#i used up all of my energy on this and its not even completely polished im still sick

[superbellsubways]

chilling after work

[p0orbaby]

I’d Rather Go Blind Than Let You Down

summary: the baby is here, that should calm leah down, right? right?

warnings: hospital setting

a/n: someone asked for some more panicky leah so here it is. first part here but you don’t need to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 1.3k

-

It’s a boy. A boy. Your boy. You can hardly wrap your head around it, the reality of him. He’s only been in the world for forty minutes, and already it feels like he’s upended every law of physics. Six pounds and change, but impossibly heavy in the way he roots you to the earth, demanding you stay present, stay still, stay here. His hair is a downy mess of dark brown fluff, sticking up in little uneven tufts that remind you of how Leah’s fringe used to look after her under-12s matches: matted and wild, all effort and energy. His hands—God, his hands—are the size of fifty-pence pieces, delicate and wrinkled, each finger curled tightly into its own little fist. He’s perfect. Absolutely, inexplicably perfect. And you’re completely terrified.

The hospital room smells like cheap soap and distant disinfectant, undercut by the faint, sticky sweetness of some long-spilled juice no one bothered to properly clean. It’s a symphony of beige: beige walls, beige curtains, beige linoleum. Even the bed looks beige, although it’s probably just worn white, like an old t-shirt washed too many times. Somewhere in the hallway, someone’s shoes squeak with rhythmic persistence, and you vaguely wonder if they’re pacing, as you had earlier, wearing an accidental track into the polished floor.

Leah is sitting in the uncomfortable armchair by the bed, which is upholstered in that scratchy material designed to withstand decades of spills and bad decisions. Her elbows rest on her knees, her fingers steepled against her lips in a half-prayer, half-facepalm, as if she’s mid-negotiation with some higher power. She hasn’t spoken much since the baby was born. Not because she doesn’t want to, you think, but because the enormity of it all has rendered her mute. She looks pale, unsteady, as if someone has shaken her up like a bottle of fizzy water and forgotten to twist the cap back on properly.

The baby makes a soft, snuffling noise against your chest, pulling her attention like a magnet. Her gaze darts to him and then flicks away just as quickly, as if looking directly at him for too long might somehow blind her. She hasn’t held him yet. She hasn’t even really touched him, save for one trembling fingertip brushed against his impossibly tiny foot when the midwife first handed him to you. It wasn’t avoidance, not exactly. More like reverence. Or fear. Maybe both.

You’re exhausted in a way that doesn’t feel real, like your body’s moving on autopilot while your brain drifts somewhere between sleep and shock. Your limbs are heavy, molten, but there’s also an odd lightness to you, a weightless, dizzying awe at what you’ve just done. You gave birth. You. You. Somehow, you survived it—hours of pain, pushing, panting, the raw animalistic chaos of it—and now you’re here, holding this impossibly small, impossibly fragile life in your arms. You’re not sure how you’re even still upright, let alone conscious.

“Do you want to hold him?” you ask, your voice soft, careful, as if you’re coaxing a wild animal out of the brush.

Leah’s head snaps up, her eyes wide and glassy, like a deer caught in headlights. “Hold him?” she echoes, her voice shaky and high-pitched. “Me?

“Yes, you. Who else?”

She blinks, her hands flexing and unflexing against her knees like they’re warming up for a solo on Britain’s Got Talent. “I… I don’t know if that’s a good idea”

“Leah, he’s your son”

“I know,” she says quickly, her voice climbing into that higher, defensive register that comes out when she’s trying to convince herself more than you. “I know he’s my son. But he’s just so… small. And… fragile. What if I—”

“You’re not going to drop him”

“I might!” she says, alarmed by her own hypothetical. “I might drop him. Or…or hold him wrong. What if I hold him wrong and, like, dislocate something? Babies are delicate! Like…like soufflés”

You blink at her. “Did you just compare our child to a soufflé?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know! I’m just saying, I’m not exactly… maternal, am I? I’m not one of those people who looks at a baby and just… knows what to do. I’m more of a… ‘panic and Google it’ kind of person”

“That’s fine,” you say, adjusting the baby slightly in your arms as he makes a soft, snuffling noise. “Most parents are ‘panic and Google it’ people. It’s basically the default”

Leah doesn’t look convinced. She’s rubbing her hands together now, the way she does before a big match, but this isn’t a match. There’s no referee, no whistle, no rules, no second leg if she screws this up. Her gaze darts back to the baby, then to you, then back to the baby, like she’s trying to memorise the mechanics of holding him without actually doing it.

“What if I’m terrible at this?” she blurts out suddenly, the words spilling out of her in a rush. “What if I’m a terrible mum and he grows up hating me and we end up one of those families where no one talks and we all just sit around at Christmas in complete silence, eating dry turkey and resenting each other?”

You stare at her. “That’s… a very specific fear”

She shrugs, her leg bouncing up and down anxiously. “I’ve seen it happen”

“Leah, you’re not going to be a terrible mum”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know you. And you love him. That’s pretty much the most important part”

She frowns, her brow furrowed like she’s still not quite buying it. “Love’s not enough. Love doesn’t teach you how to… to… change nappies or… or know what all the different cries mean”

“Love doesn’t teach you that,” you agree, “but practice does. And you’ll get there. We both will”

Leah’s eyes flick back to the baby, who has now fallen into a soft, twitchy sleep against your chest. Her expression softens slightly, but the fear is still there, a tightness around her mouth, a tension in her shoulders.

“What if he doesn’t like me?” she asks quietly.

You laugh, soft and disbelieving. “He’s a newborn, Leah. His likes and dislikes are limited to ‘milk’ and ‘not-milk.’ He’s not going to sit there judging your personality”

She doesn’t laugh. If anything, she looks even more stricken, like she’s just realised she might have to win over this tiny person who doesn’t even have fully developed motor skills yet.

You sigh, reaching out to take her hand. “Leah, listen to me. You’re not going to drop him. You’re not going to dislocate anything. And you’re definitely not going to ruin Christmas twenty years from now. You’re going to be great. I promise”

She hesitates, her fingers curling slightly around yours. “What if I mess up?”

“You will,” you say simply. “We both will. That’s part of it. But messing up doesn’t mean failing. It just means you’re trying”

For a moment, she just looks at you, her eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, absolution, a manual for parenthood that doesn’t exist. Then, slowly, she nods. It’s not a confident nod, not by any stretch, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’ll try.”

You smile, holding out the baby toward her. “Then take him”

She hesitates for one last second before leaning forward, her hands trembling slightly as she takes the baby from you. She holds him like he’s made of glass, her arms stiff and awkward, but she’s holding him. She’s doing it.

And then the baby lets out a tiny, contented sigh, and Leah freezes, staring down at him like she’s just witnessed a miracle.

“He…he’s so… little,” she whispers, her voice filled with something like awe. “And warm. Why’s he so warm?”

“Because he’s a baby, not a lizard”

Leah lets out a soft, breathless laugh, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face. For the first time all night, she looks calm. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe, maybe just for a moment, that she can do this.

That you can do this. Together.

[pianistbynight]

days 1-7 of a slow but meaningful summer

this is really the only part of traumerei that i can play sort of fluently...sort of, because you can still hear some hesitation as i try to remember the right notes 😅

thursday | 08/08/24

Started Leviathan Wakes

Tested out of U1 in Japanese and started U2 (loving its similarities to French cuz more familiarity = faster learning curve hopefully?🤞🏻)

Practiced piano...some old scales to warm up + the Clementi sonatina (coming back to it after a 2-3 day break was a good idea! somehow my steadiness has improved! also coming to appreciate metronome practice. sight-reading for the day = a few new bars on the 2nd page) + playing around with Kinderszenen (at this point I just wanted to hear different sounds and it wasn't very productive practice)

Read more of the HSP book

Most likely will have to revise my goals bc I don't think I can make decent progress in all the songs I wanted to in 4 weeks...like, to bring 1 L7 song to performance level after years of not performing anything + without a teacher will probably take longer than it used to. Not sure exactly what that looks like yet other than that it's definitely not gonna be all of Kinderszenen... 😂

friday | 08/09/24

practice wasn't very good today...i kept making silly mistakes i didn't used to make. i'm tired. that's why. i also forgot to do my japanese lesson. i didn't feel like reading either. i don't remember what else i did that day.

saturday | 08/10/24

drained of all energy. didn't practice. didn't do japanese. just chilled with @zzzzzestforlife for the most part and started reading what you are looking for is in the library on her recommendation. i love how philosophical japanese fiction is fjsjdkdks ☺️☺️☺️ (and more generally, i'm surprised that for a culture so new to me, a lot of their ways are just...second nature to my personality...it was very relieving. but i also feel that if i were to live in such a place full time, i would be staying too much in my comfort zone...i also don't know that i would want to ever live in Japan since there are also some important aspects about my current home that i'd miss terribly. all this to say, i'd like to visit Japan again at some point in my lifetime.)

sunday | 08/11/24

went to bed feeling very drained, frustrated, and homesick. so as you can imagine, i didn't get very good sleep. my bare minimum goals for today are:

japanese lesson

read zesty's book recs (there's the library book, the secret adversary [which she rec'd back to me after i rec'd it to her a couple months ago lol], and leviathan wakes) ✅

monday | 08/12/24

finally read the last of the clementi sonatina! got it to a "meh" level to polish in the next few days. super excited! played a few other pieces after that but i think i should focus on level 7 pieces for now before jumping into something barely readable but still playable. i should've brought some level 8 sheet music with me too...but i guess i can read from my laptop (god save my eyes if i do that lol 😵)

might put Kinderszenen back on the (mental music) shelf for now.

i also read more of what you are looking for is in the library and i just love how much there is to ponder about what was said. insightful fiction is my favorite fiction 💗

tuesday | 08/13/24

finished What You Are Looking For Is In The Library! it's such a good book. it's a short story collection but each story is in the same universe and while each story is independent (convienient for readers like me who like to take their time with books but sometimes take so much time that they forget what the story was lol), they're connected in ways that...you know that feeling when you bump into an old acquaintance in a completely foreign place you don't expect to meet anyone you know? that feeling is what i felt as i read chapter after chapter. it makes the vast world feel less lonely.

in the evening i tried to memorize and get the clementi sonatina up to speed. i guess i must be succeeding because my dad said it'd make mice dance lol. also played a bit of traumerei...trying to read more of it but progress is slower since i need to pay closer attention to which notes to hold and when to let go of them.

wednesday | 08/14/24

started reading sweet bean paste today (another japanese book... they're quickly becoming my favorite type of book.) i like it so far. there's potential for a lot of warmth and emotion in talking about food, which is just 🥰

also started "Databases: Modeling and Theory" on edx... 🙈 i'm auditing so i only have 2 weeks (until Aug. 28) to access the material (because the minimum amount of time needed to complete the course is 2 weeks gahhh). so i need to be halfway by Aug. 19. in theory i can do this if i put in 2h of work each day. it's too hot to play piano during the day, so i can do databases then and play piano at night. yes, i can do this. (i need to get my brain used to a faster, "left-brained" pace anyway in prep for school in september. 🙁)

continuing to polish the clementi sonatina and started reading this kuhlau sonatina which is pretty fun difficult. it's really just the left hand that makes it suck. haven't figured out how to move so that the staccatos are sharp despite the finger pedaling. i can do it slow, but not fast while staying quiet, so i must be doing something wrong. sometimes you just gotta sit on it, i guess.

[idolcollect]

Nights Like These- Aquakane🥂‧˚｡⊹ ˖

-☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊| genre-…Fluff

-☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊| context- … Tokyo blade has finally come to an end and the directors put together an after party for all the cast and crew’s hard work. Unfortunately for him, Akane and Aqua prefer quiet company.

-☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊- … In preparation for my analysis on Aka and intimacy, here is writing based on Veil, a comic masterclass in writing a two people with chemistry in a way that is subtle show not tell. My writing is not at Veil's level but it is a personal favorite

-☾ ｡🍸｡⋆ ⊹₊| For your reading experience- I recommend sitting down comfortably, pouring your juice of choice in a wine glass, and aimlessly reading while pretending to be a nepo baby.

Tokyo Blade’s incredible show has run it’s course, ending with a standing ovation and thralls of new fans. With the show complete, director Sumiaki spares no expense on a party to celebrate. While some take the chance to network, two of the plays stars decide each other’s company should be enough for the night

Psychology. The scientific study of behavior and mental processes. The understanding of everyday actions, thoughts, and emotions that can be applied, if necessary, to abnormal or clinical cases. This broad scope captures everything from how we perceive the world, make decisions, and develop relationships to how we cope with challenges.

Akane found that the pages of textbooks, worn between her fingers, were the best friends a girl could ask for. There was a certain comfort in understanding herself and others—why she reacted the way she did, why people could be so good or evil, why the world felt the way it did. Knowing was a form of armor. If she could understand things at their core, she could believe, even for just a moment, that nothing would catch her off guard again.

With that in mind, Akane also found that knowing so much about people was a curse in its own way. Especially at parties.

Tokyo Blade’s after-party was far fancier than Akane had expected. Director Sumiaki had thrown together a soirée that would make The Great Gatsby proud. The room buzzed with conversation, bursts of laughter, and the soft clink of crystal glasses.

It was all so polished, so perfect—and so completely overwhelming.

This wasn’t like the after-parties she was used to. Normally, they were intimate gatherings, just cast and crew swapping stories over takeout containers, with the occasional karaoke machine blaring in the background. This? This was a spectacle. A grand production. And really, what else could she have expected from Director Sumiaki?

She sighed, her hands sliding up her face to shield her eyes. “This is... too much for me,” she muttered under her breath. The dazzling lights and the swarming energy of the party made her head spin. For a moment, in the soft darkness behind her fingers, she could breathe. She had faced countless emotions in others and dissected their layers with precision, but tonight? Tonight, her emotions were the problem.

Tokyo Blade was by far one of her best accomplishments. Playing Sayahime was a gift, and acting alongside Kana as an equal was incredible. But despite that, she still found herself being a critic.

I misstepped during Sayahime’s speech, what if someone noticed?

Himekawa really stole the show the first few nights, should I have tried a similar approach?

Maybe I should have spoken more to Abiko-sensei. Sayahime is her precious character.

Akane didn’t let tears spill from her eyes. At the end of the day, she was a professional now. It would be embarrassing to cry at an after-party full of happy people.

She lowered her hands as Mr. Sumiaki approached with a group of people she could only assume were the investors for the show.

“And this,” he announced, “is one of the stars of the night herself—Miss Sayahime!”

Akane mustered a soft smile, dipping her head in greeting. “It’s a pleasure.”

The investors beamed at her, their compliments a blur of polished words. Akane responded on autopilot, laughing lightly at their jokes (which she didn’t understand), offering answers without truly listening. She shifted subtly, inching away from the circle, and passed the dessert table with a quick swipe before her back eventually pressed against the cool glass doors leading to the balcony.

A breath of relief left her lips as she spotted a familiar blonde figure standing there. She couldn’t help but smile as she pushed the doors open.

The cool rush of wind greeted her, followed by the still night. It was cold but somehow more inviting, with the moon being more welcome than the blinding chandeliers inside.

She paused at the sight of the figure leaning against the railing. Aqua, with his ever-calm expression, turned slightly toward her.

“Aqua,” she breathed, relief flooding her voice.

He held up a glass. “Mock champagne?”

Her lips quirked into a smile. “How did you know to grab two?”

He shrugged. “You don’t like parties. I don’t like noise.”

She stepped closer, taking the offered glass. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know.”

The two stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the night air settling around them. While it might surprise others, Akane and Aqua were rarely silent around each other. The many fake dates had resulted in a million conversations, but somehow, silence still held its own charm.

Akane broke the silence first. “Are you happy, Aqua?”

He tilted his head, brow furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Your performance,” she clarified, leaning her elbows on the balcony’s edge. “Every night, you put your heart and soul into your acting. You were in pain and then bliss over and over again. You called out Kana’s acting, but yours is truly exasperating.”

Aqua tilted his head, mirroring her gesture. “That bad?”

“No, it’s incredible!” Akane asserted. “That level of intensity... some would say your ability to maintain stability afterward is a medical marvel.”

A gust of wind swept by, and Akane instinctively shivered, rubbing her arms for warmth.

“Who said I’m stable?” Aqua sighed, shrugging off his suit jacket. Without waiting for her response, he draped it over her shoulders. “No one in our industry is.”

“How wonderfully depressing,” Akane quipped, tugging the jacket closer. She held up a plate she’d swiped from the party. “Good thing I brought these. Otherwise, the mood might have been permanently soured.”

Aqua raised an eyebrow. “Chocolate strawberries?”

“There were about a million on the table,” Akane replied, popping one into her mouth before offering the plate to him.

“So, you swiped them,” he remarked dryly. “How humble.”

“Do you want one or not?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Depends,” Aqua squinted at the plate, his gaze scrutinizing the assortment. “Why are there different kinds?”

“Fancy people love variety,” Akane explained with a shrug. She began pointing to the various types. “There’s the classic milk chocolate, chocolate raspberry, white chocolate, and—ooh—salted caramel!”

“Gross,” Aqua said immediately, wrinkling his nose in mock disgust.

Akane gasped, clutching her chest as if he’d just insulted her entire existence. “You won’t say that after you try it,” she declared, plucking one of the salted caramel strawberries and holding it out between her fingers. “Here.”

Aqua eyed the strawberry like it was a trap, but ultimately sighed in defeat. He leaned forward taking a bite from between her fingers. He chewed thoughtfully, his expression going from curiosity to blank

“Well?” Akane leaned in slightly, watching him expectantly. “How is it?”

“…Do you have more?”

Her face lit up with triumph. “Just as I thought!”

Aqua sighed. Two wins for Akane. Stage plays and strawberries.

“Did your family come with you?” she asked as he finished, swiftly taking off his gloves to wave them dry

“Mhm, Miyako came for networking reasons, but Ruby’s here too.”

“I see” Akane taps her finger against her lip :Somehow, I never run into your sister. It’s been what, six months since we started this?”

“Consider it a blessing,” Aqua said flatly, reaching for another strawberry.

“Don’t be mean,” Akane scolded, swatting his hand from the plate.

“It’s not mean,” he replied, his tone unchanged.

“You complain so much about Ruby, but really, you love her like any brother would.”

“Spoken like a true only child.”

“Surely you guys are a little similar, right?”

“That depends,” Aqua said, leaning closer to her face. “Do you think I’d make a good idol?”

Akane blinked at the unexpected question, then tilted her head as if seriously considering it. “I think so…”

“Akane,” Aqua groaned, a conversation with Ruby about the same topic playing in his mind.

“You have the face for it.”

“I can’t sing, Akane,” Aqua said, deadpan.

“If you smile enough, some girls will definitely be able to look past it,” she countered.

“Would you look past it?” he asked, raising a brow at her.

“If you can dance,” Akane shrugged, turning and leaning against the railing as she smiled. “I’d be your number one fan.”

“Ah,” Aqua said with mock solemnity, “but then I’d have to compete with Kana for your attention. What’s the use?”

Akane chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I don’t think Kana-chan sees me as her fan. I’m afraid only you would acknowledge me.”

“Does being a fan mean you have to be acknowledged?” Aqua asked, tilting his head.

“Mm, no,” Akane admitted, her voice thoughtful. “But it’s preferred. If you hated me like Kana-chan does, I think I’d cry.”

“I don’t think she hates you,” Aqua said, his tone matter-of-fact.

“Oh?” Akane arched a brow. “What would you call it then?”

“Strong dislike,” Aqua replied without hesitation.

“Oh, I feel so much better,” Akane said, rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Thank you, Aqua.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

Akane placed the plate of strawberries on the railing beside her glass, the clink of the dish barely audible over the gentle rustle of the night breeze. Aqua mirrored her, setting his glass down as they leaned against the cold metal, their arms brushing lightly.

He stared out at the moon, his lips moving as he spoke, but Akane didn’t catch the words. The sound seemed to dissolve into the stillness around them, as though his thoughts were meant for the sky alone. Her gaze lingered on him, her hand propping up her chin as her thoughts wandered.

There’s so much I want to ask you, she mused, her eyes tracing the soft contours of his profile. Are we friends? Are we allies? Could we even be something closer than all of that?

Her eyes drifted down to their hands, their fingertips resting so near that the distance felt intentional, like a silent promise neither dared to voice. A soft smile curved her lips as a warmth settled in her chest.

Or… could it be that it doesn’t matter?

“Aqua-kun?” she said softly

He turned slightly, a quiet hum of acknowledgment escaping him. “Hm?”

“Let’s stay like this”

Aqua didn’t turn to her, and his expression was masked. But at the very least, his hand rested on top of hers

“Okay”

[animebw]

Short Reflection: Fall 2023 Anime

Is it fair to call 2023 a disappointing year for anime? Maybe it's just that 2021 and 2022 were both so above and beyond that coming back down to normalcy from that peak feels like a letdown. But man, between a mostly uninspiring winter lineup and summer being possibly the single worst anime season since seasonal watching started being a thing, there's been plenty to complain about. Thankfully, there's been plenty to appreciate as well, and while this fall season hasn't been truly transcendent, it's at least left us with a slew of worthwhile anime to close the year out. So let's sift through the rubble and rank all the shows I finished to see which ones ended as true must-watches, which are still worth a look, and which you can skip without missing anything.

Firefighter Daigo (1st Half): 4/10

So, remember Space Brothers? Remember how wonderfully that show balanced naturalistic character building with the excitement and beauty of exploring a high-stakes environment like space? Have you been looking for another show to hit that same sweet spot of grounded maturity and tangible whimsy that makes your childhood dream job feel more achievable than ever? Well... guess you better keep looking, because Firefighter Daigo is not that. There's some beautifully nail-biting tension to the rescue sequences themselves, expertly stacking one thing after another going wrong as our protagonists are forced to think on their feet to save lives under the most pressure imaginable. But the characters are utterly bland, the production is boring on a near-inconceivable level (man, remember when this guy directed a single good-looking episode of To Your Eternity and completely failed to live up to that potential ever again?), it wastes over three minutes each episode on recap footage, and it take such a bizarre, condescending attitude toward its one female character that the whole thing left a bad taste in my mouth. It's an overly cheesy puppet show playing at being a real story, and I will not be sticking around to see if its second cours improves in any way.

Stardust Telepath: 4.5/10

Man, I'm frustrated I didn't like this one more. I always appreciate Cute Girls anime that put this much polish and energy into their adaptation, and the concept of socially awkward Umika Konohoshi wishing she could escape this planet to make friends among the stars, only to find her place on earth on her journey to reach there, has all the makings of a coming-of-age masterpiece. Sadly, it's done in by the simplest of failures: melodrama overdose. All the attempts at heartstring-pulling are so overbearing and browbeating that every moment that tries to drag tears from your eyes just leaves you exasperated instead. It completely lacks confidence in its ability to touch your emotions on the quality of its writing alone, so it smothers you in sappy speeches and ear-bleeding Feel Sad Music until you feel like you're choking on the stuff. Not even the top-shelf yuribaiting between the two leads can wipe the frustration away, and I'm about the easiest mark for that kind of stuff as you can imagine. Someone get this forehead-touch almost-kiss telepathy into a better show immediately!

I'm in Love with the Villainess: 4.5/10

I honestly feel back about being so down on I'm in Love With the Villainess. Lord knows I'm always complaining we need more isekai with an actual point to make, and an unapologetically queer take on the shoujo villainess trope that actually has something to say about the lesbian experience amidst the romantic goofery certainly fits that bill. Except, well... I already watched this show when it was called MagiRevo. And when it was called Mage and Demon Queen. And in a world where those two stories basically perfected the "lesbian disaster courts a closed-off tsundere" isekai-adjacent fantasy yarn, there's nothing this show can offer that hasn't already been done so much better. Well, okay, the conversation in episode 3 exploring the pushy protagonist's complex self-loathing relationship with her own queerness was certainly unique, but you end up spending the rest of the show waiting in vain for it to do something that interesting ever again, only to be met with overly tropey writing, cliches, and unexpected swerves into problematic WTF territory instead. There are good ideas here buried here, but it needed a better studio to refine it to the point it needed to be, and it got stuck with Platinum Vision instead. What a shame.

Uma Musume Season 3: 4.5/10

At this point I have to wonder if even Uma Musume is getting tired of its own shtick. It's been three seasons and an OVA of the most melodramatic sports anime histrionics imaginable, and all that shouting and wailing has to get exhausting after a while. And while season 3 is still every bit as overblown and overbearing as the franchise has always been, it also feels like it's poking fun at itself for taking this nonsense so damn seriously. Two characters have a sappy emotional heart-to-heart while furiously paddling a paddleboat. Former protagonist and resident crybaby Special Week's tearful speeches are basically ignored by everyone else in the cast as they keep talking over her and tuning her out. The running gag of the Overly Serious Race Commenters get upstaged by a pair of even older, more seasoned Overly Serious Race Commenters. Hell, even the fact we only get a single idol performance at the very end seems to hint at just how weary this story's become of its own conceit. Uma Musume has always been an overthought, overdesigned mess of a show, so bloated on anime nonsense and ill-matched tropes that it rarely manages to capture anything real amidst the corporate plasticness of it all. But I'm not gonna lie, there's something equally hilarious and depressing about seeing it finally start to admit its own pointlessness.

Ron Kamonohashi's Forbidden Deductions: 5/10

How good does a show have to be at character banter to make up for a failure of writing in pretty much every other respect? That's the question Ron Kamonohashi's Forbidden Deductions seems willed into existence to answer. As a snappy buddy-cop comedy between an eccentric genius detective and his beleaguered straight-man sidekick, it's every bit the equal of 2011's Sherlock. As an actual mystery thriller... it is also, sadly, every bit the equal of 2011's Sherlock. I could watch the titular Ron fail upwards through his case-solving conundrums dragging the hapless rookie detective Toto with him all day. Their chemistry is infectious. It's just a shame the actual detective work is so hacky and contrived, cheap solutions to mostly dull mysteries that never give you that "Aha!" moment of seeing the puzzle pieces come together. And the overarching plot involving prestigious detective academies, shadowy criminal syndicates, and bizarre involuntary hypnosis powers feels like it purposefully ignores every opportunity to explore any ideas deeper than basic shonen moralizing. I might still pop back in for season 2 to enjoy more wacky hijinks between the leads, but if you're looking for something to scratch your mystery itch, give this one a pass.

Arknights: Perish in Frost: 5/10

Now that's more like it! Sort of. Almost. Okay, look, for the first half and change of its run, the second season of Arknights manages to be every bit the improvement on the first season I was hoping for. It streamlines the plot to keep a constant, propulsive forward momentum, pushing its characters forward and keeping the narrative lens focused so it can do justice to all its major players. And it pushes all those disparate factions on a collision course with each other that leads to constant, meaningful consequences and character building, aided by a production that hits its high water marks far more consistently than season 1. It feels like Arknights has shaken off the bloat and become the best possible version of itself, a dark action season with some genuine muscle behind it... at least until we enter the final stretch and the pacing goes absolutely out of control, speeding into a brick wall so fast and recklessly that you're barely able to understand what the fuck just happened by the time it's over. It's shockingly rushed, to the point you feel like you're watching someone recite the Wiki at you while skipping over all the connective tissue that would make these plot points make sense. It's a frustrating end to a season that came so close to being good, and I can only hope any future installments never make that mistake again.

Undead Unluck (1st Half): 5/10

Undead Unluck is host to one of the single most bonkers sci-fi settings I've ever seen, anime or otherwise. From what starts feeling like just our world with some supernatural freaks and weirdos causing havoc, it gradually reveals itself to be something more akin to a nightmarish cosmic RPG in the hands of a mad god, where none of the rules of our world can be taken for granted and reality is only ever a hair's breadth away from turning on its head. It's a deliriously creative premise to build a shonen battle manga out of, and I can't wait to see what other insanity the writers can milk out of this setup. Which is good, because otherwise, hooooooooo boy this one does not get off on a good foot. What fucking genius decided the main duo's dynamic should be built around the guy molesting the girl to make her powers activate? In what universe was building a love story out of that sexual harassment a good idea? I'm sorry, but when you've mistaken a swaggering half-naked dude-bro casually trying to outright assault his partner as cute hot-and-cold couple banter, you have officially lost the plot. Can somebody break into Shonen Jump studios and teach this company how to write a proper romance one of these days? Deku and Uraraka can't carry the whole genre on their back, guys!

Migi and Dali: 5.5/10

Is Migi and Dali a good show? I honestly don't think I could tell you. What it is, is utterly bizarre in everything in does, yet somehow kind of makes it all work? It's a Diamond-is-Unbrekable-esque off-kilter small town murder mystery, with a pair of identical twins pretending to be one kid to fool their new adoptive parents as they search for the person responsible for killing their mother years ago. The whole thing plays like a pitch-black parody of stereotypical suburban life, finding the cracks in the facade of normalcy and ripping them open until your only options are to laugh wildly or cringe wildly at the resulting desecration. And you will do plenty of both all throughout as it ping-pongs from accidental twincest to toddler play to to not-so-garden-variety abuse to Excessive English and basically everything in between. If there's an aspect of your stereotypical boring, domestic family experience that Migi and Dali can twist into a grotesque mockery of itself, it'll do just that and then some. The unfortunate side effect, though, is that it can be hard to tell where the line lies between intentional commentary and just being gross and uncomfortable for its own sake. And when that threatens to veer into some really misogynistic territory in the final act, it becomes even harder to stomach. Still, I can safely say I've never seen anything quite like this show, and considering the manga's author tragically passed away recently, you can't help but respect the people making it for honoring her memory this way.

Shy: 5.5/10

Shy is one of the rare manga I've read before the anime came out, inspired by a friend who came across it at random and it became their favorite manga of all time after just eleven chapters. I wasn't quite as swept away, and I don't think it's maintained the level of quality its first couple arcs had, but man, there's something special about this one. Which is why I am personally begging you not to watch the anime and go straight to the manga, because this adaptation really doesn't do justice to how electrifying and soul-enriching the manga can be. Masaomi Ando's a good director, but his penchant for paneling and stylistic insert shots, an aesthetic which works wonders on heavily atmospheric mood pieces like Toiled-Bound Hanako-kun and Scum's Wish, is completely at odds with the needs of a straightforward superhero battle series. The manga's artwork has this wonderfully sketchy, explosive quality that makes every action panel feel like a rush of cascading moments; here, every action scene quickly descends into a mess of moving jpegs and awkwardly placed insert frames that cripples its ability to wow you. There's enough of the manga's triumphant spirit preserved that it still shakes out decently- the orphanage arc that closes out the first season is wonderful enough to survive any imperfections from page to screen- but if the story of Teru's struggles and self-actualization touched you at all, you owe it to yourself to check out the source material to experience this story in its best form.

The 100 Girlfriends Who Really Really Really Really Really Love You: 6/10

Listen, you know me. You know how much I despise the harem genre. There's barely a single example of the form I consider anything above mediocre slop. So how did a show with this premise manage to get into my good graces? By understanding one simple fact that so few harem anime seem to realize: if you want something this inherently stupid to work? Embrace the fucking stupidity. Throw caution and common sense and good taste to the wind and just go absolutely bugnuts. Why settle for a scant five or six barely interchangeable waifu bait when you can have one hundred distinct and memorable personalities? Why waste time on cheap melodrama that nobody cares about when there are fourth walls to break and scenarios to push far beyond their logical extremes? 100 Girlfriends knows that the only proper form for this genre is sheer anarchy, going so far over-the-top with its jokes and setups that it's impossible not to get swept up in the sheer audacity of it all. And somehow, by imbuing this madcap nonsense with just a drop of sincerity, it actually makes you care about Best Boy Aijou Rentarou and his ever-growing posse of romantic partners as a strangely healthy polyamorous support system for each other. It's far from flawless and good lord is it problematic from top to bottom, but if you can vibe to its particular brand of earnestly empathetic chaos, it's an experience like none other.

Overtake: 6.5/10

Overtake is the most frustrating kind of anime: a really good show that's constantly threatening- but never fully succeeds- at being great. It has all the pieces you could want! A masterful production from veteran directer Ei Aoki that brings the world of Formula 4 racing to life with tactile, lived-in lushness. Characters who breathe far beyond the confines of the screen, rich with inner life and complex relationships where you come to love the rivals just as much as the scrappy underdog protagonists. A story that tackles genuinely moving and mature ideas as it explores what it means to give your all to something, even when the risks may be too horrifying to reckon with. It's as perfectly positioned for greatness as you could ask from a sports anime... and yet it never quite takes off the way you want it to. It's just missing that little extra something to push it over the edge, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what that might be. It's still absolutely worth a look, but as much as I liked it, I'm gonna be stewing over why I didn't love it for a while.

The Ancient Magus Bride Season 2 Part 2: 6.5/10

Alright, that's more what I was hoping for. After a frustratingly slow and plodding first half, the back half The Ancient Magus Bride's second season finally starts paying off all that torturous setup and reminding us that when it wants to, nothing goes harder than Chise's tale of trauma, abuse and recovery, especially now that she's the guiding light for another girl crawling out of pit much like the one she was once trapped in. It's genuinely powerful watching her try to help Philomena out from under a painfully familiar burden, struggling save someone like her while she's still struggling with the scars her own darkness has left on her. And whenever it's focused on that, it's as good as The Ancient Magus Bride has ever been. It's just a shame that whenever all that potent character drama gives way to fae-on-fae magical showdowns, it's some of the ugliest, clunkiest, most poorly staged action in all of fall's lineup. It utterly fails to capture the sense of eldritch awe and wonder this series' magic invokes, leaving it feeling like a shell of itself even when everything else is operating at full capacity. Hopefully, future seasons will take the time they need to bring that aspect up to par, because a series this steeped in the haunting grandeur of its aesthetic cannot afford to cut corners on that aesthetic.

Spy x Family Season 2: 7.5/10

Do my eyes deceive me? A Yor-centric arc? This show finally gives one of its nominal protagonists a turn in the spotlight after ages of underuse with a big, lengthy, consequential story that lets her shine like never before? It's like Christmas came early. I've been up and down about Spy x Family over the course of its run, but the cruise ship arc that dominates this season is everything great about this show operating at the top of its potential, and god damn is it marvelous to watch unfold. If only it was this good on a consistent basis, it would be an easy shoe-in for one of the greatest anime of the decade. But you know what? As long as it keeps delivering highlights like this, I've got nothing to complain about. At this point, Spy x Family has comfortably settled into being a reliably entertaining action-heavy family sitcom with lovable characters and occasional moments of greatness, and if that's all it ultimately amounts to, well, there are far worse things to be. Just please, for the love of god, keep Yuri off screen as much as possible.

Scott Pilgrim Takes Off: 8/10

So cards on the table: the live action Scott Pilgrim vs the World movie is one of my favorite films of all time. It's such a perfect explosion of geeky awesomeness from one of our greatest living directors, managing to push the medium of live action closer to anime than it ever was before or has been since. So the prospect of seeing the original comic actually made into an anime was very exciting to me. How cool would it be to finally see the source material that inspired this movie brought to life, never mind with Science Goddamn Saru pushing the animation into overdrive? But much to my shock- and eventual delight- Scott Pilgrim Takes Off had much more exciting things in mind than simply slapping a decades-old comic series on screen. Instead, it's something closer to an Evangelion-style Rebuild, taking a sharp left and remixing the story and characters with the perspective of a more mature creator, reckoning with his successes and failures alike as he re-assesses the story he was trying to tell and what parts of it still hold value today. It's Scott Pilgrim as told by someone who's outgrown the transient young adulthood central to the narrative, taking stock of his past from an older, wiser perspective and making amends where he fell short before. And as much as I might have liked a straightforward adaptation, what I got instead was so exciting and fresh that I can't complain. If only every anime was this willing to get creative with its source material.

The Apothecary Diaries (1st Half): 8.5/10

Say a prayer and set off some fireworks, folks: the shoujosei renaissance is here! After a years-long drought, the anime industry is finally remembering that stories targeted at women and girls are also worthy of high-profile prestige adaptations instead of settling for barely animated table scraps. And of all the breakout hits we've had this past year and change, none have slapped quite as hard as The Apothecary Diaries, a historical Chinese mystery drama that marries fascinating courtly intrigue with a bitterly honesty exploration of how the lowest rungs of society- women and poor people especially- are systemically crushed by the structures that govern their world. As hilarious as this show can be, it's also unnervingly frank about the darkness the Emperor's courtesans and their servants must reckon with as pawns in a patriarchal society. And it drives that message home with a truly wonderful protagonist in Maomao, a girl who just wants to keep her head down and get through life without drawing unwanted attention from the forces that could easily squash her like a bug, but has too strong a moral compass to look the other way when she sees the people around her suffering from those same injustices. It's the story of a powerless person using all the tools at her disposal to keep the world's cruelty at bay, and watching her struggle to win what small victories she's capable of against such an overwhelming power structure makes for some of the most gripping television I've watched in quite a long time. And if the second cours is even half as good as good, it will still earn its place among the years' best.

Frieren: Beyond Journey's End (1st Cours): 9/10

The big fantasy adventure is over. The demon king is dead, the world is at peace, and the heroes who defeated him slowly grow old and die in the new age they ushered in. All, that is, except Frieren, a near-immortal elf with such a long lifespan that a human's life is a mere drop in the ocean for her. But with the passing of her former party's leader, she realizes just how much the short time she spent on that adventure have affected her. Ten years- a mere millisecond in the life of an elf- has changed the way she sees the world more profoundly than she ever could have dreamed. So she sets out on a journey to retrace the steps of that adventure, to reconnect with her memories of the old friends she's only now realizing she wished she got to know better before it was too late. Along the way she picks up a couple of those friends' young disciples to join her party, walking reminders of the past she left behind and the future that awaits her. And through their travels, she slowly begins to understand humanity and her place within it... and all the experiences she will carry with her long after they've faded into mere memory.

I'll admit, there are times I like being an anime hipster. There's something inherently indulgent, if not exactly healthy, of feeling superior to a mass-market piece of entertainment that you're too Smart and Intellectual to be fooled by. But sometimes, you just gotta call a spade a spade. Sometimes, the weeb consensus gets it really, really right. Yes, Frieren: Beyond Journey's End is every bit as self-evidently spectacular as everyone says it is, so on-its-face magical it's almost kind of insulting. It's a quiet, meditative fantasy exploration of grief, longing, the passage of time, and what it truly means to live a fulfilling life when everything you cherish within it must one day fade into nothing. It's poignant and intimate on a level that's hard to describe, yet equally grand and majestic whenever it wishes. It's also one of the funniest goddamn shows I've watched in a while, with jokes that hit from unexpected, awkward angles that left me rolling on the floor. If his work on Bocchi the Rock hadn't already proven it, this cements Keichirou Saitou as one of our greatest modern anime directors, a master of melding tones and moods and imbuing every shot with vibrant inner life. It's almost disappointing whenever it leans into action; as spectacularly animated as its battles are, it's those quiet moments of grace and warmth that truly make this show something remarkable. Bottom line, Frieren is a runaway leader for 2023's best TV anime, a show we'll be talking about for decades to come. I can't think of a better high note to start 2024 on.

Dropped:

Shield Hero Season 3 (4 Episodes)

My Daughter Left the Nest and Returned an S-Rank Adventurer (3 Episodes)

[interrogatormentors]

BOOK 2, EVENT 4: CORNER CAMPED

Over the next few weeks, a schedule established itself. Early in the night Aradia or Karkat would drop by, armed with the same stories and food as usual but with far more energy. The food evolved from food that was easy to feed to Sollux to food that had more substance, and it felt almost nice to sink his teeth into something. The cuffs were adjusted to be back in front of Sollux as well. When Sollux went a whole week without trying to harm himself or throttle someone else his arms were unchained, leaving only the psionic dampeners behind. All the cutlery they gave him were filed into little nubs, but even still Sollux stowed a rounded fork in the mattress of his sleeping platform out of habit.

One night Karkat sat with him, reading on his tablet and muttering under his breath while Sollux silently ate some nondescript nutrition cubes that almost smelled of meat. Karkat glanced up as Sollux fumbled his fork just a little bit, looking longer with his brows twitching. “What?” Sollux asked, readjusting his grip.

“You never used to eat with your left hand,” Karkat said, cocking his head to the side. “Or was that yet another factoid that escaped you in the frantic flagellation you were subjected to that twisted you fucking asunder into the horrible meat-pretzel you are now? I’ll save us both the indignity of you saying you’re ambidextrous with your lisping nightmare mouth despite how downright fucking barren the fields have been of such delightful misery, because I still had ganderbulbs, even in that moment, you clearly had a fucking favorite. I still recall it with all the fondness of a grub being dangled over the infinite abyss to Serket’s shitty fucking lusus, how often you would eat with the right hand so you could make stupid jerk-off motions with the left as you levitated my fucking dinner over my head to watch me squall. In fact, I’m surprised you haven’t decided on a repeat performance for the nostalgia factor. Do they try and flay you for having habits or some other fucking shit, or would you like to enlighten the schoolfeeding gallery as to the reason for your steadfast refusal to indulge the alternate grip?”

Sollux didn’t respond immediately, the stronger habit of keeping quiet about weaknesses reigning victorious. Finally he switched the hand he was eating with, stabbed a cube of nearly-meat product, and lifted it to his lips. His shoulder made an audible clicking noise as it almost popped out of its socket from the rotation, and his eyelid twitched a bit from the dull ache that resulted. Karkat flinched and grimaced.

“What the hell was that?” Karkat’s tone did not sound like he didn’t know, but rather wanted a denial of the truth that appeared to be swimming in his eyes.

“Dislocated my shoulder getting out of the cuffs in the first place when I got here,” Sollux said, shrugging. His left shoulder went higher than his right despite himself, and he felt a thrill in his stomach that never quite faded even when Karkat didn’t punish him for the moment of visible weakness.

“And you… it hasn't healed. It hasn't healed, and we’ve still been putting strain on it this whole fucking time,” Karkat said, voice slow and rising a bit in pitch with each word. “Of all the... you. YOU! You. The words have completely vacated whatever remaining presence of a thinkpan I yet possess between my constantly besieged fucking auricular spongeclots from your sheer–! YOU! You could have fucking said something, I would have—!”

“No, you couldn’t have,” Sollux said, interrupting Karkat’s valiant attempt to pantomime choking him without flinging his tablet into the imminent abyss. He traded his fork back to his left hand and polished off the rest of his meal. “You needed my hands behind me. Otherwise I would have attacked you, or kept trying to chew my arm off. The pain kept me grounded anyway.”

Karkat’s eyelid proceeded to twitch. “We’re not doing that anymore. I get it, you were never good with expressing things like basic fucking necessities, and your aforementioned meat-pretzel twisting has nigh irrevocably fucked that even harder in the auricular spongeclot to the point of dealing fucking pan damage.” He looked down at his tablet with a sour expression. “I’ll see what pain medication we can spare before you can even begin to start uttering any putrid self-loathing bile about how you don’t need it or whatever bulgerotted shit strikes your fancy at this moment, because funnily enough, pain is a message that should not be fucking ignored when attempting to markedly improve your quality of life from the literal dredges it has been to this point! There’s a legitimate fucking reason for its presence on your sensory radar and let me fucking tell you that the reason, just in case you needed it spelled out, is ‘whoopsie- fucking -doodle, something’s gone splendidly fucking wrong, in fact it has gone to utter shit, and your literal, only chance at withstanding the disintegration worthy of a paper cup holding your old standby of vomit-worthy energy drinks is to fucking fix it’ .”

“Your supplies are low, don’t bother,” Sollux said. He kept talking, explaining when Karkat froze a little. “Context clues. You got mad at your screen while talking about meds and we’re not planetside. The air doesn’t have enough smells or proper dirt for that. I thought it was, but it’s just an asteroid, isn’t it?”

Karkat pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did they manage to enable you to be even more of an obnoxious windbag? I’m lost for fucking words once again, you have achieved the im-fucking-possible. I’m not going to deign you with the luxury of confirming or denying whether you’re fucking right–”

“I am.”

“Aaaaand if you will let me experience the luxury of speaking for ten fucking second without trying fulfill your quota of being a fucking know-it-all pettiness machine of epic fucking proportions...” Karkat said, glowering. He paused, pointing at Sollux, who shrugged again. Karkat inhaled, rubbing at his eye before continuing. “...you would know that if you’re not going to take the fucking pain medication, I’ll look into getting you some form of alternative treatment, despite how absolutely and completely the mere thought of you bypassing such treatment rends my goddamn bloodpusher. Something like... fuck, time in the exercise room on your own? We let people book it by themselves sometimes, mostly because no one wants to slip on the fucking mats while Zahhak turns it into a greasy swimming pool akin to the shit you’d find in the back of simply the most grotesque GrubDonalds.” He shuddered. “Would you be willing to be normal for two fucking seconds for the purpose of doing your own physical therapy here? See, I even specified two seconds. Your favourite.”

“Sure.” Sollux set his empty plate off to his side. “Will everyone else be normal about me being out and about?”

“Much like you strive to fail to be on a nightly basis, of course they won’t be fucking normal. I’m not about to fucking lie,” Karkat said. He pulled a face, shutting off his tablet and stowing it away. “The most prevalent opinion among the ill-behaved rabble that we must constantly corral, less we wind up entrenched in grub shit, is that you should have been put down like a malformed grublet that just barely eked its way out of its trials, same as the... Whatever. But I’ve got the loudest fucking voice out of all these senseless fuckers and I’m not afraid to put their spongeclots out of fucking hearth and hive, so I make the goddamn rules when it comes to you, so fucking help me god .”

“I’m touched,” Sollux deadpanned. “You’re not leader, then?”

“Shut up. I’m a fucking saint is what I am. I’m a glorified fucking grubsitter somehow simultaneously worthy and unworthy of the Signless his-fucking-self and no one is allowed to fucking forget it.” He didn’t answer Sollux’s question, which led him to believe that someone else Sollux knew was in charge. Feferi, maybe? Karkat didn’t seem annoyed enough for anyone else. 

Karkat stood up, grabbing Sollux’s plate off the sleeping platform. He kept to Sollux’s right rather than his left now, for all he said that he trusted Sollux’s intention not to harm him anymore. “You won’t be on your own, anyways.”

“Hooray. Are you going to get me a sparkly collar to match the leash you put me on?”

“ Gross. Don’t be a brat.”

“That’s what the collar’s for.”

“No.” Karkat pointed at Sollux, “Not even if you ask and promise to call me daddy if I call you a good boy. Not a chance in even the Grand Highblood’s most gory of halls.” He almost smiled, but bared his teeth instead. The way his face brightened, however, the corners of his eyes folding into neglected laugh lines, appeared before Sollux’s vision every time he blinked for almost an hour after Karkat left.

Excursions to the exercise room were uneventful at best, for the most part. Karkat blocked out an hour for Sollux every other day, and getting out of the cell left Sollux intoxicated. He couldn’t focus the first few times, but Karkat standing vigil outside the block meant no one harassed Sollux as he stood motionless in front of a punching bag with his forehead pressed to the vinyl.

He couldn’t avoid people forever. Footsteps now traipsed past Sollux’s door occasionally, and he heard voices. Most he didn’t know, although the occasional tapping of a cane or the swish of skirts had something melting in the back of his pan. They remained anonymous however, and this carried over to the trolls he saw pass by him and Karkat on the short commute to the exercise block. All stopped when they saw Sollux, at least at first, immediately on razor’s edge from Sollux’s gait despite the return of his slouch and his undercut finally grewing out and flaring out in an unruly mess of hair. No one spoke, although they whispered, and Karkat’s needling gaze kept it that way.

The routine comforted Sollux, and his world shattered when Karkat didn’t arrive at his door on time one night. Sollux started pacing five minutes after the usual time, and after the five stretched into ten and twenty and eventually into an hour he found the room spinning round him. What had happened? There couldn’t have been an attack–he’d heard an alarm go off once before for something that Karkat dismissed as a routine blackout due to a passing cruiser but none this time. Had someone waylaid him? Had someone gotten close, someone Karkat trusted just enough, and left him bleeding in some abandoned hall? Was it Gamzee? The duplicitous bastard had proven to fool interrogatormentors–could he have triple-crossed the line? Serket he’d heard tapping her arm impatiently in an 8-beat-staccato, complaining about needing to keep quiet near his door. Probably her. It couldn’t be Eridan, ensconced as he was in the Empress’ nook the last he’d checked the tabloids. A rebellion was beneath his notice. The walls leaned in towards Sollux, silent and unyielding and leaving him exposed and alone with his thoughts.

Finally Sollux crammed himself under the miniscule amount of room underneath the sleeping platform just so he could think, limbs pretzeled and crammed up close. Dread filled Sollux’s stomach, a deep sense of wrongness he’d only felt when Rapard pushed him to the brink of frozen, or the time so much water had been forced into him that his kidneys had threatened to shut down, or when Rosmer had tested another batch of his poisons on him before graduation and gleefully recounted what organs would be safe to harvest if Sollux hadn’t pulled through. Sollux tangled the fingers of one hand into his hair, nails that Karkat kept clipped digging into his scalp as his digits shook from the force. He bit down on his other hand, hard, but the impending feeling of personal doom still left him shuddering. The only blessing of the psionic cuffs was that they blocked the usual chorus of the imminently doomed that usually filled Sollux’s waking world. Without the voices the doom shifted to calm, coelscing into the crystaliizing realization that he was going to die and no one would miss him and leaving his limbs sparkling and light.

The door opened, and Karkat’s voice filled the room. “—god, nookhuffing, bulgechafing pieces of fucking shit, the whole fucking lot of them, just toss out the whole fucking consortium out the god-fucking-damned airlock in one merry go with a chipper fucking ‘by your leave’ to top off the clusterfuck sandwich, I swear to fucking—I am so fucking sorry I’m late, Sollux, I had to fight my way out of another fucking meeting to the point that I almost yanked out fucking ganderbulbs, and I had already fucking told…” Karkat trailed off, one foot that Sollux could see stepping back behind the threshold of the room. “...Sollux?”

Sollux tried to speak several times, but all that he could manage was a strangled rasp. Immediately Karkat dropped to his knees, red eyes wide. “Oh fucking hell. Shit. Panrotted spawn of the Gl’bgolyb her-fucking-self, you fucking scared me to all fuck, Captor. What happened?  No one else has the key to this place beside Megido and through hell and high fucking water will anyone ever get access beyond that.”

Another few tries and Sollux at last croaked, “Late. Thought. I.” He stammered a few more times, and when it didn’t stop he tried biting his hand again. Karkat’s hand flew out, catching him by the wrist.

“Stop,” Karkat said. His voice cracked a bit. “Okay? Don’t. You don’t need to do that. Seeing gold staining that much everywhere makes my fucking bloodpusher hike up seven degrees closer to a fucking infarction, Sollux, come on .” He tugged at Sollux’s wrist, just a little, and having a direction had Sollux scrambling out from underneath the platform with all the grace of a spider sent through a wind tunnel. Karkat kept holding onto him, catching Sollux as he fell forward into his chest. 

“Helps. Me focus,” Sollux said. He stared forward at nothing, head bowed against Karkat’s chest. “I thought something happened.”

“And they said I was wrong for worrying about being late. I was wrong. They called me mad! And maybe I am mad, yeah, I’m fucking pissed and I’m ready to tear out some more throats with my nubby file I call teeth, because this is exhibit fucking A front and fucking center, as to why all the others can choke down the Condesce’s meter-long nightmare bulge when it comes to trying to dictate and nitpick my carefully planned agenda for your betterment,” Karkat said. He wrapped his arms around Sollux, and his voice rattled with something that Sollux couldn’t tell was a growl or a purr. Either option had the roiling emotions in Sollux solidifying into jagged edges twisting through his gut. “I should have tried harder to be on time, or tried to find a way to let you know.”

“Not your fault.” Sollux’s hand twitched as he automatically tried to bring it to his mouth again to bite at whatever skin he could reach, but Karkat kept his arm down at his waist. “A meeting. You said it was a meeting. You don’t have meetings at this hour but it was an emergency. It doesn’t matter–I’m just a… Hiccup in already-made plans.” 

His thinking started to spiral again into dizzying tunnels of possibility. Karkat seemed annoyed at most, not stressed. It wasn’t a security breach or an invasion, but it was important enough to warrant a meeting. He’d clearly not thought it was important enough to want to stay if he was so out of breath and hastening back to Sollux, so that meant it was an issue that Karkat didn’t usually deal with. Karkat seemed to deal with personnel, sure, but other than that Sollux wasn’t quite sure what he did. It seemed wrong not knowing what had so altered his schedule, the consistency and break thereof meaning something was terribly wrong. He had to solve the problem to right the order of things, what little he had control over.

Karkat smacked his face then, quite hard, something that jostled Sollux right out of one tunnel of thought into another. He blinked rapidly, and Karkat huffed. “Fucking look at me and quit your fucking doomspiral shit.” He took a ragged breath, dragging his fingers through his hair. “Right. Yes. Even though it was an emergency meeting, I don’t care if you say it doesn’t matter, I fucked up in allowing the swill-brained lot of our co-conspirators to waylay me this fucking egregiously. You are important, Captor, so important to me that I didn’t stop bleeding out the fucking pusher in despair until I saw the slivers of you coming back to yourself–to me– where they fucking belong. I’m not always going to be around, it’d be moronic to pretend anything but, but I’m also not going to let you claw yourself open like some neurotic lusus at the end of its fucking shelf life. Even if I were actually dead as a goddamned doornail, I’d come back from pure rage alone to keep you from any degree of self-mutilation. So tell me what I can do to help you at this moment.”

“Slap me again?”

“No. That suggestion goes back right to the corner of fuck and no. I panicked in what was the most mortifying display of freshblood nerves that I should’ve been fucking over at this point, and you’re not going to get another free show of my legendary war-ending paphand.”

“Was that what it was?”

Karkat opened his mouth, and then went fully red in the face. He inhaled and then let out a noise like a temperamental tea kettle. “No! Don’t take me out of context. It’s your prime fucking skill but I will not allow such fucking slander to bedraggle my hard-fought grizzled reputation.”

“I just asked for context, and you failed. You’re caught like a fucking pale harlot exposing his wristbones to the masses.”

“Sometimes I wish I had allowed those fuckers to have you gagged,” Karkat said, groaning, some tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

“And give me more fuel to fan the flames? You’re an easy enough target as it is.” Despite himself, Sollux felt the tension draining out of him, although his heartbeat still pounded in his ears as Karkat made another choked up, thinly muffled scream. “I’ll make all sorts of noises that’ll embarrass both of us.” He shook his head to try and clear it to no avail.

“Do not keep doing this to me. You know I am weak for trashy romcoms and that shit is like the prime fucking subject of pale pornos that one can only fucking dream about experiencing when they’ve got the most wretchedly bright swill for blood like I do, but... fuck okay, whatever .” Karkat let out a sigh, but let go of Sollux’s hand now that Sollux wasn’t actively resisting to try and get at himself. “I can ask about giving you some freedoms so you’re not trapped in here when I’m not immediately available. I’ll go full rebellion babysitter and write you up a formal-ass schedule for you to follow and everything, if that’s what gets your shit to settle solid-style at the bottom of this goddamned basin. Go anywhere out of your scheduled areas and times, and I’ll fucking roundhouse kick you, just for the incentive to follow the rules and because these morons all squawk about fairness like fair has anything to do with the treatment you experienced at the hands of the Empire. Hell, if anyone fucking bothers you it’s a boot to the head for them too, with extra Zahhak grease as the ultimate fucking deterrent.”

“I can defend myself. You can’t just threaten to roundhouse kick everything. You’re not flexible enough anyways. I’d give you hitting everything with your shin at best.”

“I can and I will, you don’t know how much I’ve worked on my fucking flexibility nowadays, I’m spryer than I’ve ever been and I don’t even have a single idea when this meatsack hits its expiration date,” Karkat said. He huffed, folding his arms with his tablet to his chest, stepping back and leaning against the wall. “As if you could do any better without your psionics, anyway.”

Without much thought apart from needing to defend his pride Sollux immediately shifted his weight to one leg, the other leg sliding back to give him the momentum he needed. He twisted, throwing a roundhouse kick off his back leg to lightly tap and pin Karkat to the wall by the ball of his foot to Karkat’s breastbone. The redness to Karkat’s face didn’t fade, but his eyes had gotten a bit wider. A little fear lurked behind those glassy eyes, though he tried his best to temper it.

The lights flashed into a strobe a few times, and Sollux scrambled back as Karkat waved a middle finger at the camera in the middle of the room. “You are all fucking pansies, absolute fucking wet blankets, you put Zahhak’s towels to fucking shame for limpidness and wetness! We’re good! It’s fine!” Karkat shouted up at the camera, and while the sprinklers overhead did click a few times there was no ice-shower to deter Sollux’s attack. Karkat rounded on Sollux, pointing at him with his middle finger. His other hand patted at his leg for something that wasn’t there. “We’re fine, right? I swear to all fuck, if this is the night I forgot my fucking taser that you decide to pull your goddamn last stand because your miniscule bean got freaked, then I fucking deserve to have my ass royally fucking handed to me. But for all our sakes in the grisly equation, I hope it fucking isn’t.”

“You wouldn’t have had time to grab the taser if I meant it,” Sollux said. He rubbed at his eyes, sitting back on the sleeping platform. “You didn’t reach for it anyway until after things had calmed down.”

“Because… I knew in my pusher of pushers you were just being a shit,” Karkat said, the last part of his sentence more a sigh than anything as his shoulders sagged. “Man, I really do miss that. Isn’t that pathetic? My pusher once again left bleeding at the sight of the wiry piece of shit I so enjoyed antagonizing at my own personal peril. I wish I could tackle you headlong and grind your nose into the ground like a poorly trained woofbeast after pulling that stunt. You’re... way bendier than you used to be.”

“My body’s supposed to be a weapon no matter what tools I have at my disposal,” Sollux said. Karkat rolled his eyes but let him keep talking. “I wish you could beat the shit out of me too, KK, even though you’re too short to be able to reach my face.”

Karkat yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. From there the rest of the visit passed as normal. They didn’t have time to go to the training block, but Karkat pointed out that if Sollux’s walkaround privileges were approved, he could go as many times as he wanted to make up for it.

It took a few weeks, but eventually Sollux was granted the freedom to walk around on his own. It took even longer for Sollux to exercise said privileges, so loathe was he to break the already established routine that he’d fallen into. He liked only seeing Aradia and Karkat. Still at times he considered going to the dining hall for extra food, the idea of eating at his own leisure a fascinating novelty. He made it to the door before he bailed, once glance through the window at the scattering of trolls eating and relaxing too much to handle.

He satisfied himself with walking, mostly, wandering in large circuits that meandered through the halls. He walked when he couldn’t sleep or when his mind got too crowded with panic or intrusive thoughts, when Karkat and Aradia both were too busy or presumably asleep themselves. The halls were uniform and utilitarian with no alcoves to nestle in, so when he got tired of walking he would simply lay on the ground to stare at a different ceiling. A familiar ceiling, exactly the same as his cell but different, just different enough that he could coax himself into new habits.

He went to the exercise room on his own, even outside the times that Karkat had reserved for him. All that changed was that he had to actually use the sign-in sheet to show he’d used the equipment, which everyone had to do anyway. Karkat had everyone on red alert for him trying to elicit pain responses from himself, so exercise was the closest he could get without raising those flags. Feeling emotion and memory crowd his pan hurt, and he longed for numbness. Pain sparked at his brain and drowned everything out, a dull roar that demanded attention with emotions falling by the wayside. It didn’t help that being out on his own had people staring, and sometimes Sollux would feel the prickling on the back of his neck as if someone were watching him. No one was ever there when he looked, and so the stressors continued to mount and his time spent in the exercise room increased. Even if it was to hit his knuckles on a punching bag until his knuckles bled, that feeling meant he wasn’t constantly checking over his shoulder.

Sometimes people were in the exercise room when Sollux poked his head in there, and he opted to leave rather than be around them in an exhausted or otherwise vulnerable state. One night however a duo entered after he was in the middle of his routine. The pair hesitated signing in but went to their own corner, and while they kept shooting glances they said nothing to him. The threat of leaving a routine unfinished kept Sollux in place as well, and he left without a word once he was finished. 

A wrinkle in Sollux’s routine again in the form of a name on the crumpled sign-in sheet. V. Pozoia sat in the 12:30 slot, wedged between a G. Riarra and T. Gohgoh as if it had any right to be there. Sollux’s lungs filled with water as he stared at the name, scrawled with an unsteady hand but unmistakably in its spelling and its syllables. He’d chanted out affirmatives and negatives alongside that name, acknowledgement to the instructor that had drilled rigor and routine into him in an exercise room far bigger at this one, but never big enough to escape the smell of Ualona’s corpse for weeks after his death. Pozoia had made his life hell before disappearing alongside his partner under rumors that their cruiser had run into the rebellion. 

Sollux tore the sign-in sheet from the wall, and took it back with him to his block. He stowed it underneath his mattress alongside his blunted fork. He didn’t dare look at it again until Aradia’s visit at the tail end of the night, when the overhead lights dimmed to be replaced by the dull red daylights.

Sollux scanned the list over again in the day, back to the camera. G. Riarra was written in the same pen as Pozoia’s, and wasn’t the one still attached to the wall in the exercise room by a fraying line. Their writing was neatly placed right underneath Pozoia’s, but not so crammed that he was leaving space on the page for a third person. T. Gohgoh had used the assigned pen and their writing was pressed up under Riarra to avoid running out of room on the page. They probably didn’t all come together, but Riarra knew Pozoia enough to loan him his pen. They were the last group to be in the room as well, considering none of them had bothered to flip the page over. Sollux turned the page and the scent of bile and antiseptic, coupled with the feeling of electricity burning the tips of his fingers. K. Juyure. 

Sollux flung the list away from him as if his limbs were electrified, fingers clawing into his hair. The papers plopped unceremoniously on the ground, names glaring up at him in a way that had his flesh crawling over itself. It was paper, just paper, not a tablet electrifying him for a wrong answer as he failed to properly identify ruined organs from a training interrogation. Sollux inhaled once before ducking his head, continuing to hold his breath even when his lungs started screaming for air. When unconsciousness threatened him Sollux allowed himself to breathe, coughing and shuddering but with his head a little clearer.

He reached back down, carefully picking up the paper. Juyure had no signatures next to their name, and used the same pen as Pozoia and Riarra, which had Sollux flipping between the two troublesome pages with a frown. Riarra was clearly Pozoia’s escort. While Pozoia’s writing had been a scrawl there was a heaviness to how the pen had laid on the page, and even when the letters wavered they followed a strict line. For some reason Pozoia had trouble controlling his hand these days, and Riarra had steadied it. Juyure’s writing was messier than Pozoia’s. Sollux leaned in. The writing was different, lighter on the pen, and there were smudges on the letters that indicated it had been written with the left hand. Juyure had been right-handed, and the e in their name had the same loop to it as Pozoia’s a.

To confirm his suspicions Sollux went back to the other pages on the sign-in sheet. They’d always been separated by a flood of names and pages, but Sollux spotted a trend–an hour or so after he signed in, Riarra would. Why was Pozoia signing in now, and doing so when he had an escort? Karkat usually was the one that signed when they went together to obsfucate Sollux’s name and lessen attention on him, and it seemed as if up until this point Riarra took the same responsibility for Pozoia.

The conclusion had Sollux’s stomach rolling. Pozoia was getting assigned time in the exercise block as well, probably for similar reasons as to why Sollux himself was going. He wasn’t trusted enough to be on his own, which made sense as he’d been an instructor nookdeep in the Empire’s propaganda machine. Just as Sollux followed a schedule, so did he. It could be coincidence, but then why make a point of signing in when he didn’t need to? He’d noticed, and was trying to get under Sollux’s skin, and was supposedly reformed enough to get exercise block privileges. Either he didn’t believe that Sollux was deprogrammed, or Pozoia himself was well aware of that fact and Pozoia’s continued loyalty to the Empire meant the rebellion was in danger. When Sollux had failed to show up at his usual time today, Pozoia upped the stakes to grab Sollux’s notice with his name and then Juyure’s name as the clincher.

Sollux got up, picking up the list off the ground. These days he caught himself wishing he could turn off the interrogatormentor part of his thinkpan, as useful as it was to be able to puzzle things out from minor details. He couldn’t think right now. He needed to return this list, first off. Someone had probably noticed it was missing, and if anyone cared enough to check the cameras they’d probably crack down on his head. His breath rasped through his lungs but he forced himself to shove the list back underneath his mattress next to his utensil contraband. He could return that in the evening. He had a strict allotment of time he was allowed to wander, and this time wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t return the list right away, but if he went during his normal hours no one would think anything of it. He flopped back onto the reclining platform, and despite the sopor patch given to him each night his dreams were haunted with an echo of someone drowning.

The moment that his schedule permitted him freedom to move, Sollux beelined for the exercise room. He still couldn’t help the habit of going at 11, since breaking away from his schedule had resulted in Pozoia’s name appearing in the first place. He ran on panicked autopilot flying without a plan, but he made it to the block unmolested. He attempted to hang the list back on the wall by its fading tape, and it slid down with a pathetic fluttering like a dying featherbeast. He whacked the list on the wall, smacking it as if to cow the tape into submission. 

“Do you require assistance?”

Sollux whipped around, fists automatically raising up to protect his face. The yellowblood behind him who’d spoken didn’t so much as flinch at the sight of a defensive interrogatormentor, instead smiling blandly. He waved a hand adorned in a smattering of dull gray rings, rattling against each other. “No need to worry so, friend.”

The other troll took the paper away from Sollux. No fear registered on his face, nor hesitation, although there was a calculated caution that had him never quite turning his back to Sollux. “My sincerest apologies for startling you. You would think I would have known better by now. In the face of everything, you interrogatormentors remain... Uncomfortably alert.” He let out a lilting laugh as he fished around by the door, putting aside various faded pens until he found new tape to fix the list.

Know better by now. Ophlia was getting watched by Trisia, she had to be, to try and snap her back to reality by familiarity. He still hadn’t seen so much as her shadow pass his door, heard no echo of her eerily quiet footsteps as her boots made contact with the ground. Who else then would deal so closely with interrogatormentors to not blanch when one jumped? “It’s fine, Riarra,” Sollux said.

The other troll’s eyebrow quirked up just a bit, but his expression remained mostly unreadable, set in that soft smile. “Ah. I am humbled, as it appears my reputation precedes me.” He didn’t offer any explanation or question that could open himself up to Sollux gathering information. This definitely was someone that had been dealing with an interrogatormentor, probably ever since Pozoia had dropped off the map in the first place.

Sollux didn’t offer Riarra anything in return, choosing to only stare at him. His breathing felt restricted, something heavy and malicious compressing his ribs. Riarra met his gaze with a smile that didn’t reach heavy-lidded eyes, lashes weighing them down with some deep exhaustion Sollux couldn’t place. Finally Riarra’s expression re-settled onto his shut-eyed smile, folding his hands in front of himself and offering a little bow. “It was good to finally meet you in person, Sollux Captor. But I think it is best for all of us that we keep our interactions to a minimum. I am certain you understand.”

Sollux didn’t respond and so Golese turned, pretending to fiddle with the sign-up sheet again while Sollux stayed stock-still like a prey animal trying to remember it had teeth. Sollux retreated further back in the room, picking up a dumbbell, and even from over here he caught the way that Golese pulled a heavy ring from his pocket and slid it to a blank spot in between calluses on his fingers under the guise of smoothing out the wrinkles of the sheet before him. A heaviness to the air settled, a subtle buzz of psionic ozone causing the doomed voices muffled by the psionic cuff on Sollux’s wrist to let out a collective sigh to break up their usual mourning keen. The pressure on Sollux’s chest lightened. No wonder the other yellowblood felt confident enough to turn his back on an interrogatormentor now that Sollux had willingly created distance–his psionics were powerful enough to rival Sollux’s own to the point he willingly wore dampener rings.

The other troll lingered even after Sollux began his set, reinforcing the sheet on the wall beyond its usual single strip of tape at the top. Each bubble and ripple in the tape was adjusted and smoothed out to the point of redundancy, and when Golese could hover for no longer around the sheet he moved to the case of cooled drinks. Sollux watched out of the corner of his eye as Golese hummed tunelessly, organizing the bottles to push those with flavors to the front while the plain waters were pushed off to the side. A pause, and then Golese rearranged the entire case. His ears were lopsided, one still angled towards while the other kept his head tilted towards the door. Every motion equated to busywork, paused only when footsteps passed by the exercise room’s door. The door had a small window set into it so other trolls could glance in to see if the room was occupied, but Golese blocked Sollux’s view through it. All he caught were unfamiliar shadows.

Sollux finished his usual lifting set and placed the dumbbells down. He moved to another bit of equipment, and a few seconds after he moved position so did Golese. As Sollux began the next part of his workout Golese began refolding a frankly ludicrous amount of towels, tucking the corners tightly so that more could fit on the shelf without crowding. The drink cases had kept Golese in front of the door, blocking Sollux from the entrance, but now that Sollux had moved the towels now served as the best station to maintain that placement. His back still faced Sollux for the most part, which baffled Sollux. The main threat was in the room, not outside of it, so why would Golese watch and block him from the door?

Only so many configurations could be made with folded towels however, and eventually Golese’s body language shifted to something more readable. His shoulders tensed up as he stood, and he cast Sollux one last sideways glance before offering him a little bow. “Don’t tire yourself too much, Sollux Captor,” he said. His voice, barely a whisper, still carried across the room. He opened his mouth as if to say something more and then left the room in a hasty sweep of hair and fabric.

Sollux took the posture and words as a warning and stood the moment that Golese left, standing with one hand on the previous piece of equipment as he listened hard. Golese’s footsteps faded immediately, and the hall outside seemed a silent crypt. Still Sollux remained in place, counting the seconds until exactly two minutes and twenty-two seconds had passed–an arbitrary number to ascertain safety that meant nothing to anyone but those that knew him. His hand closed on the door handle just in time for a single footfall to register, a nondescript thud of a boot. Sollux hesitated until he heard what should have been the footstep’s twin clank, and he threw himself back with a fraction of composure further than someone diving away from an explosion just in time for a troll to open the door from the window’s blind spot.

Despite the relatively light workout Sollux’s lungs automatically began to burn, eyes watering at the corners from fumes long since evaporated from his skin as former interrogatormentor instructor Vitzii Pozoia stalked into the room. He looked haggard compared to the last time Sollux had seen him, tailored uniform since traded out for a ragged jacket and cargo pants that did little to disguise a metal arm and leg that screamed for maintenance. Pozoia always had a stiffness to him when Sollux had known him, but his offset, half-mechanical gait had never held him back before. Hair hung over Pozoia’s eyes now, which sank back into the hollows of an emaciated skull. Still his gaze remained steady, and Sollux felt his spine snap into a rigid poker to force his posture into one of rigid submission as he bared his throat. Pozoia, the shorter troll, still managed to look down his nose at Sollux. He wore a scarf now, blue as his own blood, but someone had stitched the edges down carefully with yellow thread with something akin to loving embroidery until it served as more of a liner for his high-collared jacket and prevented its use as a noose. Faint pinpricks in the fabric indicated that this hadn’t stopped Pozoia from trying to wrench it free all the same.

“You took the bait,” Pozoia said, voice flat.

"You took the sheet, didn't tell nobody, and didn't kick that lil' number habit of yours to the curb before leavin' so I had time to circle back." If Sollux didn’t know better, he’d think that Pozoia sounded disappointed. An X appeared on a scoreboard on the edge of Sollux’s memory, then another, then another. Strike one, two, and three. Test failed. 

[happi-tree]

don't kiss and tell

“Can you get off me, please?” Lincoln deadpans instead, jostling Taylor on his back a bit. “Wanna stand up.”

“Hmmmmm, on one condition,” Taylor muses slyly. His jet black hair gleams with sweat under the scattered fluorescents, and stray strands tickle the side of Lincoln’s neck as Taylor leans in even closer. 

“Remove my makeup for me?” He shakes the package of makeup wipes for emphasis, and Lincoln glances over his shoulder to see Taylor’s trademarked doe-eyed look, complete with batting lashes and pouting lips. 

Or: After a long, tiring concert set, Lincoln helps Taylor backstage. One thing leads to another, and he gets a little more than he bargained for.

ao3

Hi, guys! Guess who's back with one more Swiftli fic to finish off 2023! I've had this idea kicking around in my docs (and my wip posts lmao) since July and figured it was high time to polish it up haha. Enjoy some very, very self-indulgent idol au Swiftlis below the cut!

“Liiiiiiincoln,” A familiar voice whines behind him.

Lincoln hums questioningly without turning around - he’s a bit preoccupied with tidying up their group’s shared dressing room. 

Sure, they’ll be performing their set here tomorrow night as well, but it never hurts to make sure everything is in its place so he can at least attempt at mitigating the chaos that is bound to unfold. That, and he doesn’t want to cause the staff any excess trouble.

“Liiiiiiiink,” Taylor prods again, and Lincoln can hear the exaggerated dragging steps his groupmate is taking toward him. “I’m all sweaty and you’re all sweaty and I will not hesitate to lean on you if you don’t pay attention to me.”

“Do, it, then,” Lincoln mutters, slightly hunched over to fluff up the throw pillows on the couch and inspect it to make sure nobody’s spilled their half-caff coffee (Normal) or energy drink (Scary) or needlessly complicated boba order (Taylor) or sports drink (himself). “Busy.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Taylor says, draping himself across Lincoln’s back like an overgrown cat, hands hanging limply over Lincoln’s shoulders. In his peripheral vision, Lincoln notes that one’s holding a container of makeup wipes. “You’re so grumpy when you’re exhausted nowadays! Seems like a certain someone’s rubbing off on you.”

“Or, you know, using my back as a chaise lounge.”

“Well, I had been referring to Scary, but you’re not wrong!” He crows, stretching a little as if to emphasize all the points where their bodies make contact. 

(It’s uncomfortably warm and a little gross with all the sweat from their concert, and it’s a lot less bothersome than Lincoln would like to admit. Even in the afterglow of a performance in the earliest hours of the morning, voice hoarse and body crashing from all the adrenaline and mind dimmed with the promise of late-night room service and sleep, Taylor still has a way of making things a bit more bearable. Even when he’s acting anything but.)

A grimy finger pokes him lightly in the cheek, breaking Lincoln from his thoughts. He rolls his eyes and makes to fold the little blankets the staff had set out for them. 

“You’re so cute with your brows all furrowed like that,” Taylor teases. “Li-Wilson, our very own pretty boy, all angry and frowny. What would the press say?”

There’s a very, very stupid fluttering that happens in Lincoln’s chest whenever Taylor strings his name together with words like “cute” or “pretty” or “handsome”. And it happens annoyingly often, considering how much the four of them will play up their affections for their fans. Lincoln knows it’s not untrue - the internet surely agrees with what Taylor’s saying, if the endless amounts of comments he probably shouldn’t get sucked into reading are anything to go by - but sometimes… he still wonders if it’s all in his head, the way Taylor drops flirtations like he means them.

That’s a thought for later, though, when he’s in their shared hotel room fighting off the wonderful combination of jet lag and insomnia.

“Can you get off me, please?” Lincoln deadpans instead, jostling Taylor on his back a bit. “Wanna stand up.”

“Hmmmmm, on one condition,” Taylor muses slyly. His jet black hair gleams with sweat under the scattered fluorescents, and stray strands tickle the side of Lincoln’s neck as Taylor leans in even closer. 

“Remove my makeup for me?” He shakes the package of makeup wipes for emphasis, and Lincoln glances over his shoulder to see Taylor’s trademarked doe-eyed look, complete with batting lashes and pouting lips. 

“Cute,” Lincoln says out loud, because he calls Taylor that all the time in public, and he has no reason not to voice it now. Unlike the countless interviews and livestreams they’ve done together, though, he has the pleasure of watching red crawl its way across Taylor’s cheeks, which only further proves his point. 

“B-be that as it may, I have you effectively trapped until you do my bidding, you tall, unfairly handsome boy.”

Lincoln is so fortunate that he doesn’t blush easily, a fact which annoys both Taylor and the rest of their group. 

“Why can’t you remove your own makeup, huh?” Lincoln complains halfheartedly even as he takes the wipes offered to him and Taylor wriggles happily in celebration.

“Don’t have any mirrors,” He argues (which is clearly a lie - there are no less than eight in this room alone in case of last-minute touch-ups, not counting their phones), “and I’m so tired I can barely stand!”

“Oh, are your legs acting up? I can carry you if you want,” Lincoln replies, all pretense of grouchiness forgotten as he carefully straightens up, making sure that Taylor can still lean on him without throwing him off-balance.

“I mean, I’m probably fine. Just a little shaky, is all.” Taylor laughs a little, a short, breathy, half-nervous sound that Lincoln feels against the back of his outrageously complicated blouse. 

“You sure?” Lincoln asks, shooting Taylor a look of his own - his “princely protector” look, as he’s seen their fans call it - and Taylor’s expression softens a bit before breaking into a teasing smirk. 

“I mean… I am pretty tired, if you’re still offering, and I’d hate for those strong arms of yours to go to waste -”

“Alright, then, just let me…” Despite the awful clinging feeling of his sweaty clothes and the daunting task of even a little bit of physical exertion, Lincoln can’t help but grin as he rearranges their limbs to lift Taylor. It’s a familiar practice, borne from their years as training partners before they ever made their debut alongside Scary and Normal, and one Lincoln can find himself enjoying even in his drained, slightly sluggish state.

(It’s hard not to enjoy the feeling of Taylor in his arms, even if it’s just for a little bit.)

“Up we go!” Lincoln says, scooping him up into a bridal carry and spinning the two of them in a lazy circle. Like the many times they’ve done this, Taylor slings his arms around Lincoln’s neck and laughs, joyful and unrestrained and slightly hoarse from a night of singing. Like the many times they’ve done this, Lincoln wishes that he could bottle the sound, hollow out a hole in his heart and place that in it. 

(Like the many times they’ve done this, he wishes he could stop going a little braindead every time Taylor’s hot breath fans against the side of his neck.)

“O-okay,” Lincoln announces, hoping the stutter in his voice can be passed off as some sort of vocal strain. “Where do you wanna be?”

“There!” Taylor shifts in Lincoln’s grip, pointing to a black leather swivel chair in the corner of the room, tucked away behind some sort of support column. 

“Alright,” Lincoln says, swooping over and then allowing Taylor to carefully extricate himself from Lincoln’s torso. 

As gross as they both are right now, Lincoln finds himself missing the contact. 

He has a job to do, though.

Lincoln kneels down on the worn, carpeted floor before Taylor, trying not to think about how his body aches, grabs a makeup wipe from the pack, and assesses the boy before him. 

Taylor sits still and pretty - the distinct lack of fidgeting is a sure sign of how absolutely exhausted he is. His face shimmers from a combination of sweat and the glittery pink-peach pastes his makeup artists use to draw attention to his eyes. Thin, smoky eyeliner swoops from the outer corners of his eyes, a burgundy so dark it’s nearly black. The heavy blush that was placed on the apples of his cheeks has faded to a mere suggestion now, but Taylor’s lips are still stained a deep cherry-plum, the corners defined with small strokes in a way that makes his smile appear more cat-like, somehow. 

The stylists did a very good job with him, Lincoln thinks.

Lincoln makes slow, gentle work of removing every last bit of makeup from Taylor’s face, stroking with just the barest of pressure across his forehead, vaguely registering the way that the fibers stain with shades of peach and beige and concentrating on unearthing the soft skin beneath. 

With every swipe of his hand, Lincoln can feel Taylor’s eyes on him, slightly glazed over and staring shamelessly. Lincoln doesn’t blame him for spacing out this late at night, and if Taylor’s not spacing out, if he’s looking at Lincoln just to drink him in amidst the peace that comes after a long night of song after song - well. Lincoln would be lying if he said he wasn’t using this as an excuse to look at him, take in and admire each and every one of his features as if he hasn’t committed them to memory a hundred times over. Map out the slight dip of his temple with his fingers, trace the curve of his cheek, stare right back into those dark, faraway eyes while removing his eyeliner and risk falling into them…

“Close your eyes,” Lincoln prompts, and that temptation is removed as Taylor’s eyelids flutter shut, obedient. Somehow, it doesn’t help with the lump of emotion building like phlegm in the back of his throat. 

Lincoln isn’t good with words, not the way Scary is, with her effortless lyricism and smooth-sounding syllables, phrases that bludgeon with the force of a sledgehammer or pierce through with the precision of a surgeon’s knife, depending on what is needed most.

But when Lincoln looks at Taylor like this, sometimes he finds himself wanting to be. He wants to write out everything trapped somewhere between his ribcage and his mouth, press the stain of it all into hotel memo pads, onto crumpled-up napkins from restaurants in cities he’ll never see again, tuck them into his pockets and let his chicken-scrawl attempts weigh him down twice as heavily as before. 

He’s tried, before, tried so many times, but they never come out quite right, toeing the line between being trite and far too strange. 

There’s just this… undeniable gravity about Taylor that defies any description. He’s got this magnetism to him, and they’ve been circling each other like opposing poles, like binary stars, ever since their first near-collision. His presence is real, undeniable - and not just onstage, where every staccato sound tumbles past Taylor’s lips with the strength and grace of a percussive rainfall, where every eye is drawn to him. 

Taylor is far more than that.

It’s in moments like this where Lincoln feels his pull the strongest, when the lights fade and the curtain drops and Taylor’s features are softened by the encroaching shadows yet still radiant from the high of their performance. When Taylor’s taken out his fancy lenses and Lincoln can see the onyx depths of his eyes, dare to lean closer to see if he can map out the place where his irises meet his pupils in the lowlight, all framed by dark, short lashes. When he presses a hand to Taylor’s cheek and strokes gently, watches as the sweat and foundation and blush give way to olive skin, wishes that the makeup wipe wasn’t in the way and he could hold Taylor like this for real, whenever he wanted. When he finds a clean section of chemical-soaked cloth and carefully touches it to Taylor’s lips, when he hears the way Taylor’s breath hitches near-imperceptibly in the quiet of this tucked away green room in this two-night town. 

“Does it sting?” Lincoln hears himself ask, searching his face for any discomfort. After so much silence, the question sounds louder than when their voices echoed off the stage, more amplified than any microphone could ever make it.

“N-nope,” Taylor rasps, and Lincoln knows it’s probably just rough from overuse but maybe there’s also something more. “Keep - keep going.”

“Okay,” Lincoln says, leaning in a little closer (he has to make sure he gets everything). “Let me know if it hurts?”

“Mm.”

Lincoln sets aside the makeup wipe, grabs a fresh one, and focuses on removing Taylor’s lipstick. 

Taylor has very nice lips. Like, objectively. They’re a little on the thinner side, but his cupid’s bow forms a heart shape and the edges turn up naturally at the corners in a way that makes him look perpetually mischievous.

As Lincoln gently swipes away at the lip liner, he thinks (not for the first time) about what it would be like to kiss him.

Taylor’s kissed Lincoln before - on his forehead, on his shoulders, on his cheek. Lincoln has kissed Taylor before, too - the crown of his head, his temple, and on one memorable occasion, the corner of his mouth. It’s practically to be expected at this point. He’s kissed Normal and Scary, too, and they’ve kissed him, but with them, it’s something easy, rote, platonic, entirely performative.

Kissing Taylor has always felt different. Maybe it’s because the soft press of Taylor’s lips against his skin always leaves him with some sort of endless pit in his chest, something that threatens to consume him whenever he meets Taylor’s black-hole eyes.

And it drives Lincoln absolutely crazy, the way he constantly finds himself wanting more - wanting to know the way that their mouths might slot together, to see if Taylor’s lips are as soft against his own as they feel against the back of his hand. 

Lincoln presses the wipe to Taylor’s top lip, runs his cloth-covered finger over the divot of his cupid’s bow, and fails to stop thinking about the way his groupmate might taste - fails to stop thinking about kissing the boy in front of him until they’re both rendered completely breathless. 

Taylor’s breath stutters, and Lincoln can feel the fluttery inhale-exhale against his face, and he glances upward to see Taylor’s eyes open, now, free of shadows and glitter. His gaze darts lazily between Lincoln’s eyes and his mouth.

Taylor can read Lincoln’s expressions like a favorite book. It’s only natural, having lived and worked in close quarters for the past five years together. He knows the way the light glances off Lincoln’s eyes when his mind is elsewhere, knows his fake smiles from his genuine ones, knows the way his eyes crinkle at the corners whenever he’s truly, exuberantly happy.

Taylor knows exactly what Lincoln’s thinking right now. 

And for the same reason, Lincoln recognizes the look in Taylor’s eyes for exactly what it is. 

Tiredness. Longing. Affection. Want. 

It would be easy, so easy to lean in those final few inches, to close the distance between him the way that he’s wanted to for years, the way they’ve both wanted to. But what they desire and what they can let themselves have - those have always been two very different things. 

But it’s late, and most of the staff have cleared out, and Normal and Scary are probably hanging out on the empty stage like usual. Even so, there’s always a chance -

Lincoln’s eyes flick toward the ceiling.

“There’s one camera on the other side of the pillar,” Taylor says, and Lincoln’s eyes snap back to him immediately. A suggestion of a smirk plays at Taylor’s lips.

“Did you…” Taylor’s smile grows, something secretive and almost shy. Predictably, Lincoln’s gaze follows the curve of his lips as he trails off.

“You’ve been staring a lot tonight,” Taylor teases, and god, Lincoln can’t take the low, lilting timbre of his voice right now, not when he’s close enough to feel his breath against his face, not with flashes of berry-stained lips and white teeth taking up so much of his vision. “Do you wanna -”

“Yes,” Lincoln cuts him off, sounding much more desperate than he intended.

With no foundation left to hide it, Taylor’s face colors bright red remarkably quickly.

Lincoln swallows down the embarrassment, and Taylor’s eyes track the constriction of his throat.

He drops the makeup wipe, absentmindedly brushing his hand on his trousers, letting it hang in the empty space between them.

There’s not much of it left. Lincoln can feel the last of his resolve crumbling in the wake of Taylor voicing the truth that’s lived trapped in their lungs for years on end. His heartbeat, previously sluggish with the promise of rest, pounds faster in his chest, a marcato drumbeat that seems to chant almost, almost, almost.

Lincoln has lived through years of almosts, sustaining himself on the briefest of intimacies that they allow themselves, and everything he longs for is right in front of him, coalesced into the shape of his closest friend. 

Lincoln is tired of almosts. He wants a finally. 

But he’ll reach out and take it only if Taylor wants it, too. 

“Are… you okay with this?” Link asks, the question barely a murmur, because even though the answer is spelled out in the way Taylor’s hands are shaking in anticipation, he needs to make sure before their closeness becomes something more.

“Yeah,” Taylor breathes, a whispery sigh of an admission, and Lincoln’s heart jolts in his chest as Taylor reaches out to cradle the curve of his jaw, to drag him in further. “Yes. Please.”

And it is with that last murmured plea that Lincoln feels his resolve break. He shifts upward, inward, bracing his hands on the armrests of the makeup chair (he doesn’t trust his own legs to stay steady even as they kneel before him, and like hell is he going to let that ruin the moment he’s been dreaming of for years), and Taylor’s hand curls even more perfectly around his jaw, and finally, they meet in the middle.

Kissing Taylor is both nothing and everything like Lincoln had imagined.

Everything, because the feeling of Taylor smiling slightly against his lips, the subtle warmth of his mouth, the supple, pliant give as Taylor slots their lips together, is almost exactly as he had dreamed.

Nothing, because Taylor kisses him sweetly, gently, slowly, more kindly than Lincoln had ever thought possible.

Taylor has always been insatiable. Lincoln knew this from the moment he first laid eyes on him, from the moment he had bound up to him. He had been newly seventeen and starry-eyed, then, flagging him down from across the company practice room and asking if he could teach him how to dance. Taylor is fiery and headstrong and brightly-burning in his ambition, and everything he does, he does with an intense passion.

Now, in the half-lit almost-quiet of the green room, Taylor mouths at his lips so tenderly - almost hesitantly - that Lincoln feels like he could melt. The hand on the side of his jaw carefully, worshipfully maps out the planes of his face, traces along his cheekbone, behind his ear, guides him to tilt his head for a better angle. Lincoln makes a strange, whining noise in the back of his throat that Taylor takes from him, swallows down with a satisfied hum that sends vibrations through to Lincoln’s very soul, like the thrumming pulse of a bass-line in his chest.

Lincoln leans further into Taylor’s gravity, kisses him with the quiet desperation that’s been pent up, building and building in a wordless crescendo within him for years on end. He tries his best to pour the vast depths of his devotion into this moment, every admiration and affection and confession, every brush of Lincoln’s lips against his an I adore you, every exhaled sigh an every love song we’ve ever sang made me think of you. I love you, he thinks as he presses Taylor flush against the back of the chair, as his hands let go of the armrests to tangle in shiny, dark hair and Taylor sings into his mouth in response. Taylor is beautiful and warm and sweaty against him, and Lincoln presses their lips together again and again, an unending chorus of thank you, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Taylor, for his part, responds in kind, arching his body into Lincoln’s hold, warm hands unhurriedly searching for purchase and finding it at the nape of his neck, at just above the small of his back. Lincoln registers the way Taylor fists at the expensive fabric of his shirt, the way his blunted, neatly-manicured nails scrape against the base of his scalp, and Lincoln shivers a bit in his embrace, though he feels wonderfully warmed through, more alive than when they performed for hundreds of fans just hours ago.

Taylor tastes like sweat and the chemicals from the makeup wipes. It has no right to be as addictive as it is to him. Maybe it’s because Taylor’s lips are every bit as soft against his own as they look on the monitors.

Lincoln’s sure that his lips are thoroughly chapped, but judging from Taylor’s delicate gasps and the eager, greedy way he leans further and further into him, he’s also sure that Taylor doesn’t mind.

Lincoln holds the last kiss for as long as he dares, drinking in the feeling of satisfying all of his favorite dreams and his wildest hopes. He commits the shape of his groupmate in his hands to memory, basking in the euphoria of carding fingers through show-mussed hair, of Taylor’s hand twisting in the fabric of his blouse. A smile threatens to pull at his lips as Taylor’s feathery breaths ghost against his cheek, measured and slightly shaky, an orchestration coming apart at the seams.

They stay like that for a long moment, and there is synchrony, harmony in the way Taylor melts into his touch. He's trying to capture this moment, too, Lincoln knows, impressing every bit of it into the corners of his mind, the backs of his eyelids, the hollow of his ribs. 

Eventually, they break apart, and Lincoln opens his eyes to see Taylor smiling slightly, angelic, still leaning inward like he wants to chase his lips. It’s such an adorable image that Lincoln nearly goes to kiss him again, but then Taylor looks up at him through his lashes, blinking slowly, and Lincoln is awed into stillness. 

Taylor’s always been very charming, expressive in a way Lincoln envied, able to make their fans fall for him with nothing but a camera and a simple glance. 

But Taylor isn’t acting for anyone here. The affection that warms his deep, dark eyes is for Lincoln and Lincoln alone, something raw and unscripted and intimate enough to steal the air from Lincoln’s lungs, and he can only hope the open adoration is reflected in his own gaze.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Lincoln touches his forehead to Taylor’s, exhaling unsteadily.

Taylor’s hand smooths over the back of his neck, and he gasps a little, drawn in by his touch, his magnetism, his care.

“I’ve wanted to do that for years,” Lincoln admits softly into the shared air between them.

Taylor grins, a secret, clandestine thing, eyes half-lidded in a heady concoction of exhaustion and exhilaration and wanting.

“I know,” Taylor murmurs back, barely above a whisper, and Lincoln can hear the smile in his voice, all his sharp edges softened and heat tempered just for him. “Me, too.”

And it really is that simple. They’ve been dancing around each other for years on end, every bit of longing telegraphed like choreography through every minuscule gesture and fleeting touch. Every fragment of it is magnified by the glances they allowed themselves, reflected in the way their eyes meet, yearning painted in countless shades of onyx and bronze and ebony and sepia. 

Lincoln knows it, and Taylor knows it. 

And quite suddenly, the world has narrowed down to the two of them and nothing else.

“Yeah,” Lincoln responds dumbly, breathless from the proximity and the weight of years lifted from his shoulders. His eyes flick down to Taylor’s lips, at the red stain his own mouth has left there, at the delicate curve of them, love-drunk smiling and slightly puffy. 

He wants to kiss him again, wants to feel that smile pressed against his, wants to lean in and close the distance. And so he does, because nothing on this earth can stop Lincoln from chasing after Taylor in every stolen moment he can get, from tilting his head just the right way, from shutting his eyes and following through -

Except Taylor does stop him, pressing the pad of his index finger to his lips. 

Lincoln makes a confused sort of hum, opening his eyes to find Taylor giggling incandescently, and it almost makes up for not kissing him.

“It’s late, Link,” Taylor murmurs conspiratorially, though he has no need to when nobody else is here. “Norm and Scary’ve gotta be wondering what’s taking us so long.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says, disappointed - or, well, he tries to say it, but Taylor’s finger is still in the way, so it comes out a little odd. After considering for a moment, he places a kiss to the tip of Taylor’s finger instead, blinking up at him.

“God, put your pretty eyes away, I’m already embarrassingly in love with you,” Taylor responds, his bare face flushing noticeably darker even in the dim lighting. 

Lincoln smiles against his finger, and Taylor sighs, eyes darting elsewhere so he can focus better.

“Anyway. They’ve gotta be waiting for us to get into street clothes so we can get the fuck out of here,” Taylor continues, pointedly not looking directly at him.

Lincoln kisses his finger again, just to be a menace. Taylor’s breath hitches the slightest bit, and Lincoln grins. 

“Listen, the sooner we leave, the sooner we get to the hotel. And the sooner we get to the hotel,” Taylor finally looks at him - looks at all of him, eyes dragging slowly down his still-kneeling form - “the sooner we can pick up where we left off.” 

He makes eye contact then, smirking and smug as he pushes lightly at Lincoln’s shoulder to give himself space to stand. “Sound good?”

Holy shit.

Lincoln has the sudden, distinct thought that they’re going to need to cancel the rest of their tour, because Lincoln is going to die at Taylor’s (soft, beautiful, warm) hands if he keeps saying things like this. Lincoln will die, and their group will disband, and everything will be ruined because Taylor is every bit as cruel and conniving as he is beautiful and Lincoln is in far too deep. 

“Uh, you okay, dude?” his groupmate (boyfriend? partner? something else?) asks. 

“Great!” Lincoln says at an octave he didn’t know was possible, numbly pulling himself to stand and ignoring the way his knees ache. 

Taylor follows suit, and Lincoln makes for his change of clothes - though not without ducking down to place a quick kiss to Taylor’s temple, feeling more awake than he has in hours as he darts away from him. 

Taylor barks out a one-note laugh, startled and disbelieving.

“Race ya!” Lincoln yelps, laughter coloring his own voice as he quickly grabs his street clothes, leaving Taylor sputtering behind him. 

“Oh, you are so getting payback when we get to the hotel,” Taylor seethes not-so-darkly, grabbing his own go bag of clothes.

“I’m counting on it!” He replies, cheeky and giddy with energy despite the late hour.

Lincoln knows it’ll be hell not to hold Taylor as close as he wants out in public, not to kiss him beyond the bounds of manufactured flirting for the cameras. They’ll need to talk about what they are now, exactly, he thinks, as he starts to pick apart the series of crisscrossed, mazelike fastenings of his stage outfit. He has to remind himself to be a bit more patient so the fabric doesn’t rip at the seams in the wake of his excitement. 

But, as he finally extricates himself and pulls on the SPDRBZ hoodie he had snatched from the merch booth a few stops ago, Lincoln can’t help but feel optimistic. 

It’ll be worth it, he thinks, to hold Taylor, kiss him, shower him with praise until his skin flushes red, to be held and kissed and praised in return away from prying eyes. To have something just for them, even if it means they’ll need to work hard to keep this under wraps.

They’re no strangers to hard work. Lincoln’s groupmates are about as diligent as they come, Taylor included. Surely, this won’t be too difficult.

“You coming or what, slowpoke?” Taylor asks, pulling him from his thoughts. He’s changed into a simple tee shirt and cargos at the doorway, cane in hand and fondness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Lincoln says, stumbling into his shoes as he meets Taylor, wanting to sling an arm around his waist before correcting himself and draping it across his shoulders instead as they head out. He beams regardless, giddy and hopeful, and the feeling in his chest burns brighter than the stage lights. “Let’s go.”

[asexualkiba]

had to do it to em. kankuro

[send me a character!]

favorite thing about him: his absolute and insurmountable genderless failure swag . i was gonna say the show always needs more giddy insane theater kids but he is more than enough how could i be selfish enough to ask

least favorite thing about him: screentime

favorite line: ummm that moment when we first see him do karasu and kuroari's finishing combo, the translation kind of varies but he's essentially calling final curtain on his fucked up little puppet show and im big on that energy

brotp: there are too many good ones considering frankly i just want him to have friends,, sakura tenten lee shikamaru sai. akamaru. idfk. frankly what ive been rotating in my head is him hanging with baki. like he's probably done a great deal of annoying that man and i think he should keep it up. i think abt them..

otp: r u kidding

notp: fully who do people even ship him with . i see kiba i see shino tjose make sense. i couldnt notp those. sakura sure whatever. i think he is just a chill guy. i do think its funnier if he just lives his whole life never really getting that shino guy's deal. die having beef. but no i couldnt say its a notp

random headcanon: buzzcut kankuro underrated esp because i think his hair is probably never a consistent length. he'll let it grow til its long enough to annoy him and then chop it all of completely. forget about it the next few months, it grows out, when it gets annoying again chop chop buzz buzz etc. and so on. (annoying is defined by how hard it is to manage while he's trying to work on puppets)

unpopular opinion: this is popular but i need it said more . for what reason on eartj does he not wear nail polish

song i associate with them: wow!❤️ i do not know

favorite picture of them: sorry for the quality i used what i had on my phone already and this is a picture i took of my TV screen i think he is such a bitchy gossip why is he on the balcony multitasking people-watching with calling out his sisters missed opportunities

[cheiyunn]

Kimisute main story [０部 ] Part 2

Side: GYROAXIA

Nayuta: I’m GYROAXIA’s Asahi Nayuta.

Audience: Ah—!

Nayuta: 「All My Parts」

Audience: AH—!

[Backstage]

.

Kenta: Good work everyone

Reon: Today’s live went pretty good right!

Nayuta: Hah? Where.

Nayuta: You got too excited and went off beat didn’t you.

Reon: erk… but the crowd got just as heated didn't they..

Nayuta: I don’t need those stupid excuses

Kenta: Reon, its good that it went well but you also do need to accept where imperfection showed

Kenta: Well, I’m sure that you understand that regardless of if I tell you or not

Reon: …yeah

Ryo: Hah– …Today as well, we showed a lot of earthlings the sound of our music…

Miyuki: Well today as well you were full of energy after all, Ryo-chin

Miyuki: Even you felt that we were in good form today right, Nayuta?

Nayuta: …tch. Shut it

Nayuta: I don’t need anything other than things that are well-honed. Don’t try to pull anything sloppy.

Nayuta: Sakaigawa. There’s a phrase in the 2nd half that came off sloppy. Start learning that there's a difference between putting power in it and being a mess.

Nayuta: Akebono. The 2nd song’s A melody has too many tempo changes. I told you to make it more flat.

Nayuta: Satozuka. As always your solo is weak.

Nayuta: And Misono. Don’t go frolicking up and down during the MC portions. You mistimed the song entrance.

Reon: Ugh–! Okay I get it–! Fine I’ll be more careful okay–!

Miyuki: My bad. I’m well aware so I’ll be careful to not misstep again

Ryo: With this it now feels like the live is really over, right~

Kenta: Nayuta, were there any other areas you noticed or?

Nayuta: ……….no

Reon: Yo how about after this we go for some food Miyuki-san?

Miyuki: A celebration? Sounds good

Nayuta: What a waste of time… I’ll be heading out first

.

[Door opens]

Mashu: Don’t try to just get up and leave. Asahi.

Nayuta: Ah? What

Mashu: It's about work. If you don’t have the will to listen then we won’t accept

Nayuta: I didn’t say shit about not listening. Spill it

Mashu: There’s new work in regards to partnering up. I was thinking of handing this one over to you guys

Reon: Only if its a job that suits of perfectly 

Miyuki: In that area shouldn’t we trust Mashu-san

Mashu: Once I complete the scheduling for production on the new song, I intend to sit you all down to explain the details to you again

Ryo: A new song… Mr.president, thank you. With that, we can deliver more of our sound to the earthlings

Kenta: Good for you Ryo

Miyuki: A partnership for our new song huh. We gotta put our best efforts in then right

Kenta: Mashu-san, thank you. We will put this in consideration positively.

Nayuta: Don’t go dragging the talks along.

Reon: Well you don’t want it Nayuta?

Nayuta: I don’t do anything I don’t approve of.

Kenta: So this song just needs to be polished to the level that satisfies your approval then?

Kenta: In my opinion, this isn’t just something you can reject without hearing the details first

Nayuta: …tch

Miyuki: Mashu-san brought it up because its a partnership that's worthy of us

Miyuki: Isn’t that right?

Mashu: Hopefully you succeed in this without much difficulty. Otherwise, there is no point in even letting you debut

Kenta: We understand. We look forward to your support

Mashu: I’ll be attending to another band, so after this feel free to do whatever

Ryo: I’m excited for the new song~ Don’t you think so too, Reon?

Reon: Yeah. I’m excited that we can tackle a new challenge

Miyuki: Hm? Something’s got ‘Music Industry News’ all riled up… 「The vocalist of the legendary band SYANA, Iryuu Koga has returned!」...!?

Nayuta: …!?

Nayuta: …tch!

--[Nayuta leaves]--

.

Reon: Miyuki-san…

Miyuki: My bad… I didn’t mean to read it out like that…

[conellu]

my body's broken (yours is bent)

Nagito Komaeda/AFAB! Reader

Nagito/Junko (onesided)

Reader/Junko (onesided)

Title is from Every You Every Me by Placebo

Posted to AO3

Your entire head felt foggy, how long had it been since you could form even a semi-coherent thought that didn’t make your entire body feel like it was on fire with absolute arousal.  Was anything even off limits to you anymore?  You severely doubted it and your brain was making it more and more clear as you watched Nagito so closely, every movement he made had your complete attention.  His disgust towards the hand he attached to himself was evident on his face but his other hand would cradle it sometimes, fingers trailing over the lines on the palm of her hand.

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT: Necro (Junko's hand is used throughout, hand is described as cold and Nagito has extremely limited use of it)

Warnings: fingering (see: Dead Dove) + sucking on said fingers, degradation + praise

Cannot figure out how to get from Point A (this part) to Point B (other things I wanted to include) so it'll probably have a part two

Your entire head felt foggy, how long had it been since you could form even a semi-coherent thought that didn’t make your entire body feel like it was on fire with absolute arousal.  Was anything even off limits to you anymore?  You severely doubted it and your brain was making it more and more clear as you watched Nagito so closely, every movement he made had your complete attention.  His disgust towards the hand he attached to himself was evident on his face but his other hand would cradle it sometimes, fingers trailing over the lines on the palm of her hand.  You could practically feel yourself throb as his finger glided over the skin.  Was it cold?  Was it warm?  You didn’t even care, you had a fixation on him and her hand that you couldn’t shake anymore.

“Tell me, Nagito, how often do you use Junko’s hand?” Your voice was already dripping with desperation and had you been in any other mindset, you would be completely embarrassed and would stammer out an excuse for the question.  You’d claim you meant it in an entirely nonsexual manner, but you couldn’t bring yourself to lie your way out of your vile thoughts that broke through your mouth. His eyes immediately darted over to you, his expression unreadable as his brain processed what you just asked him, you know you shouldn’t ask that but you can’t stop yourself from speaking again.  “Do you ever look down at that hand of hers while you fuck your other hand?  Do you ever wish it was still attached to her?”  Your breath was already bordering on heavy as he stood up to walk over to you.  You couldn’t tell if it was to slap you or to wrap her pretty hand around your neck, either way you would be in complete bliss.  It took all of your mental energy to not throw yourself on top of him as he kneels down next to your sitting form.

“Sometimes.” He answers simply, his voice hardly above a whisper.  “But she’s dead, destroyed completely and utterly obliterated.”  He clears his throat as though he’s having a mental battle between whether he should be disappointed by his words or overjoyed.  His gray-green eyes bore into yours as he lets out a raspy laugh.  “How disappointing…” He says, seemingly mostly to himself at whatever revelation he had about his own feelings towards his new body part.  He flinches and recoils slightly as your hand seems to have a mind of its own, reaching out to hold her hand.  It's cold.  Its skin is revolting to the touch.  You can’t get enough of it as you intertwine your fingers with the hand, with Junko’s hand.  The nail polish is vibrant red, a color that sends another pulse of arousal throughout your entire being.  Her fingers don’t curl down, not entirely at least.  You can’t tell if they curl down at all, in fact, it might just be the pressure your own fingers have that make them move.  Nagito is unmoving, completely silent as he watches on, his eyebrows pulled together in either confusion or disgust (probably both).  Your breathing must have picked up without you even knowing as he finally speaks and it’s an order for you to stop panting like a dog.

“I would love to feel those perfect fingers inside of me.” You say, your mouth moving on its own accord once again.  The words feel foreign as they spill from your mouth, but given the rampage of disgusting, positively sinful thoughts you’ve had for the past hour, you know it’s the truth.  You pull your hand away when you feel her dead hand start to warm from your touch, feeling as though you’ve somehow defiled her hand despite Nagito’s admission of using it to masturbate.  For a while, the air is heavy and overwhelming as your words and desires linger in the air.  The uncomfortable atmosphere (or maybe due to it) you squirm slightly and rub your thighs together to give yourself the tiniest amount of stimulation.  When did it get this bad?  You can feel his eyes on you, dissecting your movement and breaths like you’re nothing more than a poor excuse for a cadaver.  Finally, he releases a sigh and his hand touches your leg in a soft, almost caring, way.  Your eyes move up, up, up, trailing up his body up to his face.  His eyebrows are still pulled together, but you can tell that he’s giving up to his own desires even if he doesn’t understand them or hates himself for it.

His voice is still a whisper as he speaks, for a moment you can’t even what him through your own thoughts that you are sure are going to be the sole reason for you to not be able to enter heaven.  “Did you even hear me?” He asks, his voice teetering between annoyance (at himself) and genuine confusion.  You blink once, twice, three times and then shake your head no.  “I said that you got it… I’ll do it for you.”  His voice sounds resigned, but his breathing gives away his own excitement at the prospect.

“Will you be doing it for Junko too?” You ask, your voice sounding so desperate for even the idea that he’s doing for the good of Junko as well that it nearly sounds like you’re pleading.  He doesn’t answer though, his eyes trail down your body as you sit on the floor.  Your chest is heaving even though the most stimulation you got was the tiny bit of friction from your thighs moving together a few moments ago.  His warm hand and Junko’s cold hand go to separate your legs.  Her hand lazily pushes against your leg, but they fall open regardless.  You’re already so exposed in this sight, when was the last time you wore pants?  Did it even matter?  You can’t recall the last time you were even able to keep your pants on for more than a few hours.  The cool air makes you wince slightly, the movement makes you realize just how wet you are.  You wouldn’t be surprised if it-

“You’ve got it on the floor.” He states, sounding both intrigued and disgusted at your desperation for him to use her hand.  If it disgusts him past just the surface level, it doesn’t show as he looks back up at you and uses his hand to gently push you down.  Your back hits the ground with a gentle thud and you lift your hips eagerly as he pulls your underwear down.  You can feel your slick connect the fabric to your skin for a split second before they’re fully removed.  You sit up on your elbows, wanting to see both Nagito and Junko’s hand.  Her hand twitches slightly and you wonder for a brief moment what Nagito was attempting to do, but you can’t even bring yourself to talk and instead a small noise of desire leaves your mouth.  He quirks up an eyebrow as his eyes leave your cunt and go to your face.  His eyes are…  just a mess of swirling emotions- disgust, desire, love (for you?  For Junko?  You didn’t know and quite frankly you didn’t care), intrigue.  “Why are you this desperate for her fingers?” He questions, disgusted and desire mixing together in a way that sounds delicious, giving you pleasure from the idea of him finding you reprehensible but still wanting to give you want you clearly need.

“I want to make her proud.”

He hums, it’s hardly a satisfying answer but it’s the exact one he expected.  You can see his adam's apple bob as he brushes his thumb over your clit and gets an immediate reaction of your hips lifting from the ground.  His eyes go back to yours, you’re sure that by this point your pupils are blown wide enough for your irises to be nearly impossible to see.  “Hey.” He says, drawing your attention from your ever expanding trail of thoughts back to him for a second, “Just tell me if you need her to go any slower, alright?” He presses a soft, almost too gentle, kiss to the inside of your thigh as he awaits for you to give any signal that you at least heard his words this time.

“O-Of course.” You stammer out, breathing heavily as you feel him use one of Junko’s fingers to spread your slick around.  The cold finger presses in with a little help from his hand and your back arcs immediately.  It’s hardly the most pleasurable sensation- the kind of coldness only a corpse provides along with the off putting skin texture… But it’s the fact that it’s her hand, it’s her fingers, it’s her.  Nagito watches you carefully, disgust slowly melting away as mewls and whines fill the room.  He nips at your upper thigh again, every so often her finger twitches inside of you and each time it sends electric volts through your body, his other hand allows him to massage your clit.  It’s all so much stimulation that it borders on painful but you don’t want it to end.

“Is it good?  Do you believe Junko would be proud of you?” He asks, his tone not holding vitriol as he says her name, a fact that makes you clench around his finger eagerly.  He manages to slide another finger in with less effort than the first one took, but it’s just as disgusting to have inside of you.

You nod quickly, your head tilting back as you try to gather enough breath and mental capacity to verbally respond.  “God, Junko…” is the first thing you’re able to say and it comes out in a moan that's so sinful she knows she'll be sent to hell for it no matter how much she atones for it, “She’d think it’s the best use of her hand.  The disgust I feel with myself, with you, it would make her so proud.”  The first finger has quickly reached a warmth that rivals what a living person’s would feel like and as it moves with the cold, dead feeling of the second you feel yourself almost cum but you shake your head rapidly as though you can mentally push it away.

He chuckles and nods, the thumb movements slowly just enough to keep you from going over the edge.  You’re so close to barrelling over the edge that you know that despite your mental desire and his slowed movements that it won’t take much longer.  “You’re the most filthy, disgusting excuse for a human being.” He says, sounding proud of himself and for the fact that he knows he would be making Junko proud in this very moment- a thought that makes him twitch in the confines of his jeans.  He lets out a slightly pained grunt that turns into a moan as your hands tug at his hair with no warning.  Your hips move, the tips of her fingers inside of you brushing slightly against your g-spot enough to push you closer and closer towards the edge.  A third finger slides in and the fingernails are almost painful as they slide against your walls, the finger is so cold, so lifeless, it just serves as a reminder of how filthy this act is.  You can barely make out his rambles about how much despair he feels at the idea that someone like you has fallen so far that you’re going to coat her fingers in your release, how much despair he feels at the fact that he’s getting turned on by it.  “Give into the despairing pleasure, you want to be a good girl for her, don’t you?”

The band that was just barely holding your climax backs snack and you let out a pitiful moan and cry, alternating between crying for Nagito and calling for Junko.  Your eyes roll back in complete pleasure as your legs tremble and your arms barely stay strong enough for you to not collapse on the floor.  For a moment, you’re almost scared that your heart has stopped entirely before it starts to pound relentlessly in your chest.  It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had and your hips continue to move eagerly on her hand and against the thumb Nagito continues to rub on your clit, pushing you into painful overstimulation.  His hoarse laughter joins in with your strangled cry as he maneuvers a fourth fingers into you, despite the unpleasant ache that’s building up, your hips don’t stop their movement and you don’t want it to end.

“Hm?  How does it feel?” He asks, his tone so painfully teasing and borderline insane.

“H-Hurts, Nagito, feels like I’m being split in fucking half.” In any other context, it would be the point of stopping.  He would pull his hand from your sore cunt, start the process of soft aftercare, and allow you to breathe.  But your hips, in this moment, don’t stop for a second and they continue their grinding motions as disgruntled moans mix with the complete debased pleasure rocketing through you.

“Did you know that you’re perfect like this?  She loves you for this.”  He praises in a voice that’s far too gentle and sweet for what’s happening.  The  wicked praise he whispers makes her walls desperately clench around Junko’s fingers again, your mouth opening to spill out incoherant praises for Nagito and Junko, degrading comments at herself and Nagito for being so disgusting that they’d use a dead woman’s hand for this.  Your second climax doesn’t hit as hard as the first, but it feels just as good even with the ravenous overstimulation.

“Haah… Nagito, darling, I need a break.” You say after a moment, your voice is raspy and weak and you’re not even sure if you’re calling Nagito ‘darling’ or calling Junko ‘darling’, it’s likely that you’re just calling them both the same pet name.

He hums, her fingers sliding out of your abused cunt lifelessly.  He moves to be right next to your head, his hand gently brushing your hair out of your face, his eyes roam over your face both in amazement and to make sure you’re okay.  “You should clean off her hand.”

You can’t manage words, but your mouth lazily opens, tongue sticking out as your eyes focus on him.  The desperate horniness that had been coursing through your veins has subsided for the time being but he’s right- it would be disrespectful to allow your cum to stay on your perfect hand.  He doesn’t bother trying to push one finger at a time in your mouth, opting to push all four of her used fingers into your mouth despite the tears that prick in your eyes at the feeling of her middle finger toying with the back of your throat (or maybe because of your building tears).

His voice is quiet, calm, and soft, like he’s talking down a scared animal, “You’re pleasing Junko.  Just the way she would want.”  His eyes are fully trained on your mouth as it coats her fingers in your saliva, lips tightly around them and tongue poking out every so often.  “You’re so good at this, just the kind of disgusting girl that I’m sure Junko dreamed of.” He continues, his gaze shifting up to look into your eyes.  The absolute love is impossible to ignore, the love he holds for you and holds for Junko is practically overflowing.  The praise makes you moan pathetically around her fingers even as Nagito begins to move the hand after struggling slightly, her listless fingers dragging back and forth over your tongue, making you gag.  You’re too far gone to consider that it’s your body gagging at what exactly is in your mouth instead of just a simple gag reflex.

He pulls her fingers from your mouth after a few more seconds, a trail of your saliva connecting and then snapping a bond between your tongue and her fingers.  His smile is one of absolute pride.  He gives your head a quick pat as he lays on his back next to you.  His pants are tented perfectly, enough for your core to ache again despite the soreness that still radiates from inside and out.

[faiezsworld]

Winter’s Pause: From My Archives

I’ve never been particularly fond of summer. Life feels too restless during that season. Or perhaps, I like both summer and winter equally? I’ve always been unsure about my favorite season. But lately, I find myself drawn to winter.

In winter,everything slows down, and life takes on a more tranquil pace. You can feel time settling in your bones. The chill of mid-December, frozen taps, and water suspended in its solid state. As a child, I adored the sight of snow-covered fields and the icy breeze that nipped at my red nose. Those cold gusts would sometimes numb my skin, making it hard to feel anything. I wonder if I’ll ever experience that sensation again. The things that once felt irritating now seem beautiful—those power cuts, wet shoes, and socks, and the biting cold.

I remember waiting eagerly throughout November for the first snowfall, hanging on every weather prediction, and silently praying for snow. Adults never seemed to share my excitement. Perhaps they’ve grown weary of it, or maybe they dread the immobilization it brings. But I loved it. Whenever there were hints of precipitation, I would hope with all my heart that it would be snow.

My mother used to wake me up in the morning with a gentle nudge, saying, “Wake up, it’s already late, time to study—and look outside.” I would rub the mist off my bedroom window, just to catch a glimpse of the world outside, blanketed in white. I cherished those moments. I didn’t want anyone to step into the garden and mar the pristine snow with their footprints. But my sister, knowing this, would deliberately walk across it just to tease me. I still remember the sting of tears welling up in my eyes when I saw those tracks. But after that, we would play together in the snow, forgetting all about it.

I recall the excitement of putting on my black ‘Apex’ boots, freshly polished, before heading out into the snow. Sometimes, we’d even make snow ice cream. I was seven, and that winter I spent countless hours playing Ludo with my maternal aunt. There was a certain positivity that filled those days; now I see how we managed to find joy in every situation. On those cold winter nights, power cuts were common—twice a week from 6:00 to 10:00 PM. Though it could be frustrating, my maternal uncle would always say, “Yay, we can sleep; it’s so peaceful.” The soft sound of water dripping, that “drip-drop,” was oddly comforting. Whenever there was a power cut during dinner, he would say, “How exciting, we’re having a candlelight dinner tonight.” These small moments shaped my outlook on life, teaching me to embrace the positives.

My grandfather would often tell stories of ancient times, ones he had heard from his father. My grandmother was a gifted storyteller too, often narrating tales to my sister, who would insist on hearing them. I remember leaning on her shoulder, asking, “Mummy vanu ven (Mummy, tell me a story.)” My grandfather also tried to teach us grammar, though I rarely paid attention. I still remember that old grammar book, ‘RL Basor,’ with its first few pages missing. Life was so good back then.

I recall running through fog-covered fields, pretending to disappear. Did I truly want to vanish, or was I hoping someone would find me, hold me, and understand me? On cold winter mornings, I’d blow out air, watching it mist like smoke, pretending I was an adult. I long to travel back in time, to run through that thick fog once more, and keep running until I find myself.

Winter is a time for reflection—for all creatures. Bears hibernate, conserving their energy for the busier summer months. Should humans hibernate too? Should we take a break for introspection, a complete pause from the rush of society and life? I wonder how a bear feels after months of hibernation. Does their perspective change? How do they see the world after such a long sleep?

[blazehedgehog]

What is the oldest sonic hack that you feel stands up to the level design standards of the present sonic fangaming/hacking community

I specifically avoided most Sonic rom hacks for a long long time. Actually, scratch that: I avoided most rom hacks period.

This is going to be an extremely controversial statement but a lot of rom hacks don't have very good level design. Or they didn't, at any rate. There is a point where things changed, for sure.

But back in the day, having enough skill and talent to make a rom hack was like, the complete opposite brain required to make a fun and balanced game. It's kind of an art vs. technical thing. People who made hacks were coming at it from a more mechanical perspective. This is sort of why the term "Kaizo" came to represent a certain type of ultra-difficult rom hack.

When you love a game SO MUCH that you're willing to reverse-engineer it and build your own expansion for it, generally you're the type of person who has mastered the game several times over. This skews your basic level understanding of what "normal" difficulty is, and in a lot of cases, these people aren't even making something representative of "normal" difficulty.

So you get levels that are super unbalanced, where it's easy to get lost, and maybe they require you to do advanced tricks that the average player has never even thought about. For them, the one who made the hack, it's second nature. They dance through their own levels, totally untouched, because they know where all the enemies are, where all the health is, and so on. They built the lock and the key.

I've had plenty of arguments with people over the years, hack developers specifically, about this topic. I've argued until I was blue in the face, but it doesn't matter, because there will always be that one person who thinks they know better. "It's fine, I learned how to do it, they just have to learn how to do it, too."

And it's just never that simple. Never, ever, ever.

Because you are a unique person. Nobody is exactly like you. The way you learned to do a thing represents less than 1% of people who will ever play your game. Maybe you learned your tricks by watching Youtube videos, or live streams, or reading guides. Not everybody is going to be that dedicated or have that much time and energy.

"You must train for 600 hours before you're ready to try my hack" is not a badge of honor worthy of anything in and of itself. The journey and the destination you've created after the journey is complete are separate ideas.

Go look up achievement statistics to see just how few people even make it past the first boss of most games, let alone halfway, or even to the credits. You very quickly start hitting figures like "only 30% of players did this super easy thing." For a big name, big budget, massively popular, professionally balanced retail game.

And that in itself is only for a fraction of the types of people who make rom hacks. Some just have more to learn and aren't very good at level or game design yet. And there are plenty of hacks out there that suffer from the opposite problem as "Kaizo", where they're just bland and forgettable. It's a difficult balancing act to get right.

These are truths in Doom wads, Mario Maker levels, Sonic rom hacks, the works. So the number of rom hacks I've played that get it right can probably be counted on one hand.

Some of that is because so few hacks get it right, and some of that is because I keep my distance from the hacking scene for that very reason. So if you're like, "wow, I can't believe BlazeHedgehog dunked on that really good hack like that" -- maybe I haven't played it! I used to throw myself to the wolves on all kinds of things where the balance and polish is more frustrating than anything, and it's made me gun shy.

The first Sonic romhack I remember feeling good about was something called "Sonic 1 Pixel Perfect." I really liked its pastel colors and smart reuse of Ristar objects. You might look at the above screenshot with skepticism because it looks too normal, but that's sort of why I like it. It made smart, subtle changes (like the fact time of day slowly changes from dawn, noon, dusk, and night as you play through the zone) and the level design was very digestible. It's just a shame it never got very far.

I seem to recall some of the people who worked on Pixel Perfect went on to make Sonic 2 Retro Remix, which I... think I played? And I might have even liked? But it's been a very, very, very long time.

[grimsneverendingfuneral]

Okay so I’m officially in love with your Rosekiller (they’re so ACCURATE), please indulge us in your Wolfstar headcanons 🎤

loooool ok anon youre cute so i'll do it but fucking hell wolfstar headcanons will be the death of me cause ive spent literally almost the same amount of time thinking about them as i have thinking about my own goddamn OCs

well the sirius i have in my head is a sickeningly blinding cosmic event (oh thatsgood). he's a walking paradox. he's impulsive and boisterous and laughs loudly but he's also intentional, fragile, vulnerable, dainty even. he walks like he knows exactly where he's going at all times, languid and relaxed, head held high. he wears whatever he wants. sometimes it's feminine, sometimes it's masculine, sometimes it's both. but even when he's wearing his blue jeans and leather jacket, he always looks regal, a little bit girlish, nose turned upwards and eyes twinkling with secret emotions only few people can decipher. he's loyal to a fault and it makes him crazy. the way he loves is testing. he's highly educated, writes only in cursive though he holds the pen with hatred. he grits his teeth in his sleep. has major anxiety. sometimes he can barely get a bite of food in him because he always feels sick. he hides it well but not so well. its all in his eyes, everything. you just gotta look. in my head he's half english half french, from la Corse. Corsica babyyyyy. he's a virtuoso with the piano and has a perfect ear. like, you could literally ask him what note your overheating laptop is making and he'll be like "hmm Si bémol." only knows music theory in french. he will kill for you but not die for you. he's almost nauseatingly driven. like, one track mind kind of person. if he has a goal, its getting done no matter how long it takes him. it gets him what he wants but it also makes him insufferable sometimes because there's no talking sense into him. he's sweet as a fucking button, though, my sirius. so so sweet. when he smiles you just wanna keep making him smile, when he laughs you just wanna get on your knees and beg he never stop. he's got the energy of a thousand suns, but has his moments of complete quiet and solitude. he needs those. at least once a day. he sleeps with the covers over his head, like an animal. if you're looking for sirius and you cant find him, look for a bump in the blankets. he'll be there. he also has crazy nightmares. like the type of person that just has nightmares every night. he's woken up at least once like in the movies, sprung up in bed screaming. also sleeps like he tosses and TURNS GOD and sometimes remus literally cannot stand it. the things he loves like music movies and books become his whole personality, he's very very obsessive with the things he loves. he'll talk your ear off about them if you ask him to. he like almost identifies with whatever he loves at that moment. he can cook. he's a good cook. homely stuff, like mashed potatoes and pie. he has the best table manners and doesnt really like people who dont. gives bombastic side eye in a way that makes it almost too funny not to laugh when you catch it. he loves to speak with his eyes, he's so good at it its scary.

remus. oh myyy goooooddd remus. no i just. i really really love him guys. okay my remus is half Polish half Welsh. his skin is fucking soft, idk thats just always sometimes that sits in my mind, like yes he has scars but the skin around them is just really fucking soft. he always smells kind of soft, too. contrary to sirius, who's all sharp features and contrasting hair on his pale skin, remus is just soft all over, actually. everything blends in real nice. his eyes are a shade of amber that is never quite the same in any lighting. watery eyes. sparkling eyes. Roman nose PLEASE. he's an avid smoker. he's a stoner, yes but he doesn't act like one. like he can hold his fuckin smoke. he has insomnia. his mind never stops. he takes in the world with wonder, always romanticizing everything. everything is beautiful and it breaks his heart. very protective of his heart but he wants so badly to just love freely and openly and avidly the way sirius does, or the way james does. he's not an asshole, but has asshole-ish tendencies. like he can be a bit dry and cold sometimes or aloof, but he doesn't really notice until someone mentions it then he's like oh shit my bad. he talks MAD SHIT. loves to talk shit. he's good at it too, you'll laugh with the digs he comes up with. RESTING BITCH FACE. please yes. he looks full of disdain, bored, but he's having the time of his life dont worry. sarcastic, always. but the funny kind, the silly kind. like youll ask him "hey can you get this thing for me" and he'l reply "no" while doing it. you never really know where you stand with him and its kind of his fatal flaw, like he always seems to have one foot out the door. when he loves you though, he is the LEAST judgmental person you'll ever meet. like seriously thats the way he loves. he embraces all parts of you, lets you evolve and change and make mistakes. he loves to be a guard dog. he is very protective. he's also mid. like looks wise, i love a mid remus. in the sense that, he's not striking, heads don't necessarily turn when he walks into a room, or they do but its only cause he's tall. but when he speaks, all solid cadence and a crinkly smile, you're like oh. oh. he's hot. also cant keep socks matched to save his life. they're always mismatched and even when he takes them out of the dryer, he doesnt bother to find the matching ones he just bunches them up together. drives sirius fucking mad.

i could keep going like its so bad. its so bad. im down bad

[melloggd]

Review: Rhythm Thief & the Emperor's Treasure

xeen • SEGA • 2012 • Nintendo 3DS Read it on Backloggd: (x)

This was one of the most pleasantly surprising experiences I've ever had finding, buying, playing then beating a game! I went in COMPLETELY unspoiled aside from having played the 3DS Demo and knowing it was sound directed by my beloved Tomoya Ohtani: both of these things left great impressions on me, but I don't think either could've prepared me for the game as a whole.

You can see right from the boxart what this game is about: A story-driven Rhythm game with an immense sense of style and personality. It taps into the energy that games like Professor Layton save for the very end, to instead use for the entire game's runtime.

With every new game I play, pacing ends up being a make-or-break aspect that decides whether or not I finish a game. It was so refreshing to not only play a game with absolutely top-notch pacing, but also one with a genuinely fun story to follow. What I'm getting at is: Just on a game-feel level, these kinds of games don't come often.

And I haven't even discussed the gameplay, which is both where the game shines and falters in the most charming ways possible. Despite being a mostly outsourced game, it channels the feeling of Y2K SEGA through and through: Ambition over polish, emotion over consistency, and a full dedication to whatever silly premise the game is running with. Rhythm games are usually mixed for me, I of course get dopamine from hitting actions to notes but I've always felt like something was missing from the experience. With this, I know now what that something is: Variety and story context both add immensely to the vibe of each Minigame. Are there a few stinkers? For sure, for sure. Mostly the ones using Motion controls, but some of the traditionally-controlled games also suffer from being a bit too ambitious in difficulty. But its hard to care when they're almost always wrapped in a memorable, unique package.

In that way Rhythm Thief is a game better than an analysis of all its aspects could ever tell you. Despite its flaws, its an experience that you can't help but smile through. Raphael, Marie, Charlie, Inspector Vergier and all the side characters are stuck in my head forever now. It shares that in common with the SEGA classics of yore like NiGHTS, Jet Set Radio, Panzer Dragoon, Space Channel 5, Sonic Adventure and Monkey Ball: Weird design choices stop impacting your enjoyment when the confidence and heart on display is just that strong.

Maybe I'm biased toward SEGA's particular brand of jank and an appreciation of over-the-top stories, but Rhythm Thief made me smile in a very earnest, personal way, that very few games have.

That's gotta mean something, right?

[Play time: 20 hours] [Key word: Birthday]

[doerot]

[ID: two poems in black text on a white background.

The first is titled, "HAVING A COKE WITH YOU."

is even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz, Bayonne or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in Barcelona partly because in your orange shirt you look like a better happier St. Sebastian partly because of my love for you, partly because of your love for yogurt partly because of the fluorescent orange tulips around the birches partly because of the secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary it is hard to believe when I'm with you that there can be anything as still as solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of it in the warm New York 4 o'clock light we are drifting back and forth between each other like a tree breathing through its spectacles

and the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint you suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them

I look at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits in the world except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and anyway it's in the Frick which thank heavens you haven't gone to yet so we can go together the first time and the fact that you move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism just as at home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or at a rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to wow me and what good does all the research of the Impressionists do them when they never got the right person to stand near the tree when the sun sank or for that matter Marino Marini when he didn't pick the rider as carefully as the horse

it seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience which is not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it

— Frank O'Hara

The second poem is titled, "Having 'Having a Coke with You' with You."

You asked me if I knew the poem "Having a Coke with You" I said I vaguely remembered it but didn't really so you recited it in its entirety. We were walking from somewhere up by City Hall down toward South Street and the whole time you were reciting it I was wondering "Was that the last line of the poem?" after each line and each time I thought that, I thought it even more because as the poem got longer the fact that you were reciting it from memory became incrementally harder to believe until about two-thirds of the way through the poem I stopped thinking about how long it was and just started listening which I had been, but only a little, because of all that. Anyway then I started listening to it completely, believing the poem itself to be the sole reason you were reciting it but as soon as you finished you started to talk about how you used to think that that poem was just about how liberatingly banal being in love with someone was but then you said you'd started to think more recently it was more about the idiocy of caring about art at all when you could spend all that energy caring about someone you loved instead, and you said you were wondering where I stood on that question now that I had heard the poem and I was as struck by the question as I was stunned that you could so casually recite such a long good poem and that you hadn't even recited it primarily to solicit appreciation for your recitation so much as to ask what I thought about what you had thought about it then, versus how you thought about it now, and this was when I knew I wanted to be with you forever.

End IDs.]

Frank O’Hara, Having a Coke With You & Mark Leidner, Having ‘Having a Coke With You’ With You

[stardustlives]

GOTY 2024

The games keep comin'. Another list of games I played throughout the year I thought could be worth mentioning during a game of the year discussion. This list continues to omit games I've replayed and games I didn't think were good or interesting enough to get a mention.

Games of the Year

1)Yellow Taxi Goes Vroom Now is the era of indie 3D platformers all about insane movement tech. Was utterly elated by the energy and level design in this car based platformer where your primary traversal ability is ramping off of stuff. Please give the demo a shot I think you'll find something really special here.

2)Metaphor: ReFantazio Fantasy Persona. After just being okay with Persona 5, I got completely engrossed with this one and its world. I enjoyed how demanding some later fights became as they had me actually do significant changes to my party and strategy to overcome them. In these times of games that are way too fucking long, this was a rare instance of me getting bummed by seeing the end of the adventure on the horizon.

3)Astro Bot The degree of polish in this thing is on another level. Individual stages feel like an entire event as they'll each treat you to lavish set pieces and elaborate, unique mechanics. A joy to give yourself to while looking for cute cameos from PlayStation's history. Now, concerning those cameos, you might think they would prioritize the recognizable mascots or big sellers, and while those are in there, Astro Bot will also grab you by the shoulders, look you straight in the eye and go: "Arc the Lad." It's awesome.

4)Nine Sols Fresh off of their struggle against Xi Jinping, narrative horror game developer Red Candle Games decided to take a swing at a tight, execution heavy, parry focused, action exploration game. And boy what a swing it is. Its intense action is backdropped by a cool comic book art style that it uses to deliver a beautiful melancholic story about one's time passing. Strong mood and fantastic boss fights.

5)BAKERU The Kirby's Epic Yarn developer made a Ganbare Goemon spiritual successor. Everything's bouncy and joyous. This thing's a non-stop party with regular enemies spread across levels having a silly good time just for the fun of it. The bright colors and bad guys hanging out gave me Ape Escape 3 vibes.

6)Animal Well There used to be a time where video games were occult and mysterious. Not because they didn't have tutorials but because the tutorials were written down inside manuals and we didn't read those. Nevertheless! This feeling of mystery kids make for themselves by being impatient is what Animal Well wants to emulate in its own atmosphere and design. The game refusing to textually explain itself instead presenting you with situations that nudge you towards uncovering its functions yourself leading to great feelings of discovery.

7)Elden Ring: Shadow of the Erdtree Elden Ring 2 over here. Loved the new weapon types and its gorgeous environments. Don't got too much new to say about more Elden Ring other than I mostly enjoyed the controversial high difficulty. But, boy, they can ease up with the next one. They gave entire boss move sets to regular respawning enemies. They don't got nothin' to prove it's okay.

8)Tekken 8 Tekken's fucking awesome. As a casual player, the intuitive nature of the controls allows them to be easily expressive. It's a great time at even lower skill levels which is not always the case with highly regarded fighting games. The (on release at least) downright reasonable progression mechanics made me reevaluate Mortal Kombat 1 from the prior year pretty negatively by reminding me that even in a "live" game, progression systems can be about drip feeding game elements and rewards to the player without being entirely about maximizing their time in a microtransaction store.

9)Grapple Dogs: Cosmic Canines Grapple Dog is back and he's the latest platforming mascot to find an interdimensional portal with an edgier version of himself in it! She's got a gun too, watch out! Develops the design of the first game further with some new powerups that bestow special abilities for the duration of a level.

10)Crow Country A uniquely stylish nostalgia play on your classic Silent Hills and Resident Evils. It has a grainy 90's atmosphere over toy-like characters and environments that seem to either elicit a creeped out "analog horror" vibe for some or nostalgic coziness for others. I lean in the second camp. Either way, a very compelling diorama world to explore.

An Ample Selection of Runners-up

11)Penny's Big Breakaway Era of insane movement tech again. Same developer as Sonic Mania which I'm more critical about than most people. Mania is beautiful and has wonderful music but I frequently felt like I was just holding right and watching the game happen rather than playing it. Not here, this is a very involved 3D platformer with many synergizing movement options. Difficulty can be a bit inconsistent as some challenges give me the impression of having been only tested by people who got very good at the game as members of its development team. While most of the game is pretty chill, it will sometimes spike and demand very sharp execution from you. The high skill ceiling is definitely its own appeal though.

12)UFO 50 I spent the entirety of this thing's development thinking it was going to be 50 minigames so I was like "what's taking so long?" but no, this isn't 50 minigames, it's 50 games. Mostly at the scope of NES games but still. In the 50+ hours I put into it I ended up clearing 11 games and cherry clearing (completionist clearing) 7 of those. There's some meat on them bones and I want to go back to 'em. Getting into specifics for each games would be an essay on its own, but, hey, you want 50 NES games that are almost all at least pretty good?

13)Instruments of Destruction Red Faction: Guerilla developers got together to make a hybrid between Blast Corps and Besiege. In the main campaign you use a kinda shocking amount of unique vehicles to fulfill destruction objectives in various combinations of destroy this, don't destroy that, do it fast, dodge the missiles… always with a new kind of goofy ass car that might just act like a bulldozer or have a giant flipper at the front. Then, in the second campaign, the game fully turns into Besiege asking you to build your own motorized solutions to the blight of upright man-made structures. I fell off of that second one but the Blast Corps style main campaign was great fun the whole time.

14)Dread Delusion A tiny indie team taking on the task of making an entire Elder Scrolls game taking particular inspiration from the odd vibes of Morrowind. Extremely ambitious and inheriting the limitations of its inspirations both in the form of simplistic gameplay and not infrequent technical issues (though they did patch the game heavily and quickly). Limitations or no, I cannot speak highly enough of the creativity that courses through the world and its distinct lands. From its blighted medieval countryside to its, uh, blighted but worse and more fucked up industrialized Siberian snowlands. The real appeal to me is hanging out in the wonderful, imaginative world to learn of its factions and takes on supernatural concepts like ghosts, undead eating habits and relationships to what one might call gods.

15)Children of the Sun Devolver Digital presents: JFK Reloaded. You're a young psychic woman with a Mandy-esque beef against a freaky forest cult. The game has you scout the positions of cultists whom you must then take out with a single bullet whose path you can influence with a small suite of powers. Starting with the ability to "refire" the shot in a new direction after a kill. Each level is a pathing puzzle all about achieving some real grungy Yondu shit.

16)Final Fantasy VII Rebirth Oh boy. I have such mixed feelings here. Remake's excellent combat system is still here as good or even better than it used to be thanks to new playable characters and new mechanics they sorta have to sneak onto the controller. The environments are mostly great (except the jungle which sucks) as well as beautiful but much of the game is spent doing map clearing stuff, uneven sidequests, and mediocre minigames. I find much of this version of the story awkward as well. The pacing suffering most of all both from the sluggishness that comes from the map clearing open world design and the relentless maximalism that comes from the developers' decision to turbo stuff every moment of the story. High highs low lows and a whole lot of mediocre faff in-between.

Something I've thinking about a lot is how much substance is actually present in longer games and how that compares to games of more modest length. My somewhat thorough replay of the original FF7 in 2020 took 60 hours. My similarly thorough playthrough of FF7Remake (covering the 4~7 hour Midgar section of the original) took 40 hours. Rebirth, which runs until the end of disc 1 of 3, took over 100 hours and its mostly mediocre 6 hour final dungeon lasted longer than a full playthrough of my third favorite game Zone of the Enders: The Second Runner and its extra mode, Zoradius, a simple take on a 3D Gradius. Just something I couldn't get out of my mind all the way through that dungeon. The fights against the red dragon and wall monster were very good.

17)Great God Grove You're on your way to vacation in the titular GGG when you come upon the near divine instrument known as the Megapon which allows you to speak to people! Or, more specifically, repeat shit you're told! Wow!! From the same developers as Smile For Me this is also a wholesome little adventure about getting an adorable cast of oddballs to understand each other. If you've any taste for Psychonauts this is absolutely down your alley.

18)Frogun Encore Tiny sequel to Frogun (mentioned in the Catch Up section) with new mechanics and camera perspective. Encouraging even wackier speedrunning tech than the original. Very much worth playing both.

19)Pepper Grinder Handful of tiny games down here. A Devolver published joint in the style of a GBA game all about zooming through dirt with a large drill to collect treasure and perform sick jumps.

20)The Rise of the Golden Idol Outside of some quality of life adjustments to the UI this is mostly more of The Case of the Golden Idol. Which is good because while the original deduction game is very good you kinda can't play it again. You've already deduced everything there is to deduce. Taking its world that's much like ours but not quite to modern times means taking modern technological trappings in consideration while thinking through the incidents.

21)Paper Mario: The Thousand-Year Door A mostly slightly better version of Paper Mario: TTYD. Still a great game but not different in ways that are excessively worth noting.

22)Eiyuden Chronicle: Hundred Heroes Ups and downs. It has a 6 hour long prologue that is almost lethally boring but once it gets going after the first war segment I enjoyed it. A word I kept coming back to when I was trying to figure out my feelings for it was "cozy". This is sort of the platonic ideal for a PS1 style JRPG and how appealing you find this will depend on how cozy the PS1 JRPG form is to you. Unfortunately, carries over the PS1 JRPG characteristic of a wonky localization where it seems the writer and voice director simply did not speak to each other. Very odd changes ignoring what the original work was going for especially in sidequests. There's group of 4 characters that are clear parodies of shonen archetypes in their dialogue and designs but the voice direction is just doing something else. So similar to Suikoden 2 I might recommend you just play Suikoden 1 then that instead but if you want something comfortable and familiar I enjoyed it as comfort food.

23)Dragon's Dogma 2 Second attempt at trying to "get" Dragon's Dogma. Really loved the skill system but did not vibe with its idiosyncrasies and caprices. I wish its game design had either been way more normal or way weirder. Appreciate that if they're gonna have ridiculous fantasy slut garb the dudes can put it on too.

24)Berserk Boy We will simply never run out of indie takes on Mega Man and we should be grateful, frankly. This one's not the best out there with some frustrating jank, even softlocking me during an optional challenge which turned me off of all of them but it's neat all the same. People who make these have a good tendency to ensure they feature unique ideas and make their games interesting in their own right.

25)Froggo's Adventure: Verdant Venture Teeny weeny little Kirby's Adventure inspired tiny small thing. You're a frog who suspects a witch girl might have maybe stole something from your well so maybe you should go to her house and beat the shit out of her? Maybe! It's less than $1.50 CAD and a good time for it.

26)Nightmare Kart Formerly Bloodborne Kart until Sony said no literally a day from release. Kinda funnier than it's fun but benefits from a "you get what you pay for" valuation as it's free.

27)Starstruck: Hands of Time A meditation on the blurry line between inspiration and plagiarism and the ways one is necessary to enriching an ever developing creative inner world while its nearly indistinguishable sibling is a harbinger of rotten, even apocalyptic, stagnation. This game has right in its main menu a bibliography of inspirations featuring the likes of Chulip, Kare Kano, and Richard Wagner. On that last one, it's impossible and arguably irresponsible to discuss ol' Deutschland Dick without mentioning his influence on Adolf Hitler which the game will momentarily do, awkwardly maintaining a wholesome veneer while non-specifically gesturing towards a "dictator". I'm gonna be blunt here I did not like this one. It has an issue typical of creative projects without much oversight where it eventually ends up with its head a ways up its own ass with the metaphors and references. I spent most of its climax muttering "fuckin' wrap it up" to myself. Some of its gameplay is a not great rhythm game with an uneven soundtrack. "Break the Mold" is the closest it has to Gitaroo Man's Legendary Theme and it sucks ass.

Despite all that it's an interesting text worth interacting with if the word "different" is important to you when used in relationship to video games.

Catch Up

God of War: Ghost of Sparta (2010) Bastion (2011)

Tyranny: Gold Edition (2017) Tyranny is set in a world where evil has won and you, as an exceptional individual, have been scouted to be a "Fatebinder" a sort of a wandering lawyer/judge/executioner representing the judgement of Archon of Justice Tunon the Adjudicator, highest authority beneath Kyros the Overlord. The game denies you the ability to make a morally clean character as before the game begins in earnest you'll be made to determine your history as mediator between two of the empire's brutal armies: The uncompromising supremacist Disfavored and the infernal snarling horde of the Scarlet Chorus.

Regardless of how many games I play I still have blind spots, CRPGs being one of them. Ahead of playing Baldur's Gate 3 I wanted to get my feet wet and train my ability to lean into roleplaying, play a character whose values differ from mine and accept less than optimal resolutions. I struggled at first but what really unlocked the roleplaying for me was the Reputation system. The first companion who joins you is Verse of the Scarlet Chorus and I utterly hated her. Going through her dialogue tree and learning about her was initially exhausting to me and threatened to make me bounce off of the experience until after a particularly unpleasant story the game gave me the opportunity to bluntly call her disgusting. The way Reputation works in tyranny is that you concurrently build Favor and Wrath with factions and Loyalty and Fear with companions. One does not take from the other like in say, Mass Effect, there's no wrong answer there's just what your character would do. Leaning into my hatred for the Scarlet Chorus committed me to a character which let me have a great time learning about Tyranny's layered world. Sorta peters out in the 3rd act in, what I'm told, is common for CRPGs but the way there was always compelling.

Yuppie Psycho (2019) Demon Turf (2021) Demon Turf: Neon Splash (2022)

Scorn (2022) First person atmospheric adventure all about diving into an H.R. Giger-esque world. Freaky and gorgeous. Many people struggle to get what the combat expects of you which is that as much as possible you do not want to be in a fight. You want to let creatures pass and you only want to hit them so they're staggered enough to let you bail. Worth playing if you want to be in this sort of atmosphere.

Frogun (2022) Adorable platforming adventure with tight levels where you use the tongue of your "Frogun" to zip across gaps. Every level is to be done twice: first as a collectathon and routing exercise and then as a speedrunning challenge where the level design allows and enjoys ridiculous skips that will satisfyingly cut down your time to a fraction of your initial playthrough.

Marvel's Midnight Suns (2022) Okay so the on-ramp is too long and it drags real bad at the end and it's got (pre-mcu) Buffy era style Joss Whedon dialogue you might find grating but hear me out: Once the game gets going for real its system of one-shotting mooks, tossing them into each other, to build Heroism points that can then be cashed in for bigger moves produces a rhythm and strategizing I've never seen in any other tactics game. It's a great time.

Lunacid (2023) I was never really impressed or into creepypasta style horror but this thing marries it to shockingly potent effect with King's Field style pacing and atmosphere. Made by a very small team its got some wonky balancing but the mood is something else. Very high recommendation for anyone who takes pleasure in exploring odd, eerie spaces.

Like a Dragon Gaiden: The Man Who Erased His Name (2023)

Turbo Overkill (2023) First weapons you get are dual wielded laser magnums followed by laser SMGs that are also dual wielded. A button press will make a chainsaw burst from you cyborg leg and launch you into a high speed slide at no cost. In some ways this thing feels like it's trying to be The Final Boomer Shooter, going for peak stupid meathead video game fun.

Orbo's Odyssey (2023)

Lies of P (2023) My favorite non-FromSoft Souls game. Can Timothee Chalamet become a real boy? Derivative in nonnegligible ways but things like the weapon combining system and Pinocchio theming help keep it apart.

Baldur's Gate 3 (2023) Oh boy I might have played this gigantic thing twice in a row. Spunky little indie sleeper hit you may not have heard of; I gave it a year to truly complete its early access period. I loved it. I loved roleplaying as a Vengeance Paladin struggling against the Dark Urge, I loved the party (except Lae'zel) and loved the build making. My second playthrough was all about goofy multiclasses and gave me a real taste for it.

PARANORMASIGHT: The Seven Mysteries of Honjo (2023)

A More Modest Than Usual Selection Of Retro Games

Jumping Flash! (1995)

Jumping Flash! 2 (1996) Hadn't played this since I was 6 when I got lost in the second world's "maze" level even though these are little games for little babies that a little baby could play. Don't know what was wrong with me. Very neat looking and a fun look back to a time before standardization when there wasn't a set way to make a first person shooter or any sort of game for that matter.

Final Fantasy IX (2000, HD 2017)

The Adventures of Cookie and Cream (2001) FromSoftware experiment in making an entirely co-op game where each player runs through puzzle platforming to allow their partner to make progress. Played through this with a friend and it was a great time.

Looney Tunes: Sheep Raider (2001) Sheep, Dog 'n' Wolf outside of North America, a puzzle game based on the Ralph Wolf and Sam Sheepdog Looney Tunes cartoons where you as Ralph have to use ACME contraptions to steal sheep from under Sam's nose. I was impressed by its capacity to emulate the cartoon's animation style with PS1 graphics and each stage having unique mechanics that never show up again. There's some real head scratchers in there too.

Ratchet & Clank 2: Going Commando (2003)

Ratchet: Deadlocked (2005) Going Commando was alright but I was annoyed with every part of it that wasn't just Ratchet & Clank combat. Then I remembered a rental from my childhood, like, hey, you know what game is nothing but Ratchet & Clank combat? All about leveling up your goofy ass guns so they get even goofier. Awesome time.

Call of Duty 2 (2005) You like that? You like me calling Call of Duty 2 a retro game?

Missed games I'd like to get around to when I can make time. The video games… Please... they are too good…

FANTASIAN Neo Dimension Freed from apple arcade, rub and tug diorama Final Fantasy.

Sorry We're Closed Resident Evil: Dead Aim by way of Silent Hill and Grasshopper Manufacture.

Prince of Persia: The Lost Crown I bought this months ago and never made time for it! Despite being a lifelong Ubisoft and Rayman hater, it's my opinion that Ubisoft Montpellier's Rayman Legends is an all-time great so you can imagine how upset I was when their next highly well received game didn't sell enough for Ubisoft's tastes so they shot the whole team in the back of the head. Eager to play it and complete my mourning period.

Dungeons of Blood and Dream Nasty ass grungy first person roguelite sorta thing.

Romancing SaGa 2: Revenge of the Seven I gotta actually sit down and give a SaGa game a real shot and this one sounds way weirder than its art style suggests.

Like a Dragon: Infinite Wealth Genuinely not sure if I wanna play this one. It'd be the first Ryu Ga Gotoku game I skip but the length preemptively exhausts me. If I choose to play it, I need to figure out how I want to interact with it.

Flintlock: Siege of Dawn Played the demo which was alright and was intrigued by the exp system which has you gamble a multiplier. You never lose the exp but you might lose the bonus.

Kunitsu-Gami: Path of the Goddess Great demo for a well focused, weird game; couldn't make time for it!

Warhammer 40,000: Space Marine 2 Neat looking "good kind of a 7 out of 10" I don't want to pay for. Maybe after a deep discount or through alternative means once it's fully updated.

Gundam Breaker 4 Don't know if I could make time for it but I love designing robots.

Dead Rising Deluxe Remaster Do I wanna play this? Do I wanna just replay the original?

Judero Whole stop motion world made with old customized figures, I wanna see it!

Slitterhead Demo for this one by the Silent Hill 1 and Siren director was rough but I'm still intrigued.

Mario & Luigi: Brothership Need to hear more about this one to know if it's a return to Superstar Saga quality or if it carries the issues of later Mario & Luigi RPGs

Sonic X Shadow Generations They made a good Sonic game? Seemingly titled like a slashfic?

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl Want this to be my way to "get" S.T.A.L.K.E.R. Gonna do the same thing I did for Baldur's Gate 3 and give it a year of updates.

Indiana Jones and the Great Circle Got frustrated at how effusive the reception to this was because it made it something else to add to this bloated list. Good problem to have.

Kura5: Bonds of the Undying A free Boktai fangame that seems very cute.