzupeko. tags for other plot-relevant characters will be added on AO3 as chapters are posted, yadda yadda. rating: m summary: They meet again, after the Neo World Program has torn them to their foundations: hope, despair, and the yawning debt of their history, waiting to be answered. It's up to them to rebuild, from the ground up, no matter how difficult the work or unfamiliar the tools.

No one can lay the mortar of your recovery but yourself.

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Owari brings her a fresh change of clothes, the morning she’s to be discharged from the hospital. It’s all plain, loose polyester: socks, underwear, a black t-shirt, and elastic black pants. The sneakers have their laces pre-tied, the knots loose enough that Peko can slide her feet into them without having to undo them.

She holds them in her lap and looks at them. The laces are dark blue, their loops perfect.

“They’re all like that,” Owari says from the doorway. “Hinata’s been doing it since day one. I wanted to deck him when he gave me mine. Almost cracked my head open on the floor!”

Peko thinks she’s meant to find humor in the story. Owari is smiling while she recounts it, at least. She’s braced diagonally in the doorframe, feet on one side and shoulders on the other.

She’s small. It’s never been a word Peko thought to apply to her before, with all her height and muscle and force of personality, but while most of them are already some degree of too-thin, Owari toes the line of emaciated. Her jaw is sharp and prominent. The bones of her elbows jut out from beneath her skin.

“Hurry up and put ‘em on,” she says. “This place gives me the creeps.”

Peko agrees. She leans down to set the shoes on the floor, and wriggles her feet in toe-first. It takes longer than it should. If Owari notices, she doesn’t say so.

Ostensibly, she’s come to help move Peko’s things into her cottage. But Peko’s ‘things’ amount to a single box of trinkets she doesn’t want to keep, including the clothes she was wearing when she was brought out of the pod.

Owari hands her the box anyway. The heaviest item is the box itself, and it still strains the flexors in her forearms. When she stands up from the bed, her right elbow burns.

(The blade caught on a ligament on its way in. It twisted when it was removed, shredding skin and muscle.)

“You got it?” Owari asks.

Peko nods. She doesn’t redistribute the weight of the box in her arms; it is not heavy, and the damage is not real.

“Alright! Then let’s blow this joint!”

It’s easier said than done; the islands all feel more spread out than Peko remembers them being. She can’t tell if that was an intentional aspect of the simulation, or a shift she missed after being eliminated so early from the game, or if it’s merely a function of her fatigue, each step taking more effort than it should.

It’s a rare, cloudless day. The sun bears down on her, heat soaking into her dark clothes.

“You good?” Owari calls back to her.

“Yes,” Peko answers.

By the time they’ve crossed the first bridge, the burn in her elbow has spread up her bicep and into her chest. She takes small breaths; if she breathes too deeply, it’s like her sternum is splitting down the middle.

(The blade sunk in at an angle, pierced her arm and then sunk further, between her ribs. It punctured her right lung.)

Peko concentrates on keeping her grip on the box, and on putting each foot on even ground. Ahead of her, Owari is telling a story that sounds like it might still be about Hinata and his pre-emptively tied sneakers, but Peko can’t be certain. The sound of her voice is murky and out of focus, and it’s difficult to sort detail from noise.

Her hair is in her face. It sticks to sweat on her neck and the underside of her chin. She wants to push it back, but curls her nails into the flat edges of the box instead. It’s a situation she’s put herself into. She’ll get relief from it when she learns to braid her hair again.

Until then, she keeps her breathing shallow. She thinks herself through each step, and does not think about how she’s sweating much more than she should for the temperature, humidity, and level of effort.

The narrow scope of her concentration clouds her peripheral vision; it’s inevitable that she eventually collides with something, headlong. The box jostles painfully against her ribs, and she almost loses her balance in the shifting dust of the road. When she raises her head, the something is Owari, one hand hooked around the top flap of the box.

“Hey,” she says. “We’re gonna take a break.”

“I would prefer not to waste time,” Peko answers.

Owari ignores her. She leaves Peko where she is and sits on the side of the road with her legs splayed out in front of her. She leans back on her hands to frown up at the clear gap of sky above them, and doesn’t say anything else.

“I’m fine, Owari,” Peko says.

This central island was grassy and manicured, in the simulation. Here it’s cracked and barren, mostly loose dirt and little else. Owari still flops back into it, arms spread out and smeared with dust.

“I know you are,” she says. “Ain’t sayin’ you’re not.”

She says it so plainly that Peko can only take her at her word.

“Coach used to get on my case all the time,” Owari goes on, after a few long seconds of silence. “‘Bout how I’m not supposed to use up all my strength in one go just because I can. It’s stupid, right? Like, if I can take somebody out, I should just take ‘em out, and if I can’t, then I should do as much damage as I can. Why waste a bunch of time dragging it out?”

Peko understands the parallel she’s trying to draw. It’s clumsy, but self-explanatory. “I understand,” she says. “But in this case—”

“A couple minutes,” Owari says. “Then we’ll go.”

Peko closes her eyes, and breathes in. Her chest burns, but in the time they’ve been delayed it’s dimmed from piercing to merely discomforting.

“... Fine.”

She opts to stand while she waits.

The cottages are not assigned. Hinata had emphasized that detail, when he first informed her of her discharge.

“You’ll have a choice,” he’d said. “There are plenty still open.”

Regardless, Owari turns down the left side of the walkway when they arrive. The others have clustered their choices together; the left section is nearly full, leaving the right one completely empty.

It makes sense, from a strategic perspective. The cottages are more defensible when they’re together, and there’s no reason to believe the fifteen of them wouldn’t be targets, even in a remote place like this. With so many of them as vulnerable as they are, any advantage is one worth having.

Peko hovers at the fork of the walkway all the same.

There is one cottage left available on the main side, all the way at the end. It was Hanamura’s in the simulation, Peko recalls. He’d apparently opted to take Tanaka’s instead, when it was his turn.

(Tanaka remains in his coma, with no signs of recovery yet. Peko understands that everyone who is still incapacitated is either a killer or a victim.

She also understands that she has upset the ratio of those awake.)

Owari realizes Peko hasn’t followed her only when she reaches the door. “Hey!” she calls. “What’s up?”

Peko turns down the right side of the walkway. She follows the row of cottages almost to the end; it feels otherworldly and strange, familiar and not. Second to last, on the right. This one was hers, in the simulation.

She balances the box against her hip just long enough to test the doorknob. It swings open without protest. They’ll need to get keys for the locks.

Owari comes up behind her. “This the one you want?” she asks. She sounds skeptical.

Peko looks in from the doorway. None of the personal touches that had been added for her in the simulation remain; it’s sparsely furnished, and coated in dust. She imagines the others are in largely the same condition.

In the simulation, the young master had spilled Koizumi’s photos across the floor of Peko’s cottage. It had been a bright, cloudless day like this one, as picturesque as all the ones before it. She had recognized the photos for what they were, or thought she had: a collage of Koizumi’s missteps and the young master’s anger.

He didn’t remember the incident depicted in the pictures. Peko hadn’t, either.

She remembers now.

She says, “Yes.”

Owari stays with her through the afternoon. “I’m s’posed to keep an eye on you so you don’t wander off again,” she says, straightforward, and Peko is in no position to argue. The concern is valid, with her recent behavior.

There’s more to be done, either way. Months of neglect have left the cottage caked in dust and dirt; the sheets of the bed need to be changed, and the mirrors in the bathroom wiped down. Hinata had warned her about the state of it. The others haven’t had time to comb over the other cottages, just yet. There’s too much to do and not enough hands to do it, he’d said.

It’s fine. It’s only right that she contribute.

Owari brings supplies in from the other cottage: brooms and rags and fresh linens. Her sweeping and dusting is halfhearted at best, but that’s fine too. Peko bridges the gap herself; as degraded as they are, her muscles still remember the motions. It’s thorough, repetitive. It gives her mind the opportunity to retreat somewhere warm and still and silent.

It’s late in the day before she’s able to start on the bathroom. She has to clean the mirrors in slow, methodical pieces; her lungs burn when she raises her arms above her head, and dark splotches cloud her vision if she keeps them that way for too long.

(The blade came from above and behind. It shattered her scapula and then lodged itself in bone; it had to be wrenched out like a pry bar, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.)

“Heyyy!” Owari whoops from the other room. “Look who it is!”

Peko has only half the mirror finished. The reflection of the front room is grimy on one side, but the image is clear enough: the young master stands in the open doorway of the cottage, looking at her.

His gaze jumps away as soon as she makes eye contact. He has a box cradled against his chest, the top flaps folded together to hold it closed. His hands are full, so he and Owari exchange a friendly bump of elbows.

“Yo,” he says. “How’s it going?”

Owari leans against the doorframe, and squints appraisingly back into the room. It’s just as empty as it was when they arrived. “Pretty good,” she says. “We’re pretty much done. What d’you think, Pekoyama?”

“Yes.”

He looks at the room before he looks back at her. He seems preoccupied, but it’s difficult to tell; his face isn’t the open, expressive canvas it used to be. Or maybe it’s her, maybe she’s not as adept at reading what’s written there anymore. Maybe she never was.

When he does look at her, he can’t seem to focus on her face for longer than a moment or two. “Right,” he says. He shuffles at the threshold of the door. “Well, I... Uh, I brought this for you, Peko.” He lifts the box up. “I had it, so… Figured I’d save you guys the trip.”

He isn’t coming inside, so she leaves her rag in the sink and goes to him. (With her mind drawn back to the forefront, she feels the grinding objection in her knees.) She doesn’t recognize the box, and it isn’t labelled, aside from her surname written on it in permanent marker. It’s his handwriting.

“What is it?” she asks.

“It’s the stuff you had on you when the Future Foundation picked us up,” Owari tells her. “Kuzuryuu put all the boxes together. He hides ‘em in the back of that smelly old hotel building.”

“It’s not smelly,” he says.

Owari grunts. “To you, maybe.”

“And I don’t hide them, either. Are you missing the whole point on purpose?”

“What’s in it?” Peko asks.

He looks down. There is a small gap in the top of the box, where the bent flaps aren’t fully flush, but the shadows are too deep for her to properly see inside it.

“Just a buncha crap,” Owari says. She sounds bored. “Mine was mostly clothes.”

“Clothes,” he confirms. “And- other stuff. I don’t know if…” He jostles the box higher in his arms. Something metallic clatters inside. “Just, you should get to decide if you want to look at it or not. And what you want to do with it.”

“Do with it,” Peko repeats. “Like what?”

Owari counts on her fingers. “I trashed mine. And Hanamura’s, ‘cause he asked me to. Mioda and Souda burned theirs, Sonia threw hers out into the ocean, and Hinata and Kuzuryuu kept theirs.” She tilts her head in his direction. “Right?”

His only answer is, “Yeah.”

Peko holds her arms out. “I’ll take it.”

He’s careful not to touch her when he hands it off, which makes the hand-off clumsy. The weight put on her biceps is uneven, and the right one buckles unexpectedly. The box sinks sideways, which sends the contents sliding inside, which makes the weight distribution even more uneven.

“Shit.” He fumbles. “Sorry. You got it?”

She braces the bottom of the box against her stomach. She manages to answer, “Yes,” but even she can hear the grit in her own voice. He doesn’t believe her.

“Here,” he says, and shuffles forward to take on some of the weight. “Let me—” His hands slide between hers on the underside of the box. The edge of his pinky brushes the inside of her wrist. She remembers his lips tasted like sea salt.

Her muscles spasm. It’s the only explanation she has for how her biceps abruptly contract, twisting pain up into her shoulder. It jerks the box out of his hands, and sends her stumbling back a step and a half. She can feel Owari’s hand hovering at her back, a spotter’s safety net.

His face has changed, but she can’t read him well enough anymore to know what it means. She watches the way his mouth forms around the initial plosive of her name— and she cannot think about his mouth in that context.

(He wishes it didn’t happen. Therefore, it did not happen.)

“Thank you,” she says, before he finds the sound.

His jaw snaps shut. He returns his hands to his pockets with a slow, deliberate roll of his shoulders. “Right,” he says. “Sorry about the— yeah.” He clears his throat, and looks at Owari. “Anyway, I... I gotta get going. Got Souda up my ass about a bunch of resistors we don’t have.”

Owari misses his cue. She says, “Okay?” and looks at Peko for confirmation.

For a moment, he doesn’t leave. He lingers in the doorway and looks at her too, gaze finally steady on her face. There is something to say. It crowds the breath in her throat, but she doesn’t know what the words are.

“Thank you,” she says again.

He nods. He leaves.

Peko sets the box on the floor, next to the one she and Owari brought from the hospital, and returns to the bathroom.

She doesn’t sleep any better in the cottage than she did in the hospital.

She tries. She lies in her bed, on top of the sheets, and closes her eyes. She gets as far as the hazy half-place between sleeping and waking, when her measured control over her muscles and her mind begins to unravel.

She is seventeen and beginning her third year of high school. Her skills are at their peak, but the young master turns them away. He calls her ‘Pekoyama’ in front of their classmates. She is always working harder to be what he needs.

She is sixteen, and the sea around Jabberwock Island gleams pink in the morning sun. The young master clashes with the other students. He picks fights and makes threats and isolates himself. She worries for his safety.

She is nineteen, and the world is over. She pins a dog to the ground with her sword, the blade pierced through the muscle of its back leg. It whimpers and whines, its claws scrabbling uselessly in the dirt. She waits hours, until it stops moving.

She is twenty-one, and she is alive when she should be dead.

She is all of them, and none of them. In that place of half-sleep, the well-defined edges of her mind lose their clarity. Memories seep across the boundaries like watercolors, mixing together until the colorless remains of her self are muddy and dark.

She is nineteen and escorting the young master to the morgue.

She is twenty-one and washing Koizumi’s blood off her skin in the shower.

She is seventeen and breathing in the smell of rot until she vomits.

She is sixteen, and wakes gasping.

She tries two more times. After the third attempt, it’s too late to try again; color peeks up from beneath the horizon, just visible through the slats of her window. She sits up on the mattress, legs crossed underneath her, and lets the silence crowd in from all sides.

The cottage isn’t any different from the hospital. It yawns around her the same, an empty swath of space. The colors are warmer, but the finish of the wood is still cold.

She rolls the heel of her hand against the outside of her thigh.

(The blade had been aimed at the small of her back, but glanced off the guard of another weapon. It only skimmed her leg, but the angle sent it gouging into the soft flesh beneath the young master’s ribs.)

The box Fuyuhiko brought for her is still at the end of her bed, the flaps still folded shut. It contains clothes, he’d said, and other things.

She gets up. She closes the shutters of the window, and peels off the loose t-shirt and shorts she wore to bed. She stands naked in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom, and inspects the body that she’s in.

She doesn’t recognize it, from any angle. It’s the same as the muddy center of her mind, an unintelligible mishmash of diverging histories. She is too thin at her ribs but too full at her hips. Her hair is at once too short and too long. She recognizes some scars, struggles to recall others, and searches for still others that don’t exist at all.

She lays her palm flat against her stomach, where there is a purple, ragged cut arcing from her left hip to her ribcage. She draws her fingers up the line of puckered flesh and remembers: Munakata Kyosuke had in a rare moment gained the upper hand against her. He’d intended to kill her, and had come very close. Tsumiki had stitched it up while she was still awake, giggling, tracing spirals in the blood.

She twists at the waist. There is a swath of raised, shiny skin on the outside of her right shoulder, and she remembers: the young master had fired his gun point-blank into a crowd of people, the side of the barrel laid flat against her skin. He’d been aiming at nothing in particular. The crowd had only been a net to catch the bullet. All he’d wanted was to see her flesh bubble and to hear her scream, and he’d gotten frustrated when he only achieved the former. He’d hit her with the butt of his revolver, leaving a divot beneath her collarbone.

She dips her finger into the space. Fuyuhiko, her mind corrects belatedly. She regrets it as soon as she thinks it.

(She had responded. She struck him across the jaw with the hilt of her sword, hard enough to send him to the ground in a spray of blood and spit. He coughed and cursed into the dirt, and the crowd had taken the opportunity to scatter.

She stood over him, and touched the tip of her blade to the thin stretch of skin at the dip of his collarbone, over his trachea. She considered the ramifications of killing him, not for the first time and not for the last.

He sat up on his elbows, eyes bright, and laughed until his chest heaved. She’d had to draw her blade back, just a fraction; it wouldn’t do at all if he sliced his own neck open. “Hey Peko,” he’d said, between gasps. “Isn’t this perfect?”)

She refocuses on the mirror. It’s her face again; the current one, at least, or probably. She is twenty-one.

The box behind her is caught in the reflection. From this angle, she can read the block letters across the side. Pekoyama. She stares at it. She isn’t sure for how long.

Eventually, the sun rises.

Owari knocks early. “Woah,” she says, when Peko opens the door, “you look like crap.”

Peko touches her fingers to the half-moon of skin beneath her left eye. It’s entirely possible she does. “I didn’t sleep well,” she says.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Owari grins at her; Peko has already lost track of the number of times she’s done so since yesterday morning. “Don’t worry about it. It sucks the first few days, but it gets easier. Beds’re better here than the junk we’ve got up in the hospital.”

Peko doesn’t disagree, so she doesn’t say anything. Owari doesn’t seem bothered. She takes the silence for what it is.

“Anyway, breakfast is up at the lobby, if you want it,” she says. She jerks one thumb over her shoulder. “You remember how to get there, right?”

“Yes,” Peko answers. The implication isn’t lost on her. “... You won’t be coming?”

Owari hunches her shoulders. “Eh. The food’s pretty whatever, you know? Even Hanamura can only do so much with the crap we get. I’m not really feelin’ it.”

There was a shift in the conversation, somewhere. The interaction suddenly feels off, in a way that's difficult to pinpoint. Body language, or inflection, or— something. She doesn’t know Owari well enough to read her mannerisms.

She doesn’t know what to say, so she only says, “Alright.” Owari waves and leaves toward the beach, her spine bent and her arms pillowed behind her head.

Peko goes to the hotel by herself. She’s one of the last to arrive; Hanamura is using the reception desk as a workstation to ladle creamy oatmeal out into bowls, and the others congregate around him, half line and half crowd. The only exceptions are Sonia, who sits alone by the window, and Hinata, who has his laptop open on one of the derelict arcade machines.

Hinata is the first to notice her. He says, “Pekoyama,” sharply enough that the others all look at him, then swing back around to look at her.

The weight of six attentions trained on her at once, all varying degrees of surprised or concerned, presses her back towards the exit. She grips the edge of the doorframe to keep herself in place.

“Owari isn’t with you?” Hinata asks.

The room is quiet. Peko can’t read any of their expressions, so she settles for the truth. “She decided against breakfast this morning,” she says. She sees understanding light one by one across their faces, and still doesn’t understand. “Is something the matter?”

“Shit,” Kuzuryuu says under his breath.

Across the room, Sonia stirs. “She cannot be alone,” she says. It sounds like she reaches for her diaphragm but makes it only to her lungs, her voice breathy and unsteady. She smooths trembling fingers over her knees, but doesn’t manage to stand. “I… I should...”

“W-Wait.” Souda shoulders his way out of the skinny breakfast line. “I’ll do it,” he says. He reaches one shaking hand out in Sonia’s direction. “You stay here, Miss Sonia.”

Sonia lifts uncertain eyes, but doesn’t say anything. Kuzuryuu glances at her, then back. “You sure?”

“I… I was kinda able to get through to her the last time,” Souda says. “I mean, I think I get where she’s coming from. Kind of. Lemme go.”

No one objects.

Peko steps aside to let him pass when he reaches her. She doesn’t say anything, but something must show on her face, because he smiles at her, small and tight. “Don’t worry about it, Pekoyama,” he says. “You didn’t know.”

A gloom settles over the lobby, but the motions of the day don’t cease. Hanamura takes two bowls off the reception desk, and begins handing the remaining five out to the others. There is not one set aside for himself.

Mioda brings a bowl to Sonia. Hinata gets up to take his.

Kuzuryuu brings the last to her.

“Hey,” he says. He’s stopped a few feet away from her. “C’mon. You can come sit down.”

She’s still in the doorway, she realizes, with her fingers still wrapped around the frame. She lets go, and follows him to one of the lobby’s faded couches. He gestures for her to sit, so she does; he perches on the edge of the coffee table across from her, his knees catty-corner to hers.

“Here.” He holds one of the bowls out to her. She reaches up to take it from the bottom, and it warms her palms, just on the edge of too-hot.

“Thank you, Kuzuryuu,” she says.

There is a palpable stretch of silence.

He looks startled, confused, maybe hurt. She rewinds in her head to find her mistake. Did she not say what she thought she did? He specifically instructed her to use his name instead of his title, so that the other students wouldn’t—

Understanding clatters its way in, too late. (She is sixteen, and their professional relationship does not exist on this island.) When she finds the words to apologize, he’s already said, “Yeah. Uh, you’re welcome,” and dropped his gaze into his bowl.

She looks down at her breakfast. Even with supplies as meager as they are, it still looks appetizing, with a fluffy consistency and pale beige coloring. The others eat around her, spoons ringing against bowls at uneven intervals.

“So…” He clears his throat and bows his head. It’s to muffle his voice while at the same time disguising the fact that they’re having a conversation at all. It’s a familiar habit. “You look tired,” he says, and then ruins the effect by lifting his eyes enough to look at her. “I mean, did… did you sleep okay? Last night?”

Technically, he’s lifted only the one eye to look at her. Owari had talked about him wearing a patch in her more colorful and bombastic retelling of the simulation, and a hazy memory of one lingers in the recesses of Peko’s memories, but as long as she’s been this self, she’s never seen it. As far as she knows, he’s only worn the scar.

(She remembers: messy blood on her fingertips, the smell of copper in the back of her throat, and his strained laughter in her ears. Whether she was the one holding the blade or not is immaterial. It was always her responsibility to see him whole and unharmed.)

“It was… an adjustment,” Peko says.

He swallows a bite of his breakfast with a grimace. She imagines it’s bland, no matter how well it’s made. “Yeah,” he says. “I mean, I get it. I know what you’re talking about.”

His jaw works. He wants to say something else, so she waits. “Listen,” he starts, but the rest of the sentence flounders in his throat. He rubs at his temple. “Just… First thing, I’m not trying to bullshit you or anything. Okay?”

He’s focused on the empty end of his spoon, his brow pinched down. It’s important to him, whatever he wants to say. She doesn’t want to discourage him. “Alright.”

It takes him a few more long seconds to sort out the words. He drags his eyes (eye) back to her face, and the look he gives her is sympathetic to the point of intensity. It makes her want to break the eye contact, but she doesn’t.

“You know you can tell someone, right?” he says. “If it... gets bad. You don’t have to just tolerate it.” He hesitates, and when she doesn’t fill the space, finishes: “... Hinata has ideas for stuff that can help, sometimes.”

She doesn’t recognize him either, she realizes. She’s always known the kind, gentle core of him, but she’s never seen him let it sit so plainly on his surface, before now. The softer edges suit him the way she always quietly thought they might: compassion and leadership and responsibility.

She should be happy for him and the progress he’s made. She is happy. She is grateful to have the opportunity to see it.

She looks down at her lap, her throat tight. Her breakfast is starting to get cold.

The others finish up their meals. Mioda tells Sonia a story about a pair of singing alley cats on their way out of the lobby, their elbows intertwined. Hinata has sunk into his work, his shoulders curled over the keyboard of his laptop.

When she’s been silent long enough, Fuyuhiko sets his palm against his knee and pushes himself up to standing. “You should eat,” he tells her. “It’ll help. That’s not bullshit either, I swear.”

“I know,” she answers.

“Okay.” He looks back over his shoulder, and his frown flattens into a grimace. “Smack Hinata if he doesn’t wrap it up in a few minutes. I’m gonna be pissed if he puts you behind schedule.”

“I will.”

“Okay,” he says again. When he looks at her, the lines of his face are weighed back down. “Then... I’ll see you, alright?”

He leaves.

After that, it’s only her and Hinata left in the hotel; more precisely, maybe, only her and the rattle of Hinata’s typing. She scrapes at the edge of her bowl with her spoon.

If the oatmeal was appetizing once, it isn’t now. The consistency is cold and thick, and it slithers down her throat when she swallows. Queasiness bubbles in her stomach, and seeps up the back of her throat. She manages three bites before she can’t manage any more.

(She watched three separate blades pierce her stomach. The wounds gaped, and spilled black gastrointestinal blood out over the young master’s chest.)

She dumps the rest of the bowl out into the parched, empty garden behind the hotel.

She doesn’t need to rouse Hinata. He finds her when it’s time, his laptop tucked under his elbow.

“Pekoyama,” he says. “Are you ready?”

She nods. Being discharged from the hospital doesn’t mean she’s finished her regimen of physical therapy; the only difference now is that their sessions are scheduled in his cottage, instead of behind the closed door of her hospital room.

There is a table set up in the main room. At the center is the stack of coins they’ve been using for her fine motor control exercises. They come in various sizes, whatever Hinata could find: wide plastic medallions and individual yen pieces and small, smooth buttons.

They’re starting a new set of translational exercises today. Hinata shows her with one of the smaller buttons: passed to his palm, then back, then set aside. She begins with the largest medallion, and makes it one step down in the stack, to the fat 500 yen coin.

The metal is harder to keep a grip on than the plastic, and the smell of it on her skin makes her head ache. She fumbles the coin while passing it back up to her fingers; it hits the table at an angle and goes spinning to the floor.

She looks at it, tucked behind the leg of the table. It should be simple to bend to retrieve it, but the center of her back shrieks with pain, and objects to even tiny adjustments of her posture. Even now, with her body as unfamiliar to her as it’s become, she understands that picking the coin back up while still remaining seated is outside the range of her flexibility.

That’s where her memory ends.

When it begins again, the room is darker, and wind is rattling the cottage’s only window. Hinata has his laptop open on the table. He isn’t typing; he watches something on the screen, his chin set in one hand.

“You’re back,” he says, without looking up.

Peko looks down. The 500 yen piece is back on the table, stacked neatly with the other coins. They’re separated into piles, organized first by color and then by size.

“You were gone for a while,” he tells her. “... I got bored.”

Some of the flatness in his tone and expression wrinkles. After so many weeks of sessions, she’s learned to read embarrassment in it. His wrinkles are the only parts of him that are still Hinata, flickers of color against a monotone background. Some days he is nothing but wrinkles. Most days he is nothing at all.

It upsets some of the others, Fuyuhiko especially. But to Peko, it’s one of the few things that still makes sense.

She watches him snap his laptop shut and rearrange the coins back into a single pile. She doesn’t apologize for wasting his time. It would change nothing, and she isn’t in a position to promise it won’t happen again.

Hinata pushes the stack of coins to the center of the table. She’s reaching across to take them when he says, “We don’t have to keep doing this, you know.”

She looks up at him. His wrinkles have smoothed back into nothing.

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

(The blade dug up from below, clipped past her spine at the center and cracked her third and fourth rib on the right side.)

The shriek has calmed to a hum, but it’s still there, a steady distraction. She doesn’t need to answer him. He must read it in the wrinkles of her own expression.

“You’re well enough now to help with the basic maintenance of the island,” he tells her. “Endurance will come back on its own. If that’s all you want, you don’t need this.” He opens his hands above the stack of coins. She looks at them, mismatched colors and uneven sizes.

“But,” he goes on, “if you ever want to improve— actually improve— you have to learn to let go of it.”

(The blade lodges in her neck. It fills her throat with blood. She can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t see.)

“If you don’t…” Hinata shrugs. “Then don’t.”

She is seventeen, and Satou Yume’s skull shatters against a metal baseball bat before she can intervene. The day after it’s done, the young master tells her he feels better.

She is sixteen and about to die. She holds her chin up, but makes the mistake of looking over her shoulder when the young master screams.

She is nineteen, and every member of the main branch of the Kuzuryuu family is dead except for one. She helps him drag their bodies out into the garden, where they can be left for the crows.

(It was her responsibility to see him whole and unharmed.)

She stands up from the table. Hinata says nothing when she walks out the door.

#peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #kuzupeko #danganronpa #PHEW #really hope i caught all the mistakes in this one #my headache is deteriorating fast but i really wanted to get it up #CHUG CHUG CHUGGIN ALONG #fic: brick by brick #sunwrites

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