#i never thought id make something like this

[trekbec82]

[Image descriptions:

1. A Caucasian woman in a sleeveless blue top holds a toddler wearing white and holding a pale brown plush toy, while they look at a framed wall-mounted painting of a woman wearing a green dress, holding a baby wearing a white gown and bonnet.

2. A 4-panel comic of a dog-like adult in a long dress with a peanut-shaped child, beside a framed wall-mounted artwork of a stylised mother holding a child. In the first three panels the peanut-shaped child is standing.

In the top left panel the adult says "I'm not sure how to look at art" and the child says "what's sposta happen?"

In the top right panel the adult says, in three separate speech bubbles, "something big", "a revelation", "suddenly you just understand".

In the bottom left panel the adult says "not sure how to make it happen" and the child says "how bout lift me up so I can see better?"

In the final (bottom right) panel the adult is holding the child while they look at the artwork together without speaking.

3. An MRI image copied from the linked article, of a mother laying on her side whilst cradling her infant son to her chest, positioned to be kissing the top of the baby's head.

4-7. Screenshots of text from the linked article from Smithsonian Magazine, which I'll put under the cut in case it becomes unavailable in future.

/end ID]

Why I Captured This MRI of a Mother and Child

A venerable symbol of human love, as you’ve never seen it before

Rebecca Saxe, December 2015

A mother and her child are curled up together inside the tube of a 3 Tesla magnetic resonance imaging scanner in April 2015. The scanner bangs and beeps, shudders and screeches. The baby is finally sleeping, pressed firmly against his mother’s chest, and so is still enough for the MRI to see inside his head. A single MR image, like this one, takes several minutes to capture. Moving just a millimeter leaves a blur on the screen. The mother and baby must hold their pose, as if for a daguerreotype.

While they lie there, the scanner builds up a picture of what’s inside their skulls. Often MR images are made for physicians, to find a tumor or a blocked blood vessel. Scientists also make the images, to study brain function and development. In my lab, at MIT, we use MRI to watch blood flow through the brains of children; we read them stories and observe how their brain activity changes in reaction to the plot. By doing so, we’re investigating how children think about other people’s thoughts.

This particular MR image, though, was not made for diagnostic purposes, nor even really for science. No one, to my knowledge, had ever made an MR image of a mother and child. We made this one because we wanted to see it.

To some people, this image was a disturbing reminder of the fragility of human beings. Others were drawn to the way that the two figures, with their clothes and hair and faces invisible, became universal, and could be any human mother and child, at any time or place in history. Still others were simply captivated by how the baby’s brain is different from his mother’s; it’s smaller, smoother and darker—literally, because there’s less white matter.

Here is a depiction of one of the hardest problems in neuroscience: How will changes in that specific little organ accomplish the unfolding of a whole human mind?

As for me, I saw a very old image made new. The Mother and Child is a powerful symbol of love and innocence, beauty and fertility. Although these maternal values, and the women who embody them, may be venerated, they are usually viewed in opposition to other values: inquiry and intellect, progress and power. But I am a neuroscientist, and I worked to create this image; and I am also the mother in it, curled up inside the tube with my infant son.

Rebecca Saxe is a neuroscientist at the Saxelab at MIT. Her works focuses on Theory of Mind, the way that people think about other people’s thoughts.

saw a tiktok of a mother taking her very tiny daughter to an art museum and she’s just walking around going “whoooa” “woooaah” to everything but then they got to a marble statue of a nude woman lying on her back and the girl points and goes “mommy🫵” and i just immediately welled up with tears and all the comments are just laughing about it and of course it’s funny but how are you not insanely moved by the way art connects everyone on earth from a centuries-old sculptor to a toddler in 2023

[coryndoll]

plot ── after you undergo a procedure to erase rafe from your memory, rafe, devastated by the realization, decides to do the same, only to find himself fighting to hold onto the love you shared, proving that some connections can never truly be forgotten.

content ── another flashback!! their first date but also a look into their subtle rich bf who loves to spoil n show her off x pretty gf who loves to get spoiled n get shown off LMFAOOO

authors note ── ik these r short but erm id rather faster updates w shorter chapters ngl, bc i take forever to update when i write too much (writing rly long chapters is my rly bad habit) but IF UD LIKE TO BE PART OF THE TAGLIST, feel free to lmk thru replies, dms, anons, or reblogs !!

main masterlist | ending vote | previous next

same parties, same people, same pull. it had been like that since the night at the gas station. somehow, you and rafe just kept ending up in the same places, running with the same crowd, brushing shoulders like it wasn’t a pattern. maybe it wasn’t at first, maybe it was just coincidence. but at some point, rafe started making sure it happened.

he’d show up, knowing you’d be there. knowing you’d already have a drink in your hand, knowing you’d be tucked into some circle of friends, laughing like you had no idea he was watching. and maybe you didn’t at first, but you caught on quick.

and then it became a game.

he was persistent, always had been, always would be. he had a way of making himself impossible to ignore, stepping into your space like he belonged there, sliding a drink into your free hand like it was a habit. “just take it, c’mon,” he’d say, cocky smirk in place, voice all smooth confidence. like you’d be doing him a favor by accepting it.

and you? you never made it easy.

you took the drinks, sure, because free alcohol was free alcohol, but that was about it. rafe would wait until you took a sip before leaning in, low and lazy, saying something like, “so when are you gonna let me take you out?” and every time, you’d just tilt your head, feigning consideration before smirking over the rim of your cup.

“i don’t do charity work.”

he always laughed when you said shit like that. full-bodied, head-tilted-back kind of laugh, because he knew you were just playing with him. and rafe didn’t mind a chase. in fact, he liked one.

so he kept showing up, kept offering drinks, kept asking. weeks passed, then months. different party, different night, same energy. he didn’t switch up his approach, didn’t try anything new, just kept making himself known, kept being there.

and maybe that’s what made you start to consider it. the fact that he wasn’t pushy about it, not really. he wanted you, yeah, but he wasn’t desperate.

he wasn’t in a rush. when you shot him down, he never sulked, never got pissed. just smirked, shrugged, took his rejection like it was temporary. “not yet, huh?” he’d say, sipping his own drink, like he already knew it was only a matter of time.

it wasn’t about playing hard to get. it was about making sure you actually wanted to be caught.

then one night, something shifted.

maybe it was the way you caught him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. something softer, something unguarded, something that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t like to acknowledge.

or maybe it was the way he just . . . stopped pushing. still made his rounds to you, still handed you drinks, still lingered in your space like he belonged there, but he didn’t ask, not this time. didn’t throw out the usual ‘let me take you out’ like it was muscle memory. he just leaned against the bar next to you, knocked his glass against yours, and muttered, “cheers, trouble.”

and you hated how that made your chest go tight.

so maybe that’s why, when he pulled out his keys to leave later that night, you reached out and plucked them right from his hand.

rafe blinked, watching as you twirled them around your finger, your expression unreadable. “oh, so now you’re stealing my shit?”

“just making sure you’re good to drive,” you mused, clicking the keys against your palm. your gaze flickered to his, then away. “besides. don’t you owe me a date or something?”

rafe went still for half a second, long enough for you to notice, but not long enough for you to comment on it. then he grinned, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. “baby, you’re the one making it a big thing.”

the poker table was lined with cigarette smoke and men twice rafe’s age, the kind of guys who had real money to lose but played like they didn’t care. it was exclusive, invite-only, the kind of room that sat above the main floor of the club, separate from the noise, the sweat, the bodies moving to the bass downstairs.

rafe had walked them in like he owned the place, a hand on your waist, low, the type of touch that said mine even though you weren’t, not yet.

you weren’t supposed to be here. no, not just here, this close to him.

“you ever played before?” rafe asked, pulling out a chair for you, casual like this was some first-date type shit.

you sank into the seat, thigh brushing his as he took his own beside you. he smelled like money, like the ocean at night, like expensive cologne and bad ideas.

“poker?” you shrugged, watching the dealer flick cards across the table. “only once, and i won.”

rafe smirked, tossing in a chip without hesitation, without looking at his cards. “then let’s see if you’re lucky or if you just talk a big game.”

you felt eyes on you. not just from him, but from the other men at the table, some amused, some annoyed. rafe wasn’t subtle about you, hadn’t been all night. he poured your drinks for you, let you lean into him when you laughed, touched your wrist when he wanted your attention.

when the next round came, he slid half his stack in front of you.

you raised a brow, “what are you doing?”

“you’re playing,” he said, like it wasn’t a question. “with my money.”

you glanced at the chips, then back at him. “you trust me with that?”

rafe leaned in, his lips brushing your ear, voice so low only you could hear it. “princess, i’d give you my whole fucking wallet if you asked.”

your breath hitched, but you didn’t let it show. instead, you picked up the cards, glanced at them like you knew what you were looking at, and matched the bet across the table.

the next few hands blurred together, full of stolen looks and his arm slung over the back of your chair, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. you didn’t win every round, but you played smart, and rafe watched you the entire time, his knee knocking against yours under the table.

and when you did win, raking in a fat pile of chips, he just grinned.

“see?” you smirked, holding up a chip between your fingers, turning it over between the tips. “lucky.”

rafe took it from you, slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing yours.

“nah,” he muttered, watching you like he had you all figured out. “i think you just like taking my money.”

you bit your lip, tilting your head, feigning innocence. “is that a problem?”

rafe laughed, shaking his head, leaning back in his chair. “not at all, baby,” he murmured, voice dripping with something darker, something dangerous. “not at all.”

@luvrclub @nemesyaaa @flvredcas @montanajgbn @f4dedtouch @psychocitylights @faephoria @annaconscience @congratsloserr @rafekisser @grandfartvoid @vampiriito @countryclubwhore @yktayy9669 @lilou0401 @gemininormouzz @k4yr14 @pinkamenap1e @nelo321 @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not @dreamybabbyy @peachyparkerr @drewstarkeytruelove @wtfisastiles @adoreeyou

[muiitoloko]

The Zumba Incident

Summary: When your retired, slightly unhinged ex-general husband crashes a community Zumba class with his equally inebriated war buddies, the result is chaos, sore hips, and one unforgettable performance.

Pairing: Frank Benson × Fem! Reader & Oc

Warnings: Funny

Author's Notes: A little continuation of "Operation Dog Flap". You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, but it’s good for context. 😅 Am I making Frank too comedic?

Also read on Ao3

Three days had passed since Frank’s legendary dog-flap incident, and life had mostly returned to normal—or as normal as it could get when your husband was a retired Lieutenant General with the emotional maturity of a cranky badger and the self-preservation instincts of a lemming on a cliff.

That morning, Frank had wandered into the kitchen with his usual heavy-footed shuffle, white hair sticking up in several directions, his reading glasses perched low on his hooked nose.

“Going out,” he’d grunted around a mouthful of toast.

You glanced up from your coffee. “Oh?”

He nodded, vaguely. “Reggie, Clive, maybe Tony. Lunch. Catching up. I won’t be long.”

You arched a brow. “Lunch as in ‘lunch,’ or lunch as in you’ll be drunk before three and fall asleep on the couch covered in crisps and shame?”

Frank gave you his most affronted look—the one he always wore when you were absolutely correct. “It’s just lunch,” he said, hazel eyes blinking with poorly concealed innocence. “We’re old men. We get full after a pint and a sandwich.”

You rolled your eyes but said nothing. He had been good lately. He deserved a break. And frankly, you needed some quiet time with Thomas that didn’t involve cleaning olive oil off the floor or explaining to your son why Daddy had turned into a stuck sausage roll.

So, you kissed Frank goodbye, sent him off with his coat, wallet, and a warning—“Please, for the love of God, don’t get arrested”—and went about your day.

It was peaceful for a while.

Until your phone rang.

You glanced at the caller ID and frowned.

Frank Benson.

You answered with a smile, expecting your husband’s baritone and a half-sarcastic, half-sincere “I miss you already.”

Instead, a strange female voice greeted you.

“Hi! Uh, hello? Is this… Mrs. Benson?”

Your brow furrowed. “Yes?”

“Oh, great. Hi! I work at the community center on Rosehill Street and, um… we have your husband here. And his friends.”

You froze. “…Sorry?”

“They, uh… well, they’ve joined our Zumba class. Uninvited. And we just… thought you might want to come get them.”

You stared at your phone in silence for a beat.

“I’m sorry,” you said slowly, “did you just say Zumba?”

“Yes. Very enthusiastically.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Is he drunk?”

“I’d guess… very.”

Of course he was.

You sighed and rubbed your temple. “Right. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

Twenty minutes later, you were standing in the entryway of the Rosehill Community Center, Thomas at your side, clutching his dinosaur backpack, eyes wide with curiosity.

You could hear the music before you even entered the main hall���Latin beats thumping through the walls, something absurdly upbeat about hips and rhythm and joy.

And then, through the windowed door, you saw them.

Frank. Your husband. White hair disheveled, cheeks red, moving in a way that could only be described as possessed by a rhythm demon with no sense of timing. His shirt was half-untucked, his stomach jiggled with every movement, and he looked like a retired garden gnome on a sugar high. His hazel eyes were glazed but… weirdly focused. Determined, even.

He was trying.

Reggie was beside him, shirtless for some godforsaken reason, twirling like a drunken ballerina. Clive was flapping his arms with all the coordination of a headless chicken, and Tony—sweet, poor Tony—was doing something vaguely resembling a twerk, and you never wanted to think about that again.

Thomas gasped beside you. “Mummy. Daddy’s dancing!”

“Not… exactly, sweetheart.”

“But he’s moving like Peppa’s grandpa when he sneezed.”

“That sounds about right.”

The instructor, a tired-looking woman in her mid-thirties, spotted you through the window and gave you a desperate thumbs-up.

You took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The music blasted into your ears. The moment Frank caught sight of you, he froze mid-thrust, his arms outstretched, one knee bent in what might have once been a squat.

“…Darling,” he said, far too brightly. “You came!”

You stared at him in dead silence.

Frank blinked. Then tried to spin.

It did not go well.

He stumbled, caught Reggie’s elbow, and the two of them tumbled to the floor in a heap of laughter and flailing limbs.

Thomas clapped delightedly. “Again, Daddy! Do the spin again!”

Frank groaned from the floor, one hand reaching toward the ceiling. “I was ambushed,” he slurred. “They promised me pub lunch and a pint. And then there was music. And shouting. And a woman named Gloria said my hips were ‘full of promise.’”

You looked to the instructor. “How long has this been going on?”

She rubbed her forehead. “They got here at 2:40. It’s… 3:15.”

You stared at your husband. “You’ve been drunk dancing for thirty-five minutes?”

Frank beamed up at you from the floor. “Best workout I’ve had in years.”

You closed your eyes. “I’m going to bury you in the garden.”

“Preferably face down,” Reggie muttered, groaning as he sat up. “That way if I reanimate, I can’t climb out.”

Thomas waved his arms. “Can I do Zumba too?!”

You groaned. “Absolutely not. Everyone into the car.”

“But—”

“Now!”

Frank struggled to his feet, his arms wobbling. “Darling, I was quite good actually. You should’ve seen my hip circle.”

You took one long, slow breath. “Frank Benson. You are a decorated military officer. You commanded drone strikes. You negotiated ceasefires. You were once knighted by the Queen herself.”

He grinned, eyes drooping. “And now I Zumba.”

You turned to the instructor, digging into your bag. “Do you accept bribes to delete footage?”

That night, Frank lay spread-eagled on the couch, groaning.

“Everything hurts,” he mumbled.

“Good.”

“You’re not going to forgive me, are you?”

“Not even a little.”

“I think I may have sprained my arse.”

You didn’t answer. Just placed a glass of water on his chest and a bag of frozen peas on his thigh.

Thomas ran into the room with a piece of paper. “Look, Daddy! I drew you doing Zumba!”

Frank stared at the drawing. He was a stick figure with wild hair and a big, wobbling belly.

“…I’m magnificent,” he whispered.

You sighed, collapsing beside him, one hand brushing through his white hair.

“You are something, alright.”

And he smiled. Stupid. Pained. Drunk with life.

Yours.

[4rrenstep]

Inspired by this post:

[linkedin-offficial]

me when i get the opportunity to think about speculative biology and non-existent game mechanics in media i like

⠀

[ruporas]

asking and receiving (bonus below readmore)

[ID: A black and white, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood. In the first panel is a close up of Wolfwood's mouth as he says, "Vash". Accompanying it is a close up shot of Vash's eye, widen and cheeks flushed. Wolfwood presses a knee against the open space between Vash's legs and says, "Tell me everything you want from me." Wolfwood's face is equally as flushed. He continues to say, "I'll give it to you. Everything." As he talks, a wide shot shows the both of them in white space. Vash is sitting, leaning a little back with both hands pressed against the surface he's sitting on. Wolfwood is in his white dress shirt, stripped of the blazer. He's still leaning in with one knee in between Vash's spread legs, his right hand touching Vash's lips and his left hand behind his back.

The shot closes in on Vash's mouth and Wolfwood's hand against it, pressing down on the lower lip as he says, "You have to ask though. Go on." His hand moves down to Vash's chin, gently holding it. With a shy and uncertain expression, Vash hesitantly asks, "Um... K... Kiss... Please?" Wolfwood, without wasting a second, leans in and kisses him and indulges by pressing deeper, eliciting a small noise of surprise from Vash.

Wolfwood moves away from Vash first and with a smile, asks, "What else?" Vash tugs on Wolfwood's left sleeve, wordlessly budging Wolfwood to give him his hand that was still behind his back. In the next panel, Vash utters, "Hold me..?" He's holding Wolfwood's left hand with his own while his right hand is reaching for his waist. Wolfwood complies, moving his left hand to Vash's shoulder and his right hand continues to touch Vash's cheek. Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

More comfortable now, Vash leans in to kiss Wolfwood. Wolfwood catches him immediately, pressing his thumb against Vash's lips to stop him before demanding, "Hey. Ask." Vash looks back in surprise and Wolfwood meets his eye with a quiet, insistent look. They're quiet for a moment before Vash leans in again and curtly requests, "Kiss. Me." Wolfwood says "Good", smiling as he lifts his hand away, and meets Vash's lips. In the next shot, Wolfwood had adjusted his position, sitting on Vash's thigh. The hand that was once on Vash's cheek has moved its way to Vash's nape, pushing away the collar of his jacket with his pinky. His other hand continues to grip on Vash's shoulder. Still kissing, Wolfwood asks again, "What else?"

In the next shot, Vash is starting to turn, moving Wolfwood with him. Vash asks, "Let me on top of you?" Wolfwood says, "Mhm" before asking again, "What else?" The next panel shows a close look of Vash's face. He's looking down, flushed and shy just as he had been at the beginning, but now, more decisive. Vash asks, "Wolfwood... Let me have you..?" A panel of Wolfwood taking Vash's hand into his, pulling it towards his chest. The next panel shows Wolfwood lying down where Vash had laid him. Vash's hand is on Wolfwood's chest, covering the cross of his rosary while Wolfwood's hand lingers against his, loosely pressing Vash's hand in place. He looks up at Vash with a shy smile of his own, flushed cheeks. He says, "All yours."

A panel shows a close up of Vash's tender gaze before he leans down to be closer to Wolfwood. The final shot is a front view of their positions, Vash's face turned away from the viewer; Vash is leaning over Wolfwood who's lying down with his right leg draped over Vash's legs. Wolfwood's left hand holds onto Vash's left arm. With finality, Vash says, "...Mine." End ID]

[ID: A follow up bonus comic in a looser, sketchier style. They're laying comfortably in bed when Vash asks, "What was that earlier?" referecing to the start of the previous comic. Wolfwood glances away and says, "To get you used to it. Asking. And getting what you ask for. Since you're alwasy hesitant about it." Vash's eyes widen, tight lipped. Wolfwood continues, "Knowing you, it'll be a tough habit to break..." When he says this, Vash can't help but laugh, unable to deny it. Wolfwood slowly brings a hand to Vash's cheek and continues to say, "So I'll keep trying -- whatever ways I can... to get it through your thick skull." Vash takes Wolfwood's hand with his, kissing the the palm gently. Wolfwood's eyes soften and holding onto Vash's cheek, he leans in to try for a kiss. Vash says, "Hey..." before stopping Wolfwood's lips with the back of his hand, a smug look on his face, "Ask." Wolfwood's embarrassed and with little irritation, asks, "Really?" Vash smiles, saying, "You're in need of practice too." They pause for a moment, Wolfwood looking contemplatively, before he's leaning in again, asking, "May I please kiss you?" Vash looks him in the eyes and says, "Yes." The comic ends with a "chu", indicating an off-panel kiss. End ID]

[cowboy-robooty]

im not going to lie i have an illuminati type theory that fanfiction has gotten so fucking bad recently as yet another consequence of the pandemic

[tradingjack]

trigun panel redraws from chapters 6-10 (half of these were drawn last year whoops)

anyway i'm so fucking excited for that new trigun ominbus yall dont even know. i fuckin Need it

[lordgeneralsix]

six's incomprehensible review of kcd2's writing

(I'll be honest this isn't as much of a proper review as i wish i could write, maybe one day i'll rewrite this with a newfound professionalism but for now i just wanted to make one big post on why I personally think the writing is so good in general as someone who appreciates the craft and studies it... everything under the cut for kcd1&2 spoilers. 4.1k words and divided for easier reading. thanks in advance for your time)

brief lore

so i've been playing kcd2 pretty much every day since it dropped, did my first playthrough in under 5 days with little sleep and let me tell you. I have been completely cured of everything that was causing me grief for the entirety of january which involved my own personal art/writing, and honestly this game dropped at a perfect time to rip me out of my self-induced misery.

despite my love for fantasy and historical settings, I didn't expect much when I first played kcd1. I thought it was just a medieval times war simulator for repressed men, but I had to give it a try. obviously, I'm glad I was wrong, and I actually realized this around the time you go back to skalitz for henry's parents and after I played theresa's dlc. I realized there might actually be care put into the writing, into the reality of war instead of glorifying it with another peasant-turned-knight story. kcd1 did an incredible job of immersing you into the role of henry, an average peasant, son of a blacksmith. he's not some secretly skilled dragonborn waiting to be awakened to save the world, he's just a boy who was thrown into the fray years before he was ready... kcd1 was good. i really enjoyed playing it and experiencing such a unique game. it was an impressive ambition especially with the limited budget they had. maybe it could stand to be condensed, but as an act 1 it's incredibly engaging at the beginning and end, creating a strong foundation and lot of anticipation for kcd2.

authenticity is king

what makes a good story? a question that can be debated until the end of time. its complicated. its simple. its completely subjective. but as corny as it sounds, the truth i believe is a good story has soul in it. it's something i will believe until i die. a good story has something to say, something that needs to be said no matter how silly or serious it is. and even if the result is ugly, bad art with soul will never truly be bad. and i'm not here to preach anything or glaze companies like warhorse and even larian, because no one is safe from criticism (i have especially torn into larian myself over certain issues), but this universal praise we see isn't undeserved, and we should celebrate the fuck out of good games when we get them.

kcd2, i believe, has easily become one of the greatest games of all time. and it's simply because, at its core, the writing of kcd is human. this is unfortunately something very easily forgotten when swept up in numbers and trends. but kcd is not trying to be something it isn't. the writers had a very clear vision of the story they wanted to tell from the start and made absolutely 0 sacrifices for trends and culture wars.

the writing is mature, it respects your intelligence and doesn't have to spell everything out. serious moments actually feel tense, the humour is woven in well without being out of place, and something i consider a true miracle is that they don't force quippy lines out of every character. the dialogue is believable enough where it's not too incomprehensibly archaic or too jarringly modern. the characters are not all that self aware and don't pull therapy speak out of their asses. every single character has depth from the major characters to even the minor npcs. the world is so full of personality and charm that i didn't mind sitting around with npcs to just listen to them talk about their mundane lives or observe their daily routines. i even found myself caring about the most insignificant npcs. like i failed the fight dirty quest bc i banished hired hand stanley to hell for bullying my boy tobias 'darling' and his dog. such a minor npc but i felt like i had to do something to help even if the game didn't acknowledge it. and to me, if a game makes you feel something and follows you well after it's over, it's doing something right.

at the time of writing this i'm on my 3rd playthrough. 200+ hours and i'm still discovering new npcs, dialogue, quests, locations, and outcomes. 2.2 million words sounds like too much, it makes you wonder if its justified, but i can confidently say it is. warhorse made no sacrifices to be like other games. their vision remained strong from beginning to end, and now if they so choose to, kcd3 has a very strong foundation and limitless potential for henry's story to branch off into. and if not, i have no doubt whatever warhorse writes next, whether it's about henry, medieval bohemia, or another historical setting completely, will be a masterpiece.

wait... you're just like me?

every single character in kcd has flaws and some fuck up immensely, which many people might be annoyed w but it's something I love and find lacking in a lot of stories. you can't pin a single character down as "good" or "evil" and they put an emphasis on this when confronting istvan, erik, markvart, drinking w the cumans, staying in trosky, exposing semine, spying on the praguers, and through a bunch of minor npc conflicts... all of these situations are not clear-cut and every single character involved have reasons for fighting, and you fear the prospect that they're right.

what do you do when the enemy looks and feels like you do? how do you judge someone in any way that matters without condemning yourself too? the game asks questions and does not give you an answer. at least not one that will satisfy everyone. such is life. and that's what i love about this game. i love when writers aren't afraid to make their characters so viscerally human. I love how no one is immune to their desires, to all the fuck ups and deception. everyone is bound to fuck up no matter how careful they are. fuck ups that seem so easily avoided if they did one thing differently or were more cautious of who they worked with. you'd think even the most cunning and experienced could avoid it but even they mess up, and kcd doesn't try to show off or give anyone immunity in manipulation and morality. it's as markvart said, "under all the armour and finery you will only ever find a man" (and my god, what a scene. I believe the entire conversation w markvart is the heart of the story. but my words won't do it justice, please go watch it it's incredibly written and acted).

so... why did i care about some npc with 3 lines enough to fail a quest and risk getting arrested for him? well, because his story hit home. it's a rarity that writers care enough about the little people to show the beauty of the mundane and the humanity of even the most revered. kcd breaks the illusion that people in the past were so different from us today and tells us point blank that we are here today because the fight for life and love is endless.

things worth living for

kcd puts you into the body of a boy who had everything taken from him, and from the moment he regains consciousness he's ready to throw himself back at the enemy to avenge his parents. it's a pretty hopeless thing to do. what can one blind man do against an army? what can one weary woman do in the ruins of her home but try to save at least one more soul, even at the cost of her own? kcd shows the gruesome and hopeless reality of war... but it also does a good job of showing the importance of people.

henry has few people left in his life, but two haunt the corners of his mind; his parents, we know this very well. they are the driving force of why he fights and they remain important instead of being used as fuel for his story. it may seem insignificant, but i really appreciate that they didn't pull a "radzig didn't want henry or care about henry's mother and lied to martin the whole time" and "martin abandoned sara and samuel for another family", i feel it would've been too much for henry to have more guilt and anger over his parents and then a tense relationship w radzig/samuel on top. what would be the point in learning about his real father and step brother, only to end up resenting them? there's a lot of dark shit going on and it's good to have some genuine familial relationships once in a while.

there's no malicious reason why martin and radzig couldn't raise their biological sons, and if they could, they would have, but they tried to do the best they could for henry given the circumstances, and you wouldn't even doubt for a second that martin would've loved sam if things were different. it's bittersweet and feels real. there's no need for a big plot twist of "martin was a bad man actually" after everyone spoke so fondly of him. and i appreciate that warhorse doesn't pull plot twists out of nowhere. it's good that henry has hans, sam, radzig, and godwin to rely on and untainted memories of his parents. it's good that despite everything, henry is able to hold onto the blue skies overhead, green grass underfoot, beautiful girls, good wine, a few good friends, and a fine steed under his backside.

... speaking of godwin, i want to briefly mention just how good of a secondary pov character he was. when i first played i was a little confused as to why him, mostly bc i didn't drink w him in the first game so i didn't know shit about him. but godwin makes a very compelling and fun secondary pov character as a noble war veteran turned priest that has absolutely no involvement in henry's life aside from drinking with him once but is now compelled to look out for him simply because he likes him (and bc it was asked of him but he does care shh). and it's not like his purpose was to babysit henry the whole time, he's given his own personal obstacles when he has to face his father in raborsch, who berates him in front of everyone with no shame, to the italian job where his father finally acknowledges that he was wrong about godwin. kcd2 gives this hedonistic priest a whole new layer of depth one couldn't have deduced based off his behaviour from the first game. it's truly incredible to see how a little care can go really far for even the most seemingly unimportant npcs like godwin or even liechtenstein. all in all, i really enjoyed playing as godwin and he was the perfect choice for a secondary pov character.

i could go on forever about the supporting characters, but i need to move onto the elephant in the room now: henry and hans.

those guys

henry and hans are so fascinating to me. it's been a good while since i've seen such deep and complex characters where even their failures are exciting to witness because you just know this will only strengthen them as people. the reason why, for me at least, it means a lot that warhorse wrote such a beautiful relationship between two men is bc they're written as people first. henry and hans are two characters that Can stand on their own but become stronger together. two young men who come from completely different worlds find comfort in each other's presence despite the laws of man and god saying it can't be so.

you can see something shift between them as early as the hunting trip. a trip that was a punishment for both turned out to be what they needed. to put aside their statuses and find common ground. hans asks about henry and skalitz, and empathizes with henry over the loss of his parents and reveals he never knew his own. you see something strange from the asshole who keeps humiliating and provoking you. you start to understand that all he really needed was for someone to understand him. not a mentor or guardian. not his subjects who drink and bathe with him on a whim. a friend. someone who sees him as a person worthy of his noble title and not a child or a drunk whore.

this newfound bond grows as you get up to typical teenage boy behaviour and in the span of a few weeks the haughty nobleman henry met just yesterday becomes a closer friend than his childhood friends fritz or matthew ever cared to be. but it doesn't end there. hans doesn't remain a pretty face and let everyone fight battles for him, and when it's time to take back talmberg his true character shows when he puts himself between the enemy to save tobias feyfar (when the trebuchet is attacked) or henry (if he gets knocked out during night raid). hans is willing to risk himself because he believes in justice as much as henry even though he came from a more privileged background. both of them were already incredibly noble men in the making and kcd2 tests how far they're willing to go for a place in the world.

it doesn't matter how you play him; henry remains the same sweet boy from skalitz underneath it all. the blacksmith's boy who comes home crying to ma with scrapes and bruises and big dreams, the lover and loyal friend, and the survivor who vowed to never run from a fight lest more innocents be slaughtered for his cowardice. he never forgot skalitz and he never stopped blaming himself. even if he has to push, even when he becomes just as bad as runt or istvan or the dry devil, it weighs on him. you can control his actions and his words, but you can't control how he feels at his core. even after all three of his goals have been achieved by the end of kcd2 (avenge his parents, get his sword back, and protect hans), he is still deeply hurt and laments getting lost in his path of vengeance. this guilt follows him into his dreams, justifying his actions becomes an uphill battle, and in the final conversation with his "parents" he can choose to repent and acknowledge that he has lost himself or double down and say he was always right. then he can choose to keep fighting, or finally present martin's sword to radzig and settle into the life he should've had back in skalitz...

there's no black or white answer, as the game often tells you, only action and consequence. and something I've noticed are the people who are a bit annoyed at how your choices throughout the game don't matter in the end since you can choose to say sorry and "everything is okay", but I don't see it that way really. it's not okay, why would it be? but everyone deserves a chance to repent, whether you personally believe it or not, and henry is arguably better than most for acknowledging his guilt and promising to do better. life doesn't end at the first sin. you could always become just as bad as the enemy or you could choose to be kind, merciful, and treat people with dignity.

as for hans. well... kcd2 happens because of him, because he desperately wanted to prove himself to hanush and his people that he was a capable ruler and warrior. he wasn't expecting it to be difficult, his confidence in the plan is the sole reason why it went so wrong. it was his fault they were ambushed despite henry's concern and he knows it. then he blows up at henry and runs off to fix it himself, which he would've succeeded in if von bergow hadn't played them. his comfortable view of the world was shattered and he couldn't accept it at first, but facing death multiple times and seeing henry risk it all for little reward built him back up as a braver and more responsible man to the point where he is unrecognizable from how he started in the first game. hans is reliable, brave, and capable of handling a lot more than people give him credit for. not a lot of noblemen would risk themselves so willingly, let alone for a peasant, and henry is actually lucky hans tolerated him and threw hands as equals instead of just sending him to jail and ending his journey quite early (henry is lucky a lot of noblemen put up w him lbr he does himself no favours lmao).

i find hans to be interesting because he isn't really a typical nobleman, he puts the pleasures of life first before politics and sees his people as people and war as a losing battle (see the conversation he has w brabant after freeing them from maleshov). but he still acknowledges that the day will come when he has to take his role seriously even if the looming threat to his freedom strikes fear into his soul (see raborsch when the arranged wedding is announced). in the prologue of kcd2 he leads the company and doesn't joke much or even indulge in the conversation of women, the shadow of tomorrow's meeting with von bergow grows closer and there's a lot of pressure to not mess it up. hans is a lot of things, but incompetent is not one of them. he doesn't cry when they have to get their hands dirty and remains relatively calm when dealing with other nobleman. he knows what's at stake and doesn't allow henry to take the brunt of their struggles. even when henry is hallucinating, shouting, and is essentially dead weight, hans doesn't hesitate to carry him and assure him that he's okay.

i haven't even begun to cover the depth of the story and the characters, but as much as i wish i could I'm not qualified enough for a deep analysis and I'd rather go to my final thoughts, which is of course the romance between henry and hans (and warhorse's treatment of mlm characters).

gay... people?

from my previous point, these are two characters that stand on their own, but together they stand taller. even without any romance the game and story are incredible. henry and hans' friendship is not optional, it is a core part of their characters and why they fight. it's not distracting or out of nowhere bc their sexualities are not their entire personalities. but here's the thing, the friendship created a strong foundation for a potential romance, but if written carelessly and completely out of character, this romance would not have worked and the writer's hand would show. taking into account the setting, the characters, and the plot is the only way to craft a believable and good romance. and I know some people are disappointed because they expected more romance or dates or some grand display of love, but these characters aren't like that, at least not how we perceive romance in our modern day. they love each other, there's no denying that, and they didn't even have to say those exact words for it to be true. love can be shown and said in a multitude of different ways and it will not look the same for every person, but it doesn't make the love any lesser.

for henry and hans, it's action above words. hans seems to be the more introspective of the two, and we see this when it's him who initiates the final romance scene with a beautifully tragic story he'd been thinking about for god knows how long. but this only happens when they're sure they'll die, that they'll never see each other again, only after henry reminds hans again and again that he's cared for. and maybe it's too late but something needs to be said. often times they make jokes and tease each other, which could definitely have flirtatious undertones, but their true feelings show in serious moments, moments of danger, and of course when you pick the heart dialogue. the only time henry tries traditional flirting on hans is when you can learn how to give a compliment in italian, but even then he kind of fumbles for a more genuine one ("i am dazzled by your beauty" into "you look good"). henry drops the usual theatrics to assure hans that he will always back him up when he needs it. hans needs to know that henry doesn't stick w him because he has to, but because he wants to. and the best part is that this remains true even if you don't choose to romance him.

but aside from henry and hans, we of course have istvan and erik who have their own complicated relationship that includes something romantic. then there's npcs; novice lucas (kcd1), black bartosch, and herbalist barnaby (kcd2) (I'm not sure if there's any more, these are just the ones I'm aware of rn). the way all of these characters are written is Not forced and liking men is not their entire purpose, it's actually a completely optional thing to find out about these characters (investigate the monks who abuse lucas, talk w black bartosch instead of just training, and hang out w herbalist barnaby after fighting him. actually, even if you don't interrogate erik and istvan, you could completely miss the romantic undertones of their relationship and continue to think it's just father/son). and no, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying stories with gay or even trans characters can't be about that, it would be horribly hypocritical of me when my own trans-bisexual-ness fuels my own art, but that's not all we are and I believe we're doing ourselves a disservice when we keep ourselves stuck in the coming out story cycle.

we need stories that are more than our pain, especially now, and it's important that not only we create gay/trans art, but our allies do as well. we deserve to be seen and not have to keep our love under the guise of close friendship. and I'm sorry, but sometimes it's not enough to simply imply or queer bait. I feel like it's rare for stories to actually commit to showing that we exist and that we are capable of all kinds of love, too. to treat us like people and not fun little side quests. to not debate our existence or water us down to naive teens in quirky coming out stories. we deserve to have stories where we actually get to live and love.

and idk if warhorse is really aware of how impactful that decision was... the confirmation that the director saw something more intimate between henry and hans and hearing how the actors wanted to do it justice means a lot especially knowing the reputation warhorse had. and in the end the most unlikely people created one of the most compelling and beautiful relationships in recent years because they saw people first. it may seem like the bare minimum but it's appreciated regardless. people can cry and scream about how wrong it is to have gay people in the middle ages until the end of time. nothing can change the fact that we've been here and always will be.

too long; did read

I hate being sappy, but kcd2 pulled me out of the pit I was in because of the shit on the news and my own art block, and it has comforted and inspired me to continue my own work even if it never sees the light of day. kcd2 to me is what stories should be. there's no secret to why it's so good, because swen vincke said it himself at the last game awards: "[the formula] it's stupidly simple, but somehow it keeps on getting lost." a great speech that unfortunately means nothing to titan companies, but we know it's the truth. kcd2 is a success because it was made with genuine love, care, and respect for games, history, and people. it really is that simple.

10/10

[pcktknife]

Ive just progressively wanted to exist less and less and less in front of others for like years now and on my worst days it really gets to me

[toytulini]

oh yeah: Tank Rescape!

[perilegs]

shoutout to people working their dream jobs doing something mundane

[ishq-itar]

had such a good time im going to think and smile to myself for the next two weeks

[britneyshakespeare]

Had the extremely upsetting experience of a mutual of like 6 years going off on me for occasionally making posts about supporting Harris because apparently that makes me a g n cide denier who refuses to learn and grow, with all of my views just being assumed not even from what I've told them I believe or what I've posted before, but just because I DON'T post particularly the kind of things they THINK I should be. When I pointed out how much they were just completely assuming about stuff I'd never talked to them about, I was told it doesn't matter what I do in real life or "care" about if I simply disagree with their conclusion and vote for her anyway. Like they were absolutely not sorry for the level of maliciousness they not just assumed of my character, but for some reason thought appropriate to bring directly to me before unfollowing me. No apology whatsoever for how discomforting or upsetting that might be and certainly no acknowledgment that I could disagree with them and still be a good person. I just got another even longer rant about how they fundamentally can't fuck with me because of this one thing, no matter WHAT else I do in my real life (which I pointed out that they do not know), and how I'm directly supporting fascism.

Like seriously what is it about Tumblr that makes people think they know someone based off of occasional posts? There were just such DEEP assumptions they were making of me and going off of very little or absolutely nothing. Around the time I first became mutuals with that person I used to express my personality and beliefs and talk about what was going on in my life a lot more openly, but I've significantly scaled back on doing that in many ways for many reasons. One of my major ones is privacy and the way I've had strangers outside my followers and following circles just find random things I say and dogpile me for it. I was fundamentally changed after some T Fs did that to me like 3 years ago. I also just didn't have many conversations w that person anymore (I message people in general on here like 10x less than I did circa 2018-2019, which I'm somewhat sorry about!). My point is to say I think this person felt comfortable assuming that they knew me, especially who I am in 2024 at the age of 25, much better than they actually did.

One of the specific things they accused me of was being afraid of learning and growing (because I don't perform social media activism on here like they think I should). Like AFRAID to take criticism. When again I've never received criticism from them or had to respond to any criticism on here before as pertaining to my views on... well, absolutely any of the issues they accused me of not caring about. They essentially treated it as if the only thing in the world I cared about was the US election and characterized me as the most out-of-touch liberal they could possibly imagine, because I'm not "pushing" Kamala Harris to be better (Oh?? Should I do that on here?? Does she read my blog??).

And most hypocritically what they said was that I only *sometimes* *vaguely* post pro-Harris things (I often post like 5 or fewer things in a day though?). But here's the kicker. "Because I know I'll get shit for it. And rightfully so."

Really????? Not a single person, anon or not, in my messages or in a tagged post or anything, has ever given me shit before for saying who I'm voting for. I'm actually NOT afraid of "getting shit" for that opinion, I just don't start fights with people who are anti-voting. And why should I??? I genuinely don't believe in trying to change the minds of strangers on the internet about that sort of thing. I'm just not confrontational about it; that is so not the same thing as being "afraid of getting shit." I'm not posting ENOUGH about my support for Harris, therefore I'm afraid. But therefore they can also make all these assumptions about me being their strawman for an ignorant Harris supporter.

I'm afraid of getting shit but I still post anyway? But if I weren't afraid of getting shit I'd be posting a lot more?? This is ALL based on their assumptions of what my blog *should* look like, based on what I really and truly believe. My level of posting every now and then is an accurate gauge of my feelings on complex, sensitive, global issues. Because I'm voting for the Democratic presidential candidate and I'm ok sharing pretty much just that little glimpse of myself.

I really don't think that person knows just how inappropriate and insulting that is to just say all of that to me. Like they really know what's going on in my head. Their first message began and ended with like "I'm sorry I love you I just can't take it anymore" but they clearly weren't sorry enough to try and be more respectful to me, and they didn't love me enough not to default to extremely ungenerous assumptions and attacking me based off of those instead of any actual words I've said that they take issue with.

Online radicalization is real and it's not necessarily bad because your political views can start to fall well out of the contemporary Overton window. The way you find it appropriate to treat people whose views, however common, seem to fundamentally misalign with yours... that does matter. You can't just assume the worst of everyone and then act on that in how you approach them as individuals. And then be shocked that you don't stay friends with them. You can't be confrontational with someone about an issue you've never had an honest conversation about, and then expect them to take your bad faith in them as reasonable well-meaning criticism.

I'm afraid of criticism??? I'm afraid of criticism. No I'm not. This person and I have never had an issue before where they criticized me and I got harshly defensive. It was ALL projection. The entire tone of their messages was as if all their anti-voting posts recently were somehow in communication with the occasional go-vote-for-Harris posts that I make. That's not a conversation. I don't post for your satisfaction. I don't post in "response" to my mutuals I disagree with. I just post what's on my mind, sometimes, about some things. I really again can't stress enough how baffled I am by this

[manofthepipis]

Tiny question! When Clicks said “I don't understand…! It didn't have that reaction with the rest of us.” When referring to the side effects Spamton got when drinking his own tea, then does this mean that the other addisons tried Spamton tea to get an opinion? If yes, what where the HP benefits and descriptions each Addison would have when drinking Spamton Tea? I’m curious!

ofcourse! So it had happened off screen, and a scene i won't be writing (but definitely pictured thus it being referenced with a one-off comment), but while spamton was still in snoozetown post-neo attack, clicks made it to try and gauge if they were rlly cut out for this whole helping-spamton-out shtick, but for their own sakes. so i'm glad you're curious about it so i get to elaborate! :D

spamton's tea doesn't heal any one of them all that much, due to the complicated relationship, being that Clicks' conditional healing teas aren't pure healing magic like Spamton's F1 spell, but in order, it would be Sponsor the most, Banner and Clicks about the same, and then Survey in last.

Sponsor definitely will be elaborated on later, as they've still been rather silent about their perspective on spamton, despite being the one that's more accepting of Neo. It's not a lot of healing by any chance, but it's healing nonetheless. A familiar taste that they tried a long time ago but they'd like to have again, properly this time. Maybe with a 40 Hp boost

Banner and Clicks are healed about the same, and while clicks finds the tea bitter with a bad processed flavor, both are healed the same cuz they're at that same stage of still being wary around spamton, with clicks less so after Ch15. Banner finds the flavor unfamiliar, but not all bad, still not one he'd go to for a first pick. 30 Hp boost

Survey is barely healed, and doesn't like the flavor, but wants to, like it's a flavor of something they used to like a lot but has fallen off in recent years. It gives off the same vibe of a recipe that they've known very well that's changed, and it's distinctly wrong now. Maybe changing the recipe manually would fix it? Or would it ruin the entire thing? Who knows. 5-10 Hp

None of the addisons really hate spamton, so the hp-draining effects of Spamton tea is unique to himself, but the Hp can fluctuate with strengthening friendships :)! like post Ch15, the tea would taste better to Clicks, not significantly, but enough to make a difference from first impressions.

[pikasetism]

the way i draw is that i make several doodles in one canvas and close it when i run out of space so heres the first completed pikase canvas after however many days :3

the day after this post goes up im starting goretober on my main art blog so updates might slow down here or i might draw a whole fucking lottttt we'll see ^q^