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fifthbornforrester · 5 years

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meta + brothers

send me a topic to write a meta about my muse on

Talia and her brothers.

Being one of two (secretly three) sisters, Talia’s life has been surrounded by her brothers. With them all ranging from different ages and with that, through different stages in her life, Talia has always been able to witness what life is and what will be growing older and reflecting upon her childhood at the same time. As much as she loves Mira, it is her brothers who shape her and give her an outlook on the future of House Forrester. Family is extremely important to Talia and the rest of House Forrester. Their motto is not only Iron From Ice but THEY are Iron from Ice.

RYON

Ryon is the youngest in the entire family and is Talia’s younger brother. They are about seven to eight years apart. When their mother Elissa is not around, it is always Talia that takes on the parental role. She is extremely protective of Ryon and knows that as an older sibling, she has the responsibility to help him grow and help him be the best he can be. When he is taken away by the Whitehills, getting him back is one of Talia’s main concerns along with dealing with Gryff. As he grows older, Talia helps him learn how to be Lord of the House for when/if the time comes. Although he is the youngest, with the slaughter of most of his family and the injuries the older (player selected) brother sustains during the siege on Ironrath, he will be expected to step up to the task being able-bodied when he is old enough.

ETHAN

With Ethan being her twin, he is literally her other half. She was told the story when she was younger of how her and Ethan were born three hours apart. For those three hours, Ethan never stopped crying. It was only when Talia was born that he stopped. Being the same age, they experienced much of the same things at the same time. Since Ethan is one of the youngest children, there is no rush to teach him to train for war. There are two older brothers who wish to take on the warrior role which allows Ethan to take up his more scholarly interests. They share many interests, such as: playing in the forest, especially playing hide-and-seek, creating and performing songs together with Ethan on the lute, and reading books from their library. When either twin found it difficult to sleep, the other would get a sense and sneak into the other’s chambers for comfort. Their mother has found them so many times curled up against each other asleep come the following morning. When Ethan has to become Lord of the House after the slaughter at the Twins, Talia is confident in him but also terrified. She loves her brother to death and does not want him to change. She wants him to be Lord with the same kind characteristics of her brother. When the time comes for him to perform his first duties as Lord, which is either between punishing a thief by cutting off his fingers, letting him go free, and sending him to the Night’s Watch, Talia is afraid of what Ethan may do. But she knows such things cannot go unpunished and he must do his duty as Lord. When Ramsay stops by to do his father’s bidding, he gets ahead of himself and his plan for chaos ends in him snatching Talia. One of the strongest examples of their bond is that Ethan does not hesitate in taking her back, although that has dire consequences. When Ethan is killed, their mother cries but it is Talia who screeches. It is Talia who rushes to his side and begs for someone to get help. She feels as though half of her soul has been ripped from her and definitely has a case of survivors guilt. By this time, it is reported that her father is dead, Rodrik is presumed dead, and Gared has been sent to the Wall. This seems to be a final nail in the coffin in believing she has lost so many people. But she is not given much time to mourn due to her mother’s request for a song for their funeral and the return of a surprisingly alive Rodrik. In the funeral song, she tells her brother and father that she will guard them even in death, and wishes vengeance on those who have taken Ethan from her.

ASHER

Being the second eldest, Asher’s main goal is to become the warrior that he wishes to be and read in books. With this, most of Talia’s memories of Asher is of him training, looking out of the window watching him spar with Rodrik and Royland as she did needlework with her mother and sister. He has always been a fun-loving person and is the trouble-maker of the family, especially with falling in love with Gwyn Whitehill. He always made Talia laugh, especially when she was not in a good mood. Just a simple joke, and it would bring a smile to her face. But the last memories she has of him is with every passing year, Asher would become more and more angry. He seemed like he was craving fights, wanting them every time he interacted with certain people. Along with this and the brewing conflict between the Forresters and the Whitehills years prior, Talia is devastated that Asher decides to go to Essos to avoid a war between the two families. He leaves during the time where Talia is trying to find her own voice as girl transforming into a woman. They have only been able to communicate through letters for 3+ years and she often has dreams of him and walking through the mysterious lands he speaks of in Essos. When his Uncle sails to Essos to find him, there is underlying excitement with the stress of what is occurring at home that she will see Asher again. She is reminded of the anger when it comes to seeing how he deals with the Whitehills. But now, she holds the same anger. For once, she understands. However, she still deals with the anger better than he does.

RODRIK

Talia will never say this out loud, especially because she is a twin. But Rodrik is her favorite sibling. They have always had the strongest bond between any and all of the siblings and it shows throughout their interactions with one another. I have always had this joke of a young Rodrik coming into Elissa’s birthing room, seeing two babies, and going straight for Talia. When she is younger, it is always Rodrik who she goes to for advice and when she feels upset. Even if he is not old or wise enough yet to help her in her troubles. But just his presence is enough to help Talia. Even though she watched her two older brothers spar, it was always Rodrik that she focused on the most. He seemed to be the most talented in the family besides their father and it is clear that he has learned much of his fighting skills from Gregor and Royland. He is the one who introduced her to every part of the Ironwood forest near their house, every crook and cranny that she could hide and escape to. When she grows older, she spend much of her time in the spots that Rodrik has shown her. There have been times during singing sessions with Ethan that he has attempted to join in. Unfortunately, he has not been granted the gift that Talia has, and when his voice joins her out-of-key, the dogs start howling in the kennels. She asks him jokingly yet in a polite manner to never sing again as she holds in fits of giggles. However, as they both grow older, Rodrik becomes more serious. He does not smile or laugh as often as he used to and it concerns Talia that he is trying to become something that he is not. She remembers him most as being jubilant and proud of what he had accomplished. Forrester pride runs through their blood from the time of birth. When the War of Five Kings begins, he insists on coming along to fight for Robb Stark. His father refuses, telling him that he must be stand-in Lord while he is gone. But it is not only Gregor who tells him to stay back. Talia begs him to stay as well. It is a messy affair with a beet red face, a raw throat, and endless tears streaming, but she begs Rodrik not to go in fear of losing him. She knows their father must go to defend their King’s honor, but Rodrik has never fought like this before and there is always a possibility that he will not return. He insists on going anyway, which leaves Talia a mess. But she must accept his choice and sees him off with the biggest hug a child her age can give to say goodbye. When she does not dream of Asher far away in Essos, she dreams of Rodrik and their father, riding alongside them as they all defend their King. It is two years since they have last seen each other where news comes back that both her father and Rodrik have died during the Red Wedding. With this news, Talia feels as though her world is crashing down. Her worst fear comes true and she has lost two people in her life that she loves so much. However, like with Ethan, there is close to no time to mourn due to wishing to stay strong for her family, Gared departing to the Wall, Ethan being killed, and the return of her presumed dead brother. Talia is relieved seeing that even though he still might not make it, Rodrik is still home and he is breathing. While he is asleep, in hopes of him waking up, she stays with him the entire time. Talia is the first person he sees when he wakes up. She is the first one he hugs, as battered and broken as he is from the ambush. She assists him when he can barely walk. She is the one who stands by his side literally and figuratively no matter what. She does everything she can in her power, although she is the younger of the two, to protect him in any and every way that she can. She is the one who helps with the issues he has as Lord. She is the one who goes to him for advice now that she is older and now that he is older, he can finally answer confidently. Her actions of standing by Rodrik’s side further shows her that she must change to do what she can for her family and she knows that she will do anything and everything to help her family, her House, and her people. She looks to Rodrik for comfort in times of trouble and in other times, fear when it comes to dealing with Ramsay (who is the only person she is frightened of). He trusts her enough to give her the title of Lord while he is away to either rally the Glenmores or try to negotiate with the Whitehills. They protect each other, they would watch the world burn if it meant keeping each other safe. That will never change.

JOSERA

Unfortunately, Talia does not have much of a relationship with Josera by the time of her storyline. The only ones who know of Josera and his sister Elsera’s existence is her father, Gregor, Duncan Tuttle, and Gared when he runs into Josera’s warged bear, Shadow. However, if she ever meets Josera, she will be shocked but welcome him with open arms. Talia has never understood the stigma that comes with bastardy. There is only one time that she uses ‘bastard’ in a derogatory term and that is to speak about Ramsay after he killed Ethan. With Talia losing so much of her family, knowing that there is more people in the world that share the same blood is comforting. She will feel less alone in this vast and dangerous world with more family by her side, whether they are bastards or not.

#🌲 | ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴ |#watchends

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thetruestsentenceyouknow · 5 years

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Loki the Norse god is named someone's godfather. How does that go?

Once upon a time they were worshiped. Revered. Feared even. The world was different then, things simpler. Admittedly, he enjoyed this world better. But he did miss the worship.

The serpent slithered slowly along the patch of overgrowth along the northern edge of the home. Silent. Listening. Brooding.

“Look at me now,” he thought as he worked his body up the cool unforgiving metal of the drain pipe. Summoned by a pesky human as a joke. Of all things really. He blamed that godforsaken movie. Couldn’t get his story right. And the actor that played him? Dreadful. Terrible pallor.

He made his way up carefully, taking care on the sharp edges of the brick facade. He met his destination — a small window, opened a bit to let in the cool wisps of autumn wind. So trusting humans were now. As if their advancement had eliminated the things like him. Or the worse things that went bump in the night.

His eyes soaked in his surroundings — the room simple —crib, changing table and rocking chair all pushed against opposite walls, the center bare save for the big shag rug that covered it. It was empty.

He slid to the center and changed. It did not hurt. He merely willed, and it was so. Focusing, he began to realize the details his snake vision could not. The room was a dusty blue, pleasant but muted, as was the rug, a thick textured thing that he was sure would feel plush were he to step out of his shoes. He sighed. Humans were such luxurious creatures, caught in their silly needs. And now here he was, answering to one.

He couldn’t really say how his attention had been called. How this mortal had brought his awareness back to the earthly realm. The ways had long been lost as had their worship, and he had not thought to learn them. But the words had drifted into his consciousness, and with them he had drifted to midgard, surprised. He’d caught part of the conversation when he’d arrived.

“It’d just be so cool. Talk about bragging rights for him. I have Loki as a Godfather. Literal “God”father. God of Mischief.”

“Dude. You’re way too drunk.”

“Nah man. My kid’s going to have the best godfather.”

“Something tells me Sarah’s not going to approve this.”

“No, she’ll get it man. She gets it.”

“Alright, I think it’s time for bed.”

So here he was. He’d tried to go. To ignore the call and return to Asgard and return to his task at hand. A particularly great prank involving Thor and some more women’s clothing (He swore he’d never let him live the bride thing down.) But something had kept him here. He could think of nothing else to do, so he waited, lingering to meet his charge.

The child in the crib was little more than a blob. Humans were hard enough to tell apart, but at this size, he found them impossible. It slumbered still, unaware of his presence. It looked incredibly fragile. He lifted the thing, mindful of its certain breakability. Humans were so breakable, he imagined tiny ones were worse.

It woke.

The child looked at him in wonder, an odd expression crossing its face. Likely wondering who he was. The expression passed. Then a smell. The child began to screw its features and he knew what was coming next. He put a finger to the child and merely whispered “Hush.”

The child stopped. Whether surprised by the motion or shocked by the magic, he couldn’t be sure. It moved to make noise again, but this time, no sound came. It paused, that look of wonder crossing its face once more. It tried again. Nothing.

“You sure don’t learn quickly do you.” He mused to it. The child kept trying, clearly not understanding. Meanwhile, the smell remained unpleasant.

It was clearly coming from the child, but he wasn’t sure how it was produced. He lifted it, sniffing, then found the source. It had relieved itself.

“Oh. So I guess you have to learn that too.” He said to the child, who was still trying to produce sound, looking increasingly red faced. “Oh stop.”

The child looked at him and ceased, clearly recognizing his losing cause at last.

“Now how do we stop this stench.” he wondered aloud, as if the child could answer. If he was going to watch this thing, he sure wasn’t going to deal with the smell of it.

He pulled at the fabric on the child, struggling to find where it connected, until he identified the clasps at the bottom. He undid them, and another pile of cloth emerged, sagging under great weight.

“And here’s the culprit.” he muttered, the stench stronger.

He unfastened the additional cloth.

It fell to his feet, a splattering noise meeting his shoes.

“Disgusting.” he remarked. He liked these shoes too. Stepping out of the mess, he moved the child to the table at the other wall, laying it on the flat surface. His eye drifted down and he noticed something move.

“Ah, so you’re a male.” He said. A tepid stream of fluid met him in response, hitting his chest.

“I’m liking you less and less.” He remarked to the babe as it smiled up at the God, entirely unawares. A simple wave of his hand corrected things. Mostly, Loki was happy to be clean again.

“And what do I do next exactly?” he asked the child, as it wriggled on the table, still exposed to the world. Another cloth was the answer, but he wasn’t sure where to find one. He supposed he could leave it like that.

A bit of movement caught the corner of his eye and he transformed back to his serpent form. He turned to meet it, only to find it wasn’t what he expected. Not a human at all. Just a bit of fabric by the window, jostled by the wind.

He transformed back. Fabric.

“It’ll do.” he said with a shrug, tearing it down. It was long, but he could cut it. The child’s warmth was important after all.

He made quick work of tearing the fabric into a smaller piece, tying it around the child’s waist. No fasteners in sight, he’d merely tied a few knots. Surely it would stay.

He worked the child’s clothing fasteners over the makeshift cloth and placed it back in the crib. It smiled at him groggily, clearly ready to doze back to sleep.

He removed the spell so the child could cry again if it needed. He’d done more than enough here. It was the parents’ turn.

“I’ll be back if you call,” he said to the babe, who had already drifted back to sleep. “If you remember.”

He sauntered to the door and gave the room a final glance, dirty cloth still on the floor, evidence of the torn fabric still across the table. Again, not his job. Let the humans deal with it. He did notice one small thing that would not do. He snapped his fingers and it adjusted. He chuckled, crawling through the window and not bothering with his serpentine form. He’d done what he needed, Asgard was waiting.

---

In his twenty years on the force, the officer had never had a more obscure call. He wasn’t sure how he was even going to write his report.

“Hysterical” was all he’d gotten out of the 911 operator that had taken it. When he asked if she meant funny or crazy, the woman had said “Both.”

The mother had looked pleasant, the house normal. The husband was a cross between annoyed and confounded. They’d checked in on their baby, a 3 month old, Daniel. The child had not woken in the night and the mother had worried. She’d found the nursery in disarray. A dirty, soiled cloth diaper in the middle of the room. The linen blue curtains cut up on the changing table, a portion wrapped around the baby’s bottom. That wasn’t the source of the call though. The mother was insisting someone had changed her child. Not stolen. Not replaced. CHANGED.

“It’s him but it’s not.” The mother had repeated, frantic. He’d asked what she meant multiple times before the father stepped in. “We have a son, not a daughter.”

He’d looked at the room again. The walls, the bedspread, the rug, all a bubblegum pink. The father unhooked the makeshift diaper, showing that little Daniel was Danielle. But the records the family produced -- birth certificate, photos, even the finger prints, matched the little girl.

To be honest, he wasn’t even sure he would write it up. He could picture the guys at the precinct laughing at the report. The “Case of the Missing Penis.” And what could he do anyway? There was simply no explanation. He got in the squad car and drove, wondering if it was too early for a bit of whiskey in his coffee when he got in.

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httplovecraft1890 · 6 years

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Tabula Rasa

A drabble that came to me earlier this week about a premise I’m not sure I’ve actually seen done yet in the LoveSick/Yandere Simulator fan fic writing community. You can consider its premise a slight AU given what we’ve seen thus far about the game’s back story or alternatively a prequel to pacifist!Ayano or good!Ayano play throughs. Happy (early) Father’s Day. You can continue reading here or go to this story’s AO3 page.

Mr. Aishi doesn't have an official name in canon yet, but I decided to go with Junichi as, based on an entry on BehindtheName.com, it's a combination of the characters for 'obey/submit,' 'pure,' and 'one.’

“…I tried, please believe me. I’m doing the best that I can. I’m ashamed of the things I’ve been put through, I’m ashamed of the person I am.” - Joy Division, “Isolation” (1980)

The house feels surprisingly still for the middle of the day.

It’s not a feeling that Junichi Aishi – no, he has to remind himself, when she isn’t home he’s Junichi Fukunaga once more – is used to. Every moment of every day and in every second of every minute in each hour, there is a pair of eyes on him. It’s a kind of tension that would be hard to describe if he could ever find the courage within him to tell his story to someone, anyone, who might listen. He thinks it might be the same sort of pregnant pause that soldiers must feel when they know that an enemy awaits them on the battlefield but no shooting has begun yet. The only difference between those men and himself is that despite the horrific cost they will face there is always an end for them though whether in death’s embrace or the shell-shocked aftermath of victory it doesn’t matter. For Junichi there are only brief moments he can claim are truly his own and it’s been that way ever since he moved in with her.

‘Trapped,’ he corrects himself bitterly. ‘No need to let the Stockholm syndrome slip in that much.’

Today is one of those days. She had gone out to shop at the open air market in Buraza to fetch them pork cutlets for dinner tonight, among other things, about an hour ago now and he will have to work quickly if he’s to succeed in his plan. He tries not to think of the empty smile that ghosted her face as she told him she’d be back as soon as she could, normally hollow eyes lighting up to give the impression of human affection, but unable to mimic it if one were paying enough attention. She’s grown more trusting of him now since the birth of the monster. Perhaps she thinks that by having something that is theirs he won’t dare try what he’s been planning ever since they returned home from the hospital.

She needs to be wrong just once.

The monster’s room isn’t far away from theirs; it’s right across the hall, in fact. His fingers steady themselves on the smooth surface of the sliding door as Junichi closes his eyes. What he is about to do is only right and if there was anyone to watch he’s sure that no one would blame him. All he’s been through at her tender mercies… it’s not a fate he would wish on his worst enemy. She will cry, approximating real tears, but he knows that she’ll never make the connection between the monster’s slaying and his whereabouts today. Try as she might he’ll find ways to prevent her from delivering any more hell spawn into the world. Perhaps Junichi will try to set up an appointment for a vasectomy in the future. He’ll have to be careful of course. Baby fever is real, he knows, and sure to be at a pitch when it’s compounded by grief.

He draws back the door and steps into the room. It’s surprisingly pleasant, if he does say so himself. Junichi had even told her that it was his responsibility as the male half of an expecting couple to take the initiative to prepare it. She had deferred to him as usual as he’d picked out the wallpaper covered in swirling pastels, the milky white chairs and changing station, and even the handsome oak crib in the center whose polished handles gleamed just so when the sunlight streamed in. It was downright picturesque. If circumstances were different, Junichi might have even been proud of himself for setting it all up.

Junichi pushes himself forward. His window of opportunity gets smaller and smaller with each passing second he knows and he can’t afford to back out now. Nor can he think much about the implications of his decision either as any self-reflection would surely stop him in his tracks. He has no illusions that what he is going to do is fundamentally wrong. The monster’s nature hasn’t surfaced yet but it will in time. The shell it bears is no excuse for all the misery it can unleash if he doesn’t nip it in the bud now when he has the chance. Yet none of that reassurance seems to matter as he steps through the threshold and into its lair. His heart which had moments ago been as steady and calm as he could manage is doing overtime as he feels adrenaline begin to course through his veins.

Making his way to the would-be bed he sees it there lying in wait for him, totally unaware and prone. If he were to allow sentimentality to creep into this he might even go so far as to say that his intended victim is cute. Sitting there in a pink jinbei, the monster’s chest slowly rises and falls, head resting gently against a sizable plush tanuki which his parents had dropped off the last time they’d visited during Golden Week. He tries not to pay attention to its rosy, chubby cheeks or a nose that reminds him oh so much of photos he’d seen of his grandmother. There can be no attachment between them; not now, not ever. But more than that Junichi tries to avoid its dark gray hair, thin as it is on its tiny head, and lips that even in sleep have formed a distinctive pout. If nothing else it steels his resolve to see this through to the end. Those things are hers, not his.

He can remember the day she was conceived as clearly as what he’d had for lunch the other day at the Saikou corporate headquarters. It had been a Saturday when he’d been awoken by a pair of needy hands and met with a ravenous gaze on opening his eyes. She did this at times, sometimes with his permission, and sometimes without. On her better days she would ask him what he wanted to do in their bedroom, even letting him decline her advances if she felt magnanimous enough on rare occasions and Junichi hates how good she feels to be inside of and how wonderful her tongue manages to be against his most sensitive areas. Other days there is no choice in the matter. She would pin him to the mattress and suddenly he would be a scared high school student tied to an ancient creaking chair in the basement (a place he can’t go to now without breaking into a cold sweat), eyes shrunk to pinpricks and his breathing haggard as she straddled him, planting sloppy kisses all over him, over and over and over, “Tell me you love me, darling…”, “I don’t even know who you–”

The audible cracking of his knuckles brings him out of his stupor and Junichi releases a grip on the crib’s railing he didn’t even know he’d had.

He slowly reaches for one of the unused pillows by the creature’s head, removing it with all the skill of an experienced Jenga player. Junichi barely trusts himself enough to breathe at this point for fear of waking his target. It’s a quiet thing – on its best days he can even forget that it sits in this place at all until she asks him to check on it. Aside from the occasional murmur of discomfort to signal it needs a diaper change or to be fed Junichi might even go so far as to say it’s a baby that most parents could only dream of having. All of the supposed long nights that plague young couples haven’t hit him yet and he expects they never will. But he knows that it’s all an act, a ruse meant to fool him and the world from its instinctual nature. He knows firsthand what it will be like when its kind grows up. He doesn’t know how big her family is. Junichi doesn’t even know if she has siblings, but it doesn’t matter. Even if his act of rebellion will be known only to him and him alone, he at least fought against the fate he’s long since acquiesced to with a whimper every night when she wraps her arms around his midsection like a vice as they fall asleep.

Junichi weighs the small object in his hands for a moment, feeling its cottony softness. He’ll be as gentle as he can with it as he pushes it down onto its face; he knows it won’t cry. ‘Sudden infant death syndrome, I’m afraid,’ says the imaginary doctor in his mind. ‘We don’t know the reasons for why they go. Sometimes… accidents like this just happen.’ Oh, he’ll weep alongside her then for appearances, but it’ll all be a show. She brought it into this world. Junichi’s practically doing the world a favor by ridding it of the vermin before him. But as he looks quickly away from the murder weapon and back to his target he realizes his mistake. He should’ve been quicker to do the deed.

Its eyes have begun to flutter and for a moment Junichi forgets his plan, wanting more than anything to slam the object in his hands into its face and push down as hard as he can. He’s so close and there’s no guarantee he’ll get an opportunity like this for a long, long time and by that point an excuse might not be so easy. The opportunity literally lying in front of him is slipping out of his grasp. His hands hover in place over the monster’s head as he lowers the offending object. ‘Don’t look,’ he thinks as he tries to steady nerves which have begun to light themselves in panic over this latest setback. ‘If you do that, you’ll never be able to go through with it. You’re no murderer. You’re not her.’

This is it.

Do or die.

He can’t feel guilty for destroying something whose only purpose is to perpetuate a cycle of abuse that is decades, if not centuries, old. What he’s doing is only right. Karma be damned, if he has to return in penance as some lower lifeform, he will. What Junichi is about to do is nothing but a mercy to the unsuspecting men beyond this house’s walls. The blood shared between them is as meaningless as the so-called marriage he’s been forced into. Junichi is totally and utterly alone in this hell. If she will never let him go then this might very well be the last act of defiance he can muster and, by all the gods in heaven, he will have it.

If Junichi were a more observant man, however, he might have been able to avoid many things.

He might have avoided her or at least able to incriminate her with something if he’d paid more attention to the girls who had slowly left or disappeared from Akademi one by one after they seemed to show some interest in him. He might have avoided her wolf in sheep’s clothing act about being too frightened to walk home with a murderer on the loose. Junichi might have avoided the chloroform rag that she’d brought along to use once they were navigating through one of Buraza’s alleyways. If he’d pulled out a little sooner he might not even have to destroy his innocence like he is attempting to at this very moment.

But most importantly, Junichi might have avoided taking a minute too long to do the deed.

His breath hitches in his throat as he meets the gaze of a pair of slate gray eyes staring up at him from the crib solemnly. No. No. This can’t be happening. It isn’t fair. All this time, trying to steel his nerves just right to do what he’s had to build himself up to for months ever since he found out she was pregnant… it’s slipped away from him. The pillow falls from his hands and bounces onto the soft bedding of the crib with a quiet plop. He can’t do this. Not now, not after making eye contact with it. A foolish part of Junichi doesn’t want the last thing for it to see being a father who doesn’t want it but instead whatever pleasant dreams are dancing through its head. It’s why he hasn’t downed an entire bottle’s worth of sleeping pills yet himself.

There’s nothing that fills him with warmth left in him.

He collapses to his knees, his hands sliding down the bars of its cage. Junichi wants so many things in this moment. He wants to scream, cry, run away and never look back from this place (as pointless as he knows that endeavor to be), to be the man in the photographs that litter his prison whose smile is genuine and not part of a carefully constructed mask, perhaps even more so than hers is, and to feel some sort of remorse for having contemplated for so long taking a child’s life. Instead Junichi feels the same deadened feeling he has felt ever since he came to live here sink in once more.

Seconds turn into what Junichi is sure are minutes as he sits there, kneeling before his former target, shaking the bars of the crib as if he were the infant instead. It was foolish to think that he could ever hope to take control of his situation. She was right: there was nothing left for him outside and certainly no reason to do anything other than follow her whims. All he had to do was give up, to stop hoping that there would be a light at the end of the tunnel, and he would be free at last. Junichi had heard her casually mention before in passing that her father had been a man whose mind had never recovered whatever trauma it’d suffered when her mother had broken him. He is both empathetic and envious at the same time towards a complete stranger.

Lost in his own despair, Junichi almost doesn’t notice the touch suddenly present against his left hand until he stops shuddering. But when at last he feels he’s cried as many tears as he’s able he finally turns towards the source of the sensation that has been resting against him. He’s tried to psyche himself up today for a litany of fake emotions: shock, grief, even anger, but surprise is not one of them and more so when that the feeling is genuine. In the time he has taken to wallow in his own self-pity his target has taken upon itself the duty of moving one of its small hands out to him, tiny fingers splayed against him as if it can somehow bless him and free him of his would-be sin, its expression unwavering in how calm it is.

It takes all of Junichi’s willpower to meet its – her – eyes and he finds that as soon as he does he wants to look away in shame. She had done nothing to him; none of this had been her fault. In a war against someone who seemed remorseless to the depths in which she’d sink to keep her happiness, he’d sunk down too. Bile begins to rise in the back of Junichi’s throat as he tries desperately to mentally bargain with his daughter for forgiveness.

Daughter.

It’s the first time he’s ever ascribed that term to her. Oh, the hospital had told him that’s what she was, her mother told him that with a gleeful expression every single morning, but it was something he’d avoided altogether. It had been a foul word, a curse that was so awful he felt it shouldn’t pass from his lips. But now it seemed appropriate to him. In her own way, she was just as much a victim of circumstance as Junichi was.

Picking himself up Junichi stares down at her. Features that had once seemed so alien, cruel that he could barely stomach them, no longer inspire that same sense of revulsion that they once had. Hesitating a moment, he reaches his arms down to pick up the girl, resting her head against the crook of his arm as he’d seen his aunt and uncle do countless times to his cousins when he was younger, her small body tucked close to his chest as he practically collapses onto the wicker chair next to her bed.

‘Do all things begin in innocence?’

It’s a question that floats to the surface of his mind without much prompting. It’s hard to imagine at one point that she could be anything but the monster he knows her to be. But there must have been a time when even she was in his daughter’s place, defenseless and vulnerable, a tabula rasa waiting to be etched onto by the world’s sculptors. His thoughts travel briefly to her father, a living corpse of a man who saw, heard, tasted, smelled, and felt the world but at the same time couldn’t. Junichi didn’t blame him for retreating into himself. In its own way such a thing must have been like achieving nirvana. Yet had he fought as much as her mother…

It was a dangerous line of thinking, Junichi knew. “Coulda, shoulda, woulda” was the eternal refrain of mankind. He was operating on a theory, perhaps even less than that, and it was something that he had no proof of. Perhaps this whole line of thinking was a sham and nature dictated everything. For her part, his daughter offers no support and no criticism to his reasoning. In the entire time since her departure from her little world, she has been totally silent, as per usual. Absently tugging on the neck of his white polo with his free hand, a nervous habit, a new plan begins to form, a desire for revenge borne out of anger at his failure and to atone for what he’s tried to do.

“Your…” he has to steady himself to even the utter word, “…mommy isn’t the only one here for you. I am too.”

Tears begin to well in the corner of his eyes and he has to fight the urge to give the little girl an impromptu bath.

“I know I haven’t… haven’t been the best daddy, but I can change.”

An understatement. She’ll never know just how lucky she was in avoiding what she did. Nor will she ever. It’s a secret he intends to take with him to his grave.

“I don’t know if you can, but I’ll try to help you change too. We can be good together.”

Images of his little girl over the years flash before him. Her first day of school, a broken arm from climbing a tree, sitting with other children at lunch, and, though he has to fight his way past his own desire to break into a panic, sitting across from someone and admiring them from afar. If she can’t understand what it means to be kind, then he will teach her, help her, so that she understands that she doesn’t have to be a monster.

“I…”

It’s not a burden he’s asked for but one he will undertake for everyone’s sake. Leaning forward, Junichi places his lips as gently as he can to her forehead in a kiss.

“I love you, Ayano.”

She will be her father’s daughter.

He’ll make sure of it.

#yandere simulator #yansim #ayano aishi #yandere-chan #mr. aishi #ryoba aishi #attempted infanticide #fan fic #drabble #dark #father's day #ptsd #lovesick

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atlff18 · 6 years

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TULLY

This is multi Oscar nominated director Jason Reitman’s seventh feature film, Thank You For Smoking (2005), Juno (2007), Up In The Air (2009), being just some of them. It’s also his second film starring Oscar winner Charlize Theron (Young Adult (2011)) and his third time collaborating with screenwriter Diablo Cody who won an Oscar for her Juno screenplay.

The Story: Marlo, played by Theron, is a mother of two and has a third one on the way. Her husband Drew played by Ron Livingston (Swingers (1996), Office Space (1999)) is a busy guy at work but he helps out at home as best he can. It’s still a lot of exertion on the very pregnant Marlo—helping her six-year-old son Jonah whose autistic-leaning OCD is considered “quirky” by other adults, or trying to provide a normal school-mom situation for eight-year-old daughter Sarah—which prompts her very wealthy brother Craig, played by Mark Duplass (Zero Dark Thirty (2012), The League (2009)), to suggest a “night nanny,” someone who magically appears in the middle of the night to help with the newborn while mom and dad get some sleep.

Against her initial wishes and general feelings about having a stranger in the house, Marlo consents and Tully, the nanny, played by Machenzie Davis (The Martian (2015), TV’s Halt and Catch Fire (2014), Blade Runner 2049 (2017)) shows up bright eyed, young, and literary smart—in which she’s always quoting an author’s work as it pertains to life and, in particular, Marlo’s situation.

In general Tully’s whole vibe could be described as “granola,” a term Marlo might have used in her 20’s. Tully has a funny way of dropping in, to me, kind of like Robin Williams, as Mork (but on valium), popping in at the start of all those episodes of Mork and Mindy (1978). Maybe quirky is the better description for Tully, instead of for Jonah. All goes well with Tully, and Marlo seems to get her life back on track even though she knows this warm, calm, appealing patch in her life might end.

The Goods: The pregnancy and subsequent birth are almost everyday occurrences to Marlo and Drew, this being their third child; they display none of the usual nervousness, euphoria and joy that overcomes first time parents, mostly because they’re dead tired and probably more than we realize dreading what’s to come. Reitman does a good job of giving us their routine, and their Lego floor-covered house, while Marlo expresses very profane but excusable emotional outburst moments. Understandable for someone who might be past her due-date.

The first part of the film, probably the first fifteen minutes is almost documentary-like in the camera’s attempt to stay on Marlo and record her day. Something that is Reitman’s forte. Reitman himself says people can quickly spot “BS” and his job as a director is to provide the truth of the character, story and location which he seems to always do quite well. In that regard, once you add in the real-life comedic tones and the relationship themes, the situational and sometimes episodic nature of humanity, while still appealing to as economically wide an audience as possible, Reitman comes off looking more like the James L. Brooks (Broadcast News (1987), As Good As It Gets (1997), Terms of Endearment (1983)) of our generation.

Whereas Up In The Air is quite cold figuratively and literally, and the colors of blue and grey are so pervasive—in tone and hue—it matches the film’s characters and their dilemmas. Tully is the opposite, the palate is inviting, almost grounded, slightly cheery, earthy…it’s comfortable, yet the central character still has troubles. Troubles that seem to be set to an ironic color scheme, providing the film with quite a palpable subliminalness that makes you feel like things aren’t quite right. And they aren’t if you consider how perfect and idyllic events eventually build for Marlo. A recurring blue water, mermaid motif helps drive the point home that mom often feels “under water.” And that things are sort of brewing under the surface.

The Flaws: But the upbeat tenor to the film, that things have really changed for the best for Marlo, after Tully’s arrival, goes on for a long time. Usually something traumatic happens when goodness is at this magnitude. It’s part of the DNA of storytelling, that an event occurs that causes a shift. You just know that something is going to happen. And in most films it does, especially at a certain script point, in exact page count, on page fifteen or twenty, for a ninety minute film…ninety pages, ninety minutes. This film is right on the money in terms of beats and turns. I would check my watch every time I felt like we were taking a turn or hitting a plot point and it was pretty much right on—just about every fifteen minutes. The Cinderella story pattern of a staircase that continues to climb toward a crescendo. But while the film does have this fantastic timing in terms of plot development its pattern is more of an incline. A straight ride up with no downs, no insteps.

Tully’s biggest flaw, then, in my opinion is that that conflict laden moment, that huge turn for the worse, or major turn in direction—and conflict in general after Tully arrives—takes a very, very long time to land. We’ve been conditioned if you will to look for this, from all the films we see. And without it some might find Tully difficult to watch—difficult in the sense it’s all too good to be true, too sugary. I think Ridley Scott had this same dilemma in The Martian where there was no real doubt or fear for the audience that the character couldn’t overcome any obstacle. But at least he had obstacles.

That “conflict delay” in Tully, especially in the films longest act, makes for a distraction that does, very gently, remove you from the film. Even though, for me, Tully has a better delivery all around than The Martian, you still can’t help but wonder when will all of this positivity come crashing down. When will the drama appear. At the same time however, isn’t this how depression exists? Long periods of denial, camouflaged as a good time; masked by ecstatic moments? It’s probably not a coincidence then that I mentioned Robin Williams. May he rest in peace.

Too, I did see these defined breaks in Tully as episodes. And I thought for a moment, as a Hollywood film with a theatrical release, this is how you combat episodic binge viewable shows on streaming channels. A really good thing for theatrical releases, or, for tying into audiences’ stream awareness these days. You incorporate the episodes into the film. And every “episode” in Tully seems to come with a zinger of a comedic punchline. These are Cody’s strongest one liners to date. And the script is so tight it can be held up as a model of efficiency.

But there needs to be more conflict as we head to that climactic moment.

The Call: Without a doubt Tully is a film to see in theaters. Spend the ten. It’s comedic, it’s dramatic, and it nails pregnancy and postpartum depression better than any educational video, movie or book I’ve seen or read. Diablo went to Reitman with the idea, he said it sounded good and she wrote the script in six weeks. She says she wrote from her own experience which is Cody’s gift. And Reitman says he, Charlize and Diablo being of the same age and sort of in the same boat of family and parenthood could work well with the script, as they did in Young Adult. In this regard Cody, and Theron, are able to provide for us the subtle and strikingly direct experience of pregnancy and child care like few others. And Reitman, Cody and Theron put this tender experience on a coaster, on a night stand, under a warm lamp, at bed time, as a night time story and glass of water…a glass half empty, then brimming, before we eventually quench our thirst.

Tully is probably Reitman’s most poetic film to date—once you see how everything pans out, that warm, orange glow versus the extreme cool, blue undercurrent—you’ll realize just how strategic and well thought-out the whole darn thing is.

Rated R for language and some sexuality/nudity. Running time is 1 hour and 36 minutes. Tully is currently making the festival rounds and will be released in theaters May 4, 2018. Jason Reitman made an appearance in Atlanta where Tully was screened as part of the Atlanta Film Festival.

By Jon Lamoreaux

#atlff #atlff2018 #atlanta #CharlizeTheron #film #Oscars #mark duplass #ron livingston #mackenzie davis #dramedy #poetry #postpartum #diablo cody

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brandbaskets · 6 years

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New Post has been published on https://brandbaskets.in/the-new-idea-for-those-striving-to-find-a-middle-path-between-fomo-and-jomo-technology-news-ettech/

The new idea for those striving to find a middle path between FOMO and JOMO, Technology News, ETtech

Nikhil Jois was always online. The 28-year-old, who joined almost every social network, believed that “your network is your net worth”.

“In my vanity, I thought that everyone wanted to know where I had that masala dosa. I was craving for validation. I wouldn’t just post something, I would wait to see who likes it, who laughs at my jokes and who is jealous of me,” says the Bengaluru-based tech entrepreneur.

It soon became a vicious loop that he couldn’t escape. He had a fair idea of what addiction meant, and social media had begun to feel like one.

“I put on weight, got unusually stressed and unnecessarily angry. I wasn’t looking good or feeling good.” He tried turning off his mobile notifications and uninstalling some of the apps but eventually ended up logging on to them from his desktop. “It was like I was trying to sneak past myself.”

Then, in April 2017, Jois asked his brother to change all his social media passwords and not disclose them to him. “That really worked wonders for my health and productivity,” he says.

It’s been a year since and he claims he is no longer a social-media addict. “I sleep better. I feel healthier. I have regained two hours of reading time a day.” The web browser app on his cellphone has been replaced with Kindle just so he reads more long-form writing than bite-sized content. “I still get FOMO once in a while, though,” he says.

FOMO, or the fear of missing out, is a two-decade-old phenomenon acronymised by a Harvard MBA, Patrick J McGinnis, in 2002, and bandied about by every third digital literate since 2014. FOMO is a feeling that if one is not online, one might miss out on what others are experiencing, learning or talking about.

People suffering from FOMO are tethered to their digital devices and are often found rigorously posting their life updates, and liking and commenting on other people’s posts. Some of them passively scroll through social timelines to see what everyone’s up to.

Jois curbs FOMO by meeting people in person instead of going down the online rabbit hole. He’s moving towards JOMO, he believes. JOMO, or the joy of missing out, is a relatively positive belief that cutting off all social media and digital devices can be blissful. It was reportedly coined in 2012 by the American blogger and tech entrepreneur Anil Dash who briefly switched off his devices and went offline after the birth of his son.

FOMO and JOMO are the two ends of a spectrum that includes other social media-borne emotions like FOJI (fear of joining in), MOMO (mystery of missing out), SLOMO (slow to missing out). To Karthik Srinivasan, a communications and digital marketing consultant, JOMO is more a glamourisation of privilege. It’s meant for people who can afford to miss out on opportunities and leads that social media has on offer.

“FOMO and JOMO are two extremes. One is harmful, the other unrealistic for most users. Nobody is talking about a balance between the two, the middle path,” he says.

ET Magazine has decided to call the middle path NEMO, which means Nearly but not fully Missing Out.

Jois is an ideal example of NEMO now. He is away from most online networks but hasn’t turned into a social media recluse. He occasionally logs into Facebook to run an ad for his digital agency. He follows a select set of people on Twitter to get a lowdown on what’s happening in the world.

Palak Kapadia, 22, is another young NEMO-ite. The Mumbai-based writer envied people who seemed to have a better life on Instagram until she became what she resented. In September 2017, she got an offer to teach English in a high school in Nantes in western France. It was a seven-month term that gave her a chance to visit 14 countries in Europe over the weekends. “Now I was showing off how great my life was.”

Travelling also made her introspect. “It was exhausting to stay updated and keep posting everything all the time,” she recalls. During a trip to Italy, she chanced upon a quote that said: “Would you continue to do what you’re doing if you knew nobody was watching?” She recalls: “I realised my fear of missing out on other people’s lives was actually making me miss out on my own.”

Earlier she would post 10 Instagram Stories a day. “Now, I barely do one in a couple of days.” Completely disconnecting from social media was not an option for her as she likes to know what her friends and extended family are up to.

Pankaj Malani, head of content at tech startup Dailyhunt, is a NEMO cadet, too. He quit Facebook four months ago because he couldn’t keep up with the stream of “fake happiness”. “People were getting married, having kids, going on vacations; it’s as if their lives were perfect when in reality I knew it was far from it.”

However, social media has also proved to be a great tool for him at work. “Every time I need a voice-over guy, a small-time actor, a translator, I just tweet it out and find someone within minutes.”

A lot of people depend on social platforms professionally, says Amrita Clements, a Mumbai-based clinical psychologist and marriage and family therapist. A majority of them also try to perfect their image on social media. “Social media has proved to be an amazing tool to connect the older generation but has made the younger generation in big cities even lonelier.” 80% of her patients recognise its role in changing their behaviour and causing them anxiety and depression.

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Instead of asking them to clamp down on a behaviour, she puts them on the path of NEMO. “I tell them to create boundaries: avoid logging in when they are in a bad mood because it may end up making it worse.”

She encourages them to work on real relationships and focus on themselves. One-fifth of her patients who acknowledge social media’s role in increasing their anxiety are removing social network apps from their phones. Detachment from all platforms à la JOMO is still not advisable. “Social media has also helped normalise mental health issues. It’s hard to cut off something that can be so positive at times,” she says.

The middle path propagated by NEMO is finding takers around the world. According to Socialreport.com’s March 2018 report, around 400 million Facebook users are taking a social media detox on a monthly basis, as opposed to a blanket ban. Apps to help people track mobile usage or keep from distractions have come up.

In 2014, Kevin Holesh created an iOS app called Moment to check his device addiction. The app, at 5.3 million downloads right now, tracks your iPhone and iPad usage and sets daily usage limits so you don’t waste time on the gadgets. In-app purchases range from Rs 200 to Rs 2,000. 6% of its user base is from India. “It’s been a wild ride,” says the Pittsburgh-based UI-UX designer who has seen a 100% year-on-year growth in user base in the last four years.

He sees a huge boost in sales early January because of New Year resolutions. The concern around data privacy after the Facebook-Cambridge Analytica debacle was also good for business, he says.

While the future is certainly mobile-based, the highly productive times of many are often on desktop. In 2009, a North Carolina-based tech company called Freedom created an eponymous software that could be used across mobile phones and desktops to block distracting websites and apps as per the user’s wish. A tenth of its 750,000 users are from India, says Fred Stutzman, founder of Freedom.

Neither Stutzman nor Holesh is a proponent of JOMO. “It is unrealistic to expect people to go smartphone-free. Limiting yourself to two hours on the phone daily is a good place to start with,” says Holesh.

JOMO may have been called the next big trend, but it is actually NEMO that is turning out to be a potential global industry, with the emergence of a raft of phone-tracking and meditation apps that helps you have a balanced digital life.

Digital wellbeing is being turned into an experiential business too. A weekend of digital detox retreat at select tourist locations across the world ranges between $200 and $4,000.

In India, even the internet de-addiction centres in metros don’t talk about completely cutting off social media and digital devices. “Complete abstinence will be met by complete resistance. We have to reduce the dysfunctional part of one’s behaviour that leads to addiction,” says Dr Manoj Kumar Sharma, a clinical psychologist at NIMHANS, who was instrumental in setting up the Services for Healthy Use of Technology (SHUT) clinic under the aegis of the Bengaluru-based medical institution that deals with mental health and neurosciences.

It’s also fashionable to look at social media addiction as a thing in itself when addictive behaviour is actually a lot more complex, says Dr Alok Sarin, a Delhi-based psychiatrist.

“People with addiction are prone to dependency behaviour. This dependency can be on a variety of things, including gambling, gaming and technology in general. It’s difficult to say if the problem is with the behaviour or the platform,” he adds. Companies like Google and Samsung are doing their bit to ensure their platforms offer a balance between digital connectivity and digital wellbeing.

Earlier this year, Arianna Huffington, cofounder of Huffington Post, launched the beta version of a digital wellness app called Thrive in India through the Samsung Galaxy Store and the Google Play store. “We will be officially launching the app in India this summer,” says Danny Shea, head of global expansion at Thrive Global.

Last month, Sundar Pichai, CEO of Google, announced a host of features for its upcoming products under the digital wellbeing umbrella while addressing the audience at the tech giant’s annual I/O conference. Finding a balance between FOMO and JOMO was key to his speech as well. A balance that, ironically enough, even the makers of apps like Moment and Freedom are striving to achieve. Everyone is indeed on a quest towards finding their NEMO.

Acronyms of Social Media Age

FOMO (Fear of Missing Out)

It is the anxiety caused by the assumption that if you are not online, you might miss out on what others are experiencing, learning or talking about

FOJI (Fear of Joining In)

It is the worry that your social media friends may not like or comment on your posts and pictures so you are less likely to post updates and could out of platforms at once. FOJI is exhibited by people who delete their post if it hasn’t received too many reactions within an hour of posting

MOMO (Mystery of Missing Out)

When you notice that your friends haven’t posted in a while and you feel anxious that they are having too much fun without keeping you in the loop

FOMOMO (Fear of the Mystery of Missing Out)

The feeling that you are missing out due to a broken or out-of-battery phone

SLOMO (Slow to Missing Out)

When you sleep through the night unaware of your friend’s party, only to wake up to a timeline full of pictures and updates from the same

BROMO (Bros Protecting you from Missing Out)

When your friends don’t post pictures from a fun gig just so you don’t feel left out

JOMO (Joy of Missing Out)

The belief that cutting off from social media and digital devices can lead to happiness

NEMO (Nearly but not fully Missing Out)

The acronym coined by ET Magazine to describe the balance a lot of users are trying to strike between FOMO and JOMO. NEMO is when you have not fully cut off from your devices or social media. (Source: theguardian.com and other media reports)

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jonlamoreaux · 6 years

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TULLY

This is multi Oscar nominated director Jason Reitman’s seventh feature film—Thank You For Smoking (2005), Juno (2007), Up In The Air (2009), being just some of them. It’s also his second film starring Oscar winner Charlize Theron (Young Adult (2011)) and his third time collaborating with screenwriter Diablo Cody who won an Oscar for her Juno screenplay.

But there needs to be more conflict as we head to that climactic moment.

By Jon Lamoreaux

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focalwriterworks · 6 years

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TULLY

But there needs to be more conflict as we head to that climactic moment.

By Jon Lamoreaux

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