#because at this rate I would have never publish it because it was not perfect

[cabi-leodrann]

[First] [Previous] [Next] Fight part 1/? I wanted to do the fight in one sitting initially. But it got pretty long pretty fast- so it's gonna be cut in two or three, depending on how much time I do the drawing- Funfact of this update: On my second party of COTL, I two or three tap Baal. Aym was more of a problem, but the two cats where quickly put in baby jail.

[seneon]

waiting for hours ──── seishiro nagi x fem! reader.

about. in which, nagi awaits your arrival at home for hours. pure fluff oneshot. wc of 1.2k.

notes. this is like, the highest rated chapter in my my oneshot book in wattpad. so im slapping this in tumblr too and happy belated bday to koala boy!! for @hyoismbbg ♡

𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘 was the first time during this year that nagi was able to arrive home early from his football practice. and by early, earlier than the time his lover's work finishes.

he freshened himself up, ate some food in the fridge and waited. it was 8:42pm, almost an hour and a half for you to finish your work.

the football player, now playing for a professional team, was basically bored out of his mind. he could play games until you've returned, but the man had played every game in the universe.he could watch anime, movies or anything. but those would bore him instantly.

honestly, everything is boring to him nowadays. the only thing that would keep him entertained is football and you.

you were practically the same as him, a lazy person who somehow managed to be a successful writer and be in a relationship with another lazy athlete.

nagi waited and waited and waited. for what seemed like hours, he kept waiting for your presence to shine in his day. but every time he checked the clock, only a few minutes passed from the previous.

as tired as the white-haired male is, he decided to make you some simple yet cute supper, prepare your essentials for when you returned from work. nagi even set up your little table in your shared room by the window for when you read or do some planning for tomorrow.

he eventually lost track of time while trying to make everything in the house perfect so you didn't have to do anything else when you came home. an hour or so had passed, and nagi still didn't hear the door twist open.

you yawned, tired from the meeting you had at your publishing company. really, sometimes you wish you could boss around rude people and shut them up from their shitty opinions. but business is business. and rude people didn't really matter anyways.

you set everything the way it is, and stop in your tracks when you see the kitchen counter filled with a plate of delicious food.

the apartment looked pretty neat and clean too. when you looked around in suspicion and curiousity, some of the recognisable things belonging to your boyfriend were laying around freely.

that was when a smile crawled up your cheeks. your mind traveled to nagi who prepared the food and cleaned up the house— just as he walked out the room, an annoyed expression on his face.

"i thought you were never coming home, after i prepared everything for you," he pouted with a poker face, definitely disappointed at how late you arrived home.

"ah— my bad. thank you. you're home early," you shot him a lazy smile before he walked towards you and pulled you into a lazy hug, completely embracing you in his huge form.

"yeah, practice kinda got canceled because coach's wife got into trouble.”

since you were way tinier than him, you practically squished under his body, melting in the warmth of your lazy, sweet loving boyfriend.

he smelled like mint and fresh sugary frosting, from the body wash you gave to him as a present on his birthday. it was a scent that pulled you in so much it froze and destroyed all the negative comments that were written about your books.

as much as you didn't want to separate the hug, nagi gently plucked himself away from you, sternly looking into your eyes.

"eat, and go take a bath. then we can sleep together. practice might be cancelled tomorrow too if coach's wife's trouble is still ongoing.." he trailed off and shook his head. "ehh whatever just go. i made food for you without burning the kitchen and prepared stuff for you in the room."

you chuckled and nodded your head repeatedly, trying to keep in the laugh with his ridiculously sarcastic get funny words. pretty much whatever nagi said could be funny to you.

"i won't doubt your effort. thank you again," you tiptoed and gave him a quick peck on the lips, heading over to the kitchen counter to eat your supper.

the peck made nagi blush. it was the first kiss you gave him this week. it is monday night, the start of the week. and you kissed him yesterday. hah. humour. nagi keeps track of kisses he gets from you.

anyways, he wanted more kisses from you later so he watched you eat while conversing a little about both your writer job and athlete jobs.

then, he waited for you to take your bath, freshen up before you bailed out your little window corner and jumped into bed with nagi.

"thank you, sei," you thanked him again, as he buried his face into your hair, inhaling the fresh scent of your shampoo. "you've thanked me three times already. you're welcome though..."

your fingers moved to lace themselves in the soft fluffy hair of the male, moving around to ruffle and gently play with it.

nagi's hair was fairly soft, like cotton candy that would melt when it came in contact with liquid. it could even be on par with the clouds albeit you've never felt clouds before. but you just know it was more soft and fluffy than anything else.

you found it awfully cute that his love language is physical touch, so much that you often see him as a cat. and for a fact that nagi only needs and wants your attention, not from anyone else because you are everything to him.

the male hummed when your fingers played with his hair, an odd calmness filling over the mind and body of the athlete. you always managed to calm him down, physically and mentally. he loved that it was a good trait of you that he fell in love with.

"i love you," he said against your neck, his breath touching your skin as you couldn't help but smile at his words. he was random, sure, but you know when nagi was being genuine and sarcastic. now, he meant every word of it.

"i love you too," you replied softly, your fingers moving, trailing down to his cheeks to caress his chiseled jawline and softly stroke his cheeks.

such a work of art, you thought to yourself when you faced him and looked into his eyes.

how could a man be as angelic as your boyfriend?

you felt so blessed to have nagi in your life, never regretting that you made the first move for being friends and eventually he would later on give you a lazy confession that was conducted by his friend, reo.

"you're really beautiful, love," he felt himself smile when the both of you were staring into each other's eyes lovingly. "so beautiful.."

"and you're very handsome," you chuckled, going closer to his face. you kept the tiny distance for a moment, having a small time to admire nagi's grey eyes.

nagi then closed the distance between you both, his lips ever so softly closing in on yours to give you a lovely kiss.

it was filled with the purest intentions of showing how much he loves you, nothing else than an innocent kiss that was focused on appreciation and love.

you both pulled away at the same time, your arms wrapping around his neck as his own snaking around your waist to pull you close.

gosh, you love hugs when it comes to your lazy gigantic boyfriend. he always gives you the best ones.

"let's sleep now, okay?" he placed a soft kiss on your forehead, letting you reply with a nod before pulling the soft blanket over you two.

"i've been waiting for hours to cuddle you to sleep. good night, y/n.”

© SENEON 2024 ♰ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[physalian]

In Defense of Fanfiction (Or the perfect starting point for your original novel)

Fanfic gets a bad rap pretty much everywhere except Tumblr. It’s misunderstood and misrepresented by its average works, seen as juvenile and cringey, or a banal point of contention between a famous person or piece of media and its fans.

Outside of fanfic that writes about real people, especially smut fics of real people, I support the art wholeheartedly. Fictional characters are one thing, but personally, caricaturing a celebrity’s life for public consumption and writing or drawing them in compromising content without their consent is a little weird. You do you. Don’t like, don’t read, as they say.

Fanfic is the perfect starting point for a few reasons:

It places you in a creative box and forces you to work within those constraints

It does all the worldbuilding and character concepts for you

It lets you write way outside your comfort zone

When published and receiving feedback, it boosts your self-confidence

It's incredibly flexible

It’s practice. All practice is good practice

—

Behold your creative box

When I was little I had no idea the majority of fanfic was shipping fics. I always pictured and looked for canon-divergent alternate universes. Like, what if X happened in this episode instead of Y? What if this character never died?

Fanfic demands you work within someone else’s canon, whether it’s an OC in the canonical world, or the canonical characters in an AU. These are like little bowling bumpers saving you from the gutter, but also keeping you on a straight-ish path toward the pins.

The indecisiveness of too many choices can be too intimidating when you’re first starting out. You want to be a writer but you have no idea where to begin, what genre to pick, what characters you want to chronicle, what themes you want to explore.

Even if it sits on your computer never to see the light of day, you still got those creative juices flowing.

Pre-packaged worldbuilding

Sometimes all we want is to get to the good stuff. Maybe I want to write a story about elemental magicians but Last Airbender already exists and I just want to play in a pre-existing sandbox. So I write some OCs into that world and have a free-for-all.

I don’t have to come up with my own lore, world history, magic system rules and mechanics, politics, geography—any of it. I get to just focus on the characters.

Even if you’re writing an AU, like say a coffee shop AU, you don’t have to think about brand new characters, you can just think “What would M do?” and go from there. The trade-off is your readers will expect canonical characters to behave in-character, but I think it’s worth it.

Stretch beyond your comfort zone!

Do you hate writing action scenes? Go practice with a shonen anime fic. Need work on dialogue? Write some high-fantasy fic, or a courtroom drama. Practice a fistfight by watching fistfights and writing what you see, and do it over and over again until what you read makes you feel like you're watching what’s on screen.

But beyond that—practice genres that you aren’t super familiar with. If you’re new to fantasy, write fantasy fic. Or a mystery novel/show, thriller, comedy, satire, adventure, what have you. The nature of fanfic still gives you those “guardrails” and you can get some brutally honest feedback on how you’re doing.

And, of course, the realm of M-rated romance and smut fics. I haven’t because I think I would die of embarrassment if I tried and I never intend to include sex scenes in my works anyway, but if you do want to, use the internet as your test audience. Post it on a throwaway account if you’re nervous.

Build that self-confidence!

The fandoms I used to write for are super dead, so it’s insane how I still get email notifications that so-and-so liked my fic to this day. Comments are as elusive as ever, but random strangers on the internet telling me they liked my work is a magical reassurance that my writing isn’t actually awful.

Random strangers on the internet are, as we all know, beholden to no moral obligation to be kind to your little avatar face, or be kind to be polite. So a rando taking the time to like my work or even leave a positive comment can feel more honest than one of my friends telling me what they think I want to hear.

I tend to avoid the more present aspects of fandom like online communities, forums, social media, what have you, so I get a delayed and diluted aspect of any given fandom through completed works. Which means, in general, I get to avoid the worst and most toxic aspects of fandom and get to sift through positive feedback and critique.

Even if your fanfic isn’t written with stellar prose, it’s fanfic. We don’t expect Pulitzer-prize winning content. And if your work isn’t up to snuff, people are more likely to just ignore it than put you on blast (at least in my experience, I never got a bad comment or a “flame” in the old FFN days).

Fanfic doesn’t care about the rules of published literature

On the one hand, try not to practice bad habits, but with this point I mean that your layout, punctuation, formatting, paragraph styles, chapter length–all of it is beholden to no rules. I get as annoyed as the next reader with giant blocks of paragraphs, or the double-spacing between pages of single-sentence paragraphs, but if the story’s good enough I might ignore it.

There’s more than just straight narrative fics, though. People write “chat” fics, or long streams of text and group chat conversations. The scene breaks can come super rapidly–I’ve seen fics with a single sentence in between line breaks to show the passage of time. And without the polish of a traditionally published novel, I’ve never seen a purer distillation of author voice in any medium more than fanfic.

All practice is good practice

Even if it’s crack fiction, or a one-off one-shot, or something meant to be lighthearted and straightforward and free from complex worldbuilding and intricate plots. It really helps break writer’s block when you can shift gears and headspaces entirely and you can get relatively instant feedback to keep you motivated.

Beyond that, the “guardrails” help you stay consistent as far as character growth and personality if you struggle with designing rich characters.

The most recent fanfic I wrote was just a couple years ago, for a dead fandom I didn’t think would get any traffic whatsoever. It wasn’t my original works, but the feedback on that fic gave me the kick in the butt I needed to get back into writing more seriously.

—

In short, I support fanfic. I may not be proud of my earliest fics' prose now, but I am proud that they walked so I can now run.

[eightmakesonebraincell]

GOING FERAL AS I SPEAK LIKE WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOUR KANG YEOSANG. LIKE HE LOOKS SO AHDBHJDBNDAKS

okay but imagine this

michelin chef!yeosang who runs a fancy high-end three-star restaurant that takes months in advance to get a booking at. he's renowned for his incredible cuisines that combine flavour with art but he's notorious amongst his staff for being cold, blunt and intolerant of any dish that is less than perfect

you're a distinguished food critic who has travelled the world and dined at more michelin-star restaurants than you can count. it hasn't been long since you've arrived back in korea after reviewing a restaurant in spain. you have a booking for a restaurant that has rapidly made a name for itself over the last two years, under the tight reign of kang yeosang. you're intrigued to see the skills of a pretty face

as you're served course after course, you can see why his restaurant has its three star rating. each dish is presented with delicacy and finesse, the textures and flavours exquisitely balanced in harmony, setting luxurious and servers graceful. but as with any work of art, it's subjective to the consumer. and quite frankly? there's nothing particularly special about kang yeosang's cuisines that make them stand out in the long list of three-star restaurants

and you're honest with such. you publish your review and it quickly garners attention because you're one of the first critics to stand on the other side of the fence in terms of what kang yeosang's restaurant can deliver to its patrons

yeosang has had plenty of critics, journalists, bloggers and tourists review his restaurant before; people with huge social media followings and people who simply review for their own keepsake. regardless, he's never been concerned over the reviews. he knows his restaurant and his skills are the best out there. and yet, it would be a lie to say that yeosang is indifferent to your review

one of his staff had passed him a tablet, your published words glaring on the screen. yeosang thumbs through it noncommittally before thrusting the tablet back into the wringing hands of his staff. "you think this shit is worth any of my time?" he scoffs and the employee scurries away

he turns back to his countertop, fingers gripping the edge a little harder than he would like to admit while he stares at the puree and spiced crumb he has been preparing. one corner of his mouth lifts up in a sneer as your name repeats itself in his mind

y/n, huh. he's going to prove you wrong and make you eat your own words

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

◇𓂂☽𓂂🐚Arisa Cliche's Wips for Gaza! 🐚𓂂☾𓂂◇

Hi, hi friends! @ficsforgaza has started a charity event and I'd really like to participate, so I've decided to start a sponsorship page! Right now, I'm only writing for MHA and Obey Me!, but I have enough fics brewing or in progress that you'll have plenty a selection!

How this works ~ The rate is $1 for 100 words. Basically, you would make a donation and send me an ask with the following details:

🍉 The name of the wip you're donating towards

🍉 A screenshot of your donation with your private info censored (I will not be publishing these asks)

🍉 A link to the fundraiser you chose! I will be accepting donations to anything on this list, Crips for eSims for Gaza, and my personal fave!

I will keep the WIP section of this post updated with all donations as soon as possible!

Now...let's get to the WIPS!!!!!

⋆⛧*┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧﹥ ┈┈┈┈*⛧⋆⋆⛧*┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧﹥ ┈┈┈┈*⛧⋆⋆⛧*┈┈┈┈﹤୨♡୧

MHA✼ ҉　✼

{In Progress}

⚝ Bury my Ashes at Sea (Touya "Dabi" Todoroki x Reader) (Longfic)

You and Dabi have been broken up for some time now, but you're still the only person he wants to see before he takes his final bow. With your grieving face still fresh in his mind, he can't help but wonder how things would be different if you two met when you were kids. In his daydreams, he gifts you a Quirk, and you both go to U.A together. He becomes a hero, and you his adored engineer. When everything inevitably goes to hell...you become a villain with him. A villain he names Hex. Content: Hero!AU, female reader, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining, established relationship, post break-up, angst, reader is physically disabled and chronically ill and has an established backstory, non-explicit sexual content in later chapters, very very lovesick and typically obsessive Touya, Sad Ending Snippet:

est wc: 55k current wc: 22707 sponsored wc: 0/32293

{New Concepts}

♪bottom of the river. (Touya Todoroki x Siren!Reader) (Oneshot)

The eldest Todoroki boy is found adrift at sea. Covered in burns from head to toe, but somehow still breathing. He was missing for days. The accident should've killed him. No one knows how he survived. The town praises it as a miracle. But when Rei notices that he suddenly keeps sneaking to the ocean in the middle of the night, and hums a disjointed melody when no one else is around, she begins to suspect that it was no miracle that saved her son. Content: Fantasy!AU, horror concept, Touya is being claimed by a Siren but Rei is not willing to give up her son, VERY inspired by some of the things I wrote in Bury My Ashes at Sea so there might be similar imagery, reader's gender is simply not planned to be mentioned, sfw, Rei's POV est wc: 10-13k current wc: 0 sponsored wc: 500/13000

🧛🏽Unnamed (Touya Todoroki x Vampire!Reader)

Touya doesn't know a kind of love where he doesn't hurt. He prides himself in it, really. He's perfect for you. You bite him and he doesn't feel it. He's already covered in bandages from his Quirk, so no one notices a difference. And if he's a little extra dizzy or laid up in bed, who cares? He's always been a little sickly. No one notices. Don't worry about him. You tell him how good he tastes and he doesn't think he's ever felt so alive in his life. He lets you take as much as you want. See, you don't need other, stronger humans. He can take it. This is what love is. He'll never tell you to stop. Not even when he can't feel his fingers anymore. Just don't pick someone else. Content: Fantasy!AU, GN!reader where I would try to keep specific body mentions very limited, Bratty Needy Touya, Quirks still exist but so do monsters because why not, Civilian Touya who never had his accident, this has potential for nsfw I could be persuaded! est wc: 7-10k current wc: 0 sponsored wc: 0/10000

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Obey Me! ʚ♡ɞ

{In Progress}

💖Love Is A Liar's Game (All of the Brothers + Diavolo and Solomon x Three OCs) (Longfic. Like...very long. Covers at least the first two seasons)

When Diavolo announces the plan for a human exchange program, the Charas, MC, Y/N, and OC (real names redacted), see it as the perfect opportunity to pull off the ultimate scam: seducing the rulers of hell and taking the throne. However...falling in love with their marks might complicate things. Content: Religious cults, drug use, the Charas are Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss incarnate, toxic relationships, polyamory (each of the Charas date three boys), humor, disabled mc (OC), plus-size mc (Y/N), and non-binary mc (MC), some angst here and there, mostly canon compliant but I fix some things, explicit content eventually...the first chapter is already posted on ao3 so please read my author's note to get an idea of what to expect! Snippet:

est wc: over 100k easy current wc: 6816 (the 2nd chapter is almost done!) sponsored wc: 0/120000

🍬Touch-starved (Beelzebub x OC) (oneshot)

This is a companion piece to Love is a Liar's Game. Beel's Gluttony is not restricted to only food. He's avoided even kissing OC to prevent himself from becoming a bottomless pit for her love, which has ruined plenty of his relationships prior. But when her and Belphie finally become intimate, and his brother can't stop talking about her (or keep his hands off her), a strange, sour taste won't leave his mouth. It's jealousy. (If this is donated to completion I will also post the Belphie oneshot I already finished, Breathless!)

Content: Post-Chapter 16, pining, explicit sexual content, oral reference (m), recreational alcohol, submissive beel, use of pact during sex, tiny bit of angst for flavor, typical humor for this fic universe, lots of pet names between these two lol

Snippet:

est wc: 15k current wc: 9909 (it's almost done!!!!!!!!!!!) sponsored wc: 0/15000

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If y'all have any further questions, please let me know!!!! Thanks in advance for any and all donations!!!!

From the river to the sea!! 🍉🍉🍉

[addledmongoose]

Good Omens Fanfic Friday (14 Jun 2024)

By the way, if you ever see one of your stories in my list and I haven't listed your tumblr name, do let me know so I can edit the post.

First, a self-rec of my fake marriage/never met AU, because I'm publishing the last chapter and epilogue today!

My Heart Was Always Yours (143K; Rated M)

Aziraphale has mostly kept to himself for the last six thousand years. As long as he gets his reports in on time, Heaven leaves him alone. That is, until Supreme Archangel Uriel orders him to buy Raphael's trumpet from a black market auction in New York. Armageddon is overdue, and Heaven needs the trumpet to kick it off.

Oh, and he needs a human to pose as his husband.

After an incident in the 19th century, Crowley keeps a low profile from Hell. His reports are only a little late, he takes credit for the worst of humanity, and he does a bit of fomenting to keep in practice. But the almost-peaceful life the demon carved out for himself comes to an end when the Prince of Wrath, Belial (née Raphael), orders him to New York to find the former archangel's trumpet.

So what should he think when he rescues the odd and very cute human bookseller down the street from a mugging only to learn the man is headed to a black market auction in New York to buy a rare book? Was this also part of Belial's devious plan? Is the poor human on Hell's radar and doesn't even know it?

When Crowley finds out the man needs someone to pose as his husband to infiltrate the auction, he knows exactly what to do.

***

Terminus (38K; Rated T) by @emotional-support-demon-crowley

Human AU. Very recently finished. We don't get to see many stories set in the future, and this is the only human AU on my list this week, oddly enough.

When reluctant astronaut Aziraphale Fell finds himself in need of assistance, the last thing he expects is to develop feelings for the mission controller who answers his call; the charming, foul-mouthed Anthony Crowley.

As they work to get Aziraphale home, they find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other. Unfortunately, Crowley has reason to believe the powers that be don’t want Guardian One and its sole occupant to survive the journey.

***

forgotten (but not gone) (10K; Rated T)

Aziraphale and Crowley have had their memories of each other wiped as punishment for stopping Armageddon. They're drawn to each other nonetheless.

***

A New Opportunity (64K; Rated E) by @ineffablerainstorm

Where Aziraphale hints that he plans to Fall to prevent the Second Coming and Crowley decides to pursue a new job opportunity. After all "head diving into a pit of sulphur" is listed under "special skills" on the demon's CV. Crowley hasn't anticipated, however, that this rescue mission would turn into a very messy fake-relationship-situation in a matter of minutes. And that Falling might be a lot harder the second time around.

This post-S2 manages to be both really angsty and also really laugh-out-loud funny. Jesus (aka "Chris") is a particular standout character here. He has a cross tattoo on his arm! There are a couple of side stories in the series I haven't yet gotten to, but I suspect I'll be suggesting them soon.

***

Time Marches Forward (129K; Rated M) by @bellisima-writes

I devoured this post-S2 story. Aziraphale is trying his best to stop the Second Coming, but the Metatron has plans to keep him in line. Crowley befriends the teenage Antichrist, helping him harness and control his powers.

While this story has a great happy ending, it is extremely intense and very angsty getting there. There were a few tears and a few times I wanted to strangle Crowley, but he came through in the end, and this isn't a story that decides either one was solely responsible for the Final 15's angst.

***

The rest of my list are all @lemon-tart-221 shorts. They were the perfect change of pace when Time Marches Forward got to be a bit intense.

A Slightly Overdone Miracle of Maximum Lust (3K; Rated E)

Crowley gets in trouble with Beelzebub for slacking and decides the easiest way to get a bunch of temptations done fast is to spread lust throughout London. He didn't expect it to affect him and Aziraphale.

***

A Very Clippy Christmas (2K; Rated M)

A multi-author collab. "Aziraphale wants to surprise Crowley with a naughty story for Christmas, only he’s using Word '98, clipart, and he’s Aziraphale."

***

An Angel with Questions, a Demon with Answers (3K; Rated E)

Set right after they save Job's children, Aziraphale has urges he doesn't understand. Crowley (as Bildad) helps him through it.

***

They're Not Talking (3K; Rated E)

Crowley and Aziraphale still meet to stop the Second Coming. They're still not talking. They find other ways to communicate. This one isn't exactly happy, but it's not exactly sad either.

[simplyclary]

Alex and Henry in Another Universe

(Edit by yours truly)

*Alexa, play Jump Then Fall and I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift*

This is more of a rave review for a story that I literally just finished hours ago and I could not get it out of my brain and it might take me weeks to recover from the insane story I just read.

The fic is an AU with the title 'I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In" and it was written by the lovely writer @doeyedgirlyevil (send this writer some love over on Ao3 or on Twitter/X). This is an AU where Alex is Henry's equerry.

Let me now rave about this gem of a story....

OH MY HEAVENS, is it possible to rate a fic infinity stars out of 5 because if it possible, I would rate this fic like that. Like everything about it was utter perfection. This is one of the best RWRB AUs that I have ever read. I swooned, I cried, I gasped, I laughed, I got frustrated, you basically made me feel every emotion possible.

I wanna say that by my standards (which are not very high to begin with), you can already publish like an actual book because the way you wrote this fic is just amazing and the storyline is top-notch! I adore your writing so much!

The storyline, OH MY GOSH, it was just amazing. If this were an actual book, I would buy it. I love the storyline so much. Reminded me a lot of one of my favorite books "Twisted Games" by Ana Huang. It's a romance story between a princess and her bodyguard and this fic reminded me of that but will an Alex and Henry spin to it which is lovely all the same.

Equerry Alex was emanating so much alpha male energy and I normally do not like alpha male characters but in this universe, dang, I was living for it. I'M ON MY KNEES FOR EQUERRY ALEX! Like reading Alex's dialogue with Taylor's voice in my mind and him sounding commanding and possessive just made me transcend into another world. Like I'M DOWN BAD!!

Another thing, the teasing, the pining, the smut, PERFECTION!! I love everything about the way the teasing and the smut scenes were written. I was screaming, crying, kicking my feet every time Alex would tease Henry when they make out.

For me, you are in the same level as Sarah J. Maas (ACOTAR series) and Ana Huang (Twisted Series) when it comes to smut because the words in the spicy scenes in your story, I have only read them in the ACOTAR and Twisted series. The dialogues like "Make that noise again, sweetheart?" or "How are you going to kill me, beautiful? Looks to me you're the one dying for it." had my insides turning and butterflies fluttering.

To add, the pet names!! I'm so down for the pet names. Every "Baby", "Princess", "Sweetheart", "Love" made me tingle inside. Like I was swooning so hard.

Also, you may have unlocked a new fetish (is that what it's called, I don't know) from me because every time Alex nips on Henry's ear or kisses his neck, I have a visceral reaction as if a vampire was biting me in the neck and I'm loving it. Never in my life have I experienced having such a reaction so this is new to me.

I also loved how you incorporate some lines from the original book to your story. I jumped and smiled every time I saw a line from the book in your story.

Clearly, I had an amazing time reading your fic and I might go back to it and download it in order to highlight and annotate some of my favorite quotes to revisit in the future because how can I not revisit such amazing dialogue and lines and scenes.

I could rave about you and your writing all day long if I can. I just wanna say a big thank you for writing this amazing story. I'm willing to read any of your upcoming RWRB related works.

Sending you a big hug and lots of love from my heart to yours.

P.S: you just made me imagine Taylor as a vampire or a commanding alpha male character and I'm all here for it! I WANT IT!

To those who haven't read this gem of a fic and you're in the RWRB fandom, here's the link to the infamous equerry fic.

[nekoannie-chan]

Cherry Blossom

Title: Cherry blossom.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Brock Rumlow X OFC.

Word count: 460 words.

Square: 1 “A walk through blooming trees.”

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Brock waited for the perfect moment.

Major Tags: Fluff, proposal.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @seasonaldelightsbingo Language of flowers bingo. 63.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish:  Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter. 

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @harrysthiccthighss @marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @whore-for-chris-evans @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club  @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber @jtargaryen18

Brock sighed. It had been many years since the last time they had been like this. If he had been asked, he would never have believed he would have another chance like that. The only difference was that now he would do things right and do them the right way; there would be no more lies or hiding anything because he might never have a chance like that again.

Brock took Kath by the hand as they began to walk under the trees that were in bloom. Maybe in another time or situation, he had thought it was too colorful or pink, but right now, everything seemed perfect, especially for what he planned to do. He was sure this was the way she would have really liked it.

For the moment, he had to control himself, or she would get suspicious, and the whole surprise would be ruined.

It also crossed his mind to ask her if she had ever walked among the cherry trees with Steve; the view was beautiful and relaxing, and she had always told him how much she loved this activity, although they had not had the opportunity to share it until this moment.

He quickly arranged the tablecloth; he had to distract himself a little so that his nervousness wasn't so evident. He even had trouble keeping the conversation going; she was telling him something in a very animated way, although he wasn't sure if he understood.

Now the problem was choosing the right moment to surprise her. He lightly ran his hand through his pocket; he just wanted to make sure she was still there.

He should have taken advantage of it before people arrived, so now was the right time. He cleared his throat as he put a hand on Kath's shoulder, and she turned around immediately.

"I know I've made a lot of mistakes, but the biggest one was letting you go. Now we can be together, and I've wanted to do this for a long time. I love you too much, Kath. Will you make me the happiest man in the universe and marry me? " Brock put one knee on the floor as he pulled out the box he had the ring in and showed it to her.

Kathleen was speechless; she didn't expect the proposal at that moment. She smiled, and she could feel the heat on her cheeks.

"Of course, I accept; I won't miss the chance to be happy this time," she replied, stretching out her arm so that he could take her hand and put the ring on it.

After eating and watching the flowers and petals fall from the trees for a while, they walked back to each other, just hoping it wasn't a dream.

[sailoryooons]

Happy Agust, Hali 💕

Because Mixtape!Yoongi has been living RENT FREE in my mind for the last week, can I please request a fluffy drabble where Yoongi befriends and/or adopts a cat 👀 ? I’m pushing the cat dad agenda here… 😏

Thank youuuu 💕

YOU KNOW I HAD TO DO IT. Thank you for being so patient with me bby you literally were on the list of had to do because you know I'm obsessed with the idea and finally, we revisit our favorite Mixtape couple and Cat Dad Yoongi.

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi can't stop thinking about the white cat he spotted alone and in the cold. Who are you to deny him?

❀ Word Count: 3,915

❀ Genre: Older brothers best friend, f2l, a lil' angst

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

❀ Warnings: Yoongi Cat Dad Agenda, long hair Yoongi yes this is a warning, literally fluff and an excuse to give Yoongi a cat

❀ Published: 3,915

❀ A/N: This is a part of the Mixtape series as an extra chapter. You can 100% read this as a standalone, though you might enjoy it a tiny bit more having read Mixtape!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Playlist | Series Masterlist | Extra Chapter 2

Bright sun beats down on your back, warming your chilled skin through the softness of your sweater. You pause lifting boxes for a moment, content to stand in the shaft of light and close your eyes, head tilted toward the source of your brief hiatus from the cold.

Wind skitters down the road and you shiver. Eyes fluttering open in time to see Yoongi coming out of the apartment lobby, rubbing his hands together for warmth. A beanie is pulled down low over his long, black hair – long enough that you’ve threatened him within an inch of his life if it cuts it – and a long-sleeve shirt that’s two sizes too big.

“What are you doing?” he asks, gesturing to where you stand motionless in the sun, box in hand. “You know you can’t photosynthesize, right?

You pout. “You don’t know that. Maybe I’m a plant.”

He hums as he passes you, hand absently touching your elbow as he does. Yoongi ducks into the trunk of the car, pulling out the last box. “Perhaps you’re right. Quiet, soaking up the sun, will die if not given attention.”

“Hey that last one isn’t true!”

The trunk snaps shut, Yoongi grinning at his little joke as he lifts the box. “It is a little.”

Maybe Yoongi has a point.

There was a time when you never dreamed of demanding attention from Min Yoongi. Most of your early life had been spent trying to stay out of his way until that fateful day in the piano room. After that, you co-existed on the edge of one another’s lives. His attention had been something you craved but never went out of your way to receive.

Thinking about your thirteen-year-old self writing about having a crush on Min Yoongi in her diary makes you smile. She had no idea one day everything would make sense. That you would come into synced orbits, and that you’d move in with him at the peak of his career, and a positive shift in yours.

Both of you adjust grips on your boxes and head toward the apartment lobby door to make your final carrying trip up to your new apartment. It’s deep in downtown near Yoongi’s new studio that he bought and opened himself to extend the branch of the label he works under, and it has the perfect large space for your new work at home office.

Best of all, it overlooks the entire city. At night, it looks like the stars have drifted from the heavens to float among the mortals, moving among the dreams and the lives of thousands.

Yoongi pulls up short before opening the door to the lobby, making a soft sound of surprise. You glance at him to see his gaze fixated near the northeast corner of the building where 77th North Street meets 4th Avenue.

At first, you see cars at a stop light. The winter-frosted glass of the coffee shop and dance studio across the street. The bikers bundled in puffer jackets, beanies pulled low over their ears.

Movement catches your eyes lower. You find the object of Yoongi’s attention- a small, white cat with its head cocked, blue eyes fixed on the pair of you.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, kitty.” It meows in response, making the side of your mouth twitch. “Cute.”

Yoongi looks up at the stretch of windows above your apartment building. “I wonder if it has an owner? I don’t see a collar. It’s kind of cold out here.”

“Unsure. Pretty cat, though.”

Yoongi hums, eyes drifting back to the cat. For a moment, you admire the way the cold turns Yoongi’s face pink. He flushes easily, but even more so during winter. He doesn’t notice your slow smile as you watch him and he watches the cat.

With a shrug of his shoulders and a quick shuffle of his box, Yoongi pulls the door open to the hotel lobby. “I’m sure it has an owner. I’ll let the lobby manager know there’s a cat outside, though.”

You smile at him as you pass. He doesn’t notice, eyes drifting back to the cat watching you one more time before letting the tinted, glass door shut. “Okay.” He makes his way to the counter as you move to the elevator. “Don’t take too long. I’m starving.”

Inside the new apartment is warm. It smells like the crisp, citrus candle flickering on the granite countertop. Boxes are stacked neatly in corresponding rooms, marked with your neat handwriting and Yoongi’s slanted scribble.

All of the furniture is already placed and put together. The movers had done most of the work the day before and Yoongi had spent most of the evening into the late night putting everything together, the whine of the drill backtracked by his curses and hisses when something didn’t mesh right.

Every part of the home – and it does already feel like home – is splashed with the watercolors of your shared life. The living room is muted neutrals, the pillows soft and worn from the nights of falling asleep on the couch and the throw blanket frayed at the edges from Yoongi’s sleepy feet stepping on the hem while wearing it like a cape around his old apartment.

There are three bedrooms, one of which now has a desk for you to work at on one side and the other with a massive slab of desk, shelving, and tangled wires for Yoongi’s little home studio. The master and the office both have large windows facing the city, letting in the bright winter light during the day and the glow of the city at night.

You check the writing on the box in your arms. Books is scribbled in Yoongi’s slanted writing, explaining why it’s so heavy. You shuffle to the guest bedroom where Yoongi has lined either side of the bed with tall bookshelves and deposit the box in front of the empty shelf.

Dusting your hands, you walk back to the kitchen, covered in a combination of folded cardboard, paper towel rolls, power tools, and wrapped glassware. You start unwrapping the glasses, sliding them in neat rows in the cabinet.

Yoongi doesn’t return right away. You lose yourself in the rhythm of organizing, crumbling the wrapping paper, and shoving it into the trash. When your stomach growls, you look up at the clock and realize that it’s been twenty minutes and Yoongi still hasn’t come upstairs.

You frown and move to your phone. Just as you swipe the screen to call, the front door opens and your boyfriend comes in. His nose and cheeks are frozen pink, and his hands are a little discolored from the cold outside and the grip he has on the box.

He sets it down by the door, too tired to carry it in as the door clicks shut behind him and he straightens, huffing a bit.

“Everything okay?” you ask, brows raised.

“Yeah.” He’s a touch out of breath. “The lobby manager said he doesn’t know anyone who has a missing cat and doesn’t have anyone having a white cat on file. But people bring in pets and don’t tell the apartment all the time so I went out to take a picture and post to that community page on our rent portal in case someone doesn’t know it’s missing.”

Yoongi flexes his cold fingers. You hold your hands out to him and he immediately responds, drifting to you like a magnet. His hands are ice cold when you take them in yours, rubbing them to create heat and friction.

Once Yoongi’s hands have a little more color and warmth, you kiss the back of his right hand briefly before drifting to the fridge. “What do you want for lunch?”

“Sushi?”

You hum in agreement, hands searching for the plastic box you had picked up earlier. Yoongi leans on the counter behind you as you pull out soy sauce and the spicy mayo, sitting it next to you.

“You think he’ll be okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“The cat,” Yoongi clarifies. You close the fridge and turn to face him. His arms are crossed over his chest, sleeves pulled down over his hands. His gaze is focused on the floor, lost in thought as he chews his lip lightly. “Do you think he’ll be okay?”

A smile creeps on your face as you soften at the edges. Yoongi looks up at you as you wrap your arms around his middle. He’s still a little cool from being outside again, but the warmth that the smell of sandalwood and his arms returning the hug chase away the cold.

“I’m sure he will be. We’ll keep an eye on it, yeah?”

You tuck yourself into Yoongi’s neck, closing your eyes. You feel him nod and hum in response. His hands play with the hem of your shirt and you sigh, melting into him. You slot perfectly against him, a puzzle piece finding its home after years of almosts and what ifs.

Yoongi’s stomach growls and you both laugh. You peel away from him and press a soft kiss to his mouth, sweet and pink. “Let’s eat.”

-

Something light washes across the darkness of your dreams. You sigh and squirm deeper into the pillow, willing to sink back into a comfortable sleep.

But the glow somewhere – a little beyond your sleep – is distracting. You hear tapping next to you and you grumble. The bed is cold, the windows cracked at Yoongi’s request. Eyes closed, you seek his warmth, hands following the soft dip in the bed next to you until your hands come into contact with bare skin.

“Ah,” Yoongi hisses. “Cold.”

His voice pulls you the rest of the way from your seep. Heavy eyes blink open, flinching at the bright, white light splitting the darkness. His phone is held near his face, casting him in an eerie glow with squinted eyes.

“What are you doing?” you croak, voice scratchy and deep. You close your eyes to hide from the light of the phone, but scoot closer to him anyway. Only Yoongi could sleep shirtless with the window cracked in a freezing apartment. “What time is it?”

“Three.”

“What, your emails couldn’t wait?”

“Oh I’m not emailing.” He lets you suck the warmth from his skin as you bury your face in his neck and angle it towards his pillow, finally muting the light. His heart thrums under your arm as you wrap yourself around him, squeezing. “I was checking to see if anyone claimed the cat yet.”

You pause, momentarily confused. Oh. The white cat. “Oh.”

“No one has yet.”

“Hmm, well I doubt anyone is going to at three in the morning, Yoons.”

He sighs. The phone light vanishes entirely and he reaches to set it on the nightstand, temporarily dislodging you. Yoongi settles in again, turning toward you slightly and wrapping his arms around you in return. You can’t help but smile as he sighs, warm breath hitting your brow.

“You’re probably right.”

“We can check on kitty in the morning.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, sending shivers down your spine. You can feel him nod. “Okay. Night, sweet girl.”

“Mmm. Night.”

-

An empty bed greets you when you wake up again early in the morning. Your muscles pull tight as you stretch, a strained sound escaping your lips as you look around the room for any sign of Yoongi. The light coming through the white slats in the blinds is dark grey and the clock on the nightstand shows that it’s a little past seven in the morning.

Slowly, you sit up, your body in a momentary state of grogginess. The master bathroom door is open with the light turned off, but you can see the light from the living room and kitchen area on underneath the bathroom door.

Peeling off the blankets, you hurry across the room to shut the window, rubbing your hands together and going in search of Yoongi.

Coffee wafts from the kitchen. There’s only a single lamp in the living room on paired with the light over the stove, casting the apartment in shadows and gentle light. Yoongi is curled on the couch, feet tucked under him and his favorite blanket wrapped around him as he looks at his phone.

For a moment, you stop and stare at him. His hair is messy and sticking up in places. It’s long enough that it reaches his shoulders these days, flipping outward when he air dries it or from being tucked underneath a beanie. His face is puffy with sleep, the hand not holding his phone wrapped around a still-steaming cup of coffee.

“Hi,” you murmur, drawing his attention from his phone. He smiles at you, full gums on display and eyes crinkling. Your heart flips – it doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together now. Being the object of Yoongi’s affection still knocks the wind out of you after wanting it for so long. “It’s early.”

He hums but clicks the phone off and unfolds the blanket, holding it open like a bat wing for you to slot yourself into. You hurry over, snuggling into his side eagerly. He’s still shirtless, skin like a natural heater as you press against him. He wraps the wing around you, keeping the heat in as you settle.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, just naturally woke up. Noticed you were gone though so I came looking.”

“Hmm. Couldn’t sleep.”

You crane your neck to look at him.

Yoongi’s dark eyes are fixated on the window. They’re frosty with mist, the cool air outside at war with the hotter air of the apartment. His lips are a little chapped like he’s been biting them all morning and his eyes are unfocused, the kind of look when he’s thinking about new music or trying to remember something.

A small crease forms on his brow. You tentatively lift a hand, slipping it through the hole in your blanket wrap to brush the tips of your fingers along the shape of his jaw. Long lashes flutter shut and he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of skin against skin.

“What’s wrong?” you ask the question so softly you think he doesn’t hear you. Your hand slips to the hair framing his face, brushing the dark strands back. “Yoons?”

“I’m worried about the cat.”

Yoongi’s words come out like an admission of guilt. His mouth pouts slightly and he chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t open his eyes, but the dip of his brows increases as his expression melts into a frown.

“You have to give people time.”

“I’m just worried. It’s cold.”

You examine him. Even the calming strokes of your hand in his hair don’t chase away the frown. You remember all of the times that your touch could soothe him. You remember the way you first ran your hands through his hair like this, long ago at the Park cabin on a vacation you’ll never forget.

“What do you want to do, baby?” He opens his eyes, a question in them. You smile. “You obviously want to do something. What is it?”

He chews on his lip and you prod his mouth. He’s a little bashful as he lets the abused flesh go. “I may have… ordered some things.”

“Oh?”

“You know, to like… keep it here while we wait for an owner to come forward.”

“Uh-huh. What things?”

“Food. Bowls. Some toys.”

You grin. Your soft, sweet boyfriend can’t help himself. He’s the same way with people – buying things he sees people needing. Wordlessly putting gluten-free bread in the pantry for Jimin (and guarding when Taehyung tries to steal it). Buying a new wireless headset for Ren so she can join Jungkook when he streams. Sending Seokjin a stack of recipes Yoongi’s family cook has finally agreed to divulge.

Yoongi speaks in a silent language of love, and it makes you lean forward to press a sold kiss to his jaw before pulling away to get up.

“Where are you going?” He’s wide-eyed and soft when he looks up at you as you stand and stretch.

“Get dressed. Let’s go get your cat.”

-

It takes twenty minutes in the blistering morning cold, a couple of curses and hopeless looks from Yoongi, and constant encouragement from you before you find the cat in the parking garage under someone’s tire.

Yoongi immediately gets on his knees, staining his sweatpants as he tucks his head under the wheel well, looking up and speaking softly to the cat in question. You watch, shivering in the shade and arms crossed over your chest for another ten minutes before Yoongi slips his hands upward, only retreating when he has a dirty, white-coated cat with blue eyes in his hands.

You offer Yoongi the blanket that you’re clutching – Yoongi’s favorite, as he insisted. The cat is latched onto Yoongi’s shirt, your lips twitching in a soft smile. Yoongi whispers to the feline, head ducked down as you approach.

The cat turns its attention to you, eyes going narrow as it hisses. You hesitate when you lift the blanket, looking at the curve claws that snag in Yoongi’s shirt and the rigid line of hair running up its spine. Yoongi hushes the creature and nods at you.

Carefully, under the suspicious gaze of the cat, you wrap it in a blanket, sliding the material under Yoongi’s grip until he has a bundle, a white little face peering back at him from a checkered blanket. It’s cute, pulling lightly at your heartstrings.

Inside your apartment, Yoongi goes straight to the couch, the bundle in his arms as he murmurs to the cat in question. You watch wordlessly from the kitchen, a smile still on your face as he tucks the cat into his lap, his long hair hiding his face as he carefully unwraps the blanket.

The cat does not move from his lap. Instead, it curls up, blinking its eyes at Yoongi. You hear him laugh, just a soft breath of sound as he scratches between its dirty ears.

“We’ll just keep you until your owners realize your missing,” Yoongi says as you fill a bowl of water. “I think you need a little bit of a bath, hmm?”

You place the bowl of water near the couch, straightening to see a pair of blue eyes trained on you. You offer the cat a nervous smile. “Pretty.”

“Do you want to pet him?”

“How do you know it’s a him?”

Yoongi shrugs. “I might be wrong.”

Tentatively you sit down and hold out a hand. The cat stares at you warily before taking a few suspect sniffs. When it decides you’re acceptable, it rubs its shin on your fingers tentatively, closing its eyes.

“Just until the owners find it?” you ask cryptically.

“Yeah.”

Yoongi’s eyes never stray from the feline.

-

Week one you put up ‘cat found posters.’

There is a bed and a handful of toys in the living room. The white cat is clean after a yowling, hissing and screaming bathtub experience. You walk through the living room, peering at where Yoongi sleeps on the couch. His hair covers his face, lips parted lightly.

And at the foot of the couch is the cat, curled into a donut with its head resting on top of Yoongi’s foot.

-

Week two you trip over a cat toy and scowl. Sensing your irritation, said cat appears around the corner, winding between your legs and rubbing himself on your calves. You sigh, the irritation bleeding out of you as you bend down and offer a hand. He nuzzles you, purring briefly before rushing off.

You hear Yoongi greet the cat in the office and shake your head, though you smile a little bit.

-

“Can we take Sugar to the vet? I want to make sure he’s a he and that he’s got… whatever shots cats need.” You look up, pausing with a mouthful of toast. Yoongi is hovering near the kitchen, looking over at the cat that is kneading its bed. “I just want to make sure we keep him healthy?”

“Sure-“ You cock your head. “Did you just call the cat Sugar?” Yoongi blushes. You swallow the toast and cough a little, having swallowed too quickly. Yoongi is fast to grab you a glass of water which you take with a grateful glance. “You named him?”

“He looks like a jar of sugar.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And it felt weird to keep saying ‘it’ and ‘the cat’ and not having a name.”

“Right.”

“And he’s very sweet.”

“This is true.”

Yoongi’s eyes are soft and round when he looks at you. Your heart melts a little, seeing that gentle flicker in his eyes. You don’t put a name to that look, that little gleam that you know it’s there. You don’t want to jinx it, to give it a name to have it taken away.

Instead, you take another gulp of water. “Let’s make an appointment.”

-

Week four, no one has claimed Sugar, but Sugar has claimed more space and more toys in your home. A new bag of cat food is on the counter along with a jar of catnip. There is now a basket for Sugar to contain his toys. And a pretty black collar with a little jar and a name.

And a doting Yoongi who walks across the living room with his phone tucked into his shoulder on a business call, carrying the growing-plump feline with him in his arms. He heads towards you, listening to the other voice on the line. He gestures to the fridge, hands full of Sugar.

You push off the counter pulling open the fridge and removing the bottle of Gatorade your boyfriend nods at. You crack the top and a grin spreads across his face. The smile grows when you pull a straw out of the drawer, plop it in and wedge the drink into one of Yoongi’s hands.

Sugar hisses at the disturbance, rolling his head to look at you defiantly.

Yoongi tuts at the cat. “Don’t hiss at mommy.”

Both yours and Yoongi’s attention snaps to one another. Your stomach flips at the term of endearment. It’s just a cat, but Yoongi’s slip – the assignment of a role in the creature’s life, an implication that… he wants to keep the cat too is there.

“Sorry,” Yoongi says absently. He looks at you when he says it, but addresses the person on the phone. “The cat was hissing at my girlfriend.”

There’s laughter on the other line. You open your hands and Yoongi nods, passing Sugar to you. Sugar likes Yoongi more, but he doesn’t mind you either. He rubs his head into the crook of your elbow as Yoongi starts talking about a soundboard that you know nothing about.

“Let daddy work,” you tell Sugar, giving Yoongi a devious grin. He pauses, midsentence, phone pressed to his ears, eyes dark. “How about we watch Sailor Moon, Sugar?”

-

Week five the ‘cat found’ posters come down.

“Yeah, his name is Sugar,” you tell Jungkook on the phone, crumbling the sheets of paper. Jungkook squeals on the other side of the line. “Do you guys want to come up and see him next weekend?”

-

Week thirty-three, Sugar sleeps between you and Yoongi on the couch, purring lightly as you drift to sleep, head propped on Yoongi’s shoulder as the credits to Naruto roll.

[neoaya]

Hot take!!! (Nuclear tbh)

People are way too shitty to the LW devs, especially Yumeno Rote.

This guy is responsible for every single piece of non-story card character art in the game, that includes units, costumes, alts, expressions, Music Video CGs, etc. Seeing as a new unit is released per week, along with 2/4 event costumes and 2/3 rebirth costumes at the end of the month, this guy is at MINIMUM drawing 8 fully detailed illustrations and backgrounds per month, for three and a half years straight.

The only other gacha to my knowledge that has one artist doing all the character art like this is Limbus Company, which even then has a significantly longer period between new art being added to the game. (I'm aware there are likely a lot more, but most to my knowledge have multiple artists)

So when I see a post criticising Lost Word, what do you think is being criticised 90% of the time?

Is it:

The fact it's a gacha game

Genuine criticism of the game itself and its mechanics or story

Hell, even criticism of the questionable work practice of having one guy do all the game's art

If you guessed 4, "near insignificant nitpick of Rote's art, AUs shown, or a VA (in a game where you can pick from 3 for every character) because it doesn't fit within their headcanon in a game about multiple different universes" you'd be correct!

Don't get me wrong, I have seen the first two plenty of times, but they're always either fair critiques or people who just don't want anything to do with gacha games and don't care which is understandable.

But for 4? The sheer amount of hatred and seething vitriol people express for details most people wouldn't think twice about is insane to me. It never seems to come from a sincere place of disappointment but rather fear to fit in, like "Oh this relates to me, I better lay in to it as much as possible since everyone else shits on it, wouldn't want to give people the impression I'm weird for liking it after all". It just seems depressing to me that people feel the need to act miserable out of peer pressure and not wanting to stray from the popular opinion.

As someone's who played the game since launch at this point I feel more than qualified to tell you it's FAR from perfect, hell I wouldn't even call it all that good. Gameplay fluctuates from playing the game for you to forcing you to have a full understanding of the meta, grinding is a chore, drop rates are far too low, the nature of the game forcing normally evil aligned characters to act more reasonably, and I unironically think the lack of representation and downright bad writing for Aya until now is singlehandedly responsible for making her drop by one place 3 years in a row in the THVote popularity poll.

So why do I still play it after all this time? Because I genuinely just want to see what they do next. I like seeing what new takes on characters they come up with, I like seeing where the story goes, what the next event will be and I love Rote's art and all the other art contributed by the JP community, I even think the Hifuu and RoM section of the story is genuinely good. It's nice to have a constant and reliable stream of Touhou media to read through in-between the wait for actual new games.

Somehow I don't feel that guy in the middle would want to come on livestreams 3 and a half years after launch if he didn't find it fun, same goes for all the artists and doujin circles that have contributed their art and music, especially those with more than one card or song.

If you want anyone to blame, blame GoodSmile for publishing this game and making this the complete extent they're willing to promote it and Touhou as a whole. (Last new character from them was a Reisen nendo from six years ago btw!)

In conclusion, I think LW has objectively done more good for the series than harm. You can not understate the fact that this game is responsible for introducing Touhou to so many new people and giving the spotlight to characters that are otherwise overlooked. Inaccurate character portrayals are rarely an issue when the series embraces differentiating itself from the source material, that's the nature of doujin culture. That and it seems silly to try and gatekeep people who got into the series through Lost Word, telling them they're experincing it wrong only serves to turn them away and I don't blame newcomers when official touhou media is still hard to come across in the west and the three most popular games in the series still don't have a digital release.

As a tangent, I used to have a problem with how Aya was depicted in a lot of fan media, even from people here, but a friend taught me I shouldn't let those alternate interpretations ruin my enjoyment of her and that I shouldn't fault them for seeing her that way. I feel others should be able to learn from that.

(I definitely forgot some stuff but this is ranty enough as is, I just wanted to get it out of my system)

[storiesbyrhi]

Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 17: Glory

Eddie Munson x Chubby!Reader 5617 words Series Masterlist

Warnings: Anxiety; fatphobia including internalised; drug use; bullying; body issues; discussion of body function and fluids; period shame/stigma; disclosure of sexual assault (chapter 2); disordered eating and thoughts of food; shitty/abusive/critical parents; porn magazines; smut; reference to suicide (specifically Virginia Woolf’s); no beta; grief/mourning; verbal fighting; meat (turkey)… for the vegans

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you’d expect from one of my stories.

Chapter Summary: 1987.

Author’s Note: Reminder that in this fic the new school/college year would begin at the end of January/start of February (because I’m Australian and applied our system to the U.S. accidentally).

This is the final chapter of Angel of the First Degree! Chapter 1 was published at the beginning of August 2022, so it’s been a couple of months riding this very emotional and hopefully healing ride. The story started as one of those little bedtime fantasies. You know the ones where you pretend your pillow is Eddie and you’re totally somewhere else? When I started to write it, I decided that I wanted to put a whole lot self-love, self-acceptance, and self-reconciliation into it. To have so many people read this and get something genuine and positive from it is beyond cool and into the land of super fucking special. Thank you to everyone on the taglist, and to everyone who commented and reblogged. This fic is dedicated to every chubby girl that thinks they’ll never be loved; you will be, and it will be glorious. xo Rhi

You had always hated sleepovers. When you were a kid, your parents put immense pressure on you to be good and polite. Be the perfect guest or else. You stayed rigid, having no fun and remaining quiet. Most of the time you weren’t invited over again purely because you freaked the other kids out. Assuming you had done something wrong to warrant the cold shoulder, your parents would punish you.

In your teenage years you hated them because you were terrified of having to get changed in front of other people. It wasn’t just about the weight you were killing yourself to keep off. Hair. Scars. Moles. Dips. Bumps. Acne. There was a never-ending list of things Hayley could pick on. At school you could duck behind lockers or sneak into toilet stalls. Sleepovers were exposing.

Sleep would never come. Partly, the anxiety was keeping your heart rate too high to settle. The room would be too hot then too cold then back again. Every sound was amplified. Partly, you purposefully kept yourself awake long after everyone else was asleep. You had no idea if you snored or if your tummy gurgled or what other noises your body would make when you weren’t in control. It was a horrifying thought.

Then, 1986.

Then, Eddie.

Then, beautiful healing and glorious acceptance that a body is just a body; it means as much or as little as you wanted.

When Esther invited you to a sleepover in the first week of January, you were genuinely excited. It was just you and her living the slumber party dream. Snacks and movies with cute boys. Sneaking booze and giggling. It was proof that friendship between two girls absolutely could and did work. You needed to learn that after high school.

Esther drove you home mid-morning, hugging you tightly before watching you wave from the trailer door. As you waited for her to drive away, you glanced at Eddie’s van. In a brief and passing thought, you noted that it looked like it was full of boxes or something. Maybe Corroded Coffin got a gig and he was sorting equipment out.

As you entered the trailer, Eddie was closing the bedroom door and turning to walk down the hall.

“Hey, angel,” he greeted, meeting you half way to hug you. He walked you backward until you were in the living room. “Have fun?”

“Mmmhmmm,”

“Break into Esther’s dad’s good stuff again?”

“Yep,” you replied, popping the P.

Eddie grinned. “That’s my girl.”

You nudged your head into his chest, like a cat asking for a pat. He obliged.

“What did you get up to while I was gone?”

“Sex, drugs, rock and roll,”

“You listened to Reign in Blood again while writing that dungeon master guide for Gareth?”

“Yep,” Eddie said, mimicking your tone and popping the P.

You smiled at each other, then Eddie let you go. When you stepped around him, intending on throwing your backpack down in the bedroom, he grabbed your wrist.

“Ah, actually, could you sit in here for a second? I have some… news.”

Anxiety’s greatest hit Flight or Fight started playing in your head. The moment he saw your eyes go wide and body freeze, Eddie tried to smile, taking you to the couch. You let him take your bag off and hold your hands.

“I don’t like this,” you blurted out.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s good. I promise. I mean… I think it’s good. It’s good.” He was reassuring himself as much as you.

This was the moment.

Eddie had been orchestrating your future for weeks. In the process, he had broken the law, forced all your friends to keep secrets from you, invaded your privacy, and made sweeping guesses about decisions you should have been the one to make all along. But it was all for you. It was to make it up to you. It was to give you what you deserved. It was to show you that he loved you. That he would be by your side no matter what you were doing or where you were doing it.

All you had to do was accept it. Eddie was terrified that you still hadn’t learnt how to do that.

“I’m gonna say some shit, and you’re gonna want to tell me to shut up. And, uh, I’m bringing up some stuff that we said we wouldn’t talk about anymore. But you’ve got to promise you’ll hear me out. Like, just let me finish this whole thing before you… lose it or whatever. It’s the only way you’re going to understand. You have to promise.”

Your eyes were already welled up with tears and there was nothing Eddie could do about it. As he held your hands, he kept looking from your matching red rings back up to your scared face.

“But it’s good?” you whispered. The single guess your brain would allow was that he was going to break up with you because of something that had already happened, something you had no power over anymore. You needed him to tell you it was good, that it was going to be okay.

Eddie nodded. “Yes. Yes, I promise. Nobody’s dying,”

“You’re not br-”

“No! No. Sorry. Sorry, I should have started with that. Fuck. I’m fucking this up. Planned every goddamn detail but it’s all coming apart now… Ah, no. No. We’re good. We’re… great… I’m sorry. I’m… nervous. That’s why I need you to just hang in there and let me get it all out,”

“Okay,” you promised, your expression no less sad but slightly less scared.

Eddie took a breath and forced himself to look at you as he spoke. “We… were stupid to never talk about this year. Like, after high school. We never talked about it but I knew you’d applied to colleges. It was kind of in the back of my mind. You know? I just kept ignoring it because I’d just got you, like, really properly had you and if I thought about you disappearing on me… It, ah, worse than sucked? Freaked me out. Then the letters came and I… I don’t even know what I did. Turned into my dad. I was just… scared-

Then you said you didn’t want to go and we could pretend nothing happened and it was fine for like, a second, but it wasn’t really… I felt like shit for making you have to pretend you never wanted to go. Because you did. And I don’t know if you really believe everything you said, about it just being a way to get away from your parents. But, um, I didn’t believe it… I still don’t… So… Yeah… I had fucked up in this huge way that meant pushing your life onto a path it shouldn’t’ve been on… So… So, I’ve… fixed it…”

It sounded like one long sentence, void of punctuation and pause. You had rebuttals for many points but were focused on waiting until the end.

Eddie read your face, the way your lips were slightly parted and your eyes had cleared. He continued.

“I’ve been tryna find the right way to tell you everything. You know, in a way that explains it all properly. So you don’t have a million questions. Dustin said to start at the end and work my way back, but I think that will just confuse you. Kid thinks it will be romantic that way, but I think this is beyond… all that… Esther said to start at the start, which sounds dumb now I say it out loud. But, you know, my head was tellin’ me not all good stories start at the start, you know?”

“Eddie.” He was rambling, getting off topic.

“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Yeah… I’m starting at the start. And, um, the start is that I called The University of Chicago and got them to re-send your acceptance letter and all the other stuff. We did all the paperwork and shit. Enrolled you. We had to pick some classes, but you can change them once you're there, if you want to, and-”

You let go of his hands and stood up. “Eddie. I’m not going-”

He yelled your name, startling you into silence. “You are. You are going, but I’m going with you. Please just fucking sit down and let me finish.”

Slowly you moved back towards him. Eddie reached out and held you by the hips, pulled you back down onto the couch gently.

“You’re going. You’re enrolled. The only thing I couldn’t do was apply to get your scholarship conditions changed. The letter is ready to go, all you have to do is sign it and hand it in, in person. You can petition to change the ‘cost of living’ from a dorm to rental cheques. It’s not a dollar-for-dollar swap, but it’s something to help with rent, you know?”

No. No, you didn’t know. Eddie was using words and phrases you had never heard before. You didn’t know what a ‘cost of living’ condition was, and you didn’t know what he meant by ‘help with the rent.’

“I got an apartment. It’s tiny. Like, smaller than the trailer, but it will be enough for us. You’ll catch a train to class. And, um, I got a job. You know John?”

“Wayne’s John?”

“Yeah. Cath’s sister owns a bar. She’s giving me a trial shift, but I won’t fuck it up. Know my around the bottles so that’s pretty much a sure thing.”

You still didn’t know what was happening, not really, but it was nice to hear Eddie back himself. He paused, searching his mind for any other important details.

“I think… think that’s it. Your scholarship pays for most things you need. I’ve got enough saved to cover us for a few months. That’s why I’ve been selling so much. For this. And that’s what I was doing in Chicago… Uh, yeah. Alright. That’s… it.”

Eddie had his concentration face on. Eyes to the ceiling and tongue poking out, he was thinking. When the expression softened into neutral warmth, he looked at you expectedly.

Your body felt weightless, like it was floating. When you stood and walked down the hallway, you were just as surprised as Eddie. One foot in front of the other, you let your body take you to the bedroom, open the door, and turn the light on.

The room was packed up. There were three boxes neatly stacked in the corner, labelled ‘Eddie – childhood shit,’ ‘Wayne,’ and ‘donate/trash.’ The furniture remained, but even the mattress had been stripped of linen. Eddie’s posters weren’t on the walls. Angel and Hellfire were nowhere to be seen. Everything was gone.

“It’s all in the van,” Eddie explained from behind you. “Landlord said there’s no parking spaces for the building, but there’s an empty lot across the road everyone uses.”

When you stepped into the bedroom, it felt surreal.

“We’ll be there by late afternoon. Got a couple stops on the way.”

You spun around to face him. “Wait. What? What do you mean?”

Eddie frowned, looked around the room he had grown up in. “We’re leaving today,” he said, spelling it out.

“No…” You shook your head. “I… I can’t just… We…” Shock? Were you in a state of pure shock. Reaching out for something to ground you, Eddie was there before you could take another step. He clasped his hands to yours.

“You can. We can. Everythin’ is ready. All we gotta do is go. All you’ve gotta do is trust me… And you do. You trust me, right?”

Blinking hard, you stopped looking around the room and focused on Eddie. His baby cow eyes that inspired Hellfire. His soft lips that sang Tupelo Honey. Slowly, you nodded.

“Yeah? I’ve got you… I know this is scary. It’s terrifying for me too. I’ve never really done more than sit around here and sell weed. Never had actual responsibilities or whatever. But we can do this,”

“We can do this,” you repeated in a whisper.

Period blood and fat rolls and food. Pressed flowers and red gems and vinyl records. Anxiety attacks and displaced fear and shame. Fangoria hoodies and fairy lights and kitten ears. You could do this.

A tear rolled down your cheek, just another for Eddie to wipe away. He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose. When you leaned up into him, he kissed your lips and pulled you into him hard.

“Wayne will be home soon. Let’s eat something and wait,”

“Does he know?”

“Yeah. Everyone does. They’re all waiting for us to come see ‘em before we go.”

Homesick. You felt homesick and you hadn’t even left the trailer.

Eddie had only just covered the Honeycomb with milk when the rumble of Wayne’s truck made you jump up off your seat like a dog waiting for their owner. As soon as he was in the door, you ran to him and clung.

“Guess it’s happening then,” he said, a sorrow to his tone you didn’t quite catch.

The sobbing was out of your control. Eddie came to hug you into a Munson sandwich. Both he and Wayne were doing their best manly man thing in a shitty attempt to not cry too. Wayne’s jaw was clenched tight and Eddie’s eyes glistened with tears.

When you took a nearly-normal breath, Eddie wrapped his arms around you from behind and hoisted you up, carrying back to the kitchen. You stood at the bench and looked into the bowl of cereal, your stomach in knots.

“You gonna eat that?” Wayne asked, taking the bar stool seat opposite you.

Shaking your head, you slid it across to him.

“What are you gonna do with all the quiet?” Eddie asked his uncle.

“Sleep. In a bed. Regularly,” Wayne answered. He was playing it cool but you knew he’d be lonely without Eddie. “Proud of you both. Gonna go make something of yourselves,”

“I mean, let’s not get carried away. She’s the genius. I’m just bartending,”

“You’re leaving Hawkins, Ed. S’not nothing.”

Eddie looked at Wayne, then quickly turned his head away, wiping the tears before they could fall.

“Nobody’s died, kid. Chin up,” he said to you then.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

Eddie stepped closer to you, pressing his side into yours.

“Being an adult is scary. And trusting someone else with all your shit is scary. But after last year, somethin’ tells me it’s gonna be alright.” It was less optimism and more sage wisdom.

The three of you stayed together for a round of instant coffee, then Wayne presented a parting gift. It was a brand new toolbox fully stocked with essentials. “Never know when a screwdriver comes in handy,” he’d said.

Wayne hugged you tight and watched you get into Eddie’s van, crying again. You couldn’t hear the words exchanged between the two, but you watched them through the windshield and felt guilty for separating them.

Eddie climbed into the driver’s seat and took an audible breath out. “Okay,” he said mostly to himself. He looked over at you and nodded. “Okay?”

You couldn’t muster words, but you affirmed him with a nod.

As the van pulled out of Forest Hills Trailer Park for the last time in a long time, you didn’t bother asking where the next step was. The resignation hit you hard and it felt like exhaustion. You were too tired to think about what was happening to you. The emotions were all so intense and so conflicting that it had begun to feel like the absence of emotion. You just stared out the window and disassociated.

Reality crept back into your mind when the route to Esther’s house became apparent. As Eddie turned onto her street, you burst into tears again. They were all waiting.

Esther’s garage door was opened, shielding the group from the January cold. Once Gene spotted the van, everyone came running down the drive waving.

Esther and Gene. Gareth and Jeff. Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will Byers, who had yet to return to California. Max and El. Even Jonathan and Argyle stood against the house, sharing a joint.

Your door was ripped open and Esther pulled you from the van. Although tears were streaming down her face, she was grinning ear to ear.

“This is good. This is good!” she kept repeating, knowing you needed to hear it as much as possible.

The group presented you and Eddie with a large box, wrapped in a comically big bow. It only just fitted into the van, Eddie and Jeff pulling stuff out to play Tetris with boxes and bags.

“Open it when you get there,” Esther instructed.

“We all helped,” Dustin added.

Everyone wanted to tell you what role they had played in this grand gesture of love and faith. Dustin and Suzie, and the hacking of The University of Chicago’s system. Gareth keeping you busy while the others filled in college paperwork and agonised over what elective classes to enroll you in.

When you had spoken to everyone and there was nothing to do but leave, you felt like you were going to puke. You had genuine and kind and weird and wonderful friends that truly knew you and loved you. And you were about to leave them.

“Chicago is only a couple hours away,” Jeff reminded you.

“And if Notre Dame doesn’t work out, maybe we’ll transfer and come crash your party,” Esther added. She had told everyone about how Notre Dame only began to accept women students as of 1972. Esther was already ready for fight, so you knew she’d burn it down before letting it give her anything other than a world class education. She and Jeff had both been accepted and would live in dorms on campus.

Gene was off to The University of Illinois, leaving Gareth in charge of the now-sophomores and Hellfire Club. “Look after the children,” Eddie said to him, ruffling his fluffy hair.

Eddie had resolved himself, helping you and your shaky knees back into the van after hugging everyone again. You cried and watched everyone run after the van for as long as they could, which, for a bunch of nerds and freaks, wasn’t long.

The van pulled over once Eddie had driven around the corner and down the block a little. He pulled the hand break on and got out. When he opened your door, you launched yourself at him, letting him hold you while you sobbed.

Eddie moved you until you were pressed into the little space between the van and open door, keeping some of the cool air from getting to you. Three bittersweet minutes passed before you could collect yourself, sniffling and wiping your nose on your sleeve.

You looked up at Eddie and his beautiful face.

“Next stop is optional,” he said softly.

Nodding, you hugged him again.

“They don’t deserve it, but, I don’t know, it might be good for you?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “I want to.”

Driving through your old neighbourhood was strange. People’s yards had changed. Plants had grown. Shutters repainted.

Your parents’ Ford Escort was parked in the driveway of the house you’d never really called home. Looking at it, you remembered what it was all like before Eddie found you behind the woodwork shed. Before Of Mice and Men. Before ‘basketball’ safe words and sticker charts.

“Ready?” Eddie asked. When you nodded, you both got out of the van.

Like she had done when Eddie last was there, your mother opened the front door before he could knock. You stopped walking when she did, suddenly afraid of her. She said your name like you’d returned from the dead. Eddie felt your hand squeeze his tighter.

“Do- Do you want to come in?”

You and Eddie followed her through the living room and into the formal dining space. Your father was at the table, newspaper in hand and a cup of coffee sitting on a coaster. He folded the paper in half and set it aside as the three of you entered the room.

“Please, sit. Do you want tea? Coffee?” your mother asked, a picture of a perfect host. She seemed more fragile than you remembered. You’d grown for nine months in her womb. She had birthed you, bloody, raw, and screaming. And there she was, offering tea.

“No. We’re not staying,” you answered.

The house was quiet and clean. Sanitised. Lobotomised.

“Then, to what do we owe this pleasure?” The cruelty had not shifted from your father’s voice.

“I’m leaving.”

Your mother looked to your father for the right reaction. He looked genuinely shocked, and you saw it in the few seconds he took to hide it.

“I’m taking her to Chicago. She’s going to college. Guess we owe you a thanks for bringing the letters ‘round,” Eddie said in the same voice that always guaranteed detention.

Before he could speak again, and he was just about to, you pre-emptively cut your father off. You knew what he was going to say. “Eddie’s got a job there. We have an apartment. If anything else comes for me in the mail, forward it to the trailer park.” You could have said ‘forward it to Forest Hills’ or even ‘to Wayne Munson,’ but you very specifically wanted to say ‘trailer park.’

“Well, what’s your new phone number if-” your mother started, grabbing a pen and notepad from the dining room’s buffet drawer.

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “If someone dies, call Wayne at the park. Otherwise, that’s it.”

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eddie was committing the expression on your parents’ faces to memory. He was delighted at their floundering. And you, you were surprised at how easy it was to do it – to say goodbye on your own terms. They suddenly stopped being so terrifying, instead, they were just… pathetic.

“What did you want then?” your father asked.

It was a fair question and you gave it a moment’s thought. “I want… I want you to know that I’m happy. That I’ve been happy. Happy living in a one-bedroom trailer. Happy being in love with the big bad drug dealer. Happy eating bad food and getting fat. Happy drinking underage. Happy having sex. And like, weird sex too. I’ve been happy being me. Because I’m good. I’m good and smart and beautiful and strong, and it has nothing to do with you. That’s… that’s what I want. I want you to know that everything good about me is not because of you. And I hardly think about you… So, if someone dies, you can call Wayne. Maybe I’ll come. It really fucking depends on what I’m doing that day.”

Eddie had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from laughing or cheering. His eyes went wide and he stared straight at the ground because he knew if he kept looking at the dumbfounded and horrified looks on your parents’ faces, he’d lose it entirely.

You finished your speech, feeling beyond exhilarated. “Fuck,” you said to yourself.

“Fuck,” Eddie agreed.

You looked at him and his ten billion megawatt smile. “I love you,”

“Oh, no, I love you,” he replied, a small chuckle following his words.

You and Eddie collided in a kiss, then left the room without so much as a final glance or one single word more.

…

Maybe it wouldn’t be the last time you and Eddie jumped the fence and walked to the secret spot behind Hawkins’ drive-in, but it probably would be. You sat side-by-side on the ripped out backseat and got lost in your minds.

Eddie thought about when he asked Ms. Kelly and Mr. Barnes for help. He thought about the day you handed him a list of words. About the softness of your thighs and the smell of burnt paper and the trust you’d placed in him.

You thought about smashing pumpkins with Esther and Jeff, and the school dance and hotel room. About Build-a-Bear and gingerbread armies and how Eddie’s fuzzy hair was lit light a halo on sunny days.

“Are you gonna miss it?” you asked Eddie.

“No… You?”

“No. I don’t so.”

…

Two months later.

“Nobody will know. I’ll be super sneaky,”

“Eddie… There is nothing about you that flies under the radar.”

Eddie sat on the edge of the fold-up bed. It was the one Wayne used to sleep on, and it was on the ‘to do’ list. The list was as follows:

get permission to repaint ceiling

repaint ceiling

need: T.V.

need: VHS player

need: some houseplants

send Wayne dumb postcard

replace bed

pizza coupons

get quotes to Eve

BUY 1987 CALENDAR ASAP why? – to put down my due dates and your shift times – that’s cute

need: bedside table?

call everyone to give number/address

need: bookshelf

put extra lock on door and windows

try Niko again – who’s Niko – from The Hideout - ?? – not the Hawkins one

“Please? I wanna know what it’s like to be one of the special smart people.”

You pulled your jumper over your head and looked over at him. He grinned and winked. It was ridiculous.

“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” you warned, giving in.

As you packed your college notebook and texts, and put a layer of mascara on, Eddie hurried around. Jeans and boots – his Reeboks were the first casualty of Chicago weather – and a heavy jacket.

The apartment was easy to keep warm. It was small, barely more than a room. A kitchen nook and space for a circular two-seater table. A thrifted television set sitting on a coffee table, and a bookcase. The fold out bed was pushed up against the far wall. And, the bathroom could only hold one of you at a time. Still, it was perfect.

On the train to college, you rested your head on Eddie’s shoulder and closed your eyes. It was nice to have him there.

“So fancy,” Eddie whispered as you made your way into one of the buildings and through to the lecture hall.

You took your usual seat to the left, near the back but not too far. “You have to be quiet,” you said to Eddie.

He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. You were smiling at him when Kamala threw herself into the seat on your other side.

“I swear to fucking god, the guy who makes my coffee spits in it,”

“What?”

“Here. Taste this. Does it taste like spit?” She shoved a cup of takeaway coffee in your hand. “Seriously. Does that taste weird?”

From behind you, Eddie’s arm reached around and he took the cup. You and Kamala watched as he took a fearless mouthful, then handed it back to her.

“Yep. That’s spit alright,”

“I fucking knew it,”

“Eddie, don’t encourage her,” you warned.

“Holy shit. This is Eddie?” She dramatically leaned forward to peer around you at him. He gave her a little wave; she gave him nothing. Sitting back up she gave you a face you absolutely couldn’t read.

“What?”

“He’s like… Super hot,”

“Yeah,”

“Even though he looks like he listened to bands that use more hairspray than me,”

“He does,”

“No, I’m fucking serious. He’s like… Super babe material,” Kamala said like it was going to be on the test. She looked around the room. When you followed her gaze, you realised she wasn’t the only one that had spied Eddie and his hotness. “Seriously, like, what the fuck. I can’t get a guy to shower once a day, and you have this motherfucking rockstar wrapped around your finger.”

You liked Kamala because she swore a lot and could not be told a single thing. People tried. Debates in class were frequent and lively. But she annihilated them each and every time.

Kamala looked at Eddie and narrowed her eyes. “Hi,”

“Hi?”

“Do you have any hot friends?”

You snorted. Dustin called Eddie every other day. If it wasn’t him, it was Gareth with DM questions or Jeff bitching about frat parties.

“I’m one of a kind,” Eddie replied, full charm. You rolled your eyes.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kamala sighed, falling back into her seat, finishing her spit coffee.

After the lecture, Eddie hung around for a couple of hours while you worked in the library. He had his own notebook with him, still writing songs and poems, and wrestling with the idea of starting a new band. “Feels like cheating, you know?” is what he’d say whenever you talked about it. Corroded Coffin were hours apart but still so alive in all four of their hearts.

Eddie kissed you goodbye and caught the train back to the city for his shift at Eve’s bar. He had proven to be an adequate bartender, but that isn’t where he showed his worth. Eddie convinced one random guy he met in a music store to play at Eve’s. The band brought in a few extra people, a few more beers sold. He did it again. And again. After only a month there, Eve paid Eddie extra to double as the bar’s booking agent. By the end of the second month, she agreed to renovating the stage and clearing out one of the hardly used storeroom to turn into a greenroom.

You cleared your week’s reading requirements and had a basic skeleton for your next essay. By 4:00 pm, you felt on top of everything and wandered back through the library and headed out to find coffee. The air outside was bitter, the days averaging only 36°F (2°C), as you hurried along.

“Hey, honey. The usual?” Kasey asked, your favourite barista in your favourite on campus café. You liked that her name was Kasey; it made you think about the one you’d left behind in Starcourt 2.0. Build-a-Bear Kasey. Her nimble hands stitching together your beloved teddies. Maybe you’d always have a Kasey, somewhere in the periphery of your life.

“Yes, please,”

“Kam was in here before. Said she met the Eddie,”

“She did,”

“She said he was really hot,”

“Yeah. She asked if he had any friends.”

Kasey laughed. “Of course, she did.”

Kasey was easy to talk to, and even once she handed you your matcha latte, you hung around a little while longer.

On the train back to the city, you savoured the grassiness of the latte. Nobody in Hawkins was drinking matcha. Well, Esther’s parents might have been. They’d always been trendy, like their daughter. You missed Esther, but she was due to visit at the end of the term. She’d promised to show you all the secret spots in the city that you could only know by growing up there.

You swapped trains, catching the L to get to Eve’s bar. It was between knock off and dinner time, so it was busy. When you walked in, Eve sauntered by with a tray of beers.

“Hey, babe. He’s just gone on break,”

“Thanks, Eve.”

Rounding the bar and smiling at the new guy, you went through to the back and announced your arrival with a knock on the break room door. Eddie was inside the room, stretched out on the couch that had decades of questionable stains.

“Angel,” he greeted, opening his arms wide.

You dumped your bag on the table and flopped down onto him. He kissed your face all over.

“How’s work?” you asked him.

“The usual. Managed to get a hold of Neko over at The Hideout. Says he’ll throw me some scraps,”

“That’s good right? Even their rejects are better than other places’ headliners?” You were just parroting back what Eddie had told you about the place, but it showed Eddie you were listening and you understood.

“Yep. See how it goes. Eve seems impressed that he took my call, so there’s that. What about you?”

“Finished my readings early,”

“Cool. Maybe we can do something this weekend then?”

“Do you mean like, go out or like, order pizza and paint the roof?” you asked.

“I don’t know what it says about me, but honestly both sound kind of fun,” Eddie admitted, happy boyish smile. You stayed cuddled together for a minute more, then he asked, “So… I like Kamala.”

You laughed. “She told Kasey about you,”

“Kasey is… coffee friend?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie laughed. “If only the Hawkins High basketball team could see me now,”

“Fighting babes off,”

“Should we write to Jason Carver?”

“I think we have to,” you replied, looking up at him grinning. “Anyway. You hungry? I brought dinner.” Eddie let you up so you could go to your bag and pull out two frozen microwave meals. “Stopped at the place on the corner. You want the chicken or the beef?”

It was incredibly unglamorous, sitting in a dingy room eating two dollar microwave meals. It wasn’t what happened in the romance novels you sometimes read for escapism. It didn’t feel cool or grunge or metal. It just felt like life.

When you were in Senior year, you had thought to yourself that the weekends were where the glory was. You remembered that exact phrasing. Playing footsy under the table, you looked over at Eddie. It was this, this average weeknight of your new normal life, that’s where the glory really was.

Glory in the healing. In the trust and future plans and to do lists. Glory in the quiet. In the fresh paint and fire escape joints and having a warm cup of tea waiting for Eddie when he got home. Glory in the love. In the sex as snow fell and phone calls home to Wayne and in semi-precious stones. Glory in every single day you spent with Eddie Munson.

Fic Taglist: @ajeff855 @b-barnes04 @nerd-squad-headquarters @word-wytch @harrys-tittie @munsonsmel0dy @sidthedollface2 @eddiethesexy @bardicfrustration @orpheusredux @munsonsgirl71 @a-time-for-wolvess @eddieswifu @rosaline-black @thegirlwhohides @emotionaldreamer @e0509 @briasnow-blog @kiyastrf94 @erinsingalong @rainylana @mrsdollardog @tayhar811 @chickennug90 @b-irock @nana90azevedo @eddiemunson95 @akiratoro420

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

[whimsicaldragonette]

Blog Tour: Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places by Claire Kann

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Publication Date: May 21, 2024

Welcome to the Looking for Love in All the Haunted Places Blog Tour with Berkley Publishing Group. (This Blog Tour post is also posted on my Wordpress book blog Whimsical Dragonette.)

Synopsis:

Lucky Hart has an affinity for the supernatural, but almost no one takes parapsychology seriously. She’s estranged from her family, has lost her friends, and has been rejected from graduate school—twice. But her big break finally arrives when she gets insider info about a troubled production company. Every actor on their new show mysteriously quits after spending three nights inside Hennessee House, an old Victorian with a notorious reputation.

This May, Claire Kann, the author of The Romantic Agenda returns to the page with LOOKING FOR LOVE IN ALL THE HAUNTED PLACES (Berkley Trade Paperback Original; May 21, 2024), a heartwarming, fun, and thrilling supernatural romance for fans of scary stories and love stories alike. Kann’s debut was loved for its asexual representation and diversity wrapped in a delightful love story. Her newest features the same things her fans know her for but adds an unforgettable paranormal aspect.

In the book, Lucky Hart falls in love unexpectedly on the set of a paranormal investigation show. But she’s soon forced to choose feelings or career when the mansion she’s examining doesn’t want to share her attention.

LOOKING FOR LOVE IN ALL THE HAUNTED PLACES is a sweet take on a haunted house story, giving readers a charming single-dad, workplace romance setup and highlighting the experiences of an Ace, Black heroine. If you can’t get enough Halloween all year round, or like your romance with some mystery on the side, this is the perfect novel for you.

My Rating: ★★★

*My Review and Favorite Quotes below the cut.

My Review:

I enjoyed this story. It was sweet and wholesome and just a tad spooky, with a plucky protagonist, a super sweet single dad, and an adorable kiddo. Plus some other really great characters I wish we'd gotten to know more about. And Hennessee House of course.

While I for the most part enjoyed reading this, it was far too long and sometimes really dragged. It took me forever to finish reading it. If it had been shorter, I think I would have enjoyed it more. There's not enough substance there to warrant the length imo.

I really liked Georgia and Xander and I wish we'd gotten more of them. They balanced out Lucky and Maverick's intense insta-love thing they had going on.

I liked the asexual representation, although it sometimes got a little preachy and didn't always 100% make sense to me. But I'm willing to chalk that up to "everyone experiences asexuality differently." That's definitely a type of queer rep we don't often get in romance books so kudos to the author for including it as an integral part of Lucky's romantic experience and not just a sidenote.

The supernatural aspect I enjoyed but found to be very confusing at times. There were multiple times while I was reading that I got tripped up and had to stop and go 'wait, what?' because suddenly I had no idea what was going on.

The first time it happened was at the very beginning when Lucky is lying to Xander and team in hopes of getting the job. She tells the reader that she's lying, but not what the truth is or why it's important for her to lie, and I never felt like the lying was necessary. Lucky doesn't always explain herself very clearly, and she sometimes assumes that people will understand things when they (and the reader) definitely don't.

It was a fun story, not too scary, with just enough supernatural elements to be really unique. I think cutting a little of the length and adding in more of Georgia and Xander could have made it even better.

*Thanks to NetGalley and Berkley for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

A year ago, if someone told Lucky her experience being a nanny would inevitably lead to making a ten-year-old her partner-in-crime in a sentient house, she absolutely would've believed it.

[quietbluejay]

goodreads review excerpt time

John French takes an overly verbose axe to anything resembling a cohesive plot in this book.

Perhaps I am a bit to harsh with my rating but at the halfway mark, I could not help and say to myself; what is the point of this book?

I'll better stick to the painting side of 40k...

I continually suffered from a severe case of "I don't care what happens to these people" as he had introduced a cast so unlikable and grating that the highlight of the work was seeing the poet get the tar beaten out of him by a pack of Army soldiers.

And at some point, Angron shows up to make me ask "Who in their right mind would give Angron command of a Legion?"

As disappointing as the Emperor was with his sons.

Look, I know this isn't supposed to be high literature, but by God the writing in this one is bad.

"False Gods" reads like a 400 page treatise of a man moving little dolls around to make fights happen without any regard to their personalities or common sense

I wouldn't trust you to write an interesting Amazon product description out of five.

its only the lack of facial hair that prevents the villains from twirling their mustachios.

First off, let’s start with the negatives of this book, of which there are many.

But damn, it really seems like the author has never had an actual female friend he did not want to have a more intimate relationship with. Everything about the women in this book has to do with how feminine (or not) they appear, whether or not this is appealing and whether or not they are evil and cunning or pious and willing to endure the odd light sexual harrassment. The entire franchise could use more consistent and better use of female characters because mankind does not just consist of 2.5m tall muscular men who constantly clasp each other's hands in a most brotherly fashion.

Hopefully the next book in the series will be about Horus finding a recording of an old stand up special and learning how comedy works.

In the end, this is the most embarrassing book I’ve read since morbid curiosity propelled me through a self-published sci-fi epic written by a guy who has an anime reaction channel on youtube. If I ever read the word perfection again I’m going to off myself.

(hilariously, the last one was about Galaxy in Flames, not Fulgrim)

[dustyisforever]

A Shadow of the Colossus Review

by DustyIsForever This is a review. It's about a video game, which is a kind of movie you watch with your hands.

In 2012, Shadow of the Colossus became the first thing I ever saved money to buy. After watching the “Nerd³ Plays” video where he calls it a “perfect game,” I began to daydream about it obsessively. I stuck the facetious label “Ye Olde Jar o Talents” on a mason jar and brought it to school so I could beg my classmates for funds. This worked, however incredulous it was, but I didn’t buy the game. I didn’t buy the game for years, and even after that I didn’t play it for at least a few months. It was like an old Russian novel to me: something that always existed in the future for which I could never consider myself prepared. And then I did play it and it was great.

You can either read it here or on a published Docs page. But be careful. It's pretty long.

This is a review of Shadow of the Colossus. It will contain spoilers. I first played the game a long time ago, but I went back to it a few times over the years. Recently I watched a close friend play it. We had some conversations about it. Soon, I’d like to see my wife play it as well. She can’t read this review yet because she is, incredibly, going to be playing totally blind. You can imagine how rare it is to play something like Shadow of the Colossus without knowing anything about it beforehand.

As I promised not long ago, I'm going to start writing essay-reviews of many games I enjoy. But first, I'd like to elaborate on my method. I have a particular framework for expressing my opinions of these games that I've developed as an alternative to a 10/10, 5/5, 40/40, 100/100, or other numerical art goodness judgment system. The aim is to provide the foolish satisfaction of a number score while cutting back on its pitfalls and biases. Number scores are unhelpful. In a 10/10 system, one finds that a 10 means that the reviewer idolizes the work, a 9, 8, or even a 7 can mean that they enjoyed it, and anything below that might mean that they disliked it, hated it, thought it was tedious, or simply misunderstood it. Opinions don’t fit neatly on a graduated, linear scale. Our value judgments are relative, as in: I liked this more than that; never absolute in the way numbers would suggest. We know this but pretend otherwise. How fun to bestow a cherished piece of art the honor of your perfect number! We're all pleased to think that our opinion is intelligent. My goal is to indulge that, but with restraint.

The first principle of my system is that I only bother rating games that I already know I love. Though there is surely as much to be learned from "bad" art as "good" art, I want to avoid negativity. Also, I find it’s easier to assign a score with restraint and thoughtfulness when a bad score isn't in consideration at all. It also means that I, as a critic, produce fewer reviews overall, which should make each review more characteristic and the overall corpus more consistent.

My second principle is that the highest number I'll use is three. Mr. Ebert was onto something when he made the alluring choice of knocking the tail off of the five-star format. It made all of his ratings look smarter. Five stars was for the common people; real intellectuals expressed their taste in the glamorous new fashion of four. Now it's my turn. I've one-upped the fallen old man, who once failed to appreciate John Carpenter's The Thing (1982). I dare to fly with merely three. And no halfsies, either. No point to it if I’m going to decide to give a game a one-and-a-half because that would be a six-point system in disguise, wouldn’t it?

My final principle is borrowed in part from Famitsu's thing where they divide scores into parts that can be treated either separately or summed. They do that with four reviewers. In my case, I cannot judge the work from the perspective of multiple people (I am only one person). Instead, I split my score into two numbers representing two priorities. That’s two numbers ranging zero to three, written X-Y. For instance, Shadow of the Colossus is a 1-2 game.

The first number, on a scale of zero to three, represents the aesthetic merits of the game. This can include everything experienced by the player. It may consider the art direction, the sound and music, and the narrative design. It also may refer to the dynamics of the design and the "choreography" of interaction, in a very formalist sense borrowed in part from Graeme Kirkpatrick's Aesthetic Theory and the Video Game. Interactive design is just as much a part of the media content of a game as the audiovisual presentation.

To be less academic—I like to summarize the first number as the question: "does it make me cry?" because it captures that it's often a sentimental thing. High-scoring games on the first number tend to be tearjerkers.

Why should Shadow of the Colossus get a one out of three in this category? Well, a one isn't really a low score in the conventional sense. My system is built to specify why a game is great. A zero would mean "this game is great, but it has nothing to do with the aesthetics." I consider Shadow of the Colossus to be aesthetically great, just not as aesthetically great as a few other games.

I like to call the other score “does it blow my mind?” to highlight that it pertains to games that impress me. Expect more elaboration when I get to the second half of the review.

When I first made up this system years ago, I tried to list a bunch of old favorites as examples. At that time, I stamped a 2-1 on Shadow of the Colossus. Mark the difference! It means that now I appreciate its technical achievement more but have tempered my feelings about its content. This change of opinion came to me when I recently watched a close friend play through the game for the first time, hanging out over her shoulder. The banter we shared dampened the emotion of the experience—for example, she already knew Agro was going to fall off a cliff sooner or later and by the time she did, it affected her more like the punchline to a drawn-out joke. I was a little offended. Her more detached play experience exposed some of the game’s weaknesses to me.

In 2012, Shadow of the Colossus became the first thing I ever saved money to buy. After watching the “Nerd³ Plays” video where he calls it a “perfect game,” I began to daydream about it obsessively. I stuck the facetious label “Ye Olde Jar o Talents” on a mason jar and brought it to school so I could beg my classmates for funds. This worked, however incredulous it was, but I didn’t buy the game. I didn’t buy the game for years, and even after that I didn’t play it for at least a few months. It was like an old Russian novel to me: something that always existed in the future for which I could never consider myself prepared. And then I did play it and it was great.

My original rating of two reflected the beautiful score and the sublime desolation of the game, which inhabited me then as it does now. When I take a walk in the woods, I am visited once more by the mystery of “To the Ancient Land.” It’s a good season in my life to return to the game. I’m in a forest often.

But unrelated to my time in forests, I’ve spent the last year thinking a lot about fantasy. I fell out with it some years ago and only recently began rehabilitating my affection for it. Shadow of the Colossus belongs to that estranged clade of fantasy, the fairy tale, which has become my favorite.

Fairy tales are mysterious but well-patterned, made from a pool of common morphologies, which folklorist Vladimir Propp called “functions” with perhaps excessive precision. A glancing comparison will hopefully show how much like a fairy tale Shadow of the Colossus really is. Propp’s functions came originally from his syntax of Russian folk stories. Shadow of the Colossus is neither Russian nor folk, through it deploys several such functions in an identifiable and properly consecutive fashion:

Absentation, interdiction, and violation all before the prologue is over

Trickery as Dormin tells Wander what must be done to revive Mono

Departure, as Wander begins the quest to slay the colossi, and various functions of the Donor, who is also Dormin

Quite a bit of struggle and branding as Wander does his colossus-slaying and dishevels himself gradually with dark magic

Pursuit (by Lord Emon)

And then the punishment and reward are cleverly reversed, because of course in this special video game that people who don’t call all video games art sometimes deign to call art, Wander was in error all along.

I think that to leave the analysis at that would be a failure to appreciate the particular flavor of this story. There are many video game stories where the player character ends up ethically compromised for some narrative effect, but the aesthetic appeal of Shadow of the Colossus is grossly different from, say, Spec Ops: the Line. Wander is more like Hamlet; he retains his hero-ness the whole way through, yet still the fate of his quest is doomed by circumstance.

What he must do is awful and painful to him, but he’s stuck on this path. The closing of the door to the bridge out of the Forbidden Lands is a literalization of this. The inciting events of his journey—the superstitious sacrifice of an innocent girl—make his goals noble from the start, and because he does not have the information to understand the cost of his deeds until it is too late, we cannot say that he is ever malicious. The player is clued in that something is wrong through visual suggestions that Wander does not necessarily see or understand, including the doves and ominous shadow-people which gather at the Shrine of Worship. These devices are not employed in any way that comments specifically on the medium of video games; nothing about them is procedural. They are very conventional vectors of good old-fashioned dramatic irony.

Furthermore, we don’t textually know at all that Dormin is evil. The antagonist Lord Emon who opposes Dormin and Wander is possibly responsible for Mono’s death. He reminds us, if we have played ICO, of the people who unjustly imprison that game’s hero on account of his “cursed” horns. Once we abandon the idea that the Lord Emon narrator/antagonist character is a trustworthy authority, we lose the only voice telling us that Dormin is dangerous. And at the end of the tale Dormin, surprisingly, keeps all of his promises to Wander: Mono is revived and Wander’s body is returned to him. He even gets his horsey back! Very sweet. And the final scenes, which play out leisurely beside the scrolling credits column, show a bright and sun-dappled garden. Mono, robed in her white gown, comforts baby Wander while surrounded by wildlife and green trees. A fawn appears. The imagery is positively lousy with symbols of innocence and spring.

And, if we’re going to permit ourselves to get biblical, isn’t it a little like a reverse Genesis? Wander follows the instructions of a higher power despite a warning from Lord Emon, who has special knowledge. As a result, a woman is saved from her “cursed fate” and the only way out is permanently closed, trapping the woman and the revived hero in the garden of paradise.

Shadow of the Colossus tells a tragic and subversive story, but it does it entirely within the syntax of its folktalesy story genre. It doesn’t have the flavor of subversiveness which comments on other works or the conventions of its own medium. To understand Undertale’s project, you need to be familiar with other JRPGs. Shadow of the Colossus would preserve its message in any medium.

This point isn’t really doing anything to bump my score up or down, but it’s a line of thinking I’ve revisited many times while writing about this game. I think that what really took Shadow of the Colossus from a two down to a one was the inconsistency between encounter designs.

My friend caught on quickly to the first several colossi, even prevailing where I remember having stumbled (my younger self was completely stymied by the sixth, called “Barba” by fans). But as the latter half of the game wore on, she spent more and more time running in circles. Numbers nine, eleven, and twelve all exasperated her. Each of them involves a special trick that must be discovered before they can be made vulnerable. Colossus number eleven, for example, is covered in armor that can only be broken by using a torch to chase it off of a cliff. But no other encounter shows you that there’s anything you can hold in your hands besides the sword and bow you start with. To even get the torch, you need to stand on a plinth holding up a brazier such that the colossus charges at you and knocks the torch loose. But my friend did not even realize that the plinths were climbable; they can only be grabbed from the sides, which is difficult to see and execute when you’re constantly charged at by an enemy that stuns you on the ground for a few whole seconds whenever it hits you. The tedium was too much, and the game lost its magic and atmosphere. The battle against the last colossus was pretty disheartening. No sense of an emotional climax came through. Instead, as I watched my friend fall over and over from its hands and shoulders and whatnot with all the tenacity of a lint-covered novelty sticky hand, I could only hope desperately that she wouldn’t put the game down right then and there.

In some moments, it’s plain to see that Shadow of the Colossus is testing the player’s patience with purpose and meaning. Each encounter culminates with Wander clutching to fur, often on the head of the colossus, holding on just long enough to get a good stab. The colossi shake and Wander dangles on, unable to get a steady hit. It’s frustrating to have to wait for a tiny window of opportunity to land a blow, but this is clearly by design. If the fight could be ended as soon as the player got into stabbing position, the anticipation would resolve too quickly. Giving the player sweaty palms, making them really clench the trigger button, serves to procedurally convey the ordeal Wander faces on-screen. You hold on (to the controller) to hold on (for dear life) in a very successful bit of hand-to-screen parallelism.

But at other times, the game slips away into pointless futility. In many fights, the trick that makes the colossus vulnerable is only effective for a short time, so the player must hurry to seize the opportunity. Often, the time window just isn’t long enough, and the player is compelled to retry, but the novelty of discovering the trick has already disappeared. The ninth colossus’s arena is huge, and when you knock it onto its side, you have to maneuver over to the far side of its body every time. It’s fiddly and protracted, and it’s a case where the game inadequately reacts to the player executing on what should feel like the turning point of the battle. It took my friend about four tries to ascend this colossus successfully. And it’s a turtle, so it isn’t even that tall. Really lame.

My own remembered experience, rooted in some British guy’s twelve-year-old YouTube video, is very different from the one shared with that friend of mine. I saw a game denuded of its majesty by our ongoing joke that Agro would be the final boss; a joke between pals on the proverbial gamer couch. A couch that, if it were not replaced in our case by the deep phenomenological chasm of several US states of distance and a Discord RTC, would be evocative of the one shared by Misters Cheadle and Sandler in the film Reign Over Me.

It’s a largely forgotten film, but consensus says it’s surprisingly well-regarded: Metacritic awards it an impressive 8.5 user score, which it labels “universal acclaim.” Adam Sandler plays a traumatized man who, after losing his family in 9/11, quits his dental career and whittles his days scootering around, playing the drums, and remodeling his kitchen over and over. Don Cheadle is his former college roommate, a successful dentist with a family, who runs into him late one night. The two rekindle their friendship and are both healed for it. This involves a lot of Shadow of the Colossus.

When Don Cheadle first sees Sandler, he can’t get him to stop and talk. Their second encounter happens when Cheadle drops off his daughter at a friend’s house. He intends to go back home to his wife to spend quality time solving a puzzle with her. Suddenly, Sandler flies by on his scooter. So instead, Cheadle gets him to stop and talk. He asks if Sandler is “practicing,” by which he means “practicing dentistry.”

“I’m practicing all the time, up in the valley. Took down twelve of the colossus so far” “The valley? What is that, is that a medical complex or something?” “It’s more… like another dimension. You take a journey, you discover yourself.” (Reign Over Me, 13:50)

He gets Sandler to sit down for Starbucks, where Sandler violates assorted social norms as per a 2007 movie’s notion of a traumatized person. Sandler acts as if he doesn’t remember Cheadle but they make conversation regardless and before you know it, Cheadle is at this guy’s apartment.

Cheadle needs to use the bathroom. Sad music begins to play. Cheadle briefly glimpses a room with furniture covered in sheets—evidence that this man once had a family. Then there’s a mournful-looking shot where the camera stares straight down Sandler’s darkened hall and distantly we see his TV. He’s climbing the first Colossus. That’s a funny thing to do if you’ve finished three quarters of the game. I guess he has more than one save file. So that he can practice more, of course.

As the movie goes on, the two intertwine into each other’s life in a conventionally dramatic way. Sandler is a broken man who throws tantrums and lacks responsibility and ropes Cheadle into a Mel Brooks marathon showing on the night Cheadle’s father dies, and in turn, Cheadle suffers various embarrassments to his career and family because he has compassion for his friend. And sometimes we get to see more Shadow of the Colossus, which Sandler often calls “Shadows” of the Colossus.

In its second appearance, Sandler is fighting the fifth Colossus—my favorite—and Cheadle takes the controller. We get a montage. He can’t put it down. Sandler teases Cheadle, he says he’s addicted (to Shadow of the Colossus). Cheadle jumps to his feet, paces around the couch in frustration: he demands one more try. He refuses Sandler’s suggestion to stop and “let it soak in,” he’s determined to get it this time. Number fifteen falls and Cheadle pumps his fist, shouting “co-lo-ssussss!” in a funny voice. The montage ends, and with it goes our brief window into an otherworld where playing Shadow of the Colossus actually looks like that.

Or, hey, that’s not so fair. Maybe, for Mr. Adam Sandler, playing Shadow of the Colossus is about practicing each fight over and over and pumping your fist triumphantly when you finally win. Maybe he got a New Game Plus save file when he picked it up on eBay that let him fight the colossi out of order. For his character—who, as I’ve neglected to mention, is named Charlie Fineman—the game is supposed to be a metaphor for 9/11, of course.

Back in ‘07, Kotaku managed to get in touch with Jeremy Roush, who worked as an editor for Reign Over Me. Apparently, the role of Shadow of the Colossus in the film was inspired by Roush’s father.

The Vietnam War left his father 100 percent mentally disabled with post-traumatic stress disorder... Unable to work, he spent the days and evenings watching sci-fi thriller Aliens over and over again until he actually had to buy a new VHS tape. "Aliens is a thinly veiled kind of Vietnam veteran kind of story," Roush explains, "and watching it is a way of thinking about it without telling yourself you are thinking about it." The movie was visceral therapy for his father… Refusing to accept the death of loved ones. Seeking out an escape from that truth. Giants falling in slow motion. "You could see where someone who was dealing with 9/11 would be engrossed by a giant that keeps collapsing over and over again," he says. Charlie's therapy was Shadow of the Colossus. (Ashcraft p.2)

Roush, who was responsible for the idea to include the game in the movie, had thought seriously about the thematics. In Reign Over Me, Charlie Fineman’s fixation on Shadow of the Colossus is a deliberate symbol of his grief, boxed into a safe and distant replica of tragedy which he can watch himself overcome again and again on the plasma TV.

Later on in the film, Cheadle manages to drag Sandler to weekly therapist sessions, but they go nowhere. Sandler refuses to speak about his family and leaves each session after just a few minutes. But he does say “I like to play Colossus!” (Reign, 1:13:29). In this movie’s understanding of mentally ill people, or at least in Roush’s, PTSD sufferers seek out proxy-triggers to act out the procedure of grieving with none of the pain. I think that I preferred the movie before I learned this. It just doesn’t make as much sense to say that the colossi are all supposed to be, like, the twin towers. Isn’t that bizarre? I mean, I had just assumed that the game was more broadly supposed to be a parallel to the ordeal of overcoming grief, and that the colossi were the grief. Grief is like a colossus, or like colossi, because it can feel so much bigger than the griever, so invincible and enduring. That’s why it was so strange to me that he never makes it further through the game over the course of the movie. In the very last scene, when he’s in his new and well-lit apartment, do you know what he’s doing? He’s playing it again, but he’s back to number thirteen. I really expected him to finish the game by the end, which would parallelize his grief struggle with a struggle to take down the colossi. It would represent something. However, the truth is that the colossus encounters are supposed to be 9/11, and he’s mentally recreating a facsimile of 9/11 every time he plays the game. Infinite, furry World Trade Centers getting stabbed by Adam Sandler over and over.

Sorry, that might have been a digression in poor taste. You didn’t expect to read a review of Reign Over Me within this review of Shadow of the Colossus and it was a little deceptive of me to jam it in there. But I thought about it so much, you have to understand! It’s fascinating to me how I could arrive at such a different interpretation of the movie than was apparently intended. The same difference goes for the game itself: Mr. Roush definitely got the gist of Shadow of the Colossus, but he applied the game to the movie in such a different way than I would have.

Let’s talk about the technical side of things instead for a short while. A nice palate-cleanser. It might seem unbalanced to devote one half of the score system to technology that is seldom appreciated by the audience—this score is more than that. Perhaps you were left confused when I didn’t explain it in much detail earlier, back when I was still laying out the way the system works. The slogan “does it blow my mind?” suggests that this category seeks to appreciate the craft of game development. A good example of something non-technological that “blows my mind” would be the dialogue system in Hades; the incredible effort of writing such a massive script and then organizing it so cleverly certainly does blow my mind, speaking as a game developer and a very slow writer.

Shadow of the Colossus is an exceptionally technically impressive game that deserves more than the 1 I assigned it on the spot so long ago. Through optimization, fakery, and creativity, it packs in the most sophisticated graphics the PlayStation 2 can handle, including HDR lighting, self-shading, long-distance level-of-detail mesh transitions, real-time fur rendering, volumetric particles, and anisotropic light scattering. Most of these practices were considered next-gen at the time of the game’s release. Some of them still feel shiny and new in 2024.

Team ICO accomplished this through ingenuity and strict scoping. Out of any of my sources, I learned the most about it here. Of particular interest to me is the usage of procedural animation and inverse kinematics, of which I’m a big fan. If you are one of the few beautiful souls in this loving universe who have read my blog(s) before, you know that I’ve been working on and off for a long time on a project that relies heavily on inverse kinematics called Flower Pot. The inexpensive algorithm I use in my own work, called FABRIK, was not published until 2011. Furthermore, Shadow of the Colossus has very complex character models and needs to clearly telegraph the movements of the player character and the colossi. For this reason it also dynamically combines animation data keyframed by an animator with the movements computed by the inverse kinematics algorithms. They did this on a CPU that clocked at about 294 megahertz (see Diefendorff).

I won’t reproduce diagrams here because they’re already available in the translated article on Léna Piquet’s website, which I linked above and which may also be found in my sources. To be honest, there is less for me to write in this section of the review because there is not much new to say. The achievements and process of Team ICO have been extensively documented and explained, much more than almost any other game. What is especially unique about Shadow of the Colossus is that much of this dissection and documentation has been done by outsiders: fans who never had access to the team or their materials.

Of particular note is Nomad Colossus. I found a Fandom wiki article about this guy. It says, “Nomad Colossus is a well-known figure in The Shadow of The Colossus community. He's most well-known for his insane dedication to the game and downright jaw-dropping data-mining” (Team Ico Wiki). Passionate! But the article has no comments. Yet on the other hand, a skim of the community message log page shows that at least a dozen users have worked on this wiki within the last several months. A tantalizing window into a community, or one of a million lost corners of the internet? I cannot rightfully say.

Nomad Colossus uploaded their first Shadow of the Colossus-related YouTube video in April of 2010, four and a half years post-release. It’s been much longer than that since Breath of the Wild came out and I’m still surprised whenever I see someone running it in an emulator. The video is titled “Shadow of the Colossus - Through the entrance,” and it shows Wander on horseback in an area normally inaccessible except in cutscenes: the north bridge into the central shrine. He rides Agro through the narrow gate passage on the other end of the bridge. The path continues into a void for a long ways, but the horse stops as if running into a wall.

Since then, Nomad Colossus has published 346 videos (if I’m counting correctly) pertaining to Shadow of the Colossus, prying at it with camera hacks, model viewers, and data manipulation. He reveals mountains and plains and islands and ruins all inaccessible in normal play. Their work, comprising so many short, uncommentated videos, can be engaged with as a companion book to the game; Nomad gradually turns the elusive horizons of the Forbidden Lands back into data, into geometry stored in a file system. Numbers on computers permit no mysteries. A number is autological; before being applied to another end it represents only itself. A number is atomic, it has no secret compartments. Through the efforts of explorers like Nomad Colossus and their emulators, no pit has been left unaccounted for on the DVD-ROM. Nomad renders Shadow of the Colossus into a wholly unmysterious object. This is not a criticism of their work.

At the same time, the game continues to support an incredible abundance of perceived mystery. After all, this was why Nomad Colossus’s work began. The so-called Secret Seekers and their famous thread on the PSN forums were dedicated to unearthing what they imagined to be the mother-of-all easter eggs. They began with intense clue-hunting and then moved on to the less speculative arts of boundary breaking and data mining, albeit after dozens of pages of effusive discussion. The intentions behind the game’s design were a favorite topic. Their style of discourse was dense with wild, associative connections; the possibility of subtextual hints by means of biblical allusion was on the table before even the end of the first post (Quest for the Last Big Secret). “Fumito Ueda is infamous for his attention to the most minute, intricate detail,” this post says. But to say he is infamous for this—does that not suggest the consensus of many people? I suspect that the Ueda these individuals imagined was not an accurate model of the real one. There was no secret last colossus, after all.

These are only a few of many voices on the internet professing all kinds of opinions about the game, its content, its intentions and meanings and forms. A quick survey will show substantial diversity of interpretation: I found a passionate review on the “patientgamers” subreddit decrying Shadow of the Colossus as “one of the worst games I’ve ever played” for its “non-existent story” and “Genuinely awful clunky movement and controls” (AstraFuckingGooGoo). In “Shadow of the Colossus: a Retrospective View,” NoobFeed user BrunoBRS calls the game “a love story, of what limits can a man go for his loved one, but it is, most importantly, the tale of David and Goliath” in a passage of lavish praise for “what he truly believes is the greatest game of all time” (BrunoBRS). The similarly-titled “Shadow of the Colossus: A Retrospective,” an article on The Boss Key, calls it “a game all about and only about killing the boss monsters as a means to an end” (Koop). “Shadow of the Colossus Retrospective– A Tragically Beautiful Love Story,” brought to us by Taylor Lyles on DualShockers, says it’s “so much more than just a boss rush game; it is the story of a boy who cared so much for someone he loved that unleashed all sorts of hellish things to save her” (Lyles). Shadow of the Colossus retrospectives are, as they say, like assholes: everybody has one. I am included. Shades of consensus and contradiction are to be found in abundance in each discussion of the game.

And what of my own opinions? They depend on a perceived counter-opinion in many ways. My revised scoring suggests how I remember my past self. In my discussion of the aesthetic content of the game, I call for a new perspective that de-emphasizes the notion that Shadow of the Colossus deliberately works to subvert a convention of the medium of video games. But couldn’t I be accused of failing to establish that this notion existed in the first place? Let me provide an example of that notion, at least. Here’s another retrospective. It has the word “retrospective” in its title. It’s called “START/SELECT: Consuming Loneliness: A ‘Shadow of the Colossus’ Retrospective,” and it was written by Mac Riga for the Georgetown University student newspaper. Here’s Riga’s take:

Team Ico sought to make a game that laid bare the contradiction of video games. It held up this beautiful medium, the pinnacle of self-isolation and escapism yet one that fosters empathy and self-reflection more than any other, and begged the player to wrestle with that irony — to come to their own conclusions about what it means to be alone, what it means to consume video games and what it means to do both simultaneously. (Riga)

This is surprising. Riga isn’t talking about the moral irony of monster-slaying in video games, which is more or less the topic of the counter-opinion I imagined myself to be opposing. But he is saying that Shadow of the Colossus is trying to engage in conversation with a convention of the medium of games, and to me that was the important part. For Riga, it’s a game about “self-isolation” and “empathy.”

Maybe it would be helpful to check what Fumito Ueda has to say. Even if you’re the type to faithfully invoke The Death of the Author, you might still agree, I hope, that discovering the designer’s intent will provide a reference against which to compare other views.

“I’ve never thought that “cruelty” is something forbidden in video games. Video games seem to require cruelty as a means of expression, and that being the case, I wanted to try and present my own take on cruelty. That was really the seed idea of Shadow of the Colossus.” (Ueda)

Here in a 2005 interview with CONTINUE magazine, Ueda casts Shadow of the Colossus as a game about cruelty inspired by the cruelty he sees as required in games. My analysis is thrown into doubt even further! It was intended as a deconstruction all along. But wait—Fumito Ueda from 2019 might be here to save me.

Was the overall aim of SOTC to question why it is that most games are about killing and how we have grown so comfortable doing so in a virtual existence? Fumito Ueda: I play games where violence is a factor myself, so I do not dismiss such games. However, through the production of Shadow of the Colossus, I started having doubts about simply “feeling good by beating monsters” and “getting a sense of accomplishment”. I tried thinking if there were any other choices for different kinds of expression, then ended up with such settings and rules as a result. Rather than try to deliberately create some sort of antithesis, I focused more on the consistency of the design as a product and differentiation (from other products). (Taylor)

Apologies for another long block quote; I really think the context is worth leaving in here because it helps to illustrate that, while Ueda is not exactly contradicting himself, different circumstances have prompted two answers with very different implications. The interviewer in the latter source seems to be aligned with the popular view that the game narrative is chiefly an exploration of morality. Which I do not disagree with, either: I should reiterate that my disagreement is with the view that the game narrative is specifically an exploration of morality in the medium of video games. The interviewer suggests that by saying that “most games are about killing.” Ueda seems to dismiss the idea by going on to say that the game was not crafted as “some sort of antithesis,” but that those themes emerged simply by trying to make a unique story. But in the former interview, Ueda asserts that he was “inspired” by the prevalence of “cruelty” in games. We are deprived of an authorial view where we might find stability; such a thing would have protected us, maybe, from the wild menagerie of contrasting views we face instead.

And could it be possible, if you would excuse the sudden break, that Reign Over Me (2007) starring Adam Sandler and Don Cheadle might not have always been actively trying to frame Shadow of the Colossus as a pseudo-Freudian stand-in for 9/11? More importantly, do we have any meaningful way to be sure? No, I think it’s more likely that suggestive forces have moved in with us permanently and that their furniture is too numerous and heavy for us to kick them out. It is impossible to speak on the aesthetics of a work, especially one so widely critiqued as Shadow of the Colossus, without necessarily speaking on what was spoken before. It is impossible to even play the game without encountering these extratextual conversations.

When I watched my friend play Shadow of the Colossus for the first time, I must have already been faintly aware of this phenomenon. The process of finding an appropriate emulator and an appropriate ROM led her through websites already saturated with extratextual content that suggested certain ideas of the game content. She had heard me speak of the game before. She had already listened to much of its music, accompanied on YouTube by comments. Being someone interested in games herself, she had certainly already encountered discussions of the game content like this one. She knew damn well that Agro would fall off that bridge. From all of this it is clear to me that the “extratext” was always inescapable. If she were to encounter the game truly without prior knowledge it would still not have “saved” her because she would just discover the extratext afterwards.

And what of my wife? My poor sweet wife? Just as no dry beach is spared from the tide, she too will be inundated by extratext that will indelibly shape how she receives and interprets the game content. She will not be a source of a “pure” opinion, but only another source of interpretation. She will never play Shadow of the Colossus as it was when it came out in 2005.

The space in consideration is a “consensus blob.” It has no hard boundaries, but it has gradients. Within the blob there are many shades of interpretation, but few overt contradictions except when comparing extremes. The blob is uncentered because there is no single “correct” or most stable interpretation. Areas of the blob give the appearance of a “consensus,” a shared notion or common interpretation, but really the gradient is everywhere and always-changing, like an amoeba. Even the creator of the art object can sway from point to point in the blob, forgetting wherever it was they started. The consensus is heraclitean. The extratext is absolutely inseparable from the text.

Really, we shouldn’t be miffed about it. Shadow of the Colossus can be about a lot of things, it’s not like we need a single definitive analysis. It will be a joy to watch my wife play, and I will be delighted to see what she thinks. I’m sure it will be new and exciting.

Overall, I give Reign Over Me a strong 6/10.

Sources

AstraFuckingGooGoo. “Shadow of the Colossus (PS4)- one of the worst games I’ve ever played.” r/patientgamers. https://www.reddit.com/r/patientgamers/comments/ujnx5q/shadow_of_the_colossus_ps4_one_of_the_worst_games/. Accessed 8 Aug. 2024.

Binder, Mike, dir. 2007. Reign over Me. Screenplay by Mike Binder. Columbia Pictures.

BrunoBRS. “Shadow of the Colossus: a Retrospective View”. Noobfeed. 27 Sep. 2011. https://www.noobfeed.com/features/160/shadow-of-the-colossus-a-retrospective-view

Diefendorff, Keith. “Sony’s Emotionally Charged Chip.” Microprocessor Report, vol. 13, no. 5.

Koop, Brandon. “Shadow of the Colossus: A Retrospective.” The Boss Key, 10 Apr. 2014, https://bradenkoop.wordpress.com/2014/04/10/shadow-of-the-colossus-a-retrospective/.

Lyles, Taylor. “Shadow of the Colossus Retrospective -- A Tragically Beautiful Love Story.” DualShockers, 26 Jan. 2018, https://www.dualshockers.com/shadow-of-the-colossus-retrospective/.

Metacritic. Reign over Me. https://www.metacritic.com/movie/reign-over-me/. Accessed 15 Aug. 2024.

“Nomad Colossus.” Team Ico Wiki, https://teamico.fandom.com/wiki/Nomad_Colossus.  Accessed 8 Aug. 2024.

Peeren, Esther. “Compelling Memory: 9/11 and the Work of Mourning in Mike Binder’s Reign Over Me.” Cultural Critique, vol. 92, no. 1, Dec. 2016, pp. 57–83. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1353/cul.2016.a617380.

Piquet, Léna, translator. “The Making of ‘Shadow of the Colossus.’” Froyok, Dec. 2007, https://pure.uva.nl/ws/files/2772150/175939_PUBLISHED_Peeren_617380.pdf.

Quest for the Last Big Secret / Mysteries of SotC. PlayStation Community Forums, archived May 2013. http://web.archive.org/web/20130505104658/http://community.us.playstation.com/t5/Shadow-of-the-Colossus-PS2/Quest-for-the-Last-Big-Secret-Mysteries-of-SotC/td-p/20178777

Riga, Mac. “START/SELECT: Consuming Loneliness: A ‘Shadow of the Colossus’ Retrospective.” The Hoya, https://thehoya.com/guide/start-select-consuming-loneliness-a-shadow-of-the-colossus-retrospective/. Accessed 12 Aug. 2024.

Taylor, Jay. “Interview Extra: Fumito Ueda (Ico, Shadow of the Colossus, The Last Guardian).” Cane and Rinse, 27 Aug. 2019, https://caneandrinse.com/fumito-ueda-interview/.

Ueda, Fumito. Interview for CONTINUE Magazine, vol. 25., 2005. Translated by shmuplations, https://shmuplations.com/ueda/. Accessed 13 Aug. 2024.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 3.5/5

Book Blurb:

A delightfully queer Victorian love story, featuring a boldly brash trans hero, the beguiling botanist who captures his heart, and a buoyant bicycle race by the British seaside — from the author of The Duke Undone.

Former painter and unreformed rake Kit Griffith is forging a new life in Cornwall, choosing freedom over an identity that didn't fit. He knew that leaving his Sisterhood of women artists might mean forfeiting artistic community forever. He didn’t realize he would lose his ability to paint altogether. Luckily, he has other talents. Why not devote himself to selling bicycles and trysting with the holidaymakers?

Enter Muriel Pendrake, the feisty New-York-bound botanist who has come to St. Ives to commission Kit for illustrations of British seaweeds. Kit shouldn’t accept Muriel’s offer, but he must enlist her help to prove to an all-male cycling club that women can ride as well as men. And she won't agree unless he gives her what she wants. Maybe that's exactly the challenge he needs.

As Kit and Muriel spend their days cycling together, their desire begins to burn with the heat of the summer sun. But are they pedaling toward something impossible? The past is bound to catch up to them, and at the season’s end, their paths will diverge. With only their hearts as guides, Kit and Muriel must decide if they’re willing to race into the unknown for the adventure of a lifetime.

Review:

Former artist and unreformed rake Kit Griffith is determined to prove to his all male cycling club that women can ride as well as men, and that means getting a feisty botanist to ride with him in exchange for him painting for her botany project... the only catch? He has an art block and he might be falling for her despite him vowing that he would never do anything more than a fling. Kit Griffith used to be a woman but finally left behind his old self and finally made his own identity... but he didn't realize that leaving behind his Sisterhood of women artists would also costs him his ability to paint. Kit can't seem to paint anymore but he now has other hobbies: selling bicycles and trysting with as many women as possible. Then he meets Muriel Pendrake, a feisty New-York bound botanist who has come to St. Ives to commission Kit for illustrations of British seaweeds. Kit's all male-cycling club is having a bet: if he can get a female cyclist to ride with him through a certain period of time and beat the time, against male cyclists, then they will open the club up to more people... but he needs a female cyclist.. and Muriel would be the perfect person Muriel's condition for her riding with him is that : he has to paint for her and he agrees... despite knowing that he can't paint but he's hoping it's the challenge he needs. As Muriel and Kit spend more time together they begin to fall for one another... but could it even be possible when Kit doesn't do anything serious and he still hasn't told Muriel his own past or the fact that he knows he can't paint for her? This was definitely a fun read and I absolutely adored the queer representation in this. It was a really unique and fun representation of the queer historical experience and I thought the story was enjoyable overall. I did wish that there was a bit more focus on the plot and story because at times it felt so slow or just a bit clunky. however it was a fantastic read overall and I would absolutely recommend it!

Release Date: June 18,2024

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group | Berkley for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[lia-land]

A Curse For True Love by Stephanie Garber

2.5/5

Spoilers for A Curse For True Love by Stephanie Garber

Why was this one of the worst books I have ever read? It's definitely the worst series finale. I’m too disappointed to even be mad. I’m being so generous with the rating.

I think this whole series is a perfect example of when an author has one good character that they really like, but doesn’t know what to do with them.

I’ve said in other reviews how much Jacks has stood out as a character in Garber’s books all the way back to Legendary. He’s an interesting character and was consistently more developed than any of the other characters. That isn’t enough to carry a whole three book series, though.

I read all the spoilers and discussions on this book before I finished it because it was just dragging on and we were given more questions than answers. I skimmed a lot of this and pretty much only read the dialogue because half of this book was just a recap of the previous two books. I can see why that might not be that jarring if you’d been waiting a year for this to come out, but I’ve been reading this series back to back. Someone on Reddit mentioned that all the recaps might have been to get the word count up and I think that’s very accurate, especially considering how short this was overall.

Apparently Garber turned off her insta comments at some point because of all the criticism? It would have been a DNF if I wasn’t still hoping for a glimpse of the Jacks we knew in Caraval. I also thought maybe it would be worth it when they got together but that was disappointing, too. We got like five pages.

I knew there was no hope when in the last quarter of the book, she introduced the storyline of Jacks giving up his heart. That’s not a storyline you should throw in at the end of a book. It was so incredibly rushed and then Aurora turns up saying Jacks beat her up and stole his heart back. That should have been a much bigger plotline. As I have said about a lot of recent books, how did this make it past an editor??? What’s going on in the publishing industry right now?

And where is Luc? Marisol?? Was there not more to Evangeline’s parents’ death? Is Castor going to keep going on killing sprees? Is Jacks now mortal since he’s in love? Where has Aurora gone off to? Why were the apples different colours? So many unanswered questions. This was all most likely set up for a spin-off series, but I will no longer be investing my time in an author who was happy to publish such a lazy book after knowing how big of a fanbase she had.

I really don’t get the point of the Valors. If this series was just set up for the Valors to get their own series in the future, it barely did a good job at that. I also feel like Apollo kept being forced into the series. It’s not like this is a TV show where the actor for Jacks had other commitments and they had to fill up screen time with Apollo. There was fully no need for him to have such a big part in this book. I can't imagine many people who read the first two books thinking 'I would really love the third book to focus on Appollo and his POV' so why was that even a thing? Evangeline was so unnaturally attached to him just to keep him a part of the plot. It got very tiring. He has barely any depth. Why was he in so much of this book? The author knows we’re mostly all reading this series for Evangeline and Jacks so why would she make the final book focus so much on Apollo and barely on any parts with Jacks? It was very lazy overall. Maybe because she knew that since the anticipation was so high for this final book, it would sell regardless? I guess you can go out with a bang or just go out with bank.

And to add to that, if it just wasn’t the right time for her to write it, then maybe don’t write it until you’re ready. She had this great legacy with her previous books and then we get this. Does anyone remember Michelle Hodkin, the author of the Mara Dyer books? She never released the last book of the sequel series and just disappeared off the internet. I don’t know if that was perhaps a better option than writing a lazy book like this.