#they never talked to each other since kafka got taken...

[nightfal1n]

Pairing Kikoru and Reno in my head and it always ends up with them tag team to protect Kafka

[sonicasura]

Nobody Like You

I figured everyone needs something sweet after the latest chapter of the manga. Thus here's a childhood sweethearts Kafhoshi AU but with a little twist. It does contain some elements from my Always A Kaiju idea. Let's get started. Part 2 can be found here!

Soshiro was quite the lonely child at a young age. Due to his family's status, people never really saw the real him. Only a member of a powerful family to respect or avoid. His own kin weren't that much help either.

Soshiro's parents always held high expectations and his brother's attempts at trying to bring him down led little room in trust. Thus the young boy often found solace outside amongst nature. Particularly a hidden little clearing which bear a sole cherry blossom in the forest that stood around his home.

One day, Soshiro would come across quite the surprise waiting for him at his special place. A hole stood before the trunk of the tree. From sheer curiosity, the young Hoshina looked into the apparent burrow. His confused violet eyes immediately met a glowing pair of slitted greenish teal ones. On that day Soshiro encountered someone that would be his first friend but also future lover: a peculiar Kaiju whelp known as Kafka.

Although if the two screamed at each other in fright first then it's understandable. Not all romance starts with love at first sight. Sometimes it's a scream, a backwards fall, and maybe a punch out of fright. (On rarer occasions, it's all three.) Especially for childhood sweethearts like these two.

Upon realizing that Kafka didn't mean any harm, Soshiro began to visit the strange Kaiju. At first he would just talk to him about various things like how his day has been and such. Sometimes Soshiro brings over a snack for the Kaiju to try.

Although Kafka had a tendency to not be in the same spot. Sometimes he would pop up in other places like a bush at the public park. Or outside his bedroom door much to Soshiro's horror. There were some days where Kafka didn't show up at all. He often marked those by the small pretty stones the Kaiju left behind at his window.

Soon things begin to change between the two over time. The first sign was Kafka's attempts to say Soshiro's name. Despite the surprise, the young Hoshina helped teach his friend how to not only speak but even read and write. It did help answer some of the questions Soshiro had for him.

The days Kafka didn't appear? Apparently he was visiting his foster mother, a kind lady by the name of Sakuya Hibino. She rarely gets visitors so Kafka often visited her when no one was around.

The second sign happened on one of the days where the Kaiju asked Soshiro to come over instead. As time went by, Kafka got bigger and the young Hoshina had to exploit some opportunities that came with age like more freedom to see him. Something good to keep when his friend gets bigger than a bus.

Now imagine his confusion seeing an older human boy at their favorite spot. Something that only doubled when the stranger sneezed and 'poofs' into the Kaiju. Kafka had taught himself to become human. It wasn't always perfect since a good enough distraction would poof him back into his Kaiju self.

Yet the ability to introduce Kafka to his world made things worth the risk for both of them. The third sign came when Soshiro attended university. It was required if he wishes to join the Defense Force despite it cutting the little time he could spend with Kafka.

This is also the age where the time he spent alongside his Kaiju friend looked different. Despite being bigger than a building, Kafka was quite crafty when it came to keeping himself human sized. It kept the various activities they could do together not become limited whether by a Kaiju alert or size issues.

Though Kafka's interests had taken strange routes. Places he wanted to try eating at were looking a bit fancy. Sometimes Kafka would beg Soshiro for them to go check out a festival or any rare events happening in town. The latest one involved dancing of all things.

It eventually hits Soshiro once he hears people talking about the upcoming school dance and dates. Kafka had been trying to court him like humans do. Soshiro felt pretty stupid that he didn't realize it sooner but he'd be a liar if he said the feeling wasn't mutual.

That school dance became the day both began to start dating. Kafka would propose on the night after Soshiro took the Entrance Exams. And the two happily married a year before Hoshina was promoted to Vice Captain of the Third Division.

Both lovers kept Kafka's Kaiju nature a secret even when Soshiro reached such a high status. If someone would accidentally spot his lover, then the Hoshina always intercepted so he could flee. Kafka helps by using a decoy like a kaiju they have missed or using a dummy of sorts made from his old shedded skin. There was always a romantic and often spicy apology date the next night afterwards.

A status quo the Hoshina-Hibino couple enjoyed keeping as Soshiro rather wait before he has to defend his lover. He will raise a heavy blade for Kafka against the Defense Force should the truth come out. Sadly their luck would begin to run out.

It all started when Kafka's newest coworker discovered his secret. And it only goes downhill from there as a new breed of kaiju threatens to turn everything upside down. Though the couple will stand by each other's side when their peace begins to crumple.

Nobody was gonna tear Soshiro and Kafka apart so easily.

That's all I have for now. Please enjoy this little song that came to mind writing this.

@oxandthorn @yehehbd @nightfal1n @terra-sketches @iceclew @neo0w0 @discoknack @drmarune @renard-dartigue @giantgoblin @somnidraws @elephantthbig

[yurinaa-world]

platonic dan heng, welt, blade and jing yuan with a reader like lynette?

Characters: Dan Heng, Blade, Jing Yuan, and Welt Yang platonic! x Female Reader

Synopsis: with reader that's like lynette

Warnings: Fluff, spelling mistakes,

𝒟𝒶𝓃 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝑔

You’re like him, quiet and reserved, not wanting to talk at all, to keep all your energy and not waste it on talking, but one thing you especially love is eating snacks, so he doesn't forget to bring you snacks from the trailblazing expedition that just went on.

You two also spend time drinking tea together, but mostly in silence (maybe talking about March, which he doesn’t mind, but he’ll remember not to touch your snacks since you like them so much).

You can be very useful when collecting things about people since they don’t notice you, so you both get sent on missions together with each other, of course, but you always rake up the expense bill quite a lot because you’re in your eating ‘mode'.

𝒥𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒴𝓊𝒶𝓃

You follow him around kinda like an assistant of his own, even though he has one, but you’re way more fun (you’re quiet and reserved most of the time) you’re quite the listener.

Every little thing won’t go past your ear, and every word a person speaks can be quite useful if you know what to do with it, but he’s not the type of person to do something like that; he'd rather have you as his fun that he plays chess with and gives sweets to. He doesn’t want to get wrapped up with terrible people, like he has in his lifetime.

𝐵𝓁𝒶𝒹𝑒

Kafka’s doll, used and thrown around all over the place, you’re quiet and stealthy, making you the perfect spy and her little games. She could go to Sam and ask what would happen, but what’s the fun when she has you?

You with him, though, just can’t help but get snarky with him, and only him, asking where your snacks were and if he got you any; he forgot the first time, but never again afterwards, since you can be petty.

He'll forcefully be taken the restaurant that's full of food, and the bill just keeps racking up. Looking around makes him sick, but he’ll tolerate it. But just go to a buffet next time.

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓎𝒶𝓃𝑔

He gives you a lot of head pats and is very curious about your magic tricks.

Why don’t you show him since he’s so interested? Usually the one that spends time with you the most since he’s getting old and he isn’t able to go on every trailblazing expedition, so having tea with you and pompom doesn’t sound so bad now, does it?

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[akutasoda]

chapter twelve - a corpse demise

　↳ jiangshi!blade x reader

warnings - gn!reader, fluff?, enemies to lovers?, minor death mention, wc - 1.6k

within a galaxy there is always expected to be an abundance of species and people, each with their own individual atributes and or uniqueness. and no amount of travelling could mean someone discovers all amounts. especially if someone is unwilling to reveal what they truly are instead concealing truth behind lies.

of five people, three must pay a price. that was a phrase that often tormented his mind, one that resonated within him. it reminded him of his past actions and why he is what he is now. it was even unknown to the person that caused this fate the truth behind his newfound immortality. afterall it was seen as impossible for a short-life species to become a long-life.

and in truth blade had experienced death before. once. all those years ago at the hands of a friend with a weapon he had crafted, but yet something went wrong. her plan originally was to force him into a long-life species inturn for his actions and yet it was achieved in an undesirable way. one that granted him more power than was right. the power to absorb another's life source. in that moment of death, he thought he was granted peace but it was short lived as something within changed and formed a jiangshi.

now because he came back to life almost immediately, he regained every and all features of a human and somehow he still held the ability to talk, think and act the same thus everyone apart from him was unaware of the true reason he still stood before them. and no-one would guess. why would they when jiangshi were classed as nothing but myth. there never had been documented life of them outside of stories but now he knew they existed. but had no intention of letting anyone know.

he went about as if nothing had changed that drastically and therefore no-one knew. it was his secret. but he wouldn't care if it got out, the only reason he protected it was because if it did get out it would cause more hassel than it was worth.

your life had taken turn after turn and eventually the only clarity you had found was upon joining the astral express and becoming a trailblazer. you had joined at a similar time to dan heng. dan heng had very quickly become a great friend of yours, so much so that it seemed as though you two would've been friends since childhood.

most of your best times were with the express. it had seemed to be that things were finally going your way but of course the universe didn't seem to lime thay one bit. see the only problem you had upon the express was the seemingly increased attacks and threats from a group called the stellaron hunters. a group that cause not only you but the whole express problems.

no-one had an answer for their sudden increase in aggression. but for you and dan heng it seemed more personal. and that was from the member dubbed 'blade'. and after the stay at the luofu was over it seemed blade's targeting of dan heng was somewhat worth it but you had no clue what his issue was with you!

well the real reason for the sudden aggression was due to changes in elio's script. changes that had informed that they would be gaining a new member upon their actions. apparently they were going to stumble across some information that would make a trailblazer turn against the others and become a stellaron hunter. and who were they to question elio?

and so they followed the script to perfection until everything had fallen into place. now kafka knew exactly what to do and who would be joining them. you had been sat scrolling on your phone idly after messaging dan heng asking about something random and while waiting for his response you noticed a blue blur form in the corner of your eye. and blue blur that took the shape of a woman, a woman you lnew all too well.

you quickly got defensive as she walked towards you, and as she holded out a very conspicuous envelope you hesitated to take it. and who would blame you but her words had convinced you to take it claiming that it was important and you needed to see it. by the time dan heng had decided yo go find you in your room you were absolutely fuming at something. so much so that you yelled and yelled at him until he left.

you knew it was unfair to him, afterall it was dan feng that had started your family's course of disluck for his own selfish desires but you needed, no wanted to be angry at someone and unfortunately that was your very best friend. within a couple hours you had packed your stuff and left the exoress completely unnoticed. only leaving a vague not in your old bedroom.

now kafka had presented you the very generous offer elio had planned and with much reluctance you took it. and now you officially were associated with the stellaron hunters. you had been offered revenge and clarity even if that meant going down a dark path. and in your opinion most the stellaron hunters weren't that bad.

silver wolf was quite enjoyable to hang around, sam was unsurprisingly the sanest one there and kafka wasn't as bad as himeko used to make her out to be. but there was something about blade that made you absolutely fuming to see him, maybe it was that he has attacked you multiple times or maybe it's because you just didn't seem to like him. but regardlessyou very quickly adjusted to a new life as a stellaron hunter and not that you wanted to admit but it seemed better than being a trailblazer.

blade had noticed from the very start that you maybe possessed a strength that excited him. after years upon years of fighting people that really never lived to see the next day he had found someone that maybe could be part if the few stronger or equal to him in power. but this time it was someone not apart of his past. the only downside was that you were close to dan heng. but now you were a stellaron hunter that wasn't a downside anymore.

annoyingly, you noticed the sudden spike in missions where you were matched with blade. why did you keep being paired with him? and most of the time you would end tiring missions with an even more tiring battle against blade. you often clashed with him verbally and physically so it was no longer a surprise. aeons what you would do to gain some dirt on him.

everytime you passed him or were in the same room he would glare at you and you would glare back. and you got quite sick of it, even debating asking silver wolf for something you could hold above his head - you never did as an opportunity soon arrived. it was yet another mission with the swordsman and you suggested the idea of splitting up and to find the other once done. and that's exactly what you two did except you finished much quicker than blade thus learning what he truly was.

as you rounded the corner, you made a snarky remark about how he was loosing his touch and shouldn't be taking this long, just to notice he quite literally was stealing the soul of the newly deceased. yes this may of alarmed you a bit but you very quickly brushed it off much to your and blade's surprise. no words were exchanged among either of you for the rest of the mission.

the next day, others could tell something had shifted in blad's and your relationship. but no-one dare comment. you seemed slightly nicer toward him and thus he reciprocated. over the night you had evaluated what you had saw, eventually coming to the conclusion that you didn't really care but maybe you should stay on the better side of blade. especially if your theory was correct about what he was.

so you had decided to be slightly nicer to blade. and wether that was a mistake you still don't know. the more time you spent actually not fighting with blade the more you realised how much you two actually got along. and very quickly started holding genuine feelings for the man, how he felt you had no idea. and as much as you hate to admit but being in his company had become enjoyable.

blade himself actually started enjoying being around you. he would never admit that and did not understand why. but now it aeemed that you two were joined at the hip, sure there were still a few snarky comments or actions but anyone could mistake you both for very close friends. and the more this went on the more you forgot what had actually lead to it. but even more worringly so was your still growing feelings towards the man. you never imagined this happening and desperately tried to get rid of them but no matter what you still held them and unknowing that they were reciprocated.

[along-came-atsushi]

Parallels between 55 Minutes and Dead Apple

While reading 55 Minutes a while ago, I realized that its story and Dead Apple had some interesting parallels or shared the same ideas.

Looking at certain scenes in the Dead Apple novel, some parallels became even more apparent. Sometimes, even the same or similar words were used.

I don’t think there is a deeper meaning behind this honestly, but I find it interesting to point out nonetheless.

  [Side Note: 55 Minutes was released in 2016, while the novel for the Dead Apple movie was released in 2018. 55 Minutes was written by Asagiri Kafka, while he only collaborated with others for the story of Dead Apple. The novel itself was written by Hiro Iwahata.]

Beware: Major spoilers for 55 Minutes and Dead Apple!

  1.  Weapon or abilities described as red heat or red sphere

55 Minutes: The main threat is a weapon called “The Shell” that upon activating, covers Standard Island and Yokohama in a red heat wave, vaporizing all life:

The sky was dyed red. […] Red. Everything was red—the ocean, the island, even Yokohama at the other end of the horizon.

.

“That’s the Shell.” The terrorist briskly walked over to Atsushi. “The crimson celestial sphere of annihilation.”

.

The crimson dome burned like a small star that had fallen upon the earth with an extraordinary amount of heat locked inside. The fiery enclosure rapidly imploded. The heat rushing towards its core.

  Dead Apple: Abilities collected by Shibusawa are described as red crystals. Upon merging two abilities together by Dazai, they turn into a red apple/sphere:

The two lights melted into one and spun until they formed a single sphere. They had produced a single apple—a juicy, poisoned apple red as blood. […]

The apple swelled as it absorbed numerous crystals until the red light became hotter than the surface of hell.

.

A hellish red light radiated as a violent wind gusted from the giant sphere.

  -> After this Shibusawa gets “killed” by Fyodor, turns into a dragon and releases a red fog that is about to cover the whole earth and turn it into the so-called dead apple.

   2. Allusion to Odasaku and Ango

55 Minutes: It’s been revealed that the Colonel who wanted to activate The Shell was the former mentor of Gide, the leader of Mimic. By activating The Shell, he wanted to state an example and for the truth about Mimic to be revealed. He blames himself for not being able to stop his former subordinates back then. Dazai remembers the Mimic Incident and with it, of course, the painful memories of Odasaku and Ango:

“You won’t find anything,” Dazai suddenly said while turning his gaze out the window. “The Division made sure to completely cover it up. You won’t find any records of their [Mimic] deaths, nor will you even find a single photo accidentally taken of them […]. The Division is good at jobs like that, after all.” […]

But Dazai didn’t say a word as he stared at a point in the sky with an elbow resting on the table. It was as if his eyes weren’t focused on the scenery outside, but were watching vivid memories playing back in his mind.

“I feel bad for the colonel, but there’s no reason to dig up the past and disclose to the public what happened to them,” Dazai revealed in a flat voice. “They died satisfied. Now is their time to rest.”

  -> Even though Ango and Odasaku aren’t directly mentioned, it’s still clear from the context and Dazai’s reaction.

  Dead Apple: Dazai visits the Bar Lupin, the former usual meeting point of him and his two friends:

He was in his usual spot—the seat next to Odasaku’s—and he was talking to the empty space next to him as if Odasaku were still here.

“What’ll we toast to today?”

“You’re not gonna wait for Ango to get here?”

Dazai could practically hear his friend’s voice.

.

That used to be routine, but now it was all in the past—never to return.

“…Ango isn’t coming,” Dazai replied to Odasaku’s casual remark from years ago. So many things had changed since then. Odasaku was no longer by his side, and Ango didn’t come to this pub anymore. Dazai sat at the counter alone. He was waiting for no one.

  -> Apparently these memories are still so vivid to Dazai that he can play them like a movie in his head, as it is described in both scenes.

   3. Ability/Ability User that is able to absorb other abilities

55 Minutes: Verne’s ability “The Mysterious Island” is revealed to absorb every ability from all the people who have died there. After his own ability took over Verne and transformed into its own lifeform, Gab is still able to do the same:

It was an extremely rare skill. Its range extended across the island he claimed as his domain, and it absorbed all the skills of the people who died there.

.

Well’s skill wouldn’t allow the same person to return to the past more than once, but if Verne used his skill to keep stealing hers, he would always be using the skill for the first time.

  Dead Apple: Shibusawa collects user’s abilities, once they die in a fight against them, which is similar to absorbing abilities, even though the technique is a little bit different:

“Each one of these is a skill, huh?” Dazai muttered coldly as he looked at the wall. “That’s a huge collection you got yourself.”

.

The apple appeared in Dazai’s hand and gently rose to the ceiling before stopping. It birthed a skill—an extremely powerful one at that—the ability to absorb.

.

In other words, Shibusawa was finally able to obtain Dazai’s skill through killing him.

   4. Dazai gets stabbed from behind by the main antagonist

55 Minutes: Dazai gets stabbed by Gab:

Dazai froze as if the rest of his sentence had been plucked clean off. And the tip of a blade was now sticking out of his chest. […] Dazai tried to turn around, but whoever was behind him pushed the knife deeper inside him and twisted it. […] With his arm stuck out, he turned slightly to the side before folding and crumpling to the ground.

  Dead Apple: Dazai gets stabbed by Shibusawa:

Right as Dazai reached for the massive photosphere […] something struck him in the back. […] His eyes opened wide. He could feel a burning pin shoot through his chest. [...]

Standing behind him was Tatsuhiko Shibusawa, […] In his hand was a knife that glowed dully as it pierced Dazai’s back. […] Dazai then collapsed.

   5. Dazai as an obstacle for the main antagonist

55 Minutes: Gab needs to kill Dazai, so that he can’t nullify him with his skill:

Gab’s natural enemy—Dazai—worked at the detective agency. Dazai nullified all skills he touched. […] However, if Dazai was to touch flesh, he [Gab] would cease to exist. […]

For Gab, the threat of Dazai’s skill was equivalent to having a knife shoved into his throat. There was only one way to remove the threat—kill Dazai so that his skill wouldn’t activate.

  Dead Apple: Shibusawa kills Dazai not only to obtain his ability, but also because Dazai had been nullifying his fog:

“There is no next move. I already found the skill I was searching for.” Shibusawa lightly gestured to him with an open hand. “Yours.”

Shibusawa’s eyes gleefully lit up as he gazed down at Dazai on the floor. “From the very start. You were the only one I was after.”

.

Shibusawa’s fog had the power to separate skills from their owners. Up until now, Dazai’s skill had been nullifying its effect, but it stopped working the moment he died.

   6. Dazai sharing or revealing something about himself to Atsushi

55 Minutes: Dazai says why he wants to kill himself:

“Dazai,” Atsushi said from behind him, “why do you want to kill yourself?” Dazai turned around and looked at Atsushi. It was his usual smile − a cheerful smirk that made him impossible to read. Dazai slightly opened his eyes as if to say, “Oh yeah. I guess I haven’t told you yet.” He grinned and answered:

“Because I        .”

What did Dazai say that day? The more I try to remember, the further these distant memories sink into the glow of the evening sun.

  -> It’s unknown why Atsushi can’t remember Dazai’s answer. Maybe it was too shocking, maybe he simply just didn’t hear it properly. Maybe this whole conversation never happened and it was just a fever dream. For now, it is up to interpretation.

  Dead Apple: Dazai talks about Odasaku and admits he had killed during his mafia time:

“So…” Atsushi spoke up as Dazai idly daydreamed. “Was this someone you used to be in love with, or…?” […]

“…He was a friend of mine,” Dazai added quietly. […] “He’s the reason I quit the Port Mafia and joined the agency. I’d probably still be killing people for the mafia if it wasn’t for him.”

Atsushi was baffled. He had no idea whether that was true. What did Dazai mean by that? Curious, Atsushi turned around to face Dazai, but all he could see was his back.

  -> In both scenes it’s described as Atsushi standing behind Dazai or seeing his back, which could empathize that he can’t see through Dazai or be sure about his true feelings (and in addition every other character in-universe as well as the reader). Furthermore it could also symbolize that Dazai hides his true feelings. This is accompanied by an illustration in the novel. But there is also a scene in the manga where Atsushi thinks about the ADA members with Dazai’s back turned to him:

   7. Akutagawa as a guidance or motivator for Atsushi

55 Minutes: Atsushi and Akutagawa are both restrained by Gab’s ability and can’t move. Akutagawa already tried to break free, but his ability is physically too thin to cut through Gab’s.

Akutagawa then “kills” Atsushi in order to awaken his tiger power, since the latter doubts himself of being capable enough. Later he assists and assures Atsushi in defeating Gab:

“Tch. Akutagawa clicked his tongue. “Then it appears your fists are the only things that will work.”

He was right. Atsushi’s tiger fists would be big enough to land a blow. But as long as his arms were stuck… […] Atsushi used all the muscle he had to break free, but he still couldn’t pull his body out. He didn’t even budge.

.

“Do you understand that? There are things I can do that you cannot.” The wind howled. Akutagawa’s dark blade pierced Atsushi’s throat.

.

A tiger roared. Atsushi responded. […] His body went through an unworldly transformation. He had to move forward. If he didn’t understand, then he had to find out why. […]

“Good,” said a voice. “Now hurry. Do not waste my time, Man-Tiger.

.

But out of nowhere, a black fabric appeared underneath, stretching from the surface. It became a platform for him [Atsushi] to stand on and support his weight. Quietly looking up at Atsushi from the surface was Akutagawa. His gaze quietly said, “Finish it. Bring him peace.”

  Dead Apple: Akutagawa withholds information to Atsushi on purpose, about why he isn’t able to regain his ability despite having defeated it:

“You fool,” spewed Akutagawa. “Have you seriously not figured it out yet?!” […]

“Akutagawa!” Atsushi screamed in spite of himself. “What’s that supposed to mean?! Answer me!”

But Akutagawa didn’t look back. He simply disappeared into the fog as he headed toward the fortress.

Why…? Why…?! Why am I the only one who doesn’t get it?!

  -> Although it’s noteworthy that Kyouka does the same, with high probability for the same reasons (Atsushi having to figure it out by himself).

   8. Atsushi is forced to kill a dangerous, unnatural existence

This is very interesting in the way it’s been build up in both cases. First the antagonist is described as an existence that is not natural (1), then their motive gets explained (2), Atsushi shows up, saying why their actions are wrong or what he’s about to do (3), and then the deaths of the antagonists are described as some form of salvation (4):

55 Minutes:

(1) The island’s skill rid itself of Verne’s personality and robbed him of his flesh. That was when the living skill Gab was born.

.

(2) What made him different from Verne was his reason. The guardian of the island, Verne, wanted to save everyone. Gab, on the other hand, didn’t care whether people died.

.

(3) “But you can’t separate humans and their skills. The reason you want friends is nothing more than a reminder from when you once where human. […]”

.

(4) Right as his fist was about to connect…

------I owe ya one.

…he heard the young man’s [Verne] voice.

  -> The last stage (4) gets even more underlined with Akutagawa assuring Atsushi by saying “Bring him peace”, as cited above.

  Dead Apple:

(1) Tatsuhiko Shibusawa had been reborn as a skill-like life-form—a divine being that wielded the power of the dragon.

.

(2) But his wish was still the same. He wanted to drive Atsushi into a corner so he could experience even more pain and torture than he did six years ago. This was a natural conclusion for Shibusawa to reach, for he believed that life was at its strongest and most beautiful when it was being pushed over the edge.

.

(3) “Here to kill me again, Atsushi Nakajima?” asked Shibusawa. […]

“I’m just sending something back to where it belongs,” he replied.

.

(4) “…I understand everything now. I know why you’re here, why you appeared before me, and what his words truly meant. You are the angel who will save me…” 

  -> Even before turning into a dragon beast, Shibusawa was already an undead being, and thus an unnatural existence.

   9. Abilities are described as sentient beings or something that can turn against the user

55 Minutes: Gab separated himself from Verne and took over his body:

While traveling into the past, the skill got stronger, transformed, and eventually grew to have a will of its own.

.

However, Gab’s consciousness was less stable compared with humans.

  Dead Apple: Ability users have their abilities taken away and are forced to fight against them to get them back:

It was Kunikida’s skill, The Matchless Poet. […] He had a good idea how his skill was going to attack, seeing as it was part of him once. He also knew that, unlike his notebook, the phantom’s notebook had the word Compromise written on the cover. A copy of himself that didn’t follow ideals but made compromises was an abomination to Kunikida.

   Lastly, there is also the topic of Dazai set as a motivator for Atsushi and Akutagawa and their bickering about what is right or wrong in regards to him. But since that happens often between them, I didn’t include it here.

[spiltscribbles]

Metamorphosis

Notes: This was written for the most wonderful, gorgeous and sweetheart babe in the history of ever!!! @omgcmere for her birthday! ILYSM sweetheart! Huge thanks to my babes @pastelle-pvnk and @bibliothesophfor reading over this for me!<3<3

.-

~A reblog is worth a thousand stars~

.-

I am free and that is why I am lost

-Franz Kafka

.-

Henry wakes up the day before classes of his junior year exhausted, hung over, and to a positively shit-eating grin that Pez is boasting while he gleefully pushes open the blinds like the sadistic fuck that he is.

“You’ve become a real tosser ever since making out with my sister last Christmas,” Henry informs him bluntly, stretching out slowly while looking around for his shirt until coming to the realization that the bloke from last night must’ve taken it while on the walk of shame.

Henry really tries his damndest not to think of his ass taking that walk.

“Ah Beatrice, my sun and stars.” Pez magnanimously throws Henry an old henley from his still unpacked suitcase. Tosser status withstanding, He’s still Henry’s best friend, has been ever since freshman year when they found solace in each other being the only two Brits in this entire university— well the only ones that matter, anyhow.

“Oy, did you wake me up at this godforsaken hour just to wax poetic about my sister of all people?” Henry grouses, padding over to their joint bathroom to brush his teeth, wincing only slightly at the already raucous chatter going on in the downstairs of their frat house.

“Believe it or not Haz, dealing with your temperamental arse actually wasn’t on my list to do today,” Pez crows, standing there all put together and fresh and well-rested. Like a fucking monster. “But we’ve got that meeting with the Dean of Student Affairs about the room situation for rush week, and we’re still in that debate with Chi Phi’s president over it.”

Henry glares  at the reminder, a spark of fury running down his spine, and perhaps an extra thudding to his heart, but Henry’ll studiously ignore that.

“God damn Alex Claremont-Diaz.”

“Only took you around three minutes to mention him today,” Pez perks with a knowing leer. “I reckon that’s a new record..”

“Get the fuck out, Pez.”

.-

Henry was seven years old when he realized that his family were the sort of folks that end up on magazine covers and the headlines of salacious talk shows— that his dad was a renowned movie star and his ma’s the cousin of the queen of England. Henry was fifteen years old when he first started to hate as much.  When a nurse assigned to his father's hospital room leaked his death before the doctor even had time to tell them, his damn wife and kids.

Henry was sixteen and lost at sea when Philip and the bloody queen herself sat down with him to tell him that his public presence required a certain sort of image, a  discrete sort of image. An image that didn’t condone printed scarves and lingering hands with the son of a Lord who was two years ahead of him in Eton. Henry was eighteen years old when he ran off to America and learned how to keep everything hush, hush,  becoming untethered to all the bull shit surrounding him.  When he was accepted to Yale, and joined a fraternity and tried his damndest to emulate some douchebag wanker in the likeness of Philip.

And you know what, it was all going as planned until Henry met the infuriatingly arrogant, and downright mesmerizing boy in the rival fraternity. The one with an upturned nose and such big brown eyes and a delicious sort of half grin when Henry challenges him on something, or keeps him on his toes. Though if Henry’s being frank, he likes it most when Alex is keeping him on his knees, when Henry’s mouth is full and Alex’s lips are preening and he’s spouting out a sort of cursed poetry with every flick of Henry’s tongue and bobbing of his head.

Though that’s irrelevant now in the light of day when they’re on opposing sides and Alex is smirking at him from across the way with such irresistible swagger, sporting Henry’s red t-shirt that brings out the specs of golden in his almost molten eyes.

Henry hates him.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he calls out, just because he knows it makes Henry flush.

“The room’s ours, you prick,” Henry retorts, beyond mulish.

“It’s so cute when you get all flustered, Fox.”

“I’m not joking around, Alexander! That room’s been Alpha Delta Phi’s every opening week since the bloody eighties.”

“Don’t you think it’s time for a change in venue then?” Alex asks with an owlish blink, sliding lower in his seat so that his legs spread even further.

Oh fuck him. Fuck Alex Claremont-Diaz’s stupid cocky attitude and his stupid fucking face and so what if Henry just wants to just fuck him stupid. He can’t win just because Henry’s a weak, weak man.

“The room’s ours, Alex,” he warns lowly.

“You wanna prove it, pretty boy?”

Henry’s eyes flicker to the clock over the office door. It doesn’t technically open for another quarter of an hour, and they’ve worked with less time in even more compromising positions, so Henry doesn’t think twice when he tugs a very caught off-guard Alex into the bathroom down the hall, praying to God that there are no cameras around here.

“Woah there cowboy, didn’t get enough last night?” Alex grins, hands already down to unbutton Henry’s jeans.

“You’re fucking infuriating,” is all Henry says in answer, swatting Alex’s hands away before going down on his knees and tugging down the abhorrently orange basketball shorts Alex has on. God, if Henry actually cared he’d pull Alex aside and give him a lesson on what’s actually excusable to wear in public.

“Now why don’t you try to stay quiet for once,” Henry tells him in a hush, biting lightly on the skin of Alex’s inner thigh before kissing the spot in penance.

“Psha, you — erm, you like it when I’m loud.”

Henry doesn’t argue, isn’t in the mood to lie. Instead he takes him in slowly, tongue lapping around Alex’s tip and pushing down with precision.

“Ah, yeah H,” Alex blurts, about two octaves higher than his normal speaking voice, as his head hits the stall, a shaking hand curled in Henry’s hair while the other one is clenched tight around his shoulder.

Henry lets one of his hands wrap around the base of Alex’s cock as the other inches to Alex’s admittedly fantastic ass, wants this done quick and sloppy and to teach Alex a lesson that he can’t just win every argument by sitting around looking like some sort of brought to life Grecian statue.

“Henry— H,” Alex comes too close to whining, tugs harder on his hair and cants his hips forward. He at least has the decency to look sheepish. “You really need to calm down or I’m,” Alex falters right then, eyes going blown when Henry’s first finger dips into his asshole, hooking in deep before Henry takes a mouth full of him again. He repeats the action another two and a half times before Alex has to frantically tap on his head in warning, and Henry gets to stand up — more than a bit smug — smirking down at a boneless Alex who’s using the stall as his only support.

“I reckon while you clean up here, I’ll go speak with the dean on the behalf of Alpha Delta Phi,” Henry tells him, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand to get rid of the pre-cum still found there.

Alex’s brows hike up as he slowly realizes what Henry has done, breathless while he spews out a fuming, “Bastard.”

“Least you got a consolation prize love,” Henry goads, kissing him full on the mouth before adjusting himself and walking back out to the office.

Alpha Delta Phi gets the room just like they have for the past half century, and Alex fucks Henry senseless for the next week. Balance is restored.

.-

Henry thinks it’s important to note that this thing he has with Alex — well, it’s not even a thing, really. They’re fuck buddies, but no. That would imply that there is some sort of camaraderie found between them, when simply there just is not. It’s a thing of convenience, truly.

The fact of the matter is that they find one another ridiculously hot, but also can’t stand a prolonged conversation without feeling the burning need to wring the others neck by the end of it. They realized as much halfway through freshman year when they had the same English lit class and Henry had to be physically restrained by Pez when Alex was arguing against Henry’s point about Hemingway being oversaturated and a blowhard.

“He’s a classic,” Alex had charged, the snow of early February in New England cascading in his dark curls and catching in his long lashes.

“He’s only adored because he’s got a dick! Why don’t you read Austen or at least a man who has something to say!” Henry had fumed.

“Let me guess, you like Metamorphosis?”

“What do you have against Kafka?” Henry gaped, only just beginning to notice the others eyeing the pair of them. And yeah, it might’ve been bewildering how they’re arguing about literaries from centuries passed in the middle of a bonfire party, but people need to learn how to mind their own fucking business.

“Well dude, if we’re speaking about blowhards, he’s definitely the king of them,” Alex had snorted loftily, taking a swig of his spiked hot chocolate.

“Don’t call me dude,” Henry had sniffed, which made Alex squint at him, more than a bit amused.

“Okay, tell me, does Prince Douche do anything for ya, pretty boy?”

That was the first night Henry grabbed Alex by the collar and showed him what it meant to be an actual blow hard. And well….they never stopped. They didn’t stop the sniping at each other or the razor-tipped barbs being volleyed around, and especially not the fucking. Never the fucking.

But yeah, it’s not really anything, especially not the best thing. It could never be that. And not even just because his shitty family basically told him straight up that Henry could never actually come out in the public eye, Henry’s accepted that, has learned how to slink around those rules to live in some sort of happy purgatory. But the thing is, Henry’s just not a good boyfriend. He’s always too in his own head and he’s not really that attentive, and besides all that, Henry didn’t come to university to meet some bloke and live some gay romance story from the 1900s.

Henry’s here at university to get a degree, to become someone. He’s here because his father always told him to reach for the heavens, to do something beyond himself. Henry wants to be the next great literary, wants to write something that matters, that makes a difference. Something that’ll make Beatrice laugh with no more worry eclipsing the sound, and maybe even something that’ll bring the stars back in his mother’s eyes. Henry wants to say something that’s worth being said.

Henry doesn’t want to have anything getting in the way of that, preventing him from becoming someone important. But regardless, it’s not as if Alex has ever seen Henry as more than a good lay, has made it abundantly obvious throughout the year and a half  of their sleeping around. Most notably, that three month interlude when Alex began dating that boy from the student government, Liam whoever, at the end of last term. Though to be frank, Alex was always far out of Liam’s league, and the week that followed their breakup included some of the most dynamic and mind-blowing sex Henry’s ever experienced.

But that’s irrelevant.

Alex and Henry are only a last resort to one another, and it doesn’t have to mean anything more, it doesn’t have to be complicated, Henry hates it when things get complicated.

.-

Henry’s in the midst of editing his term paper on the impact that Woolf created in the discussion of gender in Orlando when he gets a text from Pez telling him to “stop being a robot.”  

Glaring, Henry ignores the text from Beatrice about David, and the email regarding alpha Delta Phi’s first charity function for this term, and the half dozen snapchat notifications from Alex alone. He instead moves to reply to Pez with a middle finger emoji before he’s accosted by a pair of hands wrapping around his eyes.

“Guess who?” an ever-amused and incredibly buoyant  voice asks.

“A prick?” Henry replies in a deadpan, making it so Alex cuffs him on the back of the head.

“Say dick you douche, you’re in America now,” he commands, taking a seat besides him in the almost empty top floor of the silent library.

“Fuck off,” Henry hisses, rubbing the tender spot. “And since when are you in the library this late?”

“You mean at three in the morning?” Alex says pointedly. “Never, because I’m normal and not a school-obsessed freakazoid like you.”

Henry sticks out his tongue in retaliation because he’s too groggy to come up with anything clever.

“And yet?”

“I’m a good person and dropped off a spare key to a brother who’s wigging out about a midterm,” Alex says, studying Henry with a peculiar amount of intensity. “Saw your pale ass haunting this place like a ghost and thought I’d bug you a little.”

“What is it?” Henry asks moodily, surprised at the lapse of silence that follows before Alex shrugs in answer.

“You’ve got some nasty circles under your eyes, white boy,” he says, not quite as crude as usual but Henry still glares in exasperation.

“So what? You got up in the middle of the night just to help a friend and criticize my looks?” Henry says with a huff, rubbing his strained eyes, only just starting to feel the exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders.

“I was at Nora’s place, so I was already up,” Alex says, unwittingly making it so Henry stiffens.

It’s not unusual for them to discuss each other's conquests, but it’s different when it comes to Nora. Henry knows that she and Alex had dated for a stint freshman year before the two of them  crossed paths. She’s a gorgeous and fierce computer sciences major with a minor in mathematics. There’s no way in hell that Alex isn’t still carrying a torch for her, which is fine and all, it’s not like Henry and Alex are anything beyond occasional hookups, but yeah— it still makes it so something uncomfortable is squirming right beneath the surface of his skin. And God does Henry hate it.

“How is she?” Henry asks evenly, ignores the way Alex is searing a hole into the side of his head while Henry adjusts the syntax of one of his topic sentences.

“Fine,” he says in the same detached sort of inflection. “You’re working on that paper for your gender lit class?”

“It’s due tomorrow morning,” Henry answers.

“Haven’t you been done with it for, like, a week?” Alex asks.

“Haven’t you heard that revising is the only way to get a decent paper?” Henry sniffs.

“Dude, I think you’ve edited enough,” Alex snorts. Everything always coming so fucking easy to him, it’s maddening. He’s gorgeous and charming and brilliant and he doesn’t even have to try. But worst yet, it’s not even a big deal to him. Even if he weren’t all those things he never had a family name to live up to, was never expected to be something he was not. Henry’s so fumingly envious but also so goddamn lost on him and  how it is he’s come to be.

“Alexander, is there a purpose for this ridiculous conversation?” Henry lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I really need to get back at this.”

“And what? Not sleep till tomorrow?” Alex snipes.

“If you don’t say anything worth my while in the next five seconds, I'm putting my earbuds back in and ignoring you,” Henry tells him point blank. “Five, four, three—“

Alex’s face goes a furious scarlet, jaw set, before he gets close enough that his breath skirts against Henry’s lips, and his hand finds its way to the front of his trousers.

“I’d really like it if you’d let me jerk you off right now.”

It's Henry’s turn to burn red.

“What?”

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“We’re in public.”

“We’re in a dark library in the middle of the night and your weird ass always picks the corner surrounded by the shelves.”

“It’s always quietest,” Henry argues weakly.

“Bet we can change that,” Alex counters smugly.

Henry has already admitted that he’s a weak man, so he’s not surprised when Alex’s challenge actually works and he’s led to the most concealed corner with heated kisses and impatient grappling tugging him closer.

“You’re unruly,” Henry whines when Alex bites down at the hinge where the column of his neck meets his shoulder.

“And you’re really sexy when you’re all focused and nibbling down on that pen,” Alex leers, pulling himself and Henry out of their pants. “Really gets a guy imagining things.”

Henry swallows down, hard.

“What sorts of things?” He asks lightly.  

“You know H,” Alex croons,  gets a hand locked around each of them, knocking the breath out of Henry and making it so he’s gripping at the shelves, bracketing Alex on either side. “You get this little dent between your brows,” he leans forwards and nibbles against Henry’s neck once more. “’S the same one you get right before you cum.”

“Oh yeah?” Henry asks, pleads as he jerks into Alex’s hand, watching the moonlight dancing in his hair and tracing his strong features with a romantic sort of gentleness. Holy fuck, is he beautiful.

Okay, so Henry might’ve said that last part out loud, but he doesn’t even care because Alex’s grin goes lopsided, and he kisses the corner of Henry’s mouth and everything goes a blinding white when Alex strokes him over the edge.

“You are really something, Henry Fox,” Alex says in a voice that’s caught between befuddlement and a sort of wondrous intrigue. Henry can’t really reply though, feels heavy and sated and like he really wants to curl up with Alex. But that’s a ridiculous notion and Henry needs to get those thoughts out his mind or else this’ll all be ruined.

“You’re like an orgasm fairy,” Henry tells him in a yawn.

“I want that for my epithet,” Alex winks, gently pushing Henry’s overstimulated cock back into his briefs and zipping him back up. “I’m calling one of the vans if you want to join, our houses are the same way,”

Henry blinks, confused. “I can’t,” He tells him with a hint of irritation. “I’ve got to finish that paper.”

Alex frowns fully now, pinning him with a one-eyed squint.

“You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“This’s how I always look after sex,” Henry contends, unconvincing to his own ears.

“You’re gonna run yourself into your own grave if you don’t give yourself a break,” Alex tells him, near fuming.

“Then that’ll be my own doing,” Henry says, steadfast.

“That’s fucking psychotic,” Alex hisses and Henry hates how he can’t understand why this, being here, being worth something greater than just a jumble of letters and familial connection, is so important to Henry.

“’S not your life to live,”  he shrugs, turning away from Alex.

“You don’t have to be the best to be worth anything, Henry,” he calls after him, cutting and cruel and careless.

Henry feels like he’s been caught out, like he can’t breathe. And how dare Alex, how dare he pretend that their situations are at all similar. Like there aren’t chasms separating them.

“Fuck you, Alexander.”

“I mean that’s all you ever want, isn’t it?”

There’s a sound like Alex kicking a chair but Henry doesn’t know for sure, refuses to turn around and check.

.-

It’s been two weeks since the library incident.

Neither of them has texted first, not even glancing in the other’s direction in the one class they share. And it’s good, it’s fine, it’s whatever. Henry’s never wanted anything more than a consistent fuck, and Alex has got dozens of options of incredibly pretty and incredibly smart and incredibly affable people just like him. He doesn’t need Henry and Henry doesn’t need him.

It’s fine.

“It doesn’t look fine, mate,” Pez tells Henry that Friday night with knit brows and a worried expression splayed out all over his face. Henry doesn’t answer in so many words, just tosses him the bird instead. “Right, good talk.”

“It’s nothing, Pez,” Henry insists, taking a drag of his joint and pretending that it helps.

“Then come to the party with us tonight, yeah? It’s Spencer’s birthday and I know he’d be a total mess if you actually tagged along to get drunk with us commoners.”

Henry glares with feeling but accepts the offer merely to prove his point that whatever happened between him and Alex means nothing.

Admittedly, that notion might’ve been thrown out the godforsaken window when the party goes into full swing and Henry finally catches sight of Alex near the beer pong table, laughing with Liam of all fucking people.

They look happy, happier than Henry’s ever seen him.

Henry feels cold all over.

He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this, doesn’t understand the reason why his stomach’s twisting into knots and his veins are spiking with a truly awful emotion and why his ribcage has cracked open, screaming at Alex, telling him to notice, to look at Henry, to see that he’s here, dammit. To see that Henry’s here and whole and has so much to give him even if it looks like the contrary.

Henry doesn’t understand any of it, so he ignores the feelings and races up stairs to his room, crossly slamming his door shut and cursing at his own stupidity.

Like he does whenever he’s overwhelmed, Henry grabs for one of the novels lining his shelf and gets lost in the fictitious lives penned in black and white, lives far away from his reach, lives that Henry could get lost in studying and forget his own for only a little while. It’s what he did when Bea and Philip were doing grown up things and he was stuck at home all alone. What he did for days on end in the hospital room, reading to his father while he faded away bit by bit. It’s what he did to forget the fact that his own brother wants him to hide himself in all his varieties of light.

It’s the one constant in Henry’s life and he does it now, gets lost in the words and tries to forget the throbbing to his own heart.

It’s the first time it doesn’t work.

.-

Henry doesn’t know how much time passes when his door creaks open and he looks up to a face he put to memory long ago, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Alexander?”

“Cinderella,” he grins, slow and warm like molasses. “‘How cruel, your veins are made of ice water, and mine are boiling.’”

Henry’s heart feels like it’s just lodged into his throat, his eyes never leaving Alex’s own.

“Excuse me?”

“Wuthering Heights,” he says nonchalantly with a one-armed shrug while stepping closer into the room and pushing the door shut. “It’s your favorite book to read when you’re overwhelmed.”

Henry’s lips pinch, sitting up completely now, regarding Alex fully. “Is that right?”

“Mhmm. You like Sense and Sensibility when you’ve done well on a paper. And you have a secret copy of Little Women stuffed under your bed for whenever Bea messages you and you begin to miss her.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a stalker, Alexander,” Henry says, pretending that the butterflies swarming in his belly are just from nerves of speaking to him after so long and not from the pleasure of him knowing Henry without his evening realizing it.

“You’re not that difficult to figure out, Fox. I’ve told you: you’re just a bimbo with great legs and an accent that makes people think you know two shits about anything.” Alex flops stomach first on Henry’s bed, his head resting up against Henry’s thigh. It’s against Henry’s will when his hand moves forwards to card through Alex’s mussed curls.

“Charming, you’re truly so charming, Alexander. Do you know that?” Henry says blithely.

“The newspapers call me charismatic,” he smirks airily, making it so Henry can’t help but snort.

“Prick.”

“Says the guy who ghosted me,” Alex counters.

“The phone works both ways, love,” he says condescendingly, hating how something golden and splendid is coiling somewhere deep inside of him, merely to due with Alex’s presence.

“Pfft.” Alex gets up now so that they’re face to face, brown eyes boring into blue. “Do you know what you told me after the first night we slept together?”

Henry doesn’t have the slightest clue, so he just shrugs helplessly. “You’ve got a good mouth?”

“Shut the fuck up, you ass. I’m being serious.”

“So am I?”

“You called me a fucking distraction,” Alex hurls, like it’s been something that’s been clawing against him for a while now, itching to be spoken, clacking against his teeth and finally pouring out with vengeance. “You said you had to do well in your studies and you didn’t need a distraction.”

Henry furrows his brows, confused to the point he’s trying to make.

“And you agreed, if memory serves me well,” He says defensively.

“Yeah, because I wasn’t about to be rejected by some rich, pretty boy.”

“I hope you thought a bit more of me than that,” Henry teases, inches closer to him so that the tips of their fingers touch on the bedding.

“You also have a truly remarkable shoulder-to-waist ratio.” Alex shrugs, and Henry knows he’s trying to be a shit, but he still preens. Likes the reminder that Alex is just as much into him as he is Alex.

“I don’t see what’s wrong here.”

Alex shoves at Henry’s forearm, hard.

“The problem, you prick, is that for some fucked-up reason I was actually into you, like a lot.”

Henry’s head swings up from where it was lazily gazing at Alex’s lips, waiting for a chance to kiss them.

“Like truly into me? Like you want to go steady and out on dates and spend the night in my bed?”

“I mean, whatever the non-old man sounding equivalent of that is,” Alex tacitly agrees, head cocked like he’s trying to parse out Henry’s own feelings.

And for his part, Henry can’t believe what he’s hearing, what Alex’s saying, what he’s confirming. This must be a dream, a figment of Henry’s imagination. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to him, they happen to the protagonists of his favorite stories, not real life.

“Wh—What? Why?”

“Dude, that’s what I’ve been asking myself for the past year and a half,” Alex gripes, rocking back; Jesus fuck, he’s nervous. He’s just admitted all his feelings like that and he’s waiting for Henry to either confirm or shoot him down. Henry’s the one with the upper hand here, and it’s awful.

Holy fuck.

“You—you said you liked me,” Henry says tentatively. “But now, do you—erm, ahem,” Henry coughs awkwardly, and Alex is gracious enough to answer the unspoken query.

“I didn’t break up with Liam last semester because he didn’t root for the Cowboys, dumbass.”

“Oh,” Henry blinks, befuddled, which makes Alex roll his head back so fiercely that Henry’s afraid he might strain something.

“I broke up with him because I’ve got this massive, irrecoverable, disgusting thing for this blonde prick. A douche who puts too much on his shoulders and tries to prove something to someone who isn’t even here, and who is so goddamn dense that I have to spell my feelings out to him like he’s actually a frat bro instead of just pretending to be.”

Henry feels himself going scarlet, feels it how his heart blossoms with wanting, unrestrained and painful in its ferocity.

“But Nora?”

Alex’s face goes blank, and then a sickly green color. “Dude, why are you bringing my sister’s girlfriend into this?”

“Wait—You’re not? I thought you still had a, erm—a thing for her?”

“She’s not the one I just gave a Twilight-level cringe speech to, is she?” Alex harrumphs, crossing his arms and scowling at a point over Henry’s shoulder.

“So, you really like me?” Henry asks hopefully.

“I swear to God, Fox: if you don’t tell me how you feel in the next five seconds I’m going to—“

Alex stops speaking right then, is interrupted by Henry’s slamming lips and desperate palming and long limbs tangling into one another.

“You’re a monster,” Alex pants once Henry’s lips finally unlatch from his and Henry’s almost tearing off his shirt.

“I can’t believe you actually want this,” Henry says in contrary. “I’m a mess, you do realize as much, don’t you?”

Alex looks endeared when he smiles, shrugging helplessly. “I like messes.”

Henry can’t help the laugh he lets out, relishes when Alex finally gets a good hold of him and lays him back so that they’re pressed skin to skin and he’s spouting out nonsense about Henry’s eyes and mouth and dick, each point punctuated  with a kiss across Henry’s protruding collarbone, helps him shed off the last of his clothing.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,”Alex marvels, making Henry’s cheeks redden and causing him to hide it by kissing along Alex’s jaw.

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Henry can admit in the blanket of night, is soft when he slants their lips back up against each other, back arching when he feels Alex pressing inside of him, stretching him out. He’s always so gentle with Henry, even before this was supposed to mean anything. But, holy fuck, who’s he kidding––this has always meant something, even when Henry pretended otherwise.

“You’re the most stubborn fuck I’ve ever met,” Alex tells him, making it sound like an exaltation. “You always had your mind set, know exactly where you’re gonna go.”

Henry groans when Alex puts in the second slicked up finger, followed quickly by the third.

“Ah-Alex, ‘Lex, please.”

“You’re so smart and beautiful, and you have such a good heart.” Alex just keeps on talking, only stopping occasionally to pepper a kiss on a spot around Henry’s face.

Henry feels his eyes prickle with wetness, knows that it’s a combination of feeling so much and feeling so exposed, so open in Alex’s eyes.

“You’re amazing, sweetheart,” Alex whispers, kisses the tears away before he lines up and thrusts into him, something this side of painful with the first couple canting of the hips, until he hits that miraculous point that makes Henry’s insides go feral and something ferocious unfurl within him.

“Alexander, please. Please, love, please,” Henry pleads, hands scratching against Alex’s back and head tossed with yearning.

“You’re so good, so perfect, Henry,” Alex says like an oath, pushing deeper and harder into him, biting down on Henry and making him shout as he cants his hips up to meet each of Alex’s own.

Alex is spouting out a new round of praises towards Henry’s brilliance and butt and beauty and Henry can hardly handle it, feels the white streaks landing on his belly right before Alex begins speeding up in a graceless round of thrusts, finishing  with a blown out expression, slowly pulling out and tossing the condom to the trash bin beside the bed.

He collapses half on top of Henry but he doesn’t mind, moves slightly so that the blanket is covering the both of them and kisses Alex’s shoulder tenderly.

“I think I might love you,” he whispers, snuggling closer to Alex.

“Good,” he yawns, slings an arm around Henry’s torso and curves against him. “Makes us even.”

.-

Next week Henry calls Philip and tells him to kiss his ass, and that he doesn’t have to prove shit to anyone.

“You’re sexy when you’re mad,” Alex tells Henry when he hangs up.

“You always think I’m sexy,” Henry sniffs loftily.

“Guilty as charged.” Alex shrugs, pulls up to kiss him senseless once more, making everything go delirious.

[joe-young-stories]

A Week.

Hey, new to tumblr. This is something I wrote in an enclosed, dodgy Christian community in 2018.

The last time I saw Dad in person I was seventeen, and I’d either just finished my A-levels or I was halfway through them. I’d seen him a year before, for Grandad’s funeral. After we’d got home from the wake I’d nicked a crate of Guinness, and thrown up on my suit. I’d thrown up all over the guest bed as well, and I’d left all the empty cans in the waste paper basket. I told my dad that the emotional stress of the funeral must have affected me, and I didn’t really give a shit about the fact that he knew.

This time it was summer, and it was that one week of the British summer that is actually scorching hot. Dad was waiting for me at Oxford train station for my visit. Visa Skank was there too. Visa Skank is my dad’s Russian wife, and perhaps she married him for a visa or perhaps she really loves him. I’ve never actually had anything against her. It was rude, offensive, calling her Visa Skank, but it made me feel really savage and clever back then.  This day at Oxford train station she was in her late forties, and she was wearing this shimmer- shimmer peach linen halter top harem pants combo thing with a dainty cream pashmina and a big floppy straw hat. She was basically just easy mockery.

We went straight from the station to this ultra quaint Riverside pub/restaurant garden. I had Peronis. I had a burger too. We didn’t really have a conversation because Visa had seen a picturesque riverside photo opportunity, and she had my dad take pictures of her next to a drainage sluice for almost an hour, at different angles and filter settings. At the end we walked back through the pub to get to the car and she started draping herself mystically around rustic beams and cosy fireplaces, or sat herself next to like, napkin dispensers that pleased her. And my dad took more pictures. I just wanted to get back to the house. I don’t remember too much more from the meal.

In the daytimes that followed I fell into a routine. Dad would wake up late (his teaching job at the schools wasn’t on) and he might mooch about or he might go into Oxford, or he might just go to Headington High Street. Visa Skank had a busy social schedule attending a young mum’s social club in the Florence Park Cafe. She would spend a lot of time there. I would wake up and take a walk into Central Oxford. And I would stop for a pint in the White Horse, where we used to go for Lunch when I was little. In town I would walk the old streets around the Radcliffe Camera, and this was back when I had academic ambition before I stopped caring about most things, and the scholarly atmosphere excited me. I walked past the cathedral boys’ school – my first school—and into the Eagle and Child, or the Kings Arms, or the Turf Tavern. I would read Franz Kafka stories or Iris Murdoch novels or I’d listen to pretentious students talk shit and praise myself for being more intelligent than them. After a few pints I’d saunter back over Magdelen Bridge and back up towards the house in Headington.

Dad’s house had changed a lot over the years. The retro porn PC used to be in the dining room, and all my 9 year old self used to do at my dad’s was either play SimCity on that computer or watch Dad’s porn. He’d archived literally thousands of pictures, all categorised according to hair/boobs/race etc. Albums of particular stars. I got up early at that age, and if you were proper stealth about it could get up with the dawn and watch a four second clip of a woman getting pleasured by a mechanised shoe buffer. Only if you were stealth though. The computer screen could be seen from the stairs via the dining room mirror. You had to listen for footsteps. God forbid that Visa or even Grandad would walk in. View me wanking it to Dad’s shoe buffer porn.

Now though the house layout was different. Grandad had been a cantankerous twat since Nan died, and all he ever did was sit in the living room watching cartoons and chat shows. GMTV, Pokemon, Digimon, Homes under the Hammer. That was all I ever saw him do on visits to my dad’s.  I left him to it.

But he started losing control of his faculties, and Dad and I would walk in from the pub to a stray smell of nappies, the CBBC channel playing in the background. His osteoporosis got worse. The last time he was alive I was seventeen and he’d been moved to a hospice. He was half asleep next to his colostomy bag but he murmured a greeting and a goodbye. The three of us, Grandad, Dad and me, sat in near silence for approximately fifteen minutes. “Good to see you, Grandad,” I said to him as I was leaving. Grandad had written “to a very impressive grandson” on my birthday card seven months previously.

While Grandad was dying his house was being renovated. The dining room and kitchen had been knocked together into this rustique farmhouse experience, with a big beaten up pine table, a pine dresser and a freshly installed aga. An aga in a nineteen thirties semi. There were a lot of wholesome wicker baskets bought in and gooseberry jam jars were placed in them for effect. Next door the garage was knocked down and a den/conservatory/stargazing lounge/music studio was built. The living room, where Grandad watched all the kids TV, and which I was told was always going to be “His Space” had had all the carpets ripped out and new sofas put in. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered every wall, and they were all full of this intelligentsia Russian shit no one read. The retro porn PC was upstairs in Dad’s bedroom now, so after I got back from Oxford that last week I’d sit in the conservatory on my laptop. Sometimes if my dad was around I’d bring up an attractive female friend’s Facebook profile and wait for him to ask me about it. He’d talk about organic food and hand picking your own raspberries, and how Russian customs and traditions were the best way to live. But most of those afternoons he was upstairs in his bedroom checking his email, which took about two hours and was a pretty full-on activity for him. If Visa was at home she’d make still life displays from Kitsch crap she found in charity shops. And she’d do photoshoots. Most of the time she was out though. Presumably with the young mums.

When I was downstairs on my own I would drink from the many, many bottles available on the farmhouse shelf. I never drank in front of Dad, but I’d never bother hiding how drunk I was getting either. A little bit of gin, little bit of vodka, whiskey, white rum.

I’d always done this. When I was about twelve, thirteen, fourteen I’d go through Dads bedroom and raid his wardrobe. I’d find his extensive magazine stash and his books on “Tantric Passion”, “The Multi Orgasmic Man”, “Make Her see you Mean Commitment”. I’d find the hamper full of Bombay Sapphire bottles; I never questioned the water bottles full of urine next to his bed. I wasn’t subtle. I’d try and incite his scorn, his discipline, his parental authority. I’d find glow in the dark condoms in his bedside drawers, and I’d take them out of the packets and leave them under his pillow like a treasure hunt. I would neck a bottle of chardonnay, refill it with tap water and leave it in the fridge for him to find. He’d look at the bottle, look at me, deliberate and stammer “I must have rinsed it out for recycling and put it back on autopilot.” I don’t think he knew me well enough to confront me. He once drove me back to mums with me throwing up ass the way down the M40, and we both agreed that I must have eaten some “ropey” quiche.

I didn’t want Dad to parent me anymore; I just didn’t really care. So while Dad was upstairs checking his email I’d access the WiFi and watch naked men beat each other, and I’d masturbate and drink gin. I think on the Tuesday of that week he found me full-on passed out in the stargazing conservatory, sleeping it off. Later on he’d said something about travelling being exhausting, especially across London, and it always took a few days for the mind to properly relax on holiday. I agreed.

In the evenings we’d go out to a pub, the Vicky Arms or The Chestnut or something. I would tell Dad what A levels I was doing. I’d namedrop attractive female friends quite a lot, and talk about parties I went to with them. I’d wait for him to be like, “Are they pretty?”, “Are they into you?”, “Like yeah, get in, my son!”, “Well done, boyo!” and things like that. Visa would come with us. She’d sit there in peach tracksuit bottoms and some kind of burgundy flamenco/matador top, and she would say things like, “Never microwave food because it changes the molecules. Did you know this? We go through a recipe book and you will find meals you would like to try.” We might order popcorn from behind the bar. Visa might demand a photo shoot of her next to an inspiring sunset or whatever.

At home Dad and Visa would go to bed in Grandads old room. Nans room, now the guest bedroom, was being fitted with a “Roman balcony” so I slept on a blow up bed in the living room with all the Russian volumes. I’d drink more whiskey and watch a comedy show about teenage lesbians.

That was it, really. The last week I saw my dad was fairly uneventful. Mundane. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was the last time I saw him I doubt I would have remembered it

Only two events stand out in particular. On the Thursday of that week Dad was playing at a jazz and tango concert at a bar/club in Wantage. He did concerts like that to keep money coming in when the schools weren’t on. Visa took tango lessons down at the community centre, and she’d met a new friend and tango partner called Allan. He had had a stroke and divorce in a five year period and had taken early retirement, so I was told. So I was briefed. Briefed why? I didn’t care.

Allan met us at the house. We all sat about having a back garden beer and then Dad and I set off for Wantage. Allan’s and Visa came later, in Allan’s car, which he could still drive all post stroked up apparently. We had another pint in a pub in Wantage. Dad introduced me to the concept of a “Session Beer”. Advice I have never followed.

Dad gave me money for the evening and then left me to my own devices. I sat on the balcony and drank a lot of Stella, and from my vantage point I could see Dad playing onstage. I could see Visa and Allan as well, and she had her head on his shoulder and he was holding her close around the lower back. This didn’t look particularly tango-ey, but Visa had told me on one pub evening that tango was more about feeling than steps. “Feeling. Yes?” she had said with gusto. This was the passion of the dance I was watching, then. Dad had told me in the car that tango was Allan’s hobby, it’s what got him out the house, like his physio. I looked at Dad, and he was playing some sassy chords on the piano, watching the two of them become one with the dance. He didn’t do anything else. He just sat there, watching them get on with it. I finished one of my Stellas, and later on I thought to myself that he looked like a drooping bunch of flowers in a vase, half dead. A bit sad, maybe. A bit lacking. I was quite proud of myself for thinking of that. It felt very grown up.

Two days later we were having a back garden beer, Dad and I. The garden had changed, and where a swingset once stood there was now a very wholesome vegetable plot. Beyond that was a washing line. It was one of those washing lines with one pole in the ground, and it folded out like an upside down pyramid. You could spin it around for ease of pegging/unpegging. I looked at the washing line and remembered my eight year old self playing by it. I had been playing with a football. I was staying with him for a few weeks or so over the summer. I was out there, by myself, with the football. But I liked to pretend I was playing with all the other children I knew from school. Kids who were actually busy with their own friendship groups or who called me poofty boy by the wildlife pond. But when I was playing with them by myself they were all like, “I did not see this coming! We have not appreciated your serious skills! Hey guys, check out this Baller!” and none of them called me a poofty boy by the wildlife pond.  

I had devised a game where you had to throw the ball into the opened up washing line to score a point. Dad came outside just as I was about to land the sickest shot from ten feet away, the shot which was going to blow George and his gang away, and was going to make Sadia and Carrie-Ann think I was total boyfriend material. He asked me if I wanted anything to eat.

And I really don’t know what came over me, but I said something along the lines of “I’m playing a game. We have to get the ball off each other and get it in the net. Do you want to play?”                          

“Oh, right!” was something like he said “Yes alright then, I will”. I’d never played a game with Dad before, and we were both a bit hesitant. Like, do we just…start, or what? I chucked the ball at the line and missed, and he grabbed it. We ran around the garden, playing the game. He scored a point. I scored a point.  At one point he wrestled me to the ground to get the ball off me, and then helped me up. I remember laughing and smiling, being out of breath. I was tense, too. How did things like this come to a logical end? Did, like, the session finish?  Was there a way for this to end without Dad having to just be really rude? Like: “I’m sorry Joe, but I need to stop doing this at this point and go back to my day. You are welcome to continue though.” How did it work? After approximately fifteen minutes it mercifully started raining, and we went inside. It was the only time we ever played the game.

Sitting and having a beer with my dad that last week was the last time I looked at the garden, or indeed spent any time with him. Halfway through our drink Visa came out of the stargazing conservatory doors, and she was wearing a floor length lacy white gown, a white bonnet and silky white gloves. She was carrying a large wicker hamper, and she put the hamper down and pulled out a silver teapot. “I am English lady at tea,” she said, and she raised the teapot in the air. Then she laid the patio table for a country manor high tea, and started demanding a photoshoot. I went inside.

The next day I was due to go home. I woke up that morning to find that I’d drunk too much and pissed the blow up bed. I put my soggy boxers in a plastic bag, and I covered the damp sheet with my duvet and left it to fester.

I hardly spoke to dad after that week. There was no reason to most of the time. I rang him twice to ask for money, once to say merry Christmas can I have some money and once to tell him I’d just left rehab. In 2018 I had written to him to tell him he was a cunt and I wanted to burn his house down. “Past wounds” with my Father had become a significant part of my “Life Story” by that point, and I thought that sending such a horrible letter might activate a Life Event in some way, some dramatic finale.

Dad has always had his settings such that I can’t find him on Facebook, so I have to log in as my mum to see his profile. Him and Visa quote Oscar Wilde and Shakespeare sonnets on each other’s pages. Visa’s profile has about 64 photo albums. They’re all called things like “Casserole dishes on the patio”, “Beauty In Autumn”, “Sensuous mermaid has adventure”.  Her name isn’t actually Visa Skank. All the photo albums are silly and innocuous. When I’m drunk, or self pitying, or feeling like a victim, or all of the above I sometimes find myself thinking about the game me and Dad played with the washing line and the football.

[thoughtsaboutshows]

38. "Wait a minute.. are you jealous?"

I got this one from two people so here it is!  Inspired by the original dark and sexy nerd, Jess Mariano.  

While Fall was Sabrina’s favorite time of year, there was something about Greendale’s Annual Spring Basket Auction.  She loved the tradition of it, and loved the weird and quirky charity that would be selected as that year’s beneficiary.  This Spring, it was the transportation fund for the local old folks home.  Sabrina loved to go to the store with Hilda and pick out the perfect basket.  She’d line it with fabric and pick out the very best treats at the store, and each year she got a little bit better at cooking.  

Harvey had bid on her basket every year.  It was supposed to be secret but Sabrina had ways of letting him know which one to buy.  Last year was the first time he had bid on the basket as her boyfriend, and they had enjoyed a romantic picnic by Sweetwater River. 

This year was different.  Harvey was still her boyfriend, but the air around the two had been tinged with tension since the beginning of the year.  They fought more often, and Harvey accused Sabrina of things that weren’t true.  It was right around the time Nicholas Scratch moved to town and seemingly set his sights on Sabrina.  

Despite constantly assuring Harvey she wasn’t interested in him, Harvey quickly grew to hate the Scratch boy and thought he had a good reason. He showed up with a reputation and a rap sheet of girls so long it seemingly had no end.  He was calculated and cocky and extremely good looking.  He was the Devil in black and Harvey was certain he’d lose Sabrina to him.  

Sabrina tried her best, but couldn’t manage to keep away from him.  Rather, keep him away from her.  Despite his bad-boy persona, Sabrina learned that there was more there.  He was a bibliophile in the purest definition of the word, and she often found him in the back corners of the Greendale Library reading Kafka.  For fun.  They had bonded over having both lost their parents, though Nick’s tales of arguing and affairs were much different than the ones she’d heard of her parents growing up.  He was nice to her, flirted up a storm, but he was nice.  And she would say he was more confident than cocky.  More charming than calculated.  And she found she liked him.  More than she would like to admit.  It didn’t hurt that he could keep up with her in conversation.  While Harvey half-listened, Nick offered a rebuttal and challenged her more than once.  It also didn’t hurt that he was probably the most attractive boy she’d ever seen.

On the day of the Basket Auction, after hinting to Harvey that hers had he red bow, Sabrina had wished she had taken a look at who else was there.  Or else she may have prevented what came next.  In a turn of events that really shouldn’t have shocked her as much as it did, Nick bid on her basket.  He engaged in a playful back and forth with Harvey, who was fuming, before bidding way over the next amount.  Five hundred dollars.  Nick bought Sabrina’s basket for $500.  Which was way over Harvey’s budget.

He tried to get Sabrina to back out, but she wouldn’t do it.  She wasn’t one to back out of town tradition and she wanted to hang out with Nick.  She had fun with him.  Harvey was livid, calling her names, and Sabrina nearly broke up with him there.

"Wait a minute.. are you jealous?"  Sabrina asked him when his face continued to redden.

“Damn right, I’m jealous.”  Harvey replied.

“Don’t you trust me?”  Sabrina asked as she crossed her arms.  

“I don’t know anymore, Brina!”  Harvey cried out at the same time Nick showed up.  He wrapped his arm around Sabrina’s shoulder, her basket in his other hand.

“Ready to go, Spellman?”  He raised his eyebrows at her, secretly asking her if she was alright.  He didn’t know why he was so protective of her.  He just was.

“Yes.”  Sabrina paused.  “I am.”

“Sabrina, if you go we’re done.”  Harvey challenged.  This was the moment Sabrina knew was coming.  They had never been meant to be. 

“Then I guess we’re done.”  Sabrina answered and turned away, pulling Nick with her.  

“Why’d you do that?”  Sabrina asked him when they were alone.  She had given up on getting him to stop teasing her for the food she put in it.  They were Harvey’s favorites and a little unhealthy.

“I wanted to spend time with you.”  He answered like it was easy, inspecting a can of cheese-wiz with disgust. 

“You could have just asked.”  Sabrina told him. 

“But the old folks.”  Nick said with a smirk.  “They needed their transportation money.  How else are they gonna drive down the street to the Paramount.”

They spent the rest of the day laughing and talking and just being themselves. She felt lighter than she had in awhile.  Happier.  Excited. 

It was at the start of the Summer, on the last day of school to be exact, that Sabrina pulled Nick in for their first kiss.  Right there against his locker for the world to see.  They continued to grow closer and closer and the next time Nick bid on a basket, he’d been the one who had gotten the heads up, and it was filled with his favorite foods.  He still spent $500, every year, for the rest of their lives.  

[baekkieberry]

𝕦𝕟𝕙𝕠𝕝𝕪 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧!𝐚𝐮 𝐛𝐚𝐞𝐤𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧

Genre: demon!AU, Fluff. (angst + smut in future chapters), Supernatural

Characters: Baekhyun, EXO (mostly beagle line + Kyungsoo)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Summary: Baekhyun had been a demon and living in hell his whole life, hanging with his friends and having way to much fun, until one day he gets kicked out for going too far. He's forced to live in earth until he redeems himself, until he met you, and maybe he doesn’t want to go back anymore. 

Warnings: none 

Word Count: 3005

A/N: hii this is my first fic :) i got inspired by the headcanon made by @youxidol

hope i did a good job ;)

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masterlist:  intro   chap1

Byun Baekhyun was the most fun guy you´ll ever meet. He was playful and basically could change his attitude from being a 5 year old to a sexy a teasing boy. He loved the attention and making everyone laugh, playing jokes on everyone since he was small and his older brother told him to put vaseline on the door knob in the bathroom. His mom was really upset but somehow he got away with it. 

Since that moment he loved practical jokes, and that's how he met his bestfriends Chanyeol, Sehun, Jongdae and Kyungsoo. Chanyeol was his first friend when he entered middle school, they were both so playful that they became inseparable quickly: staying at each other houses and when they both had 8 they got they’re demon powers together. Demon powers were something amazing that, as everyone in hell learnt, was giving at a certain time between the years of 0-10, and if you didn’t develop them you were bashed from hell and returned to earth as a new soul without the knowledge of hell. So Baekhyun and Chanyeol were really happy, and they took advantage of this as much as they could.

Practical jokes were always easy with powers, moving the chair of someone or purposely spilling someone’s drink on themselves was really fun, but they took it to another level. Maybe moving the backpack of the history teacher to the ceiling or the rooftop, putting bugs on the directors coffee, baby powder instead of sugar…. yeah it’s they’re fault that there’s a penalty for using powers at school. That’s also the reason why Chanyeol and Baekhyun knew every police station and police officer in hell. They did so many pranks and illegal stuff that they visited the station 5 times a week, but left saying that it was hell and that demons were meant to torment so that’s what they did. It was a weird system

They soon met Sehun when the school bully was stealing his money. Sehun was a shy boy but when you got to know him he was as playful as ChanBaek although he was a whiny baby. But he had nothing to compare to Chen, they met him through Sehun as he was his neighbor. They couldn't stand him at the beginning but he was so lovable and fun that the four of them were now a little clique. 

Through the years their clique growed and became really popular at college, now being 9 friends that hanged out everyday and were now called EXO. Girls always wanted to be with the most fun but scary demons around, they had girlfriends from time to time but they didn’t find them too amusing so they breakup with them in just a few months.

But as fun as Baekhyun life was, he did get in a lot of trouble for the amount of jokes that he did. Sure Chanyeol and Sehun eventually went with him but didn’t get in such trouble like he did. He was known as the Bart Simpson of hell but with powers. It all started with his neighbours and then it went further and further until it got to prank the government and that’s when the downfall started. 

He had messed with the actual true fallen angel Satan a few times before, and let’s be honest the guy didn’t loved it, he was always bitter and just busy with a ton of things so Baekhyun playing around wasn’t something he enjoyed but he could easily get rid of him by blocking his powers for a few days. But oh boy this only made Baekhyun more eager to mess with him. Until he got to far. He’s prank was childish but he did it anyways, he decided to get inside Satan’s house and hide in the bathroom until the angel went in and started peeing. Baekhyun decided to take a photo but forgot to silenced his phone so he was caught. And as a punishment he was sent to earth and got just a few of his powers so that he could survive. “You can come back when you do something to change our mind” “And you can come in my bed whenever you want” he said while winking at the secretary taking notes. 

And within seconds, he was living in Canada, Vancouver and he was living in hell. People were so nice and oh did Satan outdid himself with this one. He lived in the most friendly neighbourhood and his neighbors were nerds or old lady’s that always asked him to help them with the laundry. Yep, he saw a lot of old lady underwear mostly everyday, and was forced to chit chat with the nerds while waiting for the elevator. 

But probably the worst part about all of this was his neighbour Sabrina. She was an old lady that literally saw him everyday and obligated him into eating her food and doing her laundry twice a week. Baekhyun really hated her and especially when she called him ‘sweetcheeks’. 

Even though he hated her and mostly everyone in earth he tried to keep a low profile and fit in with the rest of the canadians. He would wear normal clothes at day, but in the night he mostly went to frat parties at different universities and flirt with girls, hook up with them and when they were fast asleep, he made them disappear from his house. Sabrina quickly noticed the noise that they made while hooking up so one time he called Baekhyun into his house “Sweetcheeks, I am a very very old woman and I well it’s not nice to disturb me at night, could you tone it down?” she said. “Well they like screaming I’m sorry Sabrina” he said while smirking. “Don’t be dirty Sweetcheeks that’s not okay, you could make it up to me by doing my laundry right now, the basket is there” Baekhyun rolled his eyes but did it anyway. 

One thing he liked was how his friends somehow started visiting him. Yeol was the first one to do it. He came one day at night and scared him “holy shit Yeol you scared the shit out of me” he said at the sight of his best friend infront of him. “Ah Baekhyun you don’t know the amount of places I’ve visited looking for you, I’ve seen some pretty weird shit dude” Chanyeol said while hugging him. Turns out demons can see demons that visit earth but humans can’t. Chanyeol was the one who found Baekhyun and then his friends started visiting him everyday to hang out with him and play jokes to the nerds upstairs. 

He really hated Vancouver. But he loved the coffee at a Kafka’s so he couldn't complain. Especially the day he saw you. You were wearing a “University of Columbia” sweatshirt and some leggings, but you looked so beautiful he couldn’t help but choke with his coffee. He observed as you sat down near the window and left your backpack fall hard in the floor, you had made a lot of noise so everyone looked at you “Sorry hee hee” you said shyly. He giggled but continue watching as you seemed to be falling asleep.

You got interrupted by a barista that said that your cookies were ready to be taken so you took the and left. He followed you to a little park that was basically the “Dude Chilling Park” and you sat and begin to eat you cookies while you looked at your phone. Baekhyun was observing you from afar and was so amazed by your nonchalant way of doing everything: eating, laughing at maybe a meme you saw, looking at your cookies like they were magical and how your hair fell perfectly so that it didn’t hide your face. 

He saw you leaving and he decided it was time to go home, since probably his demon friends were at his home playing a joke at Sabrina. And he was right, when he came he saw Sehun and Chen putting oil in the floor outside Sabrina’s house “Hey Baek, Soo is making dinner and Yeol is playing with your xbox.” Baekhyun nodded and went to his apartment, he went directly to the kitchen “Hyung what are you making?” he asked and Kyungsoo didn’t answered, so Baekhyun stole something that he was doing and earned himself a scream. It was a little tradition that the guys went at night to his house and chilled for a while and left at around 12pm. 

He started going to Columbia University parties trying to find you, but he never saw you, so he went to the cafe everyday at the same time, but you didn’t appear. He went to the Park to find you laying on grass but this time you were wearing a pink sweatshirt and a white skirt and he thought you couldn’t have looked more beautiful. You were yet again eating pastries but a different ones. You were talking on the phone so he got closer so he could hear you. “Yeah Irene I know he is cute but you know he is incredibly boring” you said while stuffing your mouth with a muffin. This was the first time he heard you voice clearly and it literally made his ears melt. He was pretending to read a book in the grass near you. “Yeah look he’s just not my type, he doesn’t even like oreo like what am  supposed to do with someone like that?” He giggled, he couldn’t believe you loved oreo cookies that that was an important request for being your boyfriend. “Look either he starts liking them or where done okay? find me someone cool and funny okay? yEAH I KNOW I SAY OKAY TOO MUCH OKAY?” you were talking with your mouth full and screaming, and he absolutely loved it. You were funny and cute and his stomach was experiencing weird things.

Baekhyun now was really starting to get concerned for what he was feeling, he has never felt this way before. You made his heart flutter with your addiction to pastries and oreos. Your voice was music for his ears and he was always thinking of you. He went everyday to the park and everynight he promised himself he’ll talk to you the next day, but never actually did it. His friends now we're starting to notice something was up. 

“Baekhyun you’re acting weird” Sehun said one night. He had been smiling without noticing, thinking about how today you tried to feed a squirrel and got scared that you screamed everytime it came closer. “Huh? Hyung what do you mean?” He asked, and Yeol turned off the TV and turned to look at him. “Baek you had been spacing out and suddenly giggling or smiling without a reason” Chanyeol said looking actually concerned. “You guys is nothing” Baekhyun said trying to hide that he was actually thinking about your hair. “Are you sick?” Sehun asked “What? no dude wtf I’m okay really” And then Chanyeol started looking at Baekhyun suspiciously “Wait a second I know this behavior” Baekhyun started panicking cause his best friend knew him better than no one “Yeol really leave it” Baekhyun stand up and try to leave to his room but Sehun picked him up and sat him in the couch. “YOU’RE IN LOVE” Chanyeol screamed and Sehun fall from the couch. “I’m not in love okay? she doesn’t even KNOW I exist!” Baekhyun said exposing himself. “wAIT she’s human? like actual mortal? like actual girl that dies in a few years?” Sehun said from the floor. “Yah don’t say stuff like that but yeah” Both Chanyeol and Sehun stared at Baekhyun “Wow I mean I never thought this day would come” Chanyeol said “Dude it’s probably temporary its no big deal” Baekhyun said trying to convince himself “Nah ah Hyung that a lie, you’ve been like this for a week already” Sehun said. 

Baekhyun sighed and decided to spill everything out “Fine okay? I like this girl really much and I haven’t even talked to her, but I go everyday at the same hour to the same park and watch her eat pastries. She makes me feel warm inside and even wanting to be a human so that I could talk to her normally. There I said it”. Chanyeol looked at his best friend with amazement. He couldn’t believe that this day finally came. “Well why don’t you talk to her?” Sehun questioned “I really have tried but I don’t have the courage, although I try to do nice things for her” Chanyeol laughed at this and said “Look you already know a lot about her since you stalked her” Baekhyun felt himself relax and started laughing. The other two joined him and suddenly they were on the floor dying of laughter. “Look if she likes to eat a lot why don’t you ask Soo to do something for her? and right now we can concentrate on doing a prank on that nerd downstairs.” Chanyeol said and so they did. 

The next day Kyungsoo went in the morning and prepared all kinds of pastries that Baekhyun wanted “SOO IT MUST HAVE OREO’S OKAY?” Baekhyun yelled nervously “Oh my god you already told me that ten times could you please shut up?” Baekhyun looked at him and said “No and put more oreos” Baekhyun was really nervous that he made a little zootopia lunch box appear and started putting every pastry there. When they both finished, Baekhyun headed to the park and so you already eating thin oreos.

He could feel his skin burning and sweating all over his shirt, he took a big breath and started walking your direction. ‘God did you really had to look more beautiful today?’ he thought. You were wearing blue jeans and a simple white t-shirt with white vans. Baekhyun stand in front of you and you looked up. “Hi uh I’ve made to many of this and I was wondering if you want some of them?” He asked. ‘Holy fuck he is gorgeous’ you thought. You stood up and saw that he had a little zootopia lunch box “So you happen to have pastries on your zootopia lunch box?” you questioned. Baekhyun was getting nervous “Yeah?” You looked at him for a second and he swear his heart stopped for a second “Yeah okay whatever can I see which ones you have?” You asked while sitting and gesturing him to do the same beside you. He sat down and opened his lunch box with trembling hands “Hey don’t be nervous you’re the one with questiWOW ARE THOSE OREO?” you screamed while taking the little oreo cake that Kyungsoo made. Baekhyun laughed and said “Hey they are not questionable and they are delicious” You looked at him and said “Do you promise me that they don’t have drugs or something in them?” You hold your pinky up to him and he hold it with his “Promise you they only have flour and a few drops of poison” You laughed and ate the lil cake. “Holy mother of God this is the most delicious thing ever where did you get this from?” You were really questioning if they were from heaven. Baekhyun just watched you and touched his pinky “I made them yesterday, I really have a lot of free time” he was just so amazed that he was talking to you that he felt like flying “They’re better than the ones I usually get…” You said looking at him “Maybe I should bring you more one of this days” He smiled at you “Oh my god you can come here whenever you want to” Baekhyun wanted to say ‘that’s what she said’ but he didn’t want to ruin it until you laughed and said “Oh my god THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID HAHAHAHAHA” Baekhyun thought he was dreaming. You were literally his dream girl “You won’t believe me if I told you that’s exactly what I was thinking?” He laughed and watch you eat your cake happily and enjoyed it like it was everything “What’s your name?” He said “Y/N” You said smiling. “Well Y/N if you liked my pastries so much I come here tomorrow and bring you more” You thought he was joking and you said “Maybe you should mister…?” “Baekhyun” Wow did his name was beautiful. “Well nice to meet you mister Baekhyun” You said smiling. 

You finished maybe all of his pastries and he insisted he didn’t care and that tomorrow he’d bring you more amazing one’s. You actually liked him. He was funny and you both shared a sense of humor so similar that soon enough became comfortable around him. He wasn’t like the other guys you’ve met. He was actually charming by nature but not too much. He told you funny things like him having to clean his neighbour Sabrina’s underwear and he promised you he would introduce you two, since you told him she was your role model after that. You had to leave for class but didn’t want to leave him so you made him promised he’d come tomorrow. You did asked him to make a lot of pinky promises and he loved it. Even if only touching your pinky was the closest he could get for now, he was absolutely okay with it. 

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Hii tell me if you liked it I will make chapter 1 later hee hee

[lovemesomesurveys]

5,000 question survey series--part thirty-five

3301. When someone is 'crazy' why do we call them 'nuts' or 'fruitcakes'? Yeah, I don’t know how those sayings got started. I often wonder how a lot of our sayings and such got started.

3302. What's the dillio? *shrug* 3303. Where did the slang term 'dillio' come from? Isn’t it “dealio” as in, “what’s the deal” or “what’s going on?” 3304. How many even whole numbers are there between -5 and 5? 4. 3305. What words can you make useing only these letters: E N O? No, eon, on, one.

3306. What's the differance between foods that are low fat and foods that are lite? I feel like lite refers to lite everything and not just fat? I don’t know, I really don’t pay much attention to that. 3307. White or brown rise? I don’t like rice. 3308. Can you be content if you are physically uncomfortable? I can’t, no. 3309. What is the differance between discomfort and pain? Discomfort is more mild. 3310. What is the most uncomfortable thing you can think of? For me it’s being hot. That’s more like miserable than uncomfortable, but yeah. 3311. What do these names make you think of: britney spears? “Toxic.”

walt whitman? “I Sing the Body Electric.” buddah? A Buddah statue.

william shakespere? “To be or not to be, that is the question.” pablo picasso? His self-portrait and his paintings using shapes and the way he painted people.

adam ant? Not familiar with him. franz kafka? ^^^^ nietzche? ^^^^ madonna? “Like a virgin, touched for the very first time.” orson scott card? frieda kahlo? Her eyebrows. :X

god? Love, forgiveness, mercy. salvidor dali? The melting clocks painting.

david bowie? Labyrinth. jesus? Salvation.

lars ulrich? Metallica. jim henson? Muppets. 3312. What are your favorite games to play? I love board games. 3313. Are you quick to judge something as stupid just because you don't understand it? I’m guilty of that. 3314. Are you obnoxious to others? No. 3315. Do you feel superior to anyone? Absolutely not. 3316. Shouldn't people take a good look at themselves before they criticize others? Yes. 3317. Which is better and why: writing or saying obnoxious things about someone who isn't around to defent themselves or saying it straight to them? Which do YOU do more often? I know it’s best to speak up and say something if I had an issue with someone, but I tend to just not say anything at all. 3318. Do you appologize too often? Yes. I’m always quick to blame myself for everything 3319. Does your mind play tricks on you? Yes. 3320. Have you read (any of): the bible? the koran? the torah? the kama sutra? the satanic bible? 3321. Do you own any possetions that you hide from parents, friends, visitors? Old diaries and letters.

What? Well, they’re personal. 3322. Why does the cheese stand alone? I guess cause it smells or something. 3323. Do you watch any soaps? No. I find the acting and story lines just absolutely awful. 3324. Have you learned something new today?/ Stuff in the news. 3325. Do you believe in an 'oversoul' of all humanity? What? 3326. Have you invented your own style, just for you? It’s nothing unique.

3327. have you invented your own religion, just for you? No. 3328. What files have you recently downloaded? I don’t remember. 3329. Some people think little girls should be seen and not heard but I think: Uh, of course they should be heard. They have a voice and should be able to use it just like anyone else. 3330. Do you dance around a lot? No. 3331. Is the unexamined life worth living or not? What. 3332. What are you like when you're at your most beautiful? I never feel beautiful. 3333. What are you like when you are at your worst? I don’t even want to be around me. 3334. Why do you hide things about yourself?/ I just don’t feel comfortable talking about certain things or I’m sure how to talk about/express them. 3335. Why is anything 'too personal' to talk to others about? It just is. 3336. Why should we be embarressed, afraid, or appologetic for ANYTHING we think, say or do? I don’t know, that’s just how it is sometimes. 3337. Can true freedom exist in this world of doubt and guilt? Well, you can not let it weigh you down. 3338. What do you have no control over? Life. 3339. Do you own a vibrating pillow? No.

How about a vibrating back massager? No. 3340. Can you dance away your emotional pain? No. 3341. When you dance is it a celebration of life? I don’t dance unless you count a head bob and maybe a little arm/shoulder movement lol. 3342. When do you feel the most immortal? I don’t. 3343. Are you more of a painting, a poem or a song? I’m a sad song. 3344. Is lonliness a crowded room full of open hearts turned to stone? Blah. 3345. Is YOUR heart ever stone? I feel like my health, especially my mental health, has hardened me in some ways. :/ 3346. Are we alltogether all alone? No. 3347. Does life end in a happily ever after way? It depends on what you believe and where you go after you die. 3348. What's the warmest part of your body? Right now my entire body. It’s so hot in here. D: 3349. Are you more verbal or visual? Depends? 3350. What do you long for? For better days.

3351. True or false: When someone hates you it is because:

they're jealous of you? Not necessarily, but sometimes.

the things you say are frightening to them because what you say makes them think about things they would rather avoid thinking about? Perhaps.

they don't understand you? That can be a reason. 3352. True or false: When you hate someone it is because: I don’t hate anyone.

you're jealous of them? the things they say are frightening to you because what they say makes them think about things you would rather avoid thinking about? you don't understand them? 3353. Have you ever been fascinated by someone who hated you? I don’t know of anyone hating me. 3354. Since the human brain has defense mechanisms against feeling bad (meaning the brain lies to itself to avoid feeling bad about something it said or did) how can we ever know if we are truly being honest? Well mine must be broken cause I feel that all the time.

How do we know our brains are not tricking us into believeing we are good people when we aren't all good?/ Actually, I really hate the person I’ve become over these past few years and I pray it’s my brain making me think that and that it’s not really true. :/ 3355. How highly do you value innovation? I think it’s great?  3356. Is there a name where all the people you've ever met haveing that name had something in common with each other(ex. all the jens you've ever met had blue eyes)? Yeah, I definitely feel like there were a few examples of that, but of course I’m failing to think of any at the moment. 3357. Are you focused more outward or inward? Uhh. 3358. What is the most affectionate nickname you ever came up with for someone? I call my doggo a precious angel. lol. 3359. Are the questions STILL still interesting this deep into the survey? I guess interesting is the word for it. They’re.... something. Some are a bit out there. 3360. If someone else makes their desicions based on their intuition instead of on facts and proofs what do you think of that person? Sometimes our intuition about certain things is right. 3361. Do you trust your own intuition? Sometimes. 3362. Finish the phrase... danger is the: just keep: never trust: the way I live my life: don't change: maybe someday: 3363. Would you rather live in Frodo's world or Harry Potter's? Harry Potter. 3364. Do you believe that the dead are with us? Their memory is and we see and hear them around us in various things.

If yes in what form? ^^^^ 3365. Do you believe that those who haven't been born are with us? Like they died in the womb? Well, I believe in heaven and I believe that an unborn fetus would go there.

If yes, in what form? ^^^ 3366. Are you made of timid stuff? What. 3367. Is there anyone in this world who is not CRAZY? We’re all a little mad. 3368. What word becomes shorter when you add two letters to it? Short becomes shorter when you add “er.” 3369. Can you mashed potatoe? I never got what kind of dance the mashed potato is.

Can you do the twist? Nah. 3370. What does your family do for thanksgiving..or if you don't celebrate it what do you picture when you think of thanksgiving? We have a nice Thanksgiving dinner. 3371. What is your earliest memory? I have some memories from preschool. 3372. Have you ever taken an IQ test? Yeah. What do you think of those things? IQ is one of those things that’s difficult to really define. You be smart in different areas. I always think of that Albert Einstein quote that says, “Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.” 3373. How do you make 'fishcakes'? I don’t know. I’ve never had ‘em and I’ve never made them. I have no desire to either. 3374. Which is the better band..the offspring or the damned? The Offspring. 3375. Do you ever think about world destruction? No, not really. 3376. Do you think humans are becoming more robotic? Yes. I definitely feel that way. 3377. Do you think we'll ever be replaced by robots? Oh, it’s happening. 3378. What do you feel a part of? Hmm. 3379. Does it freak you out to know that yogurt is ALiVe?? It’s weird to think that there’s good bacteria for you. 3380. What current band d o you think is doing something particularly interesting or innovative? *shrug* 3381. Golf course, do you remember? Remember what?

3382. Which is more important, books and cleverness or friendship and bravery? Books and cleverness. 3383. If i promise to miss you, will you go away? You don’t gotta miss me. 3384. stool, ball, powder...Can you think of a 4th word that connects these three? Nope. 3385. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? You. 3386. Why are blondes considered 'dumb'? I don’t know why that became a big joke. 3387. What's more important..intuitiveness/creativity or factual knowledge and practicallity? They all are. 3388. Who are the two worst terrorists you can think of? All terrorists are horrible. 3389. What is jello made of? Gelatin, which consists of collagen from animal skin, bones, and connective tissue. 3390. Pick a country: Sweden. What do you believe is wrong with that country? I don’t know. 3391. Do you have strong opinions? About some things. 3392. Do you do what it takes to stand up for those opinions? I generally keep to myself. 3393. Have you ever been to a rally, protest or demonstration? No.

If yes was it effective and in what ways? 3394. When people say, 'yeah it sucks but there's nothing I can do' do you believe them? Usually there’s something. 3395. Do you know what you can do to make this world a better place? No, I don’t.

Do you care? I care, but I really don’t know what I could do. I guess this relates to question 3394 and there is something I could do, but what? 3396. Why is peace so important anyway? Do you enjoy violence and hatred?

Why is freedom important? We should be able to make our own choices, but in doing so you also pick the consequences. People tend to overlook that last part. 3397. As long as you have your house and your family and you can go to the movies and the mall who cares about peace and freedom. Right? Uh, wrong. 3398. Do you try to avoid anything involving work? These past few years you could say that. 3399. If you are not actively wrking to stop the horrors and injustices of the world (war, hunger, poverty) than aren't you partially responsible for them? I can’t be responsible for everyone. Should we try and do what we can to help? Well, yes. We don’t have to, though. That goes along with that whole freedom thing, too. 3400. Are you in denial? I don’t think so.

[aion-rsa]

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.

Read more

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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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[encephalonfatigue]

radical eschatology and 1Q84

i wrote this as a goodreads review, but i couldn’t fit the whole text there so this is the review in its entirety.

“‘lunatic’ means to have your sanity temporarily seized by the luna, which is ‘moon’ in Latin. In nineteenth-century England, if you were a certified lunatic and you committed a crime, the severity of the crime would be reduced a notch. The idea was that the crime was not so much the responsibility of the person himself as that he was led astray by the moonlight. Believe it or not, laws like that actually existed… I learned it in an English literature course at Japan Women’s University, in a lecture on Dickens. We had an odd professor. He’d never talk about the story itself but go off on all sorts of tangents.”

I think a lot of my writing on this site consists of meandering tangents, only obliquely related to the book at hand — though less useful and interesting than this literature professor’s in 1Q84. Either way I will stick to what I’m comfortable with here. I will start with why I read this obscenely large book. My high school friend who was recently married, hosted a birthday party at a new place he moved into in Etobicoke. I arrived half-an-hour late from the time it was supposed to start (according to Facebook), and was the first one there — which is some indication of the sort of company I keep. As I awkwardly sat around after a brief house tour, he poured me a drink, and we chatted about life and my terrible job. He suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s something I want to lend to you.” He skips up the stairs and comes back down with a large phone book. On its front cover: a face hiding behind the characters “1Q84” — maybe embarrassed by its bloated constitution. This will help you on your daily commutes from hell, he encouraged me.

I’ve heard that your first Murakami book has a good chance of becoming your favourite Murakami book. That was probably the case for me with “Kafka on the Shore”. I think that book put me onto Kafka, before I would later encounter him in the work of Walter Benjamin, Judith Butler, and his late communist ‘wife’, Dora Diamant. But subsequent Murakami books were not as satisfying for me. After reading Norwegian Wood, I decided to try and take a break from Murakami. I had grown a little weary of the Oedipal themes, and Murakami’s recurring Manic Pixie Dream Girl tropes. Around this time, my fourth-year college roommate discovered Murakami for himself, and his first encounter was through 1Q84. He loved it, but what a book to start with, I had thought at the time. I was impressed that he ploughed right through such an enormous millstone of a novel. (I was very intimidated by its size when my friend handed it to me, but got through it in surprising time. Having now read 1Q84, I realize it was actually a very fun book to read, and often quite difficult to put down, so it now makes sense.) Anyways, I was discussing these things with my roommate and another law student who was camping with us at Sandbanks Provincial Park — she also shared similar thoughts as mine on Murakami. Conversation wandered on to Junot Diaz, who she was much more approving of — this of course was before the #MeToo revelations about Diaz. How quickly tides can turn. (Especially when there are two moons in the sky.)

So something about the structure of 1Q84. I am told the first two books are structured after the two books of Bach’s “Well-Tempered Clavier” — each chapter alternating between Aomame (major keys) and Tengo (minor keys). In each book of Clavier, Bach cycles through all twelve tones, a prelude and fugue for each tone’s major and minor keys. So each of Murakami’s chapters in Book 1 and 2 corresponds to a Prelude and Fugue in Bach’s collection of pieces — 48 chapters in all.

I admittedly have a thing for Bach. I have a copy of Gould’s “Well-Tempered Clavier” on compact disc at home. It came in a package of random shit the novelist Tao Lin gathered together from his bedroom and sold online for like $30 on eBay. That is the sort of stupid stuff I wasted my money on as an undergraduate student. Among the zines, postcard sized art prints, manuscript pages from his edits of Taipei, and a copy of “Shoplifting from American Apparel” was a disc of Gould’s “Well-Tempered Clavier”. In one of the preludes and fugues, the disc is scratched, and makes these heavenly wobbling sounds as it skips, and I have grown quite fond of these parts. I also particularly love hearing the infrequent muffled hums of Gould behind his gas mask.

Book 3 of 1Q84 is structured after Bach’s Goldberg Variations. In the past couple years, I’ve listened to this composition likely more than any other, simply because it’s one of the few albums I happened to have downloaded on my phone. It’s Igor Levit’s studio recording of the Goldberg Variations along with his recording of Beethoven’s Diabelli Variations and Rzewski’s “The People United Will Never Be Defeated”. I thought it was a clever trio to package in an album. I also recommend Lisa Moore’s performance of other Rzewski compositions put out by Cantaloupe.

I am particularly fond of Rzewski’s “People United” because it recalls for me my first May Day march, where I chanted the Chilean song (from which Rzewski’s title is derived and his piece alludes to) with other people on the street marching on the way to Queen’s Park, while students shouted ‘ftp’ at officers lined on the sidewalk. I was supposed to march with a small contingent from Student Christian Movement, but couldn’t find them at Allan Gardens, so I marched near some York OPIRG students, and in front of a communist who was debating random people the entire march, haha. I had never seen so many anarchists and communists in one place at a time. They sure do like their black and red flags, haha.

This brings me to the next comment I wanted to make. I was curious about Murakami’s politics and I had a difficult time finding a decent write-up that focuses on this, because Murakami can come across as fairly apolitical, which I think is what his ‘bourgeois individualism’ (I use that term in jest) requires of him. Anyways, I stumbled across a series of blog posts made by a Trotskyist grad student that discuss how Japanese student movement comes up in almost every single novel by Murakami, and he discusses how the student movement was a significant segment of the political left in Japan during that time.

“Some brief highlights of the student movement’s history in Japan will suffice. After the end of the war, university students oriented to the Japanese Communist Party (JCP) took advantage of the new liberal atmosphere to rally for university autonomy, for the appointment of progressive faculty and administrators, and for a student voice in administration… In 1948, students from all over Japan inaugurated the All-Japan Federation of Student Self-Government Organizations (known by its acronym, Zengakuren) with a leadership largely from the Japanese Young Communist League… However the honeymoon between the students and the JCP was short-lived… The JCP had seen the American occupation as an opportunity to complete the bourgeois-democratic revolution in Japan, which had been the Moscow-ordained task of Communist Parties the world over during the Popular Front (1936-39) and then again after the German invasion of the Soviet Union, when Communists were allied with all “liberal,” “democratic,” and “peace-loving” forces, meaning those of the ruling class.

…Student radicalism reached even greater heights as the movement entered the 1960s… In militant actions organized by Zengakuren, thousands of students broke into the Diet building twice in 1960, forcing the cancellation of a state visit by US President Eisenhower and the resignation of Prime Minister Nobusuke Kishi with his cabinet. During this period Zengakuren’s leadership was largely drawn from the “Mainstream Faction,” which had originated the federation’s opposition to the JCP, however during the late 50s the leadership was briefly taken over by students from the Revolutionary Communist League (RCL), a group formed from JCP exiles after the 1956 Soviet invasion of Hungary, which was influenced by Trotsky’s writings and would affiliate to the Fourth International. By 1964, there were three different organizations taking the name Zengakuren: the JCP supporters, the Revolutionary Marxists (a Tokyo-based split from the RCL) and a unity faction.”

There’s a lot more the Trotskyist grad student blogger (the official title I have designated to this person) goes into, but he essentially concludes that:

“I believe at this point that I have made a solid case for why Murakami, whose early books on the surface are completely apolitical, take their starting point as the destruction of the Japanese student movement, though at no point is the movement itself exactly foregrounded.”

An an earlier conclusion in his first post:

“Based on conjecture from his novels, we can assume he was around the anti-Stalinist left concentrated in the Zenkyoto groups, though he has insisted that he was never a member of any particular faction. “I enjoyed the campus riots as an individual,” he writes. “I’d throw rocks and fight with the cops, but I thought there was something ‘impure’ about erecting barricades and other organized activity, so I didn’t participate… The very thought of holding hands in a demonstration gave me the creeps.”

…Since this is all I have till I learn Japanese, I will have to take his word that he always had a rather superior, hipster attitude toward politics, which is believable enough considering his status as a graduate of one of Japan’s most elite private institutions. And yet, there is something I see in his early novels that undeniably regrets the collapse of the student movement, no matter how much he resented the factions for “impure” organizational work.”

I think Murakami’s disdain for this sort of leftist hypocrisy comes through in a particularly memorable dialogue in Norwegian Wood (which the Trotskyist grad student blogger never mentioned for some reason):

"Have you ever read Das Kapital?"

"Yeah. Not the whole thing, of course, but parts, like most people."

"You know, when I went to university I joined a folk-music club. I just wanted to sing songs. But the members were a load of frauds. I get goose-bumps just thinking about them. The first thing they tell you when you enter the club is you have to read Marx. "Read page so-and-so to such-and-such for next time.' Somebody gave a lecture on how folk songs have to be deeply involved with society and the radical movement. So, what the hell, I went home and tried as hard as I could to read it, but I didn't understand a thing. It was worse than the subjunctive. I gave up after three pages. So I went to the next week's meeting like a good little scout and said I had read it, but I couldn't understand it. From that point on they treated me like an idiot. I had no critical awareness of the class struggle, they said, I was a social cripple. I mean, this was serious. And all because I said I couldn't understand a piece of writing..."

“...And their so-called discussions were terrible, too. Everybody would use big words and pretend they knew what was going on. But I would ask questions whenever I didn't understand something. "What is this imperialist exploitation stuff you're talking about? Is it connected somehow to the East India Company?' "Does smashing the educational-industrial complex mean we're not supposed to work for a company after we graduate?' And stuff like that. But nobody was willing to explain anything to me. Far from it - they got really angry. Can you believe it?"

“...OK, so I'm not so smart. I'm working class. But it's the working class that keeps the world running, and it's the working classes that get exploited. What kind of revolution is it that just throws out big words that working-class people can't understand? What kind of crap social revolution is that? I mean, I'd like to make the world a better place, too. If somebody's really being exploited, we've got to put a stop to it. That's what I believe, and that's why I ask questions.”

"So that's when it hit me. These guys are fakes. All they've got on their minds is impressing the new girls with the big words they're so proud of, while sticking their hands up their skirts. And when they graduate, they cut their hair short and march off to work for Mitsubishi or IBM or Fuji Bank. They marry pretty wives who've never read Marx and have kids they give fancy new names to that are enough to make you puke. Smash what educational-industrial complex? Don't make me laugh!”

This passage actually reminds me of a Japanese exchange student I met as an undergraduate who was really into Murakami and used to perform folk music in her spare time. Even though she was an atheist or agnostic of some sort and really into gender studies, she used to attend an international students bible study that I used to go to at a friends’ house. She’s now doing a PhD at MIT in neuroscience, but that passage in Norwegian Wood always reminds me of her. Anyways, you can see how Murakami’s purity politics requires of him a rejection of fully embracing any comprehensive political or religious system. The individual is always of most importance to him, and I think that comes through in 1Q84 too.

Part of what gets to Murakami I suppose is the pretence involve with a lot of armchair leftists. It recalls for me a passage I read in a book about country music of all things called “The Nashville Sound” by Joli Jensen:

“Students rarely ventured into the Rose Bowl. When they did it was usually to be rowdy and to make fun of the rednecks. One night, as I was waiting tables, four fellow graduate students came in. They did not see me, and I watched in rising fury as they sneered and whispered and laughed among themselves at the people around them. These were my peers, who defined themselves as Marxists and had disdained me as a politically unsophisticated liberal humanist. They patronized me in class and were now in "my" world making fun of "my" friends. Shaking with rage, I went over to the table to take their drink order. Of course, they were stunned to find me working there, complete with sequined Rose Bowl vest, and they left immediately. I had caught them at an unseemly game. But I have come to wonder about the basis for my rage and about what it tells me about how we understand ourselves in relation to our perceptions of others.

At the time I felt superior to them, friends of the working class, indeed! and virtuous in my admiration of, and affection for, Rose Bowl patrons. Later, I began to wonder, was I really any better, turning the Rose Bowl into a mythical venue of "salt of the earth" authenticity? Is it really better to idealize and sentimentalize difference than to ridicule and disdain it? This is a poignant dilemma for the country music scholar and is becoming a topic of discussion among sociologists, anthropologists, museum curators, and social critics.”

Anyways, to move past this thoughtful navel-gazing, I want to get into a dimension of 1Q84 that I found extremely interesting. Probably my favourite part is Chapter 10 of Book 1 (A Real Revolution with Real Bloodshed), where Tengo talks to Fuka-Eri’s current guardian, a former anthropology professor and friend of Fuka-Eri’s father. Fuka-Eri’s father (Tamotsu Fukada) was an academic and Maoist revolutionary, enthusiastic about the Cultural Revolution, who gathered a number of students to start a commune in the mountains of Takao. There is a fascinating section on the splintering of the commune into a moderate faction and a more radical one:

“Under Fukada’s leadership, the operation of Sakigake farm remained on track, but eventually the commune split into two distinct factions. Such a split was inevitable as long as they kept Fukada’s flexible unit system. On one side was a militant faction, a revolutionary group based on the Red Guard unit that Fukada had originally organized. For them, the farming commune was strictly preparatory for the revolution. Farming was just a cover for them until the time came for them to take up arms. That was their unshakable stance.”

This paragraph reminds me of the case of the Tarnac Nine. It is within the realm of possibility Murakami had heard about this case, because their arrest was in 2008, shortly before 1Q84’s first books were published. There’s a commune in Tarnac that was involved in the operation of a nearby general store (Magasin General, Tarnac). Giorgio Agamben wrote a brief post on this affair describing it this way:

“On the morning of November 11, 150 police officers, most of which belonged to the anti-terrorist brigades, surrounded a village of 350 inhabitants on the Millevaches plateau, before raiding a farm in order to arrest nine young people (who ran the local grocery store and tried to revive the cultural life of the village). Four days later, these nine people were sent before an anti-terrorist judge and “accused of criminal association with terrorist intentions.””

The social theorist Alberto Toscano described the event in similar terms:

“On 11 November 2008, twenty French youths are arrested simultaneously in Paris, Rouen, and in the small village of Tarnac (located in the district of Corrèze, in France’s relatively impoverished Massif Central region). The Tarnac operation involves helicopters, one hundred and fifty balaclava-clad anti-terrorist policemen and studiously prearranged media coverage. The youths are accused of having participated in a number of sabotage attacks against the high-speed TGV train routes, involving the obstruction of the train’s power cables with horseshoe-shaped iron bars, causing material damage and a series of delays affecting some 160 trains. Eleven of the suspects are promptly freed. Those who remain in custody are soon termed the ‘Tarnac Nine’, after the village where a number of them had purchased a small farmhouse, reorganised the local grocery store as a cooperative, and taken up a number of civic activities from the running of a film club to the delivery of food to the elderly. In their parents’ words, ‘they planted carrots without bosses or leaders. They think that life, intelligence and decisions are more joyous when they are collective’.”

The Professor’s farming of Akebono (the radical offshoot of Sakigake) are framed in similar terms to the way anti-terrorist police in France portrayed the activities of the Tarnac co-op farm, as a front for revolutionary activity. Of course, if you read the Invisible Committee’s “Coming Insurrection”, allusions to such notions are elaborated on:

“Every commune seeks to be its own base. It seeks to dissolve the question of needs. It seeks to break all economic dependency and all political subjugation; it degenerates into a milieu the moment it loses contact with the truths on which it is founded. There are all kinds of communes that wait neither for the numbers nor the means to get organized, and even less for the “right moment” — which never arrives.”

But this excerpt follows a notion of the commune that is not so easily type-casted into the rural commune of Tarnac:

“Communes come into being when people find each other, get on with each other, and decide on a common path. The commune is perhaps what gets decided at the very moment when we would normally part ways. It’s the joy of an encounter that survives its expected end. It’s what makes us say “we,” and makes that an event. What’s strange isn’t that people who are attuned to each other form communes, but that they remain separated. Why shouldn’t communes proliferate everywhere? In every factory, every street, every village, every school. At long last, the reign of the base committees! Communes that accept being what they are, where they are. And if possible, a multiplicity of communes that will displace the institutions of society: family, school, union, sports club, etc. Communes that aren’t afraid, beyond their specifically political activities, to organize themselves for the material and moral survival of each of their members and of all those around them who remain adrift. Communes that would not define themselves — as collectives tend to do — by what’s inside and what’s outside them, but by the density of the ties at their core. Not by their membership, but by the spirit that animates them.”

There is a strong eschatological element in the writings of the Invisible Committee, that some radical political theologians have picked up on (e.g. see Ward Blanton’s lecture on the Invisible Committee ). Because of Julien Coupat’s arrest as one of the Tarnac Nine, the Invisible Committee has become associated with the journal Tiqqun. In “Theory of Bloom” Tiqqun is defined:

“The French rendering of the Hebrew word Tikkun, meaning to “perfect”, “repair”, “heal”, or “transform”. In rabbanical school, students study mystical texts that view tikkun as the process of restoring a complex divine unity. A tikkun kor’im (readers’ tikkun) is a study guide used when preparing to chant the Torah, or to read from the Torah in a Jewish synagogue. People who chant from the Torah must differs from that written (the Kethib) in the scroll.”

The Wikipedia article for Tiqqun says the word is derived from the “Hebrew term Tikkun olam, a concept issuing from Judaism, often used in the kabbalistic and messianic traditions.”

Murakami certainly alludes to this intersection of eschatology, theology, and politics, firstly in his narrative mechanism which has this Maoist commune turn into a secretive religious cult. He ties the religious and political in this way, but in a manner that I myself find unconvincing. Many of these co-operative farms are anti-hierarchical and I find it difficult to see, even for a commune of the authoritarian left to turn into something resembling Sakigake in the novel. Regardless, I think the intersection of radical religion and politics in 1Q84 to be a fascinating subject to explore, even if I found Murakami’s particular approach unsatisfying. There is of course an eschatological dimension that Murakami gestures towards in various chapters, often in amusing an humorous ways. One of my favourites is in the following chapter (Chapter 11):

As a woman, Aomame had no concrete idea how much it hurt to suffer a hard kick in the balls… “It hurts so much you think the end of the world is coming right now. I don’t know how else to put it. It’s different from ordinary pain,” said a man, after careful consideration, when Aomame asked him to explain it to her.

Aomame gave some thought to his analogy. The end of the world?

“Conversely, then,” she said, “would you say that when the end of the world is coming right now, it feels like a hard kick in the balls?”

Aomame was called in and instructed to rein in the ball-kicking practice. “Realistically speaking, though,” she protested, “it’s impossible for women to protect themselves against men without resorting to a kick in the testicles. Most men are bigger and stronger than women. A swift testicle attack is a woman’s only chance. Mao Zedong said it best. You find your opponent’s weak point and make the first move with a concentrated attack. It’s the only chance a guerrilla force has of defeating a regular army.”

The manager did not take well to her passionate defense. “…I don’t care what Mao Zedong said—or Genghis Khan, for that matter: a spectacle like that is going to make most men feel anxious and annoyed and upset.”

If there’s any guy crazy enough to attack me, I’m going to show him the end of the world—close up. I’m going to let him see the kingdom come with his own eyes.”

The Witnesses’ rendition of the Lord’s prayer is recurring theme that surfaces throughout the novel, and even if it is presented in a cynical manner by Murakami, I think it still evokes a particular mode of contemplation that I found interesting. The Jehovah’s Witnesses are the obvious allusion Murakami is making and their pacifism is even explicitly mentioned by Ushikawa: “They are well known to be pacifists, following the principle of nonresistance.”

Pacifism, of course, more associated with the radical Christians of the anabaptist tradition, although I have yet to encounter the connection between Jehovah’s Witnesses and Anabaptism, other than certain millenarian impulses they might share. Anyways, I think this an interesting node that Murakami marks, posing the question of violence and justice: revolutionary violence (of Akebono), assassination (Aomame’s side gig), and sexual violence (experienced by the women that the dowager tries to protect). What causes aversion to political and religious radicals, fundamentalists, etc?

Murakami’s answer is coercion and the denigration of the individual. This is epitomized in a dialogue Aomame has with the dowager, where the dowager asks:

“Are you a feminist, or a lesbian?” Aomame blushed slightly and shook her head. “I don’t think so. My thoughts on such matters are strictly my own. I’m not a doctrinaire feminist, and I’m not a lesbian.”

“That’s good,” the dowager said. As if relieved, she elegantly lifted a forkful of broccoli to her mouth, elegantly chewed it, and took one small sip of wine.

This is very similar to the sort of ideology that Jordan Petersen subscribes to. It is a ‘higher than thou’ purity politics that looks down on any sort of collective organization that betrays any sort of hypocrisy. Yet most religious traditions recognize that any sort of collective organizing is bound to live in contradiction with its ideals. Within the Christian tradition, thoughtful adherents recognize the Church as a ‘fallen’ institution composed of ‘sinners’. I think it is important to recognize and confess the short fallings of previous attempts to realize ideals while not abandoning the ideals because people that came before us have severely fucked it up. Another world is possible, and I think if we fall back into our silos of individualism we will not realize this other world. Murakami provides an almost Kierkegaardian framing of what is essentially ritual rape in the novel — and I found that disturbing, though in the realm of magical realism, I’m not qualified to make any meaningful commentary. What I will confess is that my own life betrays a certain sort of ‘bourgeois individualism’ but I have not yet reached a form of cynicism that celebrates it, and I hope I won’t anytime soon.

Anyhow, beyond these critiques, I enjoyed this novel a lot, and I think it brought up interesting questions to contemplate. I found the Proust jokes hilarious, some of the funniest moments in the book. Curiously, I have never finished reading Orwell’s 1984. I was supposed to have finished reading it for a Grade 12 literature class, but I recall that period of the semester as a tremendously busy one for me. I do intend to finish it one day soon, and Orwell’s democratic socialism is a fascinating lens through which to also examine many of the themes that Murakami explores, including those of agency and freedom. There are these strange lines in the book that I don’t quite know what to make of: 

“He leaned against the wall, in the shadows of the telephone pole and a sign advertising the Japanese Communist Party, and kept a sharp watch over the front door of Mugiatama.“

There are funnier allusions to this like:

“Have you heard about the final tests given to candidates to become interrogators for Stalin’s secret police?” “No, I haven’t.”

“A candidate would be put in a square room. The only thing in the room is an ordinary small wooden chair. And the interrogator’s boss gives him an order. He says, ‘Get this chair to confess and write up a report on it. Until you do this, you can’t leave this room.’ ”

“Sounds pretty surreal.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s not surreal at all. It’s a real story. Stalin actually did create that kind of paranoia, and some ten million people died on his watch—most of them his fellow countrymen. And we actually live in that kind of world. Don’t ever forget that.”

...“So what kind of confession did the interrogator candidates extract from the chairs?”

“That is a question definitely worth considering,” Tamaru said. “Sort of like a Zen koan.”

“Stalinist Zen,” Aomame said.

I have my own views on Murakami’s crypto-Calvinist sections, which is not unrelated to Murakami’s interwoven narrative technique, and in excerpts such as the one I opened with about the etymology of ‘lunatic’. Also, I actually quite enjoyed the way Murakami alluded to Dostoyevsky’s Grand Inquisitor passage from the Brothers Karamazov — where Satan frames miracles as a sort of spectacle when trying to tempt Christ in the wilderness. I’ve always thought that there’s certainly some Debordian comment that can be made with respect to that. In fact, the notion of spectacle, and this process of reducing agency such that we become mere spectators, is itself thematic in Murakami’s fiction, especially here. Again, it is this crypto-Calvinist notion of fate, that one’s future is already predetermined and no matter what one might try, it is inevitable. (This must be related to Murakami’s quoting of Carl Jung: “Called or not called, God is there”.) And so one becomes almost a spectator to one’s own life unfolding under the predetermined path of capital. Yet curiously, Tengo and Aomame do escape from Leader’s prophetic claim that was to befall Aomame, out from 1Q84, back up the stairwell back to the path of 1984. If only escaping from “late declining capitalism” (Murakami’s term) was that simple.

Though I had many reservations, 1Q84 was breezy read and I think that’s a testament to how fun Murakami’s writing can be, and this was one of those books where this was very much the case.

[tumblunni]

Bunni talks about thier cute pets! Cos I’m on such a rune factory hype today I figured I may as well ramble about what monsters I captured, and maybe other stuff about how I personally chose to play the game. I love how there’s so many different ways to play and all different routes to making enough money and exp to progress the main story! Usually in these kinds of games I focus on dungeoncrawling (like i did in stardew valley) but I’m surprised how much I genuinely enjoyed the farming in this game even though it was A HUGE CHORE in stardew! This series is the pinnacle of farming type games in my opinion, it appeals even to non-fans like me!

ANYWAY UMM I LOVE MY MONSTERS I pretty much never take them with me to dungeons, the only time I use dungeon monsters is if I catch them in the current dungeon, then I just send them home and never want them to get hurt ever again. I really REALLY like that the game levels up your monsters with a percentage of your exp even if you dont fight with them! It means you dont lose buddy battle festivals just because you choose to use them for farming instead of fighting. i have like a bazillion monster barns all super maxed out size and i have all my monsters doing the majority of my farming work nowadays except if I need to try levelling up seeds or growing a large crop. I respect them a lot cos theyre doing all this hard work so I’m able to take time off and focus on dating people and saving the world, while still making good money and PP! They save me a lot of time juggling the two sides of the game ^_^ Also I started off wanting to try and catch one of every monster in the game, but it started to become impossible to afford the higher level upgrades to get big enough monster barns to hold them all, cos I was having 90% of my fields taken up by growing enough hay to feed them all. So i sadly had to give up on the idea! But by then i’d grown attatched to a lot of them so I was only able to release the last few newest ones I’d got, I still have like forty of them and only ten of them are actually doing anything :P BUT THEYRE TOO CUTE TO SAY GOODBYE!! Oh and now i am still trying to maybe collect all the ghost types, cos theyre sweetie boops! i really love the design of the spirit types with the flamey body and the jack o lantern face. (funny since theres an ACTUAL jack o lantern type ghost that just has a regular smile) Its a bit of a lazy design choice that all of them are flameballs just recoloured to match the elements tho, i mean why not have them be lil tornados or water droplets with faces? Anyway, my main one is a wind elemental named Gizmo after my rotom in pokemon. She was one of The Saviour Trio, whom I love! They were part of an unusual strategy that helped me powerlevel early on. I would run into a dungeon that was way too high level to be completed right now, and throw all my good cookery items at the first monster i see, hoping I could catch it. Then if I succeeded I would use that monster to beat up all the similarly levelled monsters while my low level self was dying in the background, carrying me thru the dungeon til I’d powered up enough to fight alongside it! ^_^ The initial two I started with were Fester the hammer giant and Atlas the beetle, but when I saw the adorable ghosties I had to catch one and call it gizmo! i actually saw that dungeon’s wind variant ghosties before i met the original fire ones in the actual dungeon I was supposed to go to. Another noteable trio were the first three monsters I caught, who’ve been managing my main farm field ever since. Virion the archer orc, Snap the chipsqueak and Florin the flower thingie! Also Iron the bull, who’s been perpetually useful with how he’s like the only damn way to get milk items, seriously :P Why is milk so sparse in this game :P (tho randomly i do like how this world’s equivelant of cows are like if cows and bulls were merged into one creature. genderfluid bovine! maybe theyre like clownfish) There’s also Silver and Kafka, the two mandatory pets that you get during the various sechs dungeons for some reason. I got particularly attatched to Kafka cos I headcanoned that the monsters trapped in that cage were human test subjects used to develop the rune stone technology that ethelberd uses to steal the dragons’s power. It just seemed like that would be the only reason that this fairy monster can talk when no other ones do. So i kinda treat Kafka like he’s my character’s child, even though he never talks again after you add him to your party I like to headcanon he’s still sentient and part of the family. Oh, and I headcanon he’s a boy cos I didnt know until seeing the monster profile after recruiting the character that the green fairies are meant to be female. None of the other monsters get described as only being one gender except the fairies, if I recall correctly? (and the guardian bosses, but thats understandable considering their origins) So yeah, i kinda made him into an oc and I can imagine him having a gijinka form like the guardians after theyre purified? but fairy type monsters already look pretty humanoid and if I made them any more so then they’d just look exactly like amber. So maybe if I draw him as an oc I’d change what kind of monster he is and try drawing a gijinka of that? Maybe merge some of my monsters together and do a gijinka of the wind ghosties or the dead tree thing? SPEAKING OF WHICH I LOVE MY NEWEST TEAM MEMBER russel the tree ghost boss character!! he is so huge and so powerful!!! I love him!! I was so pleasantly surpised to find out I could catch boss monsters!! I think he’s the best one ive got so far, cos the second bosses in each guardian dungeon were kinda ones that didnt have any plot or anything, so i feel more like i can make ocs of them. it was weird how they just came out of nowhere to have ane xcuse for the revisit quests to have a boss battle too. Extra weird cos you can still rematch the guardian bosses once per day anyway. anyway my oc thoughts for russel is that he is Large but very kind and gentle and shy and cries whenever he hurts the smaller peoples. He is a quiet gardener who likes to bake apple pies for people. (”This apple was grown from my flesh!” *sunny smile*) So he’s kinda like a more socially anxious Amber? I was thinking if he got to turn into a human with a tragic past like how the first four bosses did, he would be a big bara love interest guy cos he’s like the largest boss character model. And cos shy kind baras are some of my fave love interests! (I am SO excited to marry benny in Fe Fates whenever i finally get that game!) I was thinking maybe he could have dark skin and have some bright shoulder tattoos that look all flowery like the apples he had as a tree. And maybe he sprouts flowers from his shoulders when he blushes! Or maybe has a flower on the top of his head? But I like the idea of him having very big hair of some sort, to tangeantally resemble a tree. Maybe a handsome afro, or maybe very long very soft flowing rapunzel hair, or maybe very non-bishie scruffy hair that he can never tame? Or maybe he’s bald and has a long beard... Anyway he would be very cute and I think he’d be a fan favourite.

[remedialmassage]

Why Intoxication Did Not Make My Problems Go Away

“My peers, lately, have found companionship through means of intoxication–it makes them sociable. I, however, cannot force myself to use drugs to cheat on my loneliness.” – Franz Kafka.

To understand my story you need to understand me – I am almost 22. I’ve grown up in a family that has seen its fair share of good and not so good days. I am mostly quiet because I over-think way too much.

I believe love comes in different shapes and sizes. I believe in making real connections yet fear the pain that comes with it. I’ve met a countless broken-souls and heard their stories. I believe, ‘It takes one to know one’, and strive to live by it every day.

I have a lot of people who care very deeply about me, yet, at times I can’t help but feel a sharp sudden pain in my heart.

Now that you know me a little better it will make things a little easier for you to understand.

I began drinking when my school was about to end. The first time I drank I was 17. I was at a friend’s place and I drank most of it neat. It was whiskey.

I cried way too much that night. Believe it or not, it felt great. Primarily because I was so emotionally constipated. I needed an outlet.

The second time I drank was with my sister. I should have taken a couple of notes about my tolerance because that night I puked and passed out in my washroom. And if you’re wondering, yes, I cried again when I was all alone and my sister had passed out.

I don’t remember the third or the fourth.

After approximately the seventh time I graduated into an occasional drinker.

And that was that.

When I got admitted to one of the better colleges in the country that is when alcohol started having a more profound effect on my life. I drank when I was stressed, happy, anxious or sad. I attached intoxication to the happening or non-happening of a certain event.

See, as I look back, the reason becomes clear. My ego and pride had taken a huge hit when I cut corners to ensure my admission and I just wasn’t ready to deal with it. Hence, I turned to alcohol because I didn’t really have friends then.

College began and I met a hundred different people. I made it a point to go ahead and introduce myself to everyone in my sight.

Most of them thought I was pretty weird but I wanted to ensure college began on a different note. I was going to make some real connections in this new city.

And I did.

You see I believe that when things happen they happen all at once or not at all. Here I was making some real connections or trying to and then my family broke apart and it broke me instead. That is when things took a turn for the worse.

I am not at liberty to say more because it’s not really my story to share but yeah things at home weren’t as well as I would want them to be.

I was emotionally traumatized and things were still crumbling all over the place. I didn’t like college all that much and there was this constant emptiness within me.

Now understand something. I am not justifying anything. I am just trying to make you understand how it got worse. Also, I am in no way blaming anyone for my mistakes. It was all me and it is forever going to be. But maybe you’ll forgive me like I’ve forgiven myself.

So, I drove headfast into alcohol. One or two pegs turned into a small-bottle a day. A year later it turned into a liter.

Yet, even then, I would say it was manageable. People didn’t really know how miserable I was (at least I think they didn’t) and I was still breezing through.

The problem accelerated when my nightmares started. And it was surreal. I had never been through something like this before and I wish no one you know goes through it.

The problem with these nightmares was that they felt so incredibly real I stopped being able to tell the difference between a dream and reality. It began with maybe once a month. Its intensity and occurrence increased with time. There came a point when it became a daily thing.

At this point, I was so afraid to go to sleep I would stay up all night sometimes, go on with the next day, and finally sleep when my body was too exhausted. Even then I would sleep for a few hours because these dreams would wake me up.

By now you must have realized what I turned to for salvation – alcohol.

Every single day until I could not stand or I passed out drunk out of my mind I would drink. In the morning I would wake up with an incredibly painful hangover and go on with my day.

I would attend visits for my college fest, talk to people, plaster a smile and do what most people going through something do – Ignore it.

One fine night it got so bad that the morning after, with the support of my girlfriend, I sent three messages to the three most important people in my life – my mother, my father, and my sister.

I told them I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to see someone. Someone who knew what I was going through. And it had to be done immediately.

It didn’t take them long to take action. Some of the best doctors in the city were contacted. Money was transferred into my account. I went to my first therapist.

Now, I am not a huge fan of mental health experts. The reason for that is after having gone to so many in the past 24 months it always felt like they were in so much hurry. Sympathy stemmed from their voices and the answer was always – prescription drugs.

This one particular woman asked me a couple of questions and prescribed me around a hundred pills. I was to take three each day and one more if I had a sudden attack.

She was incidentally the first person to tell me what my condition was called – panic induced night terrors.

Soon after began the final chapter of this story – alcohol and prescription drugs.

I honestly don’t remember when exactly I started taking more than the prescribed limit but I remember how it began. Initially, it was one or two more each day. Then, when the nightmares didn’t stop I mixed them with alcohol. The high was something else. It made me weirdly happy.

But, the problem was it lasted for a really short time.

I started taking more and a host of problems followed. The nightmares became more frequent. I started having auditory and visual hallucinations in broad daylight.

I thought I was losing my mind.

I went to my therapist again. She increased my dosage.

The rock bottom was when one night I wanted to end my life. I took a bunch of pills and drank way too much.

And it is here I would like to tell you that I am so grateful to have been pulled from the deepest clutches of desperation by someone without whom I probably wouldn’t be alive today.

My parents were informed. I spoke to my sister. And the next day it was decided that I was going home. I was going to figure things out once and for all.

I left.

Back in my city, I met six different therapists, counselors, yoga experts and a bunch of other perceivable experts.

It was here that I met someone who explained why all this was happening. He told me the reason for it all was – alcohol.

Apparently, alcohol messes with your sleep pattern. Since you don’t get enough sleep, or even if you do it is disturbed, your brain becomes exhausted.

That is why the nightmares became so frequent and those hallucinations were making me feel as if I was losing my mind.

I went on a three-month sobriety break soon after. When the cravings would get really bad I would indulge myself with a beer.

I managed and got by.

Things slowly became better. Painfully slowly, but it did. I put systems in place to ensure that the nightmares don’t get to me.

Life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, so, I did slip here and there. But very rarely. Very very rarely.

I drink once a week now. Mostly on weekends. I am much much better now and as I look back I get it. Here is what I know now –

Intoxication will not make your pain go away. If you’re intoxicating yourself to forget, you’re delaying the inevitable. Trust me. It will come back to bite you.

I know I should have dealt with things head-on. Even though it’s easier said than done but you’ll have to deal with it someday anyway.

I plagued by this constant emptiness inside me. I felt so utterly lonely – it’s difficult to explain. But, I did have a lot of people who actually cared. I was just not ready to even give them a chance. Try and reach out. You’ll be surprised by how many will give their best to make you better.

Share. Talk to people. Tell them what’s bothering you. You’ll be surprised by how many would understand or actually try to. If you’re going through a rough phase reach out. You are bigger than your ego or your pride.

If you choose to see an expert tell them the truth. I hid many things from most of the people I saw and that made the whole thing worse.

Just remember. Intoxication is just your way of distracting yourself from the truth. Don’t let it take over your life.

What helped you get over your addiction?

The post Why Intoxication Did Not Make My Problems Go Away appeared first on Possibility of Change.

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[janiklandre-blog]

Thursday, March 16, 2017

9:40 a.m. very cold   Ken, oh Ken, why did you have to die - once again I'm struggling with this here weird computer - used by the Chinese for their loud movies - I want to get the Asus - it could be ordered on line if we could figure out which model I need - but then it still has to be programmed and I have no one - this get so complicated -

Plaint number one for the day. Plaint number two - roads for cars in perfect condition - I ventured on Third Avenue to 8th Street - good condition - on 8th street an area untouched, later on Second Avenue where the explosion was, half a block untouched, street crossings treacherous - while the cars are happily zooming along

Plaint number three - not a soul to talk to in the morning. I wake up, get up in an empty apartment - and yes, there are lots of peole with house mates they detest who would envy my privacy - still it is a lot more natural to share living space with some one you can talk to. Sometimes talk on my way out to Security (many women stop there at length and pour their hearts out - not very fair to Gloria who has been there since midnight at minimum wage and now may lose the job because management has decided to change agencies - and we have to deal with nothing but new faces) - anyway, Gloria was on her phone. Then I sometimes these days talk a bit to the woman at Moishe's bakery - her family came from the former Yougoslavia - she knows nothing at all about the history of the country, not even where her family came from, she does not talk to her mother, has raised two daughters as a single mother and lives on Lake Hopatcong in New Jersey, a 40 minute drive - and she says, she does not sleep. Sometimes she enjoys me telling her a bit about the country where she was born - but now she has taken to video games.

And this here my house is weird. I think there are ten apartments on my floor - many now occupied by Chinese - one woman doing her exercise walking up and down the hall and telling me long stories in Chinese - I've never been in any one's apartment - have exchanged a few words with a couple of women who I believe are 100 years old - in great shape - zero interest in talking. By now I have talked to half a dozen others - they all hate each other - and I have little to say to them. Yes, this here noisy, overheated apartment has allowed me to stay in Manhattan - now surrounded by people who happily pay $3000 for a strudio - no idea how they all make this kind of money - and so aware of the 3000 people closed waiting list for an apartment in my house - alas, you have to be Chinese to get in - still - most of the half dozen women with whom I exchange a few words call the house a prison and complaints galore - and I must admit, I too, am beginning to feel a yearning for more "normalcy".

There are in New York those normally occuring old age settings - where people moved at a young age into one of the few houses with a decent land lord - best a land lord who also lives in the house - their rents are rent controlled or stabilized - affordable - and they have become friends over the many years, raised kids together - on my block here there is a lovely woman, with a lovely husband - I believe it was her father in law who bought the house when these houses went for the proverbial peanuts, and this here was a high crime area - he was a lawyer and started an organization GOLES Good Old Lower East Side - it still exists - and when he was till alive three generations lived in the house - now his son and daughter in law and a son of their's and his family, lovely young kids - enough room - separate apartments - for everybody and these houses also in their court yards have large gardens - yes, in theory - when Robert an I got married in 1956 we easily could have bought such a house - but instead lived the unwise life that we lived - Robert died, I am still around living in this here government supported housing and our sons fled the city.

The people in Manhattan living in ideal situations are more the exception than the rule. Even on these icy days I find them hovering in corners on the street - countless have fled Manhattan - and of course with Trump who knows what the government will be up to and silently I am counting my days here - already very nostalgic for the city where I've spent close to 60 of my soon 85 years - I do know I would miss the city terribly. Still - I have to be prepared - giving the matter some thought - did not pick up the applications for similar housing in the area where my sons live - tell others "keep dreaming" - while I still am dreaming of conditions of my dreams.

One of my files somewhere in the external drive is called "Laments" - over the years I've gathered a lot of laments. Laments, laments.

In the meantime - yesterday - I did enjoy writing this here blog - appreciated by some, less appreciated by others who tell me they put their laments, plaints, thoughts into private journals that they plan to burn - of course Kafka famously asked for his works to be burned but you better do it yourself, while alive.. I, as one of the great believers in our subconsciousness - thanks to Freud - do see the subconscious around me at work everywhere - and while I am unlikely to see these journals published - I think there is a good chance they will be. I at this point picture most of my still extant writing in a dumpster - with the very unlikely chance of someone climbing into it and finding a treasure trove. So, I am sending this here out happy for the readers it finds - happy for those with the time and inclination for a comment - letting me know they read some of what I wrote - and even found it amusing!

The sun is shining - if only the streets were not so forbidding. Yesterday I ventured out - one of my many medical obligations these days was to get my doctor to certify I am in good health for the upcoming cataract op - she is wonderfully available and I also told her - called and was told come - decided on the bus 103 on block up and stopping outside her office - alas - it rarely comes. I stayed in the street - no way of climbing over the mountain of snow, leaned against a cop car, an SUV - two women cops came - and offered to give me a ride! Does happen more and more often. Came to the doctor's office, no wait, she quickly checked off how healthy I am (other than the dysfunctional gait) - my blood pressure thanks to the pills I believe cost me my teeth fine - and - my heart spiking less than it used to. She had wanted me to see a cardiologist which I never did - some things still seem to repair themselves. We had a nice chat, in 15 minutes I was out, crossed the avenue, a bus came - and in less than an hour I was back to the apartment I am treasuring now in view that I could lose it.

Have a little espresso gizmo for one shot, sweeten it with Irish cream liqueur - eat a couple of cookies and fall fast asleep for an afternoon nap (alas not always) - make a pleasant call, eat some cold cereal with half and half for dinner (not the veggies I do love but only rarely cook and rarely find in the countless restaurants surrounding me - like creamed spinach, that I love - have had a package of chopped spinach in the freezer for a long time - can't quite figure out how to make it tasty) - then my friend came, got her to listen to some of my grievances, not easy, then we watched a Dutch movie Antonia - sweet. The back to the land scenario many of us in the 60's persued - only a few found. I later visited The Farm in Tennessee and have read accounts - of the large numbers who headed there - Stephen W. whom I often mention among them, he took me there in 1988 - a tiny handful have stayed. I also did read tales of horror of farm life in Bavaria - where my father's mother originated - this totally traceless woman today. I know the farm was near Passau, where Hitler was born - but I don't know the name of the village and not the name of a single relative. That farm life was very far from idyllic - my young grandmother headed for Munich, became a waitress and pregnant from my grandfather, the rich dandy from Amsterdam, whose Calvinist mother made him marry her. Also a tale. It's 11. There is the NYT to read. I've cancelled three medical appointments - said I was out of town - tomorrow the optometrist wanted to check if the eye drops I've been clumsily using had any effect - he already wanted me to come last Friday, after he had seen me on Tuesday - and by the way, my doctor yesterday suggested I go for free standard lenses - she says hardly any difference, he only makes a lot more money out of the special ones - in Africa she said they use lenses that cost 3 or 4 dollares - compared to the $1200 for the special ones. Also from Weill Cornell I got a copay bill for $93 - the doctor asserting the neuropathy I already had been told I have - now I wonder how much copay there is on the physiotherapy sessions in unpleasant cramped quarters and I don't do those exercises - hope walking that I enjoy will do some good.

In one phone call a friend told me about her friend who falls each time she goes for physiotherapy - this is in Great Barrington - then doctors call for MRI's, cat scans - of course the nyc doctors pay these sky high rents - my optometrist at 25 Fifth Avenue has two offices across the hall from each other - he must pay a fortune and of course wants to see me as often as he can and charge medicare maximum and me a copay - it all is such a sad racket - but I got to get these cataracts fixed if I want to continue driving, also it will be nice to recognize people in the street again.

Probably I should reschedule with him for next Friday, I don't want to make him angry at me. Tomorrow I hope Molly will come.

I'll venture out at noon today - but more extensive walks risk slipping on ice - and - that can be an unpleasant end - so I may stay at home. There are many things I could do - clean, put some order into much disorder - go through so much of my writing I never read - and on and on - still, I prefer going out.  I can go on the roof for some sun. May do that. Adios, Marianne