this literally proves that Makoto had less than pleasant thoughts about life after his parents died like I literally almost cried reading this response... everytime I feel like I'm reading too much into his character I'll remember this. "Because I know how it feels."
for context, Ken in the remake has a particular aspect in his character emphasized...
[under read more are spoilers for his first two linked episodes, as well as discussions of suicidal ideation and depression].
in the original, it was made explicitly clear that Ken was going to avenge his mother's death by killing Shinjiro (who was as he deemed responsible) and then killing himself, because life will have no meaning to him beyond that. he's also a kid in elementary school.
in the remake, we find out that this manifests in several ways. first, he does not allow himself to enjoy things anymore, because that would mean he'd be too attached to his life he's going to throw away soon. when Makoto treats him to a hearty meal, he pauses after exclaiming that "it was delicious!", and that he "can't say things like that". food, one of life's simplest joys, has to be paltry to him. he has to focus on the mission. kinda like a robot.
secondly, he frequently regards things with a set time limit. a classmate invites him to the soccer team in October, but he declines (he was planning to kill himself on the 4th of that month, sorry, can't make it). he asks for Makoto's help to take care of his beloved pet hamster, because he knows he won't be around to. he's literally taking care of his own unsettled affairs like a dead boy walking. not making promises he can't keep (a lovely parallel to Shinjiro's upright advice to not break promises in his own 1st linked episode)
from this it can also be seen that Ken's obsession towards wanting to "seem mature" translates to "not wanting to be a burden", because no one took his problems seriously. just because he's a kid, doesn't mean these thoughts can't plague him. it's also because wanting to die makes people feel like they're taking up too much space. so, to do everyone a favor, disappearing would be optimal. (source: my own old thoughts...)
a common thought process of depressed people is indifference to their own future, like "I don't know if I'll make it past 20 years old" for example. Shinjiro and Ken both have said a variation of this. they know neither of them are making it past October 4th. they have a ticking clock over their heads at all times.
and... apparently. what gets me is that Makoto of all people understands this. understands exactly what Ken is going through. that feeling of needing to isolate yourself because "they won't get it" or "i'm just a burden", of needing to be calm cool and collected at all times, of not caring about the future because you don't see one for yourself, that life literally has no meaning and there's no purpose to it- Makoto understands what it feels like to be overwhelmed by that much dread.
he's empathetic and kind, but has awkward ways of showing it. he extends his hands to those that are in clearly bad shape when no one wants to. that's the kind of character he is, and I won't believe anyone who tries to say he doesn't have one... :")
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what kind of love are you
Thank you so so much for the tag @honeyjars-sims I really enjoyed doing this it was such a fun way to work on characters! 😁
Corey Altman
Love as a Performance
"Your love is a masquerade, a dance, a work of art. You love with a veil across your face, unable to allow anyone to see the real you. Can that be considered love, you wonder? As a performer, you have all your lines prepared, and you know exactly what to say and when to say it. You’re charismatic and bold, seductive and hypnotic. Your love is a snake’s melody, the siren song of the sea. Your love is enchanting. Your love is melodic. Your love is afraid and fearful and longing. You ache to tear the veil off, you ache to cast poetry aside for the sake of something real and gritty. You’re terrified of the very thought. Being loved by you is to be loved by an artist; it is to be a muse. It reflects others beautifully, but never, ever yourself. Not really. Not truly."
Lou Carrington
Love as a Threshold
"Your love does not ask for much. Your love does not take. Your love is free, and unquestioned, and here for wherever needs it. When you fall in love, it is as gentle as a breath in the night. It is quiet, and it is effortless. It is tender. If your love was a house, it would readily welcome all who come through. If your love was a hearth, it would warm the hands of whoever stopped by, whether for a day, a month, a year, or forever. When you fall for someone, it is without strings, without conditions, without need. You love for the sake of loving, for the sake of caring for those who need it. You love with a giver’s heart and a giver’s hands and are made so much stronger for it. Being loved by you is to always feel at home. Your love may not always be well-received by those unprepared to linger, but it is unforgettable all the same."
Meghan Root
Love as the Dawn
"Pastel, saccharine and hopeful, your love rises slow to greet the day. It tiptoes on doe feet and blossoms bit by bit, petal by petal. Love is new to you, isn’t it? A fresh discovery in a world you do not quite understand. Your love loves with bated breaths. Your love swoons and sighs and lingers under awnings. Your love romanticizes. Your love aches as tenderly as a bruise. You’re swollen with desire and idealizations. The perfect kiss, the perfect touch, the perfect partner in life. Your love is wide-eyed and innocent, naive and pristine and oh, so very easily breakable. Being loved by you is to be loved by a child, by a lamb, wooly-eyed and helpless. Oh. I really hope it lasts."
Not going to lie I'm actually sobbing over the results these are all so sweet and so them I can't even 😭 I feel like these could be viewed for platonic love as well as romantic too which makes it even cuter.
I think I'll tag @simmingonthelow @thebramblewood @deathbypufferfish and @windslar but feel free to ignore if you don't want to do it/already have (I saw a lot of people do this but I don't remember exactly who so... Sorry! 😅). If you haven't gotten a tag yet and want to do it though feel free as well!! 😁
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one of the untitleds, dealers choice
hello. you got it. i love this one.
His girlfriend has sworn so many things to him recently. She won’t stop swearing to him.
Not on the eve of Going Day for his family—“going” because “moving” is too productive of a word. If they move, they take a step forward from this life and begin some kind of ceremonial procession to a new one. But, no, that’s not what this is. This is their long-awaited exile from the town they never belonged to. Never, ever belonged to. They are Hawkins’ exhibits, its satirical stars, its sins, and its shames. They are its unholy trinity, stained by their own hands. Ask almost anyone, anyone, and learn that their poverty was self-inflicted, the loss of their patriarch was self-inflicted, and so was Mom’s insanity, and so was his and so was Will’s death/nondeath. And Will’s weakness. And Will’s femininity.
Entertaining a town with your family’s voluntary patheticness is not belonging to it, so now they will go to the West Coast with a telekinetic daughter tucked under their wet brown wings. (Broken wings.)
California’s going to make everything better for all four. (His girlfriend has sworn it so, even if she is an unhappy camper. She says she won’t have anyone once he goes away.)
“You must be so warm,” she swears, her mouth’s motions making a fuzzy sensation for his skin as she sucks intermittently and leisurely on the underside of his jaw, “I know you want to swim.”
His knee bends, his arms hug her waist, and the leaves rustle beneath their blanket. He’s trying his hardest to be present for her, and not just with his body, also with his mind. For several days now, he’s been caught in this trap: this stupid, dissociative episode. Voices are quieter here, his tongue is leaden, and the air can be touched. He’s not in another dimension, but he might as well be.
Honestly? It’s some strange form of self-protection. Could be his way of taking Leaving’s bitter flavor, though he’s never coped with this method before. He doesn’t shut off, just out. I should feel any emotion besides doubt. I should feel the need to reassure this person who says she’ll miss me (or want to run away from her, alternatively). All I am is doubtful.
Far above his face, the sky invites lethargy to bleed wider and longer. It’s a warm, woolen expanse of gray, tiring him with the sadness of backlit storm clouds. Why is this place turning beautiful for him now? That needs to stop. Nancy needs to stop. (Never, ever.)
“Warm? In October?”
She relaxes with the tightness of his arms around her midsection. She likes a snug fit, and so does he. As her sweater rides up, he learns that warm in October is right. In this case, anyway; just the small slice of Nancy’s back that’s been exposed gives off the heat of a candle. Her skin could very well be shimmering with sparks right now.
Her reply is put on hold until she finishes making a hickey, equal parts pain and comfort, on his neck. “Well, yeah, I’m warm. And if I am, then you are. Have you ever noticed that you like to copy me?”
“Okay—”
“You copy everything. I love it.”
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