the cute sadist

the world will know me as vivi, the cephalophore'd demiurge [about your future kind tyrant]

[vivi-sionary]

instead of putting yucky stuff on main i decided to make a sideblog for it. i don't want to accidentally hurt mutuals/followers who are not following me for these kinds of posts, but i wanted to have a space to talk about things more casually without being afraid of hurting people lol

if you're 18+ and cool with a lot of bad things, follow @cephalophored-demiurge ^_^

[vivi-sionary]

when pearl started posting about our age of bronze is collapsing my stimulants were wearing off and i was running on 1 hour of sleep and it only occured to me this morning that it was about the odyssey movie and not, whatever it was i was thinking. like for a second i lived it

[fairy-type-pokemon]

assign prev one

vampire

siren

werewolf

unicorn

wizard

fairy

selkie

demon

jackalope

angel

ghost

elf

Remaining time: 3 days 20 hours

[tinfoilvalentine]

Utena will have the most beautiful scene ever and it’s immediately followed by a frame that looks like this

[theehorsepusssy]

[ot3]

shout-out to characters who let their childhood friend situationship dictate the course of their life to a degree that spits in the face of any and all reason. they're doing important work.

[brucespringsteencomments]

[vivi-sionary]

sir and ma'am

“... I don't think I asked after all this time. How are your parents?”

A sigh, “Dead.”

Yasmin looks up from her book, eyes almost bulging out of her head. Wherever she was hoping this conversation would go, she has swerved and crashed. In her bedroom with the burning incense and lit candles and her feet on Masami’s lap as she paints her nails, the twee atmosphere felt too out of place now.

“Oh. Shit. I'm sorry.” She chews on whether she wants to ask, “When?”

“A bit after I turned twenty. Hideo and I were working the fields, then he just… Fell and didn't get back up. Kaori passed a couple months after. They guessed it was a broken heart, but I don't think that's really a thing,” Otherwise she wouldn't be here either, “But it doesn't really matter how.”

A slow nod, “Were there funerals… ?”

“Sort of. Kaori wanted the flowers to be from her garden, I…” Looking at her hands, she can still feel the thorns prickling at her skin, “Made the wreaths and all. So it became their funeral, but Hideo didn't get one when he went first.”

Yasmin chuckles, “He didn't want you to waste money on him, did he?”

And Masami laughs, “He said that! He really said that!”

The smell of coffee was the one thing that took Hideo away from his work trance. Instead of his wife, in the kitchen stood the ghost that wandered into their peripheral vision from time to time.

“Sir.” Masami spoke like it was foreign to her, mumbling and hoarse. She held her mother’s mug, warm with hot, black coffee, no sugar, with both hands.

Her father brushed some sawdust off his sleeve, “Your mother?”

“Ferreira’s place. Yelled for you.”

“Ah,” He scratched the nape of his neck bashfully, “Hearing’s getting worse, huh. Shame, getting old.” There’s a laugh like an engine that won’t start when he pours himself a cup, hot, black, no sugar, always burning his lip on the cup’s tin.

It’s still got the same beaten up look, a child’s first attempts at metalworking. Yasmin’s parents insisted they fix it, but he drank happily from the lopsided gift. When she disappeared, he offered it back, something from their Yago to keep, but they insisted he keep it. Yasmin might as well have been Hideo and Kaori’s child too — more their child than Masami was.

They sat silently, drinking together. The meals they shared made them feel more like family, whatever it's supposed to be, than they've actually been; Masami as present as the butter dish, only half listening and speaking only when spoken to. So she was, “Come,” There's the clink of tin against the sink, Hideo licked bitterness out of his bushy moustache while weathered, bony hands beckoned as he led. Masami left her mug and followed, a bit of coffee still left.

The workshop was as familiar as ever, all the same except for whatever current project and the ever-increasing pile of wood scrap there was, the heap they both swore to Kaori could be useful to an illusive later. It all went to flames after their passing in a drunken rage and a wish to choke on it all. Masami blinked slowly, trying to make sure of what she was seeing on the workbench. Two coffins.

“Remember that cherrywood tree I had you cut a while ago?” He gets a hesitant nod and continues, “Kaori and I had our first kiss there, we did. I wanted to take it with us when we croak.”

Masami shifted her weight uncomfortably, trying to figure out how she was supposed to feel when her parents who are acquaintances and yet her parents will die. She clicked her tongue against a dry mouth, “... You're both in your sixties… at least a couple of decades left…”

Hideo huffed, “Not when you work this hard. Even so,” He shrugs, calloused knuckles running through the beautiful ring patterns of an old tree’s wood, not looking in her direction, “It only occurs to you when it happens, that you have no idea what to bury your folks in. Just wanted to give you an easier time. It's cheaper, too.”

Thoughtful, in the dreadful way his thoughtfulness always was. Masami leaned against the workbench with him, their hands feeling the empty insides wherein her father would be housed a year later. He had learned after many years that her lack of thanks didn't mean ingratitude, but they had taught her better than that — tried to, anyways, one of their many failures with her.

Hideo sighed. “Son,” he spoke wearily, looking at his daughter, “Were we bad parents? Could this’ve been helped?”

Masami stood there, that expression of hers unreadable as always, “What could've?”

“This,” He gestured at the space between them, “And your… problems.” Whatever they were. No one was ever sure.

She looked at her father's hands, how they felt so big over her own when she was little and still learning the trade, how he taught her to bandage her own fingers when they inevitably bled instead of doing it for her. She looked at the slowly darkening sky outside the workshop and remembered the nights where her mother kneeled to the side of the bed and pleaded in whispers to any god that would listen to make her son happy. Masami, feigning sleep, was probably the only being who could have heard her. She blinked slowly, “You did all you could. It couldn't be helped.”

Her laughter fades along with the smile, a stretch of silence as she stares at nothing for a while. She dips the brush into the polish again, “... He was cautious like that.”

Yasmin looks at her with that look, where she knows something that Masami doesn't, the one that makes her feel dumb for only knowing that she doesn't know. Her brow furrows, “... Do you want to know about your-”

“Sorry I'm busy,” She puts her face back into her book, “Tryna not be a bummer.”

Masami nods, understanding. She looks down to continue her work, looks down at his calloused hands. The thing slowly sinking in her chest goes deeper. It can't be helped.

[vivi-sionary]

a talk on the way back

There’s that squeaking of lungs drowning dry. Yasmin turns to its source, those dark eyes always storm chasing, borrowing grief from places far from now.

“Masami,” Yasmin clicks her tongue.

“I’m good.” She answers, nauseous. The thumb outfitted with a gauntlet caresses leather back and forth in that tender line of the palm, self-soothing.

“Come on now.” That only ever works on her when they both don’t want to talk about it. Walking side by side through the empty paths back home, she puts the weaved bag on her shoulder, carrying a new batch of colorful wool to crochet into her hair, “Was it the crowd?”

“It’s nothing.”

So Yasmin stops, feet planted on the cobblestone walkway, “No secrets, we promised.” An agreement made halfheartedly, kept by neither except for these bargaining moments — unspoken words wouldn’t fill the distance between them otherwise.

An irritated twitch of the brow replies first, of someone who never gets an answer when she plays that same card, the spark that’s there snuffed out when the words come out of her mouth, “It’s your mom’s birthday today.”

Leaves rustle gently in the silence that follows. Regret making both their faces twist in a twinge of pain, Masami opens her mouth to add something then gives up, “Nevermind. Sorry. Let’s just go.”

“No. Say it.”

She shrinks in her armor, “You’re already-”

“I’m not mad.” Spoken with annoyance in her voice, “Stop assuming I’m gonna make everything an argument. I don’t treat you like a kid anymore,” She believes it, even if it’s not true, “Isn’t that fucking mean, treating me like I’m volatile? We’re just talking.”

Masami’s face burns up, caught red-handed still dragging the corpse of the Yaya who left her, “... Sorry.” Going to her side instead of face-to-face, the plate thumps against a tree as she puts her back against it. Yasmin follows suit, moving her locs to the side so the hinges of Masami’s sharp arm don’t catch them. They watch how the dappled sunlight falls upon each other for a moment, “Doesn’t it eat up at you?”

“Leaving?” She mumbles, and Masami nods in response. There’s a beat, “Sometimes. But then it’s, like,” Wrist twirling as she shrugs, “It… It happened. It’s been a while. I can’t go back. So why beat myself up about it?”

Masami’s lip scowls up at the ground, neither looking at each other, “They’re your parents. They were good parents, too. You didn’t even say goodbye?”

In the kitchen, eating dad’s orange cake for the last time, they ask her if she and Shishi had a fight for her to be looking so sad. The fight wouldn’t happen until eight hours later, but she cried anyway, and they held her. She licked her lips between sobs and the sugar was hard to swallow.

“What was I supposed to say, ‘Mama, Daddy, I’m a woman and I’m going to kill myself if I don’t get out of here’? ‘Sorry you tried so hard to raise a good boy to take care of you for nothing and also please don’t get mad’?” She hugs herself, watching Masami shift her weight uncomfortably, “... It was better to just go than to fuck up my relationship with them.”

“You weren’t there.” A hiss. Was this how you went about me too? Just tried to lick your wounds until you couldn’t ignore me standing there? All things she doesn’t say, yet doubles down on, “You didn’t see them, your daddy in the woods with Hideo looking for you for months-”

“Stop.”

“And your mom couldn’t help ‘cause she got ill with grief-”

“Stop it, Shishi,”

“And who had to take care of her? I did! I had to lie to their faces that I didn’t know where you went! We gave you a funeral and we cried- we cried for hours!”

“Stop it!” She cries out with a punch to a plate shoulder as sturdy as she herself had made it, making her knuckles bleed. They look at each other’s faces then, Masami’s red and Yasmin’s tear stained. “Why are you telling me?! What do you want me to do about it?! It’s been so long! Should I write them a letter saying I’m their dead son, and for what, so they can tell me how selfish I am, like you?!”

“I’m not saying that!” She is, “I just don’t want you to ignore it!”

“Well thank you! I never thought about how much I hurt you all until now! Thank you for pointing it out to me, I forgot you’re the only one who thinks about shit!” She scoffs, “Of course I felt fucking terrible, I loved them!” She sobs, an arm covering her eyes to conceal her puffy face, Masami’s anger dampened with shame.

The leaves stay still with the crying that follows. Masami stands awkwardly and still, knowing Yasmin hates being held when she’s mad. She got it from her mama. It stops after a minute with a sniffle, putting a sticky arm down, red eyes finding anywhere to not focus on, “Now what, should I kill myself?”

“Ugh, stop saying that. It’s childish.” Masami takes a handkerchief from her belt pouch — Yasmin always forgets her own — and holds it out.

“Oh yeah, because you were cool and mature.” She spits, but takes the olive branch anyway, her face still damp after she dries it, “Well, this was stupid.”

“You asked.”

She rolls her eyes, “I know I did,” and sighs, “Sorry.”

“No, I’m so-”

“I know what you mean, alright? I thought about it. It’s just…  It’s too hard now. I’ve made my peace with it, they raised me, they probably made their peace with it too. If I open up that wound, I’m supposed to hope they’ll forgive me after everything, why?”

“I did.” But not really.

Yasmin chortles, “You’re not my parents. You’re… something else.” The gold wrapped around a rib brushes against bone in her laughter, when Masami huffs and looks away. “... I dunno. It’s not worth all the pain. We’re all probably better for it.” She squeezes the cloth, her eyes searching the horizon before she catches herself. It’s not happening. Giving the handkerchief back, she turns around and starts walking back, “Come on.”

Masami concedes, “Yeah? Where?”

“Let’s eat some cake. For my mama.” She hadn’t done this since her second year away, the second bite of every attempt at birthday celebrations ending the same way: sobbing through a mouthful of cake she couldn’t share because no one would understand; eventually it became too stupid to do, making herself sick for people who aren’t even there — and yet. Masami catches up to her pace, and her hand goes around the armored arm.

They get strawberry cake. It was Eva’s favorite, Yasmin thinks. She doesn’t remember much of those little details, at least not on purpose, though they always sneak up on her uneventfully. She’s forgetting their faces a little more with every year that passes. Masami squeezes her hand. She closes her eyes, and away the thought goes, back home.

[gyrovagi]

artfight attack for my dear @vivi-sionary of yasmin and masami 💕

(pose referenced from: x)

[vivi-sionary]

idk if im gonna keep working on this, i think i just wanted to look at them. and i want you to look at them too. my cutes

[vivi-sionary]

deedee megadoodoo news anchor fumble probably one of the most important things to ever happen i want it to be remembered in the same level as the zapruder film

[orteil42]

unconvinced i'll ever find "the vitamin" that makes me all better so i can get real work done but i do expect they'll elucidate whatever my deal was post-mortem, after which what i did manage to accomplish with my life will be regarded on the level of Beethoven composing despite being deaf or Gordon Ramsay cooking despite being british

[bgm05]

It’s called Dungeon Meshi because it was originally supposed to be about two brothers named Dunj and Meshi. They had to change it

[medievaljournalist]

When asked "what do you want to be when you grow up?" 89% of children ages 6-18 responded 'warrior-poet'. The remaining 11% was some other boring shit

[boyremover]

you think that's male socialization you're experiencing?

[guelwaar]

ultimately whats so annoying about the arguing over the badness of famous people existing in public while anorexic is just the sheer pointlessness "im just concerned for her, as a fan :(" i guarantee she knows she is too thin lol she has been told that so many times and does not need or care about your input as a weird overinvested stranger on twitter "we have to protect the innocent children who might see the size and shape of her body so they dont glorify it" its too bad there is just no possible way to teach children its ok to be fat and eat enough besides litigating the ideal bmi of ariana grande and its too bad their otherwise unsullied body image was ruined by seeing her exist and not by anything else said to them by their doctors or parents or anything