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phantomspiderr · 7 months ago

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roleplay w/ ghostface!rio vidal x reader x agatha harkness

kinktober '24 ~ no 5

a/n: little bit of warning, it's rio so there's knife play involved. I would also mark this as dubcon/noncon so if that's not for you please don't read. I wrote this with the thought of this being a prior conversation and rules and safe words being in place etc in mind

You jump out of your skin as your phone rings out loudly in the kitchen, your heart thumps in your chest and your body tingles all over. It rings once, then twice before you pick it up to answer. “Hello?” You receive no response but there’s a quiet electric hum coming through the speaker so you repeat yourself. Just as you consider hanging up a voice sounds, a hello followed by your name. The voice is unrecognisable, it’s croaky and robotic and it only adds to the drumming in your chest. “Um, hello. Who is this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You roll your eyes, sitting yourself in one of the dining chairs.

“Well, you know my name so I think it’s only fair I know yours.” You counter, tilting your head to the side as if the mystery caller could see you.

“What’s not fair is a pretty girl like you being home all alone.” Your heart drops at those words, eyes instantly darting around to the back door to your yard and then to the kitchen window above the sink. A maniacal chuckle comes through the speaker and you can feel your body tremble. “Did you think I would just knock?” You don’t even get a chance to respond because suddenly, there’s a blaring sound coming from the living room. You drop the phone on the table, hands coming up to cover your ears and you run toward the deafening noise. The tv plays some old news clip about a group of teenagers who were mysteriously found murdered. You fumble around throwing pillows and blankets off of the couch until you find the remote, shutting off the television immediately. You let out a deep breath, feeling disoriented by the loud noise and fast-moving.

“Very funny Rio. The plan wasn’t to burst my eardrums.” You call out into the room then you hear your phone ring loudly again and your whole body jumps and the remote goes clattering to the floor. With quick steps you move back to the kitchen, grab the device and answer.

“Do you like scary movies?”

“No. Now, who is this?” You continue to play along with Rio’s little game. A silly idea she’d proposed to you after a spooky movie night. A night that you spent curled into her side jumping at every little scare.

“Oh, why not? Are you scared?”

“No.”

A door slams and a short scream escapes you. It’s just the wind you tell yourself as your heart continues to race. The voice on the phone laughs again and you think for a second that you hear the laugh coming from upstairs.

“I thought you weren’t scared.”

“Why are you doing this?” You’re met with silence and then the line goes dead. You look at your phone confirming that the call is no more and then there it is, the sound of slow deliberate footsteps coming from directly above you. Everything in you tells you to run but your feet seem to have a mind of their own as your body moves toward the stairs. You stand at the bottom peering up into the darkness and that’s when you hear a slow call of your name but you can’t tell where it’s coming from. It seems to bounce around the house, not revealing the place of origin. A sound almost like nails on a chalkboard pierces your ears sending ripples down your spine. Then suddenly, there’s a pounding coming from your front door and a muffled raised voice slips through the cracks. Perplexed, you rush to the door and swing it open to reveal your neighbour, Agatha. Her face splattered with what looked like blood and a tinge of fear washes over you. She shoves you aside and slams the door shut, bolting it and leaning her head against the wood while she huffs and pants.

“Agatha?! What happened to you? Is that blood? Are you okay?” Your chest feels like it’s going to explode from the thumping of your heart.

“She’s gone crazy. She tried to kill me so I had to…” Agatha turns to you, a crazed look in her eyes, “You’ve got to believe me. It was self-defence!”

“A-Agatha, what happened?” Agatha’s movements are frantic, her hands smearing blood across her face. Fear washes over you and before Agatha can utter another word you both hear a door creak, it’s the familiar creak of your back door and your head immediately snaps around to the source of the sound. But you can’t see the door and suddenly there's a hand over your mouth, muffling a surprised yelp.

“Uh oh, looks like I didn’t finish the job.” Agatha whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine, “Better run and hide bunny.” Her hand drops from your mouth and slowly you turn to face her, a sinister smile etched on her face. You’re moving before you can even register, had Rio brought Agatha in on her little game to really sell it? Haphazardly you climb the stairs, tripping on a couple of steps in the process. You can’t hear any movement behind you but you don’t stop moving. Your mind races trying to think of a good hiding place but your feet carry you to the one place you feel the safest, your bedroom. Your eyes search for a place to hide and you pick the only reasonable option even if it is the obvious one. You rip open the closet doors and practically throw yourself into the corner, you’re hugging your knees and trying your best to calm your racing heart and mind. There’s a tiny crack where the doors meet and you can just make out the bedroom door. The only sound you can hear is the blood pumping in your ears, no footsteps or doors opening. The wait is agonizing, it feels like you’ve been there too long for nothing to have happened by now so you pluck up the courage to get up. Maybe Rio wanted more of a chase? You try to be quiet, opening the closet just slightly and peeking into the bedroom. Nothing, it’s empty. So, you emerge from the closet and slowly you take steps toward the bedroom door. Your hand just rests on the doorknob but you’re jolted away from it when two hands are suddenly grabbing you. You scream as you're dragged backwards before a hand is slapped over your mouth to muffle the noise. The unknown strength uncaringly throws you onto the bed like a rag doll and your eyes go wide when you see the dark cloaked figure with that ghost white mask. Then they’re on you before you can get away but you struggle against their iron grip, wriggling as the masked figure pins your hands above your head. You cry out, not stopping until you feel cold metal press against your neck and you finally stare into the black eyes of the mask. Their head tilts as if they’re scanning your face, watching your expression as the knife presses harder and causes a searing hot pain to develop on your skin. Your eyes shut tightly and sting with tears, and then the blade is suddenly gone and your eyes shoot open to see the knife raised in the air and without warning it begins coming toward you. There’s a genuine fear coursing through your veins as you expect a sharp pain but instead, the knife is buried in the pillow right by your head. You flinch, your head turning to see a familiar green dimpled handle.

“That wasn’t funny Rio.” Your eyes are watery and you move your body in an effort to push her off but she doesn’t budge. “How did you get in here without me seeing you?” Your head tilts a fraction but still you get no audible reply. “Did you cheat? We said no magic.” Your chest still rises and falls quickly and the lack of response is startling you. The black voids of the mask stare back at you, your eyes move to watch as their free hand reveals a small bundle of rope. You don’t resist it when the cloaked figure loops the rope around your wrists, pulling tightly on purpose to ensure there will be marks tomorrow. You wince as they pull and tug at your limbs until they’re wound together and secured to the headboard.

“Oh no, please don’t kill me.” You whine, hoping that playing along with Rio’s fantasy will elicit a response. It’s not the response you hoped for but you watch as she wraps her gloved fingers around the blade once again. Your eyes flutter closed when she places the tip on your cheek and you feel it graze down your skin, nipping at the collar of your shirt and trailing down further. Once it reaches your waist she pauses and your eyes open to see why. In an instant, the knife expertly slips under your pants and you take in a sharp breath as the blade slices through the material like butter. Your eyes flicker between the cut in the fabric and the mask. It’s almost like you can feel the grin that burns through the mask. The knife is suddenly thrust back into the pillow by your head and you flinch again, letting out a shaky breath. Her hands are back on you; first starting by cupping your face, their head tilting to study you. Then her hands move down, trailing along your neck and slowing to brush over your breasts which you instinctively push up into. She momentarily halts her movements when you do that, then her hands press harder making sure her fingers fan across your covered nipples. Your mouth falls open with a sharp inhale and your hips buck upward. Her hands fall away from your breasts and move down your stomach, this time her fingers dig into your flesh until she reaches the tear in your pants. She makes sure to ghost a finger down the newly exposed skin where the fabric falls away. Then she’s tearing at the material, wanting to expose more of you. It doesn’t take long for there to be nothing but tatters left on your legs. Your skin is left red and sore from the yanking and rubbing of the fabric. You squirm as you try to reposition yourself into a more comfortable position and use it as a way to hide your now bare pussy but it’s impossible as your cloaked figure kneels between your legs forcing them open. You keep pushing against their grip but when one of their hands disappears under their cloak you grow curious. She pulls her cloak up to expose a thick purple strap secured tightly around her waist and you swear you begin to drool at the sight. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea if it meant Rio bought you such a nice new toy to play with. You seem to back down and become relaxed as her grip on your thigh grows, her nails digging in to add a sharp sting. Your breathing picks up when slowly she towers over you again, your eyes locking back onto the mask. She hovers above you, one hand now at the side of your head to hold her up and the other moves the tip of her strap through your folds. Your body shudders at the touch and you fight to keep your eyes open. Then with no further warning, she pushes into you and a scream escapes you as the stretch stings and your hands tug against your confides repeatedly. Your eyes prickle with tears but it only seems to spur her on. She straightens up so she can thrust rapidly until your screams turn into gasps and moans that seem to build more when her covered thumb presses down on your clit. The jilting of your bodies causes enough friction that she doesn’t even need to move the digit. Your eyes seem to roll back as she continues on her rough pursuit, her palm pushing down on the bulge she creates while driving her cock into your abused hole over and over until you're on the edge of cumming.

“Well one of us is going to have to change.” Your eyes shoot open at the sound of your girlfriend's voice, it sounds further away than you think it should be and you’re confused by the sentence. But the pounding continues and you’re still panting when you see Rio standing by the bedroom door dressed in a black cloak and holding an identical white ghost mask. You’re completely disoriented at this point, if Rio is standing there then who is towering above you still thrusting their cock into you as your girlfriend watches.

“You couldn’t have let the sweet girl cum before you interrupted?” A muffled voice grunts from under the mask, then their hand raises to pull off the mask. “Hi sugar,” that sweet neighbourly voice rings in your ears as she grins down at you.

“A-Agatha?” Your question draws out as a string of moans tumbles out of your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut again as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. Both of Agatha’s hands had shifted to your hips, aggressively tugging them to meet her thrusts as she watched your orgasm overtake your body. Your back is arched and your toes curled as she forced her strap into you again and again until you were over-sensitive and crying out. Her thrusts eventually come to a stop, her cock still buried deep inside you as you clench and squirm. You flinch when a gentle hand touches your face, your eyes open to see Rio standing by the bed now. She smiles down at you, a hint of pride in her expression.

“Angel,” the sweet pet name rolls off her tongue like honey but then she’s squeezing your face between her fingers and a dark look washes over her face, “you can’t be making all that noise.” You blink up at her, still keenly aware of Agatha’s presence between your thighs. “What if the neighbours complain?” A wicked grin breaks out on Rio’s face as she looks up at Agatha who mirrors her expression. “We’ll just have to find a way to keep you quiet huh?”

“I can think of one.” Agatha remarks quickly and Rio’s fingers release their grip on your face. Rio hums as if in thought, trying to play off like they haven’t already orchestrated this whole thing to go a certain way.

“I like your thinking, Aggie. Why don’t I sit on that pretty little face while you have your way with her again and again until she just can’t take it.” You seem at a loss for words as you just watch your beautiful girlfriend climb onto the bed. She kneels beside you for a moment to share in an exchange with Agatha, the pair holding one another’s face for just a brief moment before Rio moves again. She straddles your chest and you wriggle slightly, momentarily forgetting that Agatha’s strap is still stretching your sensitive hole. A whine falls from your lips and Rio tuts. “You’re such a pretty girl, it’s a shame you just can’t keep quiet.” Her condescending tone floats through the air as she hikes up the black fabric that drapes her body to reveal her bare pussy just inches from your face. She slips a hand into your hair as she pulls herself forward. She tugs your head up and sinks her wet folds down onto your face, your mouth instinctively opens and your tongue gathers her familiar taste. Immediately she begins rocking her hips back and forth and your eyes fall closed as she uses you for her own pleasure. A sharp moan vibrates against her core as Agatha begins to move inside of you again and Rio’s grip on your hair tightens. “Do that again.” You’re not sure if she’s growling at you or Agatha at that point but you both seem to respond as Agatha fluidly starts thrusting into you again and a flurry of moans vibrates against Rio’s clit. “Fuck!” She cries out, now arguably she is becoming louder than you were but no one is sitting on her face. Your tongue continues to lick and prod at her, trying your hardest to make her cum. Your eyes open to see her head thrown back as her hips move in time with Agatha’s and you’re not sure whether it’s the lack of oxygen or the second orgasm washing over you that prickles your vision. You look up at Rio’s blissed-out face, seeing black spots as your hips thrash around while Agatha relentlessly continues to hammer into you. Wave after wave of pleasure hits you again and again until your mind is completely gone.

“Oh now you’ve gone and killed the poor sweet thing.” Agatha’s echoey voice whirls around your head.

“Don’t worry, she’ll come around.” You can feel a soft hand holding your face and an arm secured around your shoulders. “Look there she is,” Rio’s voice seems to pull you back as your eyes slowly blink open, “hi sweetheart.” A weak smile stretches out on your face as you curl your tired body inward, snuggling closer into Rio’s arms.

Your hands had somehow been freed and now you were curled up in the bed with Rio next to you and another presence close by.

“What-what happened?” Your weak, croaky voice comes out and your throat feels dry.

“Don’t worry angel. Why don’t we just get you cleaned up and in bed huh?” Your mind is fuzzy and your entire body aches but you feel a buzz running through your veins.

“Did I do a good job?” Your question comes out small and you hear a duet of giggles before Agatha closes in to press a kiss to your temple and she softly speaks.

“A good job? Baby, you’re gonna be in the sequel.”

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elikajinnie · 6 months ago

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I Let The World Burn For You - N.R

P: Serial Killer!Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions, Murder, Manipulation, Attempted Murder, Injury/Blood, Teasing, Angst, Obsessive Behaviour, Bullying, Mind Games, Ni-ki is a nerd.

Synopsis: You’ve always loved crime shows, captivated by the mystery and mind games, but you never expected to live in one. When a killer develops an unsettling obsession with you, you’re thrust into a deadly game where you’re not just a target—you’re the centerpiece.

note! i have just finished 1/2 exams and i got a shining A+ (thanks to the allnighters) so i finally got more time to write :) requested by @totallynotj3zz

READ THE TEASER BELOW

Read part 1 and 2 at the end

You stumble down the creaking, narrow staircase, your breath coming in ragged gasps as panic claws at your chest. Tears blur your vision, streaking your face as the blood on your trembling hands smears across the banister. You don’t dare look back. You can’t.

Above you, his voice echoes through the decaying walls, low and mocking, sending chills down your spine.

“Run all you want,” he calls, his tone light, almost playful. “You know I’ll catch you.”

Your foot catches on a loose board, nearly sending you sprawling, but you grip the railing and push yourself forward. His words follow you, slithering into your ears like poison.

“You can’t hide from me. You know that, don’t you? I’ll always find you. Always.”

The air is heavy with the smell of dust and mildew, but it does nothing to muffle his voice.

“You and that little curiosity of yours,” he sneers, his footsteps steady and unhurried. “That’s what got you into this mess. You wanted to see what was behind the curtain, didn’t you?”

Your heart pounds in your chest, your legs screaming in protest as you take the steps two at a time.

“No one else deserves you,” he continues, his voice dipping into something darker, more possessive. “Only me. And if I can’t have you…”

You swallow back a sob as his words twist, their meaning sharp as a blade.

“…then no one can.”

Your foot hits the landing, and you dart into the next corridor, the peeling wallpaper and flickering lights a blur around you. Still, his voice lingers, wrapping around you like a noose.

“You’ll be mine in the end. You know it. Why keep running, darling? Why deny the inevitable?”

You bite down on your lip to stifle the cry threatening to escape. The hallway stretches endlessly before you, and the sound of his steps—slow, deliberate—echoes closer, as if he’s right behind you.

Your chest burns as you push forward, forcing your legs to move despite the overwhelming ache. The hallway feels endless, the dim, flickering lights above casting warped shadows that seem to close in on you. Each creak of the floorboards behind you makes your heart skip a beat, his taunting voice dripping into your ears like acid.

“You can’t run forever,” he hums, his tone like a lullaby meant to unsettle. “Every step you take just brings you closer to me. Don’t you see? This is fate. You were made for me.”

A sob escapes you before you can stifle it, your body betraying the terror that threatens to consume you whole. You glance frantically over your shoulder, but the staircase behind you is empty. He isn’t there, and yet his voice sounds as if it’s just over your shoulder, like he’s breathing down your neck.

You shove open a door at the end of the hall, the old wood groaning on its hinges as you stumble into what looks like a storage room. Rusted tools hang on the walls, their edges sharp and unforgiving, glinting faintly in the pale light from a single bare bulb swaying overhead. Your breath catches as you scan the room, desperately searching for a way out.

“There you go,” he purrs, his voice impossibly close now, like he’s whispering directly into your ear. “Hide, if it makes you feel safer. I like when you play hard to get. It makes it so much sweeter when I finally catch you.”

You slam the door shut and lock it, your shaking hands fumbling with the rusted bolt. The sound of his footsteps grows louder, heavier now, deliberate in their approach. You back away from the door, your eyes darting around the room. The windows are boarded up, thick planks of wood nailed across the frames, no hope of escape.

Your breathing is shallow, uneven. Your hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into your palms as you try to will yourself to think. Focus. Focus.

Then, silence.

The footsteps stop. His voice is gone.

Your heart pounds in the stillness, the quiet almost worse than his taunts. You strain your ears, listening for anything—any sign of movement, any sound that could tell you where he is. But there’s nothing.

A soft knock on the door shatters the quiet, making you jump back with a gasp.

“Are you scared?” he asks, his voice calm now, almost tender. “You don’t need to be. I’ll take care of you. I’ll make this quick.”

The doorknob jiggles. Once. Twice. Then, a violent bang as he slams against the door, rattling the frame.

You scramble backward, your hands blindly reaching for anything, and they land on something cold and solid—a wrench, heavy and covered in dust.

Another bang. The bolt starts to bend under the pressure.

“I’m coming in, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice filled with a sickening glee. “Let’s end this little game, shall we?”

The door bursts open, and there he is, silhouetted against the dim light of the hallway, his figure towering, his shadow stretching across the floor like it’s ready to swallow you whole.

But you’re ready this time. Your grip tightens on the wrench, and as he steps into the room, you swing.

Read the request here

Read part 1 here and part 2 here

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littlebatgames · 11 months ago

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The voices of Vampire Therapist

Hi Tumblr! I'm Cyrus Nemati, creative director at Little Bat Games, where we're making Vampire Therapist. You might know me as a voice actor. I voiced Theseus, Dionysus, and Ares in Hades, so as you might imagine, voices are my thing.

When I started designing Vampire Therapist, I wanted to create characters not only had deep narrative depth, but that would be challenging and rewarding to voice. I voice protagonist Sam Walls and his mentor, Andromachos. Writing a game about therapy is really tricky, so being able to jump in revoice lines was a huge benefit for the game!

I also voice two of the therapy clients in the game, Dr. Drayne and Edmund Kean. Dr. Drayne is the kind of challenge any actor delights in, having three very distinct characterizations that have to seem natural, whereas Edmund Kean is the Shakespearean actor of his time.

As much as I'd like to save money, I couldn't voice all characters in the game, but I'm very picky about voices and needed a cast of the absolute best I could find. So I got them.

If you've played Hades 2, you've heard Sarah Grayson or Selene. Or maybe you know her from Gone Home or Tacoma? But I needed her ability to alternate between the very light and the very dark for murderous vampire content creator Meddy.

To play Isabella d'Este, a real historical figure and esteemed patron of the arts during the Renaissance, I needed someone with a sense of the theatrical and some excellent comic timing. For that, I turned to a very old friend, Kylie Clark, who comes much more from the theatre tradition that video games... which she doesn't play at all. Until Vampire Therapist!

For our fabulous goth bartender, Crimson, I needed the epitome of cool, sexy, and tantalizingly mysterious. You might know Francesca Meaux as Eurydice from Hades, but she went to some unexpected places to play Crimson!

I did say I wanted the best of the best, right? Vampire Therapist is a super low-budget indie, but if I'm going to fill a club with quirky, sexy goths, I need range, and for that, I got Matthew Mercer. Yeah, that Matthew Mercer. The Critical Role one. The one from Baldur's Gate 3. The one from all your favorite video games. How could I do less? He's playing Reinhard the sexy goth and Ciaran the goth priest in Vampire Therapist.

You can see the work we've put into every aspect of Vampire Therapist. I think you're going to find that it's unlike any game you've ever played.

It'll be out on July 18th, and you can wishlist it on Steam now!

And on GOG!

#indie games #vampire therapist #voice acting #matthew mercer #cyrus nemati #sarah grayson #hades #francesca meaux #vampires #therapy #mental health #critical role #bg3

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etherealrin · 2 months ago

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ཐི♡ཋྀ TOKYO'S DARK KNIGHT?

tw: death + violence // fem reader, somewhat follows canon // wc: 1.1k

batman!rin is tokyo city’s very own tortured and brooding crime-fighting vigilante. he lives a double life: a wealthy international football superstar by day, hero operating in the shadows by night.

batman!rin was never too fond of his parents but was close to his brother sae. they’d spend hours in the backyard which sae had convinced their parents to turn into a soccer field, playing around. they were both on school teams together. rin is ten when he’s suddenly orphaned—his entire family murdered—so he’s left alone with no one but his eccentric uncle, a certain ego jinpachi, to look after him. oh, and he inherits the entire itoshi fortune, as well as the family mansion.

batman!rin who only starts liking horror movies and video games after the tragedy. he oddly finds solace in the gore-filled scenes, it fills him with a sense of peace. the weeks directly after the death of his family, rin would find himself battling insomnia; exhausted but unable to sleep. he'd put up some random horror flick and eventually doze off to the sounds of manical laughs and shrill screeches. if the midnight noises had ever bothered his uncle, ego never mentioned it.

batman!rin who, for years after the loss of his brother, wishes he too died that night. the world was too empty without sae, and he couldn’t bring himself to pick up a soccer ball again. why couldn’t it be me and not him? he’d sob to himself—sae had always been the better one; more likeable, and he’d actually had a goal to live by.

it’s uncle ego who convinces batman!rin to take up football again, saying that sae wouldn’t want for his younger brother to end up lukewarm. so rin does, vowing to become the world’s best striker in honor of his elder brother.

batman!rin who isn’t yet batman until he’s fifteen. it’s a dark and foggy night, rin’s just ready to leave football practice and head home. but then he hears the screams and an all too familiar scene flashes through his mind. no, he couldn’t just ignore the fact that somebody was in danger—he wouldn’t let another kid suffer what he had. and so he pulls his hood over his head and rushes to the scene, where an elegantly dressed woman is obviously being assaulted. the assailant is armed with a knife, but rin has a soccer ball. the crook’s head is no match for a dead-on collision with the sturdy ball going at an insane speed, and thus he’s knocked out. rin, face concealed in the ill-lighting, makes sure the lady arrives to her home safely before calling the police to the scene and returning to his own residence.

batman!rin who, on the walk back, spots a lone bat in the sky. as if a sign from the heavens. batman, he thinks. suitable; he’d like to remain alone and anonymous if he were to keep this business up. after all, it would complicate his football career if he were to be found out.

so batman!rin turns to the only person he can—his uncle. and ego doesn't bat an eye, even offering to help him, he was apparently well versed in becoming a “superhero,” not that rin really regarded himself as one. in his eyes, this was just a small form of vengeance and justice for his family. he designs a simple mask covering all but his mouth, and that night, batman is born.

batman!rin who technically drives illegally. a sixteen-year old probably shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a vehicle such as the batmobile, but he refuses to be chauffered around by his uncle, plus it was fun. it’d been over a year since the first evening he saved someone, and batman was now known across tokyo: a masked individual who was shrouded in mystery but undoubtedly good.

rin meets you as batman for the first time after realizing that the joker had planted a bomb in his high school. that maniac was putting hundreds of lives in danger, and curse him for deciding to provoke batman in broad daylight! so maybe rin had disappeared from math class, and everyone assumes he's just cutting. which isn't inaccurate, he's quite literally deciding which wire to cut from the bomb planted on the roof. and he’s almost there, sweet taste of victory on his lips, until the joker himself shows up. all hell breaks loose—everybody is running in different directions, there’s more than one fire across the buildings—and batman!rin is at the center of it all, facing off against the green-haired psychopath.

batman!rin has his nemesis right there, in his grasp, but then he hears you scream. the joker smirks, it’s the obviously meant to be a diversion. of course he’d have some kind of secondary trap planted where a student might’ve tried to escape. its a moral challenge and rin has to make a decision right there; save someone he doesn’t know and let the joker escape, or…?

batman!rin is gone in a flash, leaving the joker to his own devices. the moment you scream again, rin hurriedly follows your voice. he finds you, all but surrounded by a wall of flaming rubble. your hair is dangerously close to being burnt.

“don’t worry. i’ve got you,” he tries to soothe you as he saves you from the ring of fire, carrying you in his arms while shielding you with his own body. his suit was fireproof, after all. he realizes later that he forgot to pitch his voice deeper.

all the while, your stomach is bursting into butterflies because what the hell—batman was holding you! and you can’t help but think that batman’s voice sounds pretty young. somewhat like a teenager’s. in fact, it bears some semblance to the moody boy with dark black bangs, who sits next to you in math. who coincidentally disappeared right when the joker showed up.

if his suit weren’t so thick, batman!rin might’ve been worried that you’d hear his erratic heartbeat. no, he wasn’t flustered by the physical contact, he was just nervous—huge difference! he asks if you’re alright. you reply shakily that you are, but he insists on taking you straight to a hospital in case you went into shock. rin’s staring at you for a bit longer than necessary as he drops you off from the batmobile, he swears he’s just making sure you’re really fine! he doesn't catch how your eyes linger on a soccer ball he'd left somewhere in the backseats of the car, along with miscaellaneous horror comics.

when he drives away, batman!rin realizes that you’re the pretty girl who sits next to him in mathematics, and remembers how you always offer him gum or snacks; a small gesture of care even though you and rin weren’t really friends. you’re a good person, he decides.

somehow, you both have the feeling that this isn’t your last meeting, but rather, it’s the beginning of many more to come. perhaps the gears of fate had selected you to unravel the secrets of tokyo's dark knight.

a/n: @lizbix @ohagiyo @wonubby...enjoy!! thx for the motivation LOL i had a bit too much fun here! lmk if anyone wants a part 2…

ılılılılılılı now playing: consume by chase atlantic, die for me by chase atlantic, too many nights by metro boomin

masterlist!

#batman!rin #i’m losing it bye #DIVIDER MADE BY ME WOW #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you #blue lock x you #blue lock rin #itoshi rin #rin x reader #itoshi rin x you #rin x you #bllk rin #rin bllk #rin blue lock #blue lock au #rin #凛 ; rin x reader

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ave-cave · 4 months ago

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In Defense of Mahiru's Last Words

An aspect of 2-2 that I think a lot of Danganronpa fans get wrong is Mahiru’s last words to Fuyuhiko. I’d go so far as to call them the most misunderstood last words in the series.

Mahiru's role in the second case is often overlooked in favor of Peko and Fuyuhiko's, and this line encapsulates said role, so I figured I'd try to dispel the misconceptions that surround it. Cool? Cool.

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First thing’s first, my thesis statement (lol): in response to the well-worn criticism that Mahiru’s last words to Fuyuhiko were hypocritical, I’ll grant fans this much: her words were shortsighted and poorly-timed. They weren’t, however, hypocritical.

More often than not when I see people refer to Mahiru’s last words as hypocritical, they mean that she's condemning Fuyuhiko for avenging his sister, meanwhile her friend who committed an act of revenge received her protection. My issue with this? Sato’s murder of Natsumi wasn’t revenge. The third day of Twilight Syndrome Murder Case (which Mahiru played) has Sato explain in depth why she did what she did. She didn’t confront Natsumi with the intent to kill her; she only wanted to talk at first. But when Natsumi began making threats, she saw red and accidentally knocked her out. Knowing how dire the consequences would be if Natsumi woke up and tattled to her family, Sato killed her and pinned the crime on a rumored pervert. This is further highlighted in the trial.

Now, don’t get me wrong, Sato is still to blame here. No matter how much shit Natsumi was talking, she shouldn’t have responded with violence, and she found herself in that situation through every fault of her own. The key thing is that it wasn’t revenge; it was desperation. By the time Natsumi fell unconscious, it was Sato who was trying to avoid becoming the victim of yakuza “justice.”

Recall that the incriminating evidence Mahiru got rid of was a picture of a broken vase. To anyone who wasn’t there the day of the incident, a photo of this nature would prove basically nothing. Sure, one could surmise that it means the killer didn’t actually escape through the window, but figuring out what they did do, and by extension who they are, would require having run into Sato in the hall (given it isn’t brought up at any point, it’s unlikely there was security footage.) It might arouse suspicion, seeing as there were rumors going around that Sato was with Natsumi the day of the latter's murder, but it wouldn't be able to substantiate anything. Either way, the only people who would have any use for it were the police and the yakuza.

Mahiru protecting Sato from the police wouldn't make much sense at all. Blind loyalty toward her friends – to the point of helping them escape consequences for their actions – isn’t a trait she showcases in the main game. There are a few classmates she shows extra care toward (she’s particularly concerned for Mikan, she sticks up for Peko and she offers to help Hiyoko when the latter is struggling with her kimono), sure, but unraveling the mysteries of the killing game takes first priority for her at the end of the day. Moreover, in Twilight Syndrome, before she realizes that Sato is the killer, she takes pictures of Natsumi's body in the hopes that they'll be useful to the police (this obviously isn't the smartest move, but it's in-character: Mahiru is someone who's always trying to do the right thing despite her lack of self-confidence. She feels guilty about agreeing with the other girls not to report Natsumi’s body, and so she figures that utilizing her talent is the next best thing. We see her do something similar in 2-1.) Going from “I need to help the police find the culprit” to “my friend is the culprit; time to destroy the evidence” is a dramatic shift – one that doesn't line up with anything else we know about Mahiru.

What's a trait she does showcase in the main game? Distaste for cruel and unusual punishment. She sympathizes with Teruteru’s motive, heavily implying that Monokuma shouldn't have executed him, and she criticizes Nekomaru and Kazuichi for hogtying and isolating Nagito, before eventually bringing him food. The second example is especially noteworthy. Nagito got both the Imposter and Teruteru killed – he's an unstable individual, no two ways about it. Mahiru doesn't object to his being restrained; she objects to the over-the-top, vigilante-style methods used by Nekomaru and Kazuichi to do so. There's a clear parallel to be drawn between this and Twilight Syndrome. If she's so against Nagito – a murderer who isn't her friend – receiving inhumane treatment, then there's no question she'd be against it for Sato, a murderer who is.

It's only reasonable to assume that, when Mahiru realized the truth of the incident, she destroyed the evidence for the same reason Sato committed murder in the first place: she knew that, if it got into yakuza hands, there would be hell to pay. She wasn’t too far off the mark, either. The rumors in mind, all it took for Fuyuhiko to connect the dots was witnessing Sato’s failed attempt to discard the sole intact copy of the photo (Mahiru needed at least one if she wanted to corner Sato and coax a confession from her; she couldn't have anticipated that it would be absconded with.) And even if he didn't, say someone else found it: they might report it to the police, yes, but more likely (given the lack of solid evidence) they would start another, more potent rumor – one that would eventually reach the wrong ears, inciting action. All told, Sato was lucky to have only been killed, as the yakuza are capable of much, much worse.

Mahiru didn’t think what Sato did was right. Far from it; she was shocked and horrified when her suspicions turned out to be true. Furthermore, even outside of the TSMC, she believes her covering for Sato is something to atone for, which automatically requires thinking Sato was wrong. But if it was within her power to throw the mafia off Sato’s trail, she absolutely would, including by decidedly immoral means. You don’t have to condone murder to not want your friend to be kidnapped and tortured.

When Mahiru tells Fuyuhiko during their final confrontation that “nobody has the right to judge others for their crimes,” “judge” is another way of saying “take revenge on.” Think the phrase “playing judge, jury and executioner.” Fuyuhiko judged Sato as deserving of death for her crime, and carried out that judgment by murdering her. That’s what Mahiru is condemning. She’s not dismissing his loss – she acknowledges that his sister’s murder was terrible. She’s saying it didn’t give him the right to become a murderer in turn. This isn’t hypocritical; it’s entirely consistent with her actions in the TSMC. She never sought revenge, nor did she enable anyone else’s. She was trying to prevent revenge from the start.

That said, Mahiru isn’t above reproach (if she were, none of this would be happening to begin with.) Though I stand firm that she had every right to be angry here, I can appreciate that Fuyuhiko did, too.

Mahiru went into the beach house intending to figure out how to atone for a sin she couldn’t remember committing. Fuyuhiko went into the beach house intending to kill Mahiru as further revenge for Natsumi. Thing is, Fuyuhiko isn’t a cold-blooded killer. He thinks he's supposed to be, but deep down he’s conflicted. And so, to cope, he has an out: if Mahiru denies the game's reality, he'll call off the plan. He’ll spare her. More than anything, he just wants to believe that none of it happened; his sister isn't dead and Mahiru didn't cover for her killer. But it's too late to hope for denial. He'd already accused Mahiru of the cover-up and sent her the photos as proof, and she’d been taking it very seriously ever since. The threatening letter he left her, combined with her knowledge of the game’s true ending, would have been more than enough to convince the others to apprehend him like Kazuichi wanted – not to mention the most obvious thing to do for her own protection. And yet from the moment she received the letter, the only thing on her mind was making amends. There was no going back.

These conflicting goals are a recipe for disaster. Fuyuhiko, who had initially compelled Mahiru to face her sin, is now wanting her to deny that the events of the game ever took place. Mahiru, who came for help collecting her thoughts, is now face-to-face with the very person she needed to prepare to talk to. Keyword: prepare. Again, the important thing to understand about Mahiru is that, despite her headstrong attitude and emphasis on “doing the right thing,” she doesn’t always know what the right thing is. She lacks the confidence necessary to support her levelheadedness, and so she agonizes and deliberates. Instances of this include:

When she stays quiet as Hiyoko berates Teruteru, claiming he deserved to die, only to come to terms with the issue later (main game).

When she’s implied to spend the night awake pondering what to do about the Twilight Syndrome motive (main game).

When she waits several days before getting rid of the vase picture, showing that she didn't take the decision lightly (TSMC).

When she ruminates over how best to make amends with Fuyuhiko, leading him to think she’s avoiding him (main game).

The fact that, in the TSMC, Mahiru finds herself in a situation that tests her moral compass is what makes her involvement in the case compelling. She’s not someone who believes the ends justify the means, and yet all of a sudden she’s thrust into a scenario where they have to – where “the right thing” (not destroying the evidence) and “the wrong thing” (letting Sato suffer and/or die) intersect. No wonder she handles the entire thing so clumsily; it’s completely foreign to her.

Now consider this situation. Mahiru has been lured to a secluded area. She never got the chance to talk things through with the other girls and hasn’t the first clue about how to make amends. Fuyuhiko has proven that he isn’t all bark and no bite and could actually hurt her if provoked. Hiyoko is nowhere to be found; who’s to say Fuyuhiko hasn’t killed or severely harmed her? It’s a perfect storm of stress. Needless to say, the interaction is already doomed.

Said interaction starts when Mahiru, treating the game as though it were real, asks if Fuyuhiko killed Girl E (Sato). At this, Fuyuhiko is furious. But wait… this whole thing started because Fuyuhiko accused her of being an accomplice to his sister's murder, and yet now, when she's asking about what he did in the game, he says he doesn't want to hear it? When she says he shouldn’t have killed Girl E, he replies that nobody cares? How does this sound to Mahiru? A man who doesn't think he did anything wrong, refusing to accept responsibility? Only at this point does she get angry.

On the other hand, from Fuyuhiko's perspective, Mahiru had been avoiding him ever since he left her that letter, and so the fact that she isn't answering his questions is insulting. Even though he'd already decided on revenge, he’s giving her a chance to avoid the fate he had planned for her altogether, simply by saying she doesn’t remember anything from the game or believe that it happened. Yet not only is she doing the opposite of that, the girl who supposedly tried to protect his sister's killer is claiming that he was also wrong. His anger skyrockets.

All in all, it’s pretty easy to understand where both of them were coming from. In Mahiru’s efforts to protect her friend from revenge, she prevented Fuyuhiko from getting justice for Natsumi in any capacity. There was no way the authorities would believe him, a member of the criminal underworld, over a seemingly normal high school girl – not without evidence. Sure, a picture of a vase wasn’t substantial, but it was something, and she got rid of it. Meanwhile, if Fuyuhiko hadn’t been out for blood, Mahiru wouldn’t have felt the need to destroy the evidence to begin with. In other words, they both felt they had no choice but to do what they did – Mahiru to cover things up, Fuyuhiko to kill. Their goals clashed at nearly every turn, right up to the end.

Mahiru messed up – that I won’t deny. She lost her cool and chastised Fuyuhiko while he was in the middle of interrogating her about his sister. She shouldn't have done that – not because she didn't have a point, but because it wasn't the right time to make it. Chances are if she’d kept treating the game as real, she still would have angered him enough to convince Peko it was necessary to step in, but straight-up condemning his actions more or less sealed her fate. It’s almost ironic how her go-to method of yelling at people to do better led to her death in this instance. Keep in mind, though, it was Fuyuhiko who put her in that position to begin with. He backed her into a corner, deprived her of the chance to think things through and expected her to simply… read his mind and say what he wanted her to say so that he could find an excuse not to kill her. That’s why I don’t think it’s fair to claim she brought her death entirely on herself.

Moreover, her last words in and of themselves weren’t off-target. Fuyuhiko spends nearly the rest of the game trying to atone for rushing into revenge. He realizes that Mahiru was right; “an eye for an eye” is a flawed credo, and it’s through this that he manages to earn the forgiveness of all of his classmates, even Hiyoko. Losing Peko might have been what springboarded his development, but Mahiru’s contribution shouldn’t be understated. Hell, the scenario of Mahiru's death echoes some of Goodbye Despair’s most important themes, namely restoration over retribution and being punished for a forgotten sin. The mindset that certain people deserve to die for their crimes is what leads to much of the cast’s misery, and ultimately the opposite philosophy is what saves them.

Thanks for reading :)

#danganronpa #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa 2 goodbye despair #sdr2 #mahiru koizumi #fuyuhiko kuzuryu

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nessahero · 18 days ago

Text

So... I've just listened to the final episode of the further adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Bert Coules...

Holmes and Watson solved the case and are back at Baker Street. Holmes starts to play the violin.

Watson : You played that for me just after a few days when we had first moved in here

Holmes:Did I?

Watson : I didn't have the least idea what to make of you.

Holmes: Do you now?

Watson : well, I think so, yes... Maybe... You know, I love these moments, the case is solved, everything is over and we are back here in the warmth and comfort.

Holmes : Tell the next client that comes along.

Watson : Ah, and then off you go again. I wish it could always be like this.

Holmes suddenly stops playing.

Holmes : Watson... It will.

Watson : How can it? Nothing lasts forever.

Holmes : It will because of you. Because of your stories. Can't you see? It doesn't matter what happens here, in the real world. We're more than reality. You and I. You, my friend, have made us immortal.

Watson : That's quite a thought.

Holmes : It's the truth. As long as there are mysteries and murders-

Watson : and fog and fear-

Holmes: and terror and injustice -

Watson : then Sherlock Holmes, privat consulting detective

Holmes : and John H. Watson, chronicler, comrade and friend-

Watson : be ready -

Holmes : waiting for the dramatic ring of the doorbell.

They both giggle.

The doorbell rings.

Together : The game's afoot!

Bert Coules, thank you for this. How am I to live with the knowledge of this and the fact that I am now finished with all the audio books.

Oh, what a wonderful scene!

#sherlock holmes #holmes and watson #acd canon #watmes #john watson #sherlock holmes canon #acd holmes #holmes #holmesian #Making incoherent noises #Fangirl in in public #Bert Coules #Clive Merrison #Bbc 4 radio #Further adventures of Sherlock Holmes #The marlbourne point mystery

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rivalsforlife · 2 years ago

Text

takumi posted about the showcase on twitter today (relevant tweet 1, relevant tweet 2) and from the sounds of it he delivered the speech in english because he heard the capcom showcase had more overseas viewers than japanese viewers last time. so he asked janet hsu to translate a speech for him and record it, and then listened to it morning to night for two weeks so he could repeat it by memory at the showcase. he even made notes to try and get the cadence of it down.

(source tweet)

all for the experience of us turning on the capcom showcase and going "oh! I didn't know takumi could speak english!" and he can't he just memorized a script to pitch ghost trick in english because he thought it would be interesting to overseas viewers. this guy really operates on an entirely different brain level from most people and I have so much respect for him

EDIT: Have gotten a few tags now with people saying "I don't go here", so I thought I'd provide a little more information! You can view Shu Takumi's full speech and more elaboration on Ghost Trick in this video. It's a delightful little mystery puzzle game that is often considered one of his best works, and what he says in that video interests you I highly recommend checking out at least the demo and possibly the full game. You play as an amnesiac ghost with powers of the dead allowing him to turn back time and change fate. He seeks to save other people and uncover the truth behind his mysterious death, and his identity, before the morning comes and he's doomed to fade away.

As well, Shu Takumi's most well-known work is on the murder mystery visual novel series Ace Attorney, where you play as a rookie defense lawyer defending clients against a corrupt judicial system heavily stacked against you. You can find the first three games in the series (all written by Shu Takumi) in the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Trilogy, which is available on all modern consoles and a total steal whenever it goes on sale. You can learn more about it through this trailer! I'm obsessed with those games and also super recommend checking it out if murder mysteries or visual novels are your thing.

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vandme12 · 2 months ago

Note

I was the one who requested the Royal Cafe, Can you just do it as a Ronin x Reader?

Inspiration

SINFUL CAFE AND YOUR RONIN

CHARACTER USED : Ronin from Killer Chat!

SUMMARY : Your Cafe is almost dead, Angel saved and A Devil became a Cat?

So you've been in this serial killer server for eight months, and somehow, against all odds, you fell for Ronin. That purgatory of a first kiss? Yeah, it ruined you in the best way. Now it’s a whole trend—flirting, fighting, maybe even feeling.

You love him. He loves you. (Maybe.)

He’s feisty about it, of course. Teasing, testing, pushing you just enough to keep you on edge, but never quite letting you fall. And god, you love it. You love him. You love this—this insane little corner of the internet where murder is a casual conversation, where death is a game, and where your heart beats way too fast whenever his name pops up in your notifications.

So, tell me—what’s next?

So, you’re a writer. And an idiot. A beautiful, chaotic idiot who somehow—somehow—managed to open a royal-themed café because childhood-you watched one maid café anime and said, “Yeah, that’s the dream.”

And guess what? Dream achieved, baby. You’ve got the whole setup—maids in frilly dresses, butlers in crisp suits, fancy teacups, and a menu with way too many desserts. It’s perfect. Almost.

Except… your staff? Absolute disasters.

Your maids? Shit. Your butlers? Worse shit. Half of them can’t carry a tray without causing a full-scale catastrophe. The other half are more likely to flirt with customers for tips than serve them. You hired them for the aesthetic, not the competence, and it shows.

But hey, it’s your dream. And if you’re going to go down in flames, at least you’re doing it in a sparkly maid café, right?

Your royal café is on life support.

Sure, you’ve got the maids. You’ve got the butlers. You’ve got the fancy-ass menu with cakes that are probably overpriced. But there’s one tiny, devastating problem—nobody knows you exist.

Like, you’re out here living your sparkly childhood fantasy, and the universe decided to spit in your crème brûlée. Customers? Barely any. Popularity? Nonexistent. It’s so bad that your butlers started playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who actually has to work when someone—finally—walks through the door.

The closing sign is practically looming over your café’s head. You tried everything—social media posts, themed events, hell, you even forced your staff into a cringy dance routine on TikTok. Nothing. Still ghost town vibes.

And it’s really sad, okay? You didn’t go through all this chaos just to shut down like some tragic protagonist. There has to be a way to save it—right?

You felt like absolute shit.

This café was supposed to be your magnum opus—your crowning achievement of cute uniforms, elegant service, and the kind of fluffy desserts that make people squeal. Instead? You’re staring at the empty tables, wondering if it’s physically possible to die from secondhand embarrassment as your maids argue over who actually has to smile today.

Even your most loyal butler, who once prided himself on his "mysterious prince" aesthetic, just muttered, "Why bother?" while unironically sipping from a Garfield mug. Garfield, in your royal café. The disrespect.

You tried everything—promo flyers, ‘buy one, get one free’ events, you even begged your questionable internet friends (read: serial killers) to spread the word. Nothing worked.

And now, sitting behind the counter, chin in your hands, you feel the crushing weight of failure. Maybe this was a stupid dream. Maybe you should’ve just written your little murder book and called it a day.

But no. You’re too stubborn to quit now.

The café’s a mess. Your staff is a disaster. But dammit, this is your disaster.

You were overstressed, underslept, and one more burnt crème brûlée away from a complete breakdown.

Between fixing the café’s finances, dragging your chaotic staff out of whatever emotional crisis they were having this time, and trying to figure out if it was actually legal for one of your maids to threaten a customer (it wasn’t), you hadn’t logged into the server for a week.

A week.

Which, in "Serial Killer Chatroom Time," was practically a century.

Your phone buzzed. Again. And again. You ignored it—because if you saw one more "URGENT!!!" message from your accountant (who now ended every email with "we’re so fucked"), you were going to scream.

But then… a familiar notification popped up.

GOREBOY:

Did you die or are you ghosting me? I can make both happen. 💔

You blinked. Oh. Shit.

You hadn’t answered Ronin in days. And if there was one thing that man hated more than authority figures, it was being ignored.

Another message.

K9:

You’ve been offline too long. Something wrong?

HITMEUPPP:

bro if ur dead lmk

Your heart gave a weird, guilty little flutter. Even V was checking in, and that man was emotionally repressed on principle.

You rubbed your face, debating if you should respond or just fake your death and move to another country. Before you could decide, your phone buzzed again—hard enough to make you flinch.

GOREBOY (PRIVATE DM):

You’re either working too hard or digging your own grave. Which is it...

Oh. You were so fucked.

Your notifications were cursed. Every time you tried to catch a break, another ping dragged you back into the chaos. And now? Everyone was in on it.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

brooo u alive?? 🏄‍♂️ i was gonna invite u surfing but like. ur ghosting us.

EVISCERATOR1990:

Are You Okay?

angelic:

babe, if you needed a break, you could’ve said so. but if you died, I’m gonna be pissed.

FELICITE:

You okay? No judgment, just checking. If you need help, I’ve got a shovel and an alibi.

Even Ai Hua—sweet, terrifying Ai Hua—sent a message.

Ai Hua:

☹️

When Ai Hua pulls out the sad face, you know you messed up.

You exhaled, feeling that familiar ache crawl up your spine. The stress. The exhaustion. The fact that you hadn’t eaten anything besides café leftovers for days. Your dream café was circling the drain, your staff couldn’t brew a latte without setting something on fire, and now your murder chatroom friends were worried you’d become a cold case.

Before you could spiral any harder, your phone buzzed again—one more DM from Ronin.

GOREBOY:

Last chance, baby. Tell me what’s wrong, or I’m breaking into your life.

And with him, you believed it.

You crack your knuckles, sighing as you finally cave and open the server. Bad idea? Probably. But if you didn’t say something soon, you were half-convinced Ronin would break into your apartment and bother you in person—which, knowing him, wasn’t even the weirdest thing he’d do.

You hit the general chat and type:

you:

lol sorry i died but i came back bc i heard the devil crying 😔 gotta support local businesses

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL:

YOURE BACKKKKK 🎉

angelic:

tf kind of fanfic-ass excuse is that.

EVISCERATOR1990:

typical. the devil’s always needy.

Ai Hua:

😌👍

GOREBOY:

you’re lucky i’m cute, or i’d haunt you myself.

You roll your eyes, but your heart does a stupid little flip. Of course, he would twist this into being about him. You barely hesitate before sliding into his DMs, fingers flying.

you:

why are u like this

you:

i’ve been stressed out of my mind and here you are playing “where’s my favorite corpse”

you:

my café is dying. my employees are morons. i haven’t slept in days. everything sucks.

you:

and you?? teasing me like “where’s my baby 😢 are you in the afterlife?? did you leave me??”

You should stop. You should. But your thumbs don’t.

you:

like bro. i’m about to pass out in a puddle of failed cappuccinos and you’re making it MY problem that i’m not flirting back??

You stare at the screen, expecting some sarcastic reply. Something cocky. Something Ronin.

Instead, after a beat—

GOREBOY:

...tell me everything.

You blink.

you:

what?

GOREBOY:

everything. all of it.

GOREBOY:

i’m listening, baby. go ahead—vent it out.

And just like that—you break. You tell him everything. The constant stress, the unpaid bills, the fact that your “dream café” is hanging by a thread because nobody wants to buy overpriced lattes served by questionable maids and worse butlers. How you’ve been grinding yourself into the ground, and it still isn’t enough.

And the whole time? He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t tease. He just… listens.

Finally, when you’re done—when you’ve vomited every anxious thought into his DMs—he replies.

GOREBOY:

okay. first? if you die, i’m bringing you back myself.

GOREBOY:

second? i’m coming over.

you:

?????

GOREBOY:

did i stutter?

You: hey!!!!

You slam the message into Ronin’s DMs He's not try to pull that "I’m coming over" nonsense. You’re stressed, overworked, and no way in hell are you dealing with that in person.

GOREBOY:

oh? suddenly alive again? miss me already, baby?

You:

shut up omg. i’m fine. go be evil somewhere else.

GOREBOY:

nah. you’re my favorite pastime.

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. This man. This man. And like the problem he is, he doesn’t stop there.

GOREBOY:

c’mon, sweet thing. tell me more.

GOREBOY:

my muse needs their muse, don't they?

And, damn it, he knows exactly how to work you. Your head’s been a mess—deadlines on your novel, bills piling up from the café, maids and butlers who couldn’t charm a customer to save their lives. Your dream’s slipping through your fingers, and you’ve been too tired to write, too tired to do anything but spiral.

But he keeps talking.

GOREBOY:

bet you’re cute when you pout.

GOREBOY:

and if your little café is your house? yeah, angel—burn the world down before you let anyone take it.

Your heart does a dumb little flip.

You:

it’s different, though… if i lose this place, i’ll break. me and my parents—we worked so hard. it’s not just a shop. it’s… home.

He goes quiet for a second. Too quiet.

Then—your phone buzzes. He’s calling you. Of course he is.

You hesitate… but pick up.

The screen flickers, and there he is—Ronin, all lazy smirk and sharp angles, his silver hair falling into his eyes. He scans you, slow and deliberate, and yeah… you’ve got eyebags for days, but the way he looks at you—shit.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” you mutter, voice softer than you mean it.

“Yeah,” he drawls, tilting his head. “I was just thinkin’… even with the eyebags, you look great, darlin’.”

You roll your eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

But he keeps staring. Long. Intense. Like he’s memorizing you.

“What?” you snap, feeling your face heat.

“Nothing,” he says—too casual. “Just… go to sleep.”

You blink. “What, why—”

“I’ll watch,” he cuts in, voice dropping to that smooth, velvet tone that makes your stomach flip. “Until you’re out. That a problem, baby?”

Your heart stutters. “Why are you—”

“‘Cause I’m nice.” He leans closer to the camera, grin curling wicked. “And this is how I get repaid? My Darlin an ungrateful idiot, huh?”

You swallow hard, brain short-circuiting. “I—”

“Relax.” His voice softens, teasing but warm. “Shoulder devils gotta take care of their angels, baby. You work too hard. So, shut up and let me be sweet. Just this once.”

And hell—you’d argue, but you’re already sinking deeper under his spell.

Your laughter slips out before you can stop it—light, tired, but real. “Thanks, Ronin.”

For once, he doesn’t shoot back a smart-ass comment. Instead, he just… smiles. Soft at the edges, like he’s letting his guard down without realizing it. And damn, if that doesn’t make your chest ache a little.

“Good night, darlin’,” he murmurs, voice smooth as sin.

You smirk, letting your head fall against the pillow. “Good night, Butcher.”

His eyes flash with something dangerous—amused. “Tch. Call me that again, angel, and I might think you’re flirting.”

“Maybe I am,” you tease, your voice dipping just enough to make it stick.

He huffs a laugh under his breath. “You’re lucky I’m feeling sweet. Sleep. Before I crawl through the screen and tuck you in myself.”

“Promises, promises…” you mumble, already half-asleep.

And as you drift off, the last thing you hear is his voice—lower, softer than before.

“…Sweet dreams, baby.”

Ronin leans back in his chair after hanging up, fingers drumming against his thigh. For once, the usual smirk on his face fades into something… complicated. The hell’s he supposed to do with this?

You’re stressed—overworked, overwhelmed, cracking at the edges. And sure, he loves teasing you, loves watching you squirm, but… this? This hits different. You care about that dumb café like it’s your soul stitched into the walls. If you lose it, you’ll break.

And—ugh—he doesn’t like when you sound broken.

A sharp ping breaks his thoughts.

Angelic: hey goreboy, any update? hitmeuppp: fr fr bossman u know what’s up right? Eviscerator1990: WORRYING. This isn’t slasher-behavior, kid. LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: bro, did they die again? Ai Hua: 👍

Ronin groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Fucking vultures…”

He could brush them off—should brush them off—but his eyes flick back to your DM window. Your sleepy voice still lingers in his head. It’s like your house.

Tch. Of course you’d say something sappy like that. Of course he gives a shit.

goreboy: I don’t know. Let ‘em breathe.

A pause. Then—

Angelic: Liar.

He barks a laugh. They know him too well.

But… he does have a plan. Something stupid. Something reckless. Something only he can pull off.

If you’re gonna keep your café from crumbling, you’ll need one thing.

Publicity.

And who better to stir up a little chaos than the devil himself?

Ronin cracks his neck, the familiar edge of a smirk curling his lips as he types back.

goreboy: I have a wonderful plan.

The server erupts immediately.

Angelic: That’s never comforting. hitmeuppp: oh no oh no oh no Eviscerator1990: Define "wonderful," kid. LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: is it illegal. wait no. dumb question. Ai Hua: 👀

Ronin kicks his feet up on his desk, stretching like a cat that’s found fresh prey. He should probably explain—nah—he likes the suspense.

goreboy: Sit tight, sinners. Devil’s about to perform a miracle.

Even Felicite, who usually keeps her distance from the server’s chaos, drops a rare message.

Félicité: I’m almost scared to ask.

Ronin barks out a laugh, tipping his head back. If she’s curious, this plan is already off to a fantastic start.

goreboy: Don’t worry, princess. You’re gonna love it.

hitmeuppp: if u get them arrested, i’m telling their mom.

goreboy: Please, like I’m that sloppy.

goreboy: alright, angels—brainstorm time. how do we save my darlin’s dying café?

angelicc: OH. MY. GOD. I GOT THIS.

Before Ronin can even blink, Angel creates a new group chat and drags him in. The name?

💀 "Operation: Save the Café (ft. Hot Butcher)" 💀

hitmeuppp: wow u really just out here putting their whole situationship on blast huh

angelicc: duh. it’s cute. shut up, Misaki.

goreboy: so, what’s the master plan, sweetheart?

angelicc: Simple. I’ll feature their café on my channel. "Mystery Maid & Butler Café – The Hidden Gem You NEED To Visit!"

angelicc: Cute aesthetic. Mystery theme. And you? You’re coming too.

goreboy: oh?

angelicc: Yeah, I need the butcher boy for emotional support vibes.

Ronin snorts, already imagining how much fun he could have with this. If Angel’s running the show, the café is about to get flooded with curious fans.

goreboy: i’m in. tell me when to show up.

angelicc: Of course!

hitmeuppp: WAIT—WAIT. HOLD UP.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: DareDarvil rules, baby!!! 😎

goreboy: you mean to tell me…

angelicc: No. Luca.

hitmeuppp: YES.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: YESSSSS.

goreboy: …You want me to show up in a maid dress. With cat ears. And a tail.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: AND FAKE BLOOD! Don’t forget the blood—like a cute lil’ murder maid, bro.

There’s a long pause. Ronin leans back in his chair, dragging his tongue over his teeth, half amused and half what the actual hell.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Think about it. Viral marketing. “Sinful Maid Café” featuring a devilishly hot butcher.

hitmeuppp: Bro, if you pull up in cat ears, you KNOW they’ll have a line out the door.

LUCA_IS_SO_COOL: Exactly. Chicks and Ddes dig murder maids.

goreboy: ...You’re all insane.

angelicc: As long you're okay with it. I don't really like this idea..

A slow, wicked smile curls at the corner of Ronin’s mouth. He pictures your stressed-out, sleep-deprived face when he walks into your café like that—oh, he’s gonna ruin you.

goreboy: Fine. But if I’m doing it, I’m going all in.

angelicc: Define “all in”…

goreboy: Tail. Ears. Knife. And if anyone gets blood on my skirt, they’re next.

hitmeuppp: Bro’s about to awaken something in half the city.

The next day

You blink, still half-asleep, as the café door swings open—and in walks Angel, glowing like a literal angel with her flawless makeup and bright smile. She’s dressed to kill, all elegance and danger wrapped in a leather jacket that probably costs more than your rent. Behind her, Ronin—looking like he rolled out of bed, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

“Morning, sunshine,” Angel coos, voice dripping honey as she surveys your café. “I couldn’t just sit back and let you spiral. You know I hate watching cute things break.”

You stare at her, still processing the fact that she’s standing here, in your café, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And your staff? Oh, your staff is losing their minds.

“Wait, wait—you’re Angelic?” one of your waitresses gasps, clutching the edge of a tray like she might faint.

“The one and only.” Angel winks, spinning on her heel. “And I’m here to save this adorable little café. So, listen up—new plan, everyone! We’re rebranding.”

You blink rapidly. “Re…branding?”

She flashes you a devilish smile. “Sinful Café. Think blood-splattered butlers, seductive maids—" She lowers her voice into a sultry purr, “—danger with your dessert. It’ll go viral in days. Trust me.”

And of course—because she’s Angel—your staff is eating it up. They’re already brainstorming costumes, throwing out ideas, hanging off her every word. You should be grateful. You should say thank you. But…

Your eyes drift to Ronin. He’s quiet, leaning against the counter, his gaze locked on you—steady, unreadable.

Did they… really do all this? For you?

You swallow hard. “Why?” The word slips out before you can stop it.

Angel tilts her head, smiling like it’s obvious. “Because you’re ours, duh.”

Your heart stutters.

“Don’t get soft on me now, darlin’,” Ronin drawls finally, breaking his silence. His voice—low, smooth, dangerously amused—crawls right under your skin. “You didn’t think we’d let your little house fall apart, did you?”

“You’re here!” The words slip out faster than you can stop them—your voice cracking with something dangerously close to relief. And, of course, Ronin hears it.

His lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk. “Missed me that bad, huh?” He leans in, the scent of leather and something sharper brushing against your senses.

You flush, heat crawling up your neck. “Pfft—no. I’m just surprised you’re awake before noon.”

“Ouch. And here I was, being all sweet, coming to save your ass.” His finger lifts, smooth and deliberate, and—boop—he taps the tip of your nose with the cocky audacity only he could pull off.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “Did you just—?”

“What? You wanna do something about it, darlin’?” His voice drips teasing venom, but his eyes—oh, his eyes—are locked on yours, watching every little reaction like it’s his favorite show.

Without thinking, you reach out and boop him back. Harder. “Two can play that game, Butcher.”

His grin widens, teeth flashing sharp. “Aw, baby—don’t start something you can’t finish.”

And just like that, you’re caught in a spiral—back and forth, noses being bopped like you’re flirting in some chaotic cartoon. Until—

“...They’re seriously gonna do this in front of everyone?”

You freeze. Your staff. And Angel.

Oh no.

Angel, being her usual self, is lounging against a table with a shit-eating grin. “I mean, it’s cute. Like, stupidly cute.”

“They’re literally blushing—look at them!” one of your waiters whisper-yells, half-hiding behind a coffee tray.

“And they say we’re unprofessional,” one of your maids adds, crossing her arms—but her face is way too entertained.

Meanwhile, you? You’re dying inside. Absolutely dying.

Ronin? Oh, he’s thriving.

He bops your nose again—softer this time, like he’s savoring how easy it is to make you squirm. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Losing your edge?” His hand barely brushes your waist as he leans closer, voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “I thought you liked a little attention.”

You want to slap him. You also want to kiss him. Dangerous combo.

“You’re evil,” you mutter, trying (and failing) to glare at him.

“And you love it,” he shoots back without missing a beat.

Your grip on a glass tightens—so much so that it nearly shatters in your hands. Your heart’s pounding, and you swear the room’s hotter than it should be.

Your staff? Fully gossiping under their breath.

You noticed it immediately—the way your staff kept sneaking glances at Ronin. And not the “oh no, scary serial killer” kind of glances. No. It was the other kind.

The "he’s cute as hell" kind.

The whispering was bad enough.

“Why is he kinda hot, though?”

“Okay, but the messy hair? The voice??”

“I’d let him ruin my life, honestly.”

Your eye twitched. Why were they like this?

And why—out of everyone—did it have to be him they were thirsting over?

Ronin, of course, was oblivious. Or maybe he just didn’t care. He was too busy looking like a whole damn problem—leaning against the counter like he owned the place, one hand shoved casually into his jacket pocket, the other still too close to your waist.

He caught you glaring and quirked a brow. "What’s with the face, darlin’? Don’t tell me you’re jealous."

You rolled your eyes. "Of what? Your fan club?"

His smirk sharpened. "What can I say? People love a bad boy."

Okay, that was it. Enough.

You shot a death glare at your staff—the kind that screamed "I will fire all of you if you keep simping."

Instantly, they froze.

And, as one, they all gave you awkward thumbs-ups before scrambling out of the room.

Cowards.

Ronin laughed low in his throat. "Did you just chase them off?"

"Someone had to." You huffed, crossing your arms. "They were staring at you like you’re a damn dessert menu."

His gaze slid over you, slow and too pleased with himself. "Maybe they’ve just got good taste."

Oh, for the love of—

"Get out of my café, Ronin"

He only grinned wider. "Make me, sweetheart."

Angel spread out the plan with all the flair of someone who lived for the spotlight. "Alright, listen up, sinners." She clapped her hands, and the entire staff leaned in, hanging onto her every word. "We’re turning this café into a killer’s paradise—literally. Blood, danger, hot people in unholy outfits. We want every customer leaving here questioning their morality and maybe their life choices."

Your staff murmured excitedly—because of course they did.

Meanwhile, you?

Yeah, you were not listening.

Because Ronin—the actual Devil in a leather jacket—was still standing too close, arms folded, head tilted as he half-listened to Angel’s pitch. And you? You were just… staring.

Why did he have to look that good doing absolutely nothing?

His hair was a mess, that lazy smirk was doing something to your heart, and you were blushing like an idiot. And worse? He knew it.

Angel caught your stare immediately because she was evil like that. Her gaze flicked between you and Ronin, and when you met her eyes—oh, she was already smirking.

You shot her back a glare. Shut up.

She only grinned wider and mouthed, "Adorable."

Ugh.

You forced yourself to focus as she dramatically flipped through her phone. "And now… costumes." With a flourish, she spun her phone around to reveal the lineup. "Everyone’s getting a killer makeover. Think blood-splattered chic. Sexy slasher. Haute homicide."

Your staff was way too excited about this.

"I call being the ghost-faced butler!"

"Can I be a psycho doll?"

"I’m doing a vampire killer—deal with it."

Angel winked at you. "And don’t worry, babe. I’ve got a special costume just for you."

You groaned. "Should I be scared?"

"Always," she said sweetly.

But your heart stuttered when Ronin—still leaning against the counter—sighed with fake boredom. "Yeah, yeah. Blood, knives, murder. Real original. You’re all having fun, but what am I wearing, Angel?" His tone was lazy, but there was a glint in his eyes—a challenge.

Angel had no mercy.

The outfit she shoved into your arms? Unholy.

A sleek, gender-neutral ensemble that clung to all the right places—black leather, blood-red accents splattered across your chest like you walked out of a crime scene. The jacket? Cropped and shredded, showing just enough skin to be dangerous. Fingerless gloves, a choker with a dangling silver knife charm, and thigh straps. Why did there have to be thigh straps?!

"You’re welcome," Angel purred as you stared at yourself in the mirror, half-horrified and half-impressed.

You tried to play it cool. "You think I’m gonna wear this?"

"I think you’re gonna rock it." She gave you a once-over, biting back a smirk. "Don’t worry, darling—if the café thing tanks, you’ll have a backup career as a heartbreaker."

And, yeah. You wore it.

The moment you stepped out, your staff did a collective double take.

One of your butlers—bless his soul—whistled low. "Boss, uh… is this café legal? ‘Cause you’re about to cause crimes."

Angel winked at you from across the room, holding up two thumbs. "Looking like you’re ready to commit murder and steal some hearts. Perfect."

But nothing—nothing—prepared you for Ronin’s reaction.

He had been leaning against the counter, scrolling on his phone, but the second he saw you? His gaze dragged up from your boots to your neck, slow and heavy, like he was memorizing every inch.

And when he met your eyes?

Oh, you were screwed.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, pushing off the counter. His voice dipped, velvet smooth. "Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes, darlin’."

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. "Don’t start."

"Can’t help it." He tilted his head, devil horns peeking through his hair. "You dress up like my next bad decision, and you expect me to behave?"

Before you could snap back, the front doors of your café burst open—and in poured a wave of customers.

Apparently, the paparazzi spotted Angel outside, and that meant the whole city wanted to be here. The crowd was ridiculous—half the people here probably couldn’t tell a latte from a cappuccino, but they definitely wanted photos with Angel.

And your café?

It was packed.

One of your waitresses rushed past, wide-eyed. "I can’t believe it—we’re trending."

Angel tossed her hair over her shoulder, all casual. "Of course we are. I’m a genius." She leaned in, voice softer. "I told you I’d fix this, babe."

You almost didn’t hear her—because Ronin was still watching you, still too close.

"You gonna keep gawking?" you muttered.

Your staff? Absolutely killing it.

Angel's twisted, bloodied aesthetic turned your struggling café into the hottest place in town. Every maid and butler was decked out in outfits straight from a killer's fever dream—splattered with fake blood, ripped in all the right places, and more than a little suggestive.

Your barista? Serial killer chic, with a blood-streaked apron and a knife tucked into their belt. One of the butlers had a leather harness over his vest, the bloodstains on his gloves just this side of illegal. Even the shyest maid—normally too nervous to hold eye contact—was working the crowd in a blood-smeared lace dress, balancing a tray of lattes while twirling a fake cleaver.

It was chaotic. It was hot. And the customers? They were eating it up.

Angel, perched at a VIP table with Ronin, looked pleased as hell. She clinked her glass against his. "I told you," she said sweetly, watching the café hum with energy. "All they needed was a little edge."

"Yeah, yeah." Ronin stretched, all lazy confidence, but his eyes hadn’t left you once. "Don’t get too smug, sweetheart. This ain’t your masterpiece."

Angel snorted. "Jealous?"

"Of you?" His smirk sharpened. "No, babe. I’m invested."

You barely had a second to breathe before one of your butlers slid up beside you, flashing a teasing grin. "Hey, boss." He tugged at the bloodied cuffs of his sleeves. "Think we’re gonna need combat pay for all these stares. Never thought working here would mean breaking hearts too."

"You’ll survive," you deadpanned, trying not to laugh.

"You sure? ‘Cause your devil boyfriend’s been glaring holes through anyone who looks at you too long." He tilted his head toward Ronin, who—yeah—was definitely watching you with that lazy, heavy-lidded gaze.

Ronin caught you looking. And winked.

Your heart did a stupid, traitorous flip.

Angel’s plan wasn’t just working—it was thriving. The line outside wrapped around the block. Your social media was blowing up. Every time a customer left, they posted pictures of the blood-soaked, dangerously hot staff, tagging the café with captions like:

"Who knew horror could be this hot?? #SinfulCafe #KillerVibes"

"Maid cafés are cute—this one’s a crime scene and I’m obsessed."

Angel didn’t just post it—she made a whole event out of it.

The photo? Flawless.

A perfectly curated shot of the café’s chaos—bloodied maids, dangerously hot butlers, and you at the center, caught mid-laugh. You were leaning back against the counter, still wearing the killer-chic outfit she picked, the fake blood on your collar making you look like you just stepped out of a slasher movie.

He was right beside you, one hand casually draped around your waist, head tilted close—like he wasn’t just near you, but claiming you. His usual sharp-edged smirk was in full force, the kind that promised trouble.

The caption?

"Blood, guts, and a little bit of love~ ❤️🍷 @SinfulCafe is OPEN. Come for the coffee, stay for the danger. #KillerVibes #SinfulCafe #MariaDelRosa"

And that name—Maria Del Rosa—was all the hook anyone needed.

Because if there was one thing Angel knew how to do, it was make a scandal.

Maria Del Rosa wasn’t just a pop sensation—she was controversy in high heels, and Angel had just hinted to her millions of followers that this café was her new obsession.

The second the post went live, your notifications exploded.

"Wait—Maria Del Rosa is hanging out at a haunted café?!"

"Angel really said blood is the new black, huh?"

Your café was trending before you could even process it—news outlets were already picking it up, hyping the place as a “celebrity hideout with a bloody twist.”

You were working, Ronin said he had a work.

Your brain short-circuited.

Ronin. In the maid outfit.

Cat ears. Tail. Bloodied knife.

What the actual hell.

And he was working—or, well, his version of it. Strutting through the café like he owned the place, giving the new customers a devil’s welcome with that lazy, sharp-edged grin that promised a good time… or a terrible mistake.

“Welcome to Sinful Café,” he drawled, voice dripping with mock sweetness as he leaned down toward a table of wide-eyed customers. “Order fast, darlings… or else.” He spun the fake knife between his fingers like he was born with it, flashing his fangs in a grin as one girl nearly fainted.

The whole café was staring—even your staff was frozen, whispering among themselves like he was some kind of exotic attraction.

Someone even whipped out their phone—you heard the camera shutters, the murmurs of, “Holy shit, is he part of the show?!” and “I will sell my soul to be stepped on—”

You barely processed any of it because, goddamn, he looked good.

The maid dress hugged him in all the right places—short enough to tease but just messy enough with the blood splatters to make him look like he walked out of a horror fantasy. The cat ears twitched as he tilted his head toward a customer who was too stunned to speak.

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?” he purred.

You clutched the counter to stay upright.

And then—he caught you staring.

That slow, dangerous smile of his stretched wider, and he sauntered over like he had all the time in the world. Each step was deliberate, and you swore half the café was tracking his movements.

He leaned down, voice just for you this time. “What’s wrong, darlin’? Gonna break another glass lookin’ at me like that?”

Your throat dried. “I—uh—why—” Words? Who needed them? Not you apparently.

He tilted your chin up with the tip of the bloody knife (prop… hopefully), his crimson-painted nails brushing your skin. "Luca dared me," he admitted, way too pleased with himself. "Thought I’d… liven the place up."

Liven it up?! You wanted to scream. The café was practically vibrating with energy—the air buzzing with whispers and cameras flashing.

“Gotta admit,” he continued, studying your face, “it’s worth it just to see you blush like that. Thought you liked the attention?”

“I—I do, but—” You swallowed, heat crawling up your neck as his eyes dropped—lingering low before meeting yours again. "This is different."

Ronin chuckled low in his throat, pulling back slightly—but not before dragging the blunt edge of the knife down your chest in one slow line. "Different’s good, sweetheart. Keeps things… interesting."

And just when you thought you’d survive—

He winked. "Anything for you, boss."

Your heart? Gone. Dead. Buried.

You tried—really tried—to be normal about it.

But how the hell were you supposed to act normal when Ronin looked like that?

The cat ears, the tail, the scandalously short maid dress—it was criminal how good he looked. The lace edging flirted with his thighs every time he moved, and the fake blood on his apron wasn’t helping your sanity. And the knife? Oh, the knife. He spun it like a promise, the gleam catching the light as if it were taunting you.

You sucked in a breath, gripping the counter for dear life, because if you didn’t hold onto something, you were going to lose it.

Meanwhile, Ronin? Completely unbothered—in fact, he seemed to be having the time of his life. He strolled through the café like a devil on holiday, sending playful winks and lazy smirks to anyone brave (or stupid) enough to stare too long.

And, oh—they were staring.

Your staff? Losing it. You caught two maids whispering frantically behind a menu, eyes wide as they tracked his every move. A butler actually dropped a tray, the clatter nearly drowned out by the murmurs rippling through the café.

The customers? Even worse.

“I didn’t know this was a thing,” one girl gasped, clutching her friend’s arm. “I’d pay extra if he threatened me,” her friend muttered, practically drooling.

Your jaw clenched. Oh, hell no.

You tried—really—to be professional, plastering on a smile as you took an order from a table. But your focus kept slipping. Your eyes? Betraying you. Every time you glanced up, he was there—a walking distraction with legs far too long and a smirk far too dangerous.

And he knew it.

You caught him watching you—his golden eyes sharp, hungry, and just a little too pleased with himself. When your eyes met, he tilted his head, the black cat ears twitching with the motion.

The knife twirled in his fingers. Slow. Deliberate.

A tease—just for you.

“Something on your mind, darlin’?” His voice slid across the café, smooth and dark, cutting through the buzz of conversation like silk over a blade.

Your stomach flipped. You scrambled for composure, tossing him a glare. “Stop that.”

His grin only widened. “Stop what? Bein’ cute?” He took a step closer—too close—until the counter was the only thing between you. He leaned in, the scent of leather and something dangerous curling around you. “Can’t help it. It’s natural.”

You huffed, face burning. “You’re gonna give someone a heart attack.”

He chuckled low in his throat, dragging the blunt edge of the knife along his lip in a way that should’ve been illegal. “Long as it’s not yours, we’re fine, sugar.”

You were not surviving this day.

Especially when you noticed the way everyone else was looking at him. Customers whispering, staff swooning—hell, you spotted a person blatantly checking him out,

Your eye twitched.

Mine.

The thought flared up so fast it startled you—but, God, you weren’t wrong.

And Ronin? He must’ve caught the flash of jealousy in your eyes because the next thing you knew, he was sliding closer—too close—the tip of the knife brushing against your wrist where you clutched the counter.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice dipped lower—private, rough around the edges. “Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’ll think you’re jealous.”

Your heart pounded. “I am not jealous.”

“Mm.” He didn’t believe you for a second. “Coulda fooled me. Don’t worry, darlin’. No one else gets me like you do."

Asshole.

And when you didn’t answer, too busy trying not to combust, he reached up—bopped your nose—and laughed.

“You’re cute when you pout.”

You slammed your hands on the counter—loud—loud enough to cut through the chatter and grab everyone’s attention.

“The café is closed due to… due to a food shortage!” You snapped, a little too fast, a little too sharp.

A blatant lie—there were plenty of pastries in the back, and you knew it. But if you had to watch one more person drool over Ronin in that damn maid outfit, you were going to start flipping tables.

The crowd groaned in disappointment but no one moved—because, of course, they didn’t. Not when Ronin stood there like a walking sin, twirling his knife with that easy, flirtatious grace.

One girl, practically vibrating, tilted her head with wide eyes. “But… can we stay if we’re just… watching?”

Watching?!

You nearly choked. What the hell—was he a café attraction now? A sideshow? What, were people going to start tipping him for existing?

Meanwhile, Ronin? That bastard was eating it up.

“Aw, sugar, you closin’ up so soon?” He purred, leaning against the counter, his black cat tail curling playfully behind him. His gaze flicked over you—slow, heavy, dangerous—and he grinned like he was born to be a problem. “Guess I’ll have to entertain ‘em while you’re bein’ stingy.”

Oh, hell no.

And as if the universe hadn’t tortured you enough, someone from the back whistled—a low, appreciative sound—and you caught at least three people whispering about how “mysterious and hot” he was.

You snapped.

“Out.” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip, sharp enough to make the nearest table flinch. “We are closed—I don’t care if God himself walks in here; you’re all leaving.”

A mix of grumbling and disappointment filled the room as the customers reluctantly shuffled toward the exit, throwing longing glances at Ronin as they went. One particularly bold person actually slipped a phone number onto the counter—for Ronin.

The audacity.

You snatched the paper before he could see it and crumpled it into your fist. No way in hell. Not on your watch.

Finally, the door closed behind the last customer, the bell jingling softly in the silence.

You exhaled hard, pressing a hand to your chest to keep your jealous heart from exploding. Peace. At last.

…Until you realized Ronin was still there, watching you with the smuggest look you’d ever seen. His golden eyes glittered with pure, unfiltered amusement—like he knew exactly what game you were playing.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” he drawled, pushing off the counter to prowl closer, the hem of the maid skirt dangerously high with each step. “Seemed a little… possessive."

“I’m not,” you lied—poorly. Your voice cracked on the last word.

He tilted his head, the black cat ears twitching like he was enjoying every second of your unraveling. “Really? ‘Cause it kinda felt like you wanted to throw hands back there.”

“I’m not jealous!” You blurted, too loud—too defensive.

“Mm-hm.” He stopped right in front of you, towering over you in those ridiculous cat ears and lace. The fake blood on his apron only made him look more dangerous, more irresistible. “Y’know, darlin’, if you wanted my attention that bad…” He lowered his voice, rough and teasing. “…you just had to ask.”

You narrowed your eyes, heat flooding your face. “You think you’re so funny.”

“Only ‘cause I am.” His grin turned wicked. “C’mon, admit it—you liked it. Me in this little thing?” He gave the hem of the maid skirt a taunting tug, showing a sinful hint of thigh. “Drives you crazy, huh?”

“You drive me crazy,” you snapped, but your gaze dipped—traitorously—to his legs. “And put your knife down before you stab someone.”

His chuckle was low and dangerous, vibrating straight through your bones. “Careful, darlin’. If I didn’t know better…” He leaned in, lips hovering by your ear, breath warm against your skin. “…I’d think you were jealous of everyone checkin’ me out.”

You swallowed hard, pulse pounding. “I’m not jealous,” you muttered, glaring at his smirk. “I just… I didn’t like it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Didn’t like what?”

“Them.” You huffed, pushing at his chest—bad idea—because the second your fingers touched the soft lace of the dress, he caught your wrist. “I didn’t like them looking at you.”

For a beat, he didn’t move—just stared at you, his expression shifting into something slower, heavier. And when he spoke next, his voice was different—still teasing, but laced with something else beneath the surface.

“Aw, sugar…” He lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a feather-light kiss across your knuckles. “You don’t gotta be jealous. They can look all they want, but…” His smile softened—just a little—and his black eyes locked with yours. “…I’m yours.”

You screamed—a full, undignified scream—so loud it echoed through the empty café. Your legs buckled beneath you from the sheer force of your overheated brain trying to process what had just happened.

And, of course, because the universe was cruel, you nearly ate the floor—until Ronin caught you.

With one hand.

On your waist.

And, oh God, the maid outfit—you could feel the lace brushing against your skin as he held you steady. His grip was firm, possessive, like he had no intention of letting go anytime soon.

“You good there, darlin’?” His voice was warm—too warm—smug as hell, but there was something else underneath it. Something sincere, something dangerous.

You opened your mouth—probably to yell again—but your words died in your throat because suddenly, he kissed you.

Soft at first—too soft—like he was testing if you’d push him away. But when you didn’t—when you clung to him like you’d lose your mind if he stopped—he deepened it. His free hand slid to the small of your back, tugging you flush against him, and you swear you could feel the flick of his damn cat tail brushing your leg.

When he pulled back, his lips were curved in a lazy, satisfied smile. “Told ya,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “I’m yours.”

Your brain? Mush. Gone. Obliterated.

The only thing you could do was stare at him—scandalized, flustered, and very much not okay.

And he knew it.

The next day?

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Your café? Blown up—not literally, but it might as well have been. Thanks to Angel’s post, it had gone viral overnight. The hashtag #SinfulCafe was trending, and you had a line stretching around the block before you even opened.

And the worst part?

The photo posted—the one everyone was losing their minds over—wasn’t even of her.

It was of him.

Ronin, in the bloody maid outfit, mid-stride with that devil-may-care smirk, twirling his knife like he was about to cut someone’s heart out—and everyone wanted a piece.

Customers wouldn’t stop asking about the “maid guy”—some even left love letters at the counter, like he was some kind of celebrity crush. And Ronin? That bastard was loving every second of it. Happy news is The photos people posted was so blurry when it had his face.

No one sees your man.

At one point, he leaned against the counter, watching you scramble around with the sweetest, most infuriating grin on his face.

“Y’know,” he drawled, spinning a fake blood-covered spoon between his fingers, “if I knew wearin’ a little lace would get you this riled up, I’d’ve done it sooner.”

You threw a dish towel at his head. He caught it without looking—because of course, he did.

When you finally had a moment to breathe, you flopped onto a chair in the break room and opened your phone.

The server was on fire—everyone was still buzzing about the café, Angel’s post, and him.

You typed out a quick message:

YOU: @angelicc I owe you one. Seriously. Thanks for saving my ass.

A second later, Angel replied:

ANGELICC: lmao anytime, babe 💋 but let’s be real—u should be thanking me for putting u two in the same room long enough to FINALLY KISS.

Your face burned.

LUCA: wait wait WAIT??? U TWO KISSED???

FELICITE: They WHAT.

You: Aren't we already in a relationship?

You groaned, slamming your forehead against the table while your notifications exploded.

Goreboy: They act like everything is a horror.

Of course, it was him.

Every single photo—every—one of that viral post had his face conveniently blurred or cropped just enough to keep his identity a mystery. Fans online were already obsessing over the “Sinful Butcher Maid,” speculating who he was, but no one had a clear shot.

And you? You were suspicious.

So, naturally, you DM’d him.

YOU: okay, be honest. is this YOUR doing??

It took him exactly thirty seconds to respond—because, of course, he was waiting.

Goreboy: obviously.

You rolled your eyes. Of course.

YOU: why tho?? u love attention. don’t lie.

Goreboy: babe, I know I’m hot. but I also know when to keep my shit private.

Goreboy: plus, you know how messy it’d get if people started recognizing me? one glimpse of this face and your lil’ café turns into a damn crime scene.

You snorted. Dramatic as always.

YOU: sooooo, u admit you’re obsessed with me enough to hide your face for my sake?

Goreboy: tsk. don’t push it, darlin’. I’m already doin’ charity work lookin’ this good in cat ears.

YOU: HA. YOU agreed to the dare, don’t even play.

Goreboy: yeah, well. someone had to save your ass, and it sure wasn’t your tragic lil’ butlers.

You couldn’t help the stupid, giddy smile pulling at your lips. For all his teasing, he was right—if Ronin hadn’t shown up (in that outfit, no less), you might’ve lost your café. And now? Business was booming.

But, still.

YOU: soooooo... u gonna wear it again?

Goreboy: you wanna see me in it again?

Your face burned.

YOU: shut up.

Goreboy: nah. you’re cute when you’re jealous.

The worst part? He was right, and he damn well knew it.

#killer chat #kc #killer chat x reader #killerchat #killer chat ronin #kc ronin #ronin beaufort #ronin x reader #kc ronin x reader #killer chat ronin x reader #killer chat vn #ronin killer chat #killer chat ronin beaufort #ronin beaufort x reader #ronin x

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ablobwhowrites · 4 months ago

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yandere sonic stuff and y/n idea?

MEGA WARNING OF A MEGA YAP SESSION!!!

I'm going insane with this idea cause watching people play sonic forces and the murder of Sonic the hedgehog game and dude I've been tweaking after I saw the movie too.

A y/n who is kinda this mysterious and scary person who always has a welding mask on and heavy padded suit that basically makes them look scary to anyone who doesn't know them but tails is all like "oh yeah that's my sibling!" (Or something I might change later) And they are a maned fox cause it i imagine them being tall as shit and also I love maned foxes. But end up being all sweet to tails but is a bit mean to others due to how many people bullied their brother but finding out sonic and the others are tails friends, they lighten up a bit but do keep their guard up but do like hanging around sonic also imagining tails is telling stories of when him and y/n where back in their old village and how y/n beat up his bullies or just any stories he remembers about him and his sibling. As y/n basically looking like Micheal Myers with how quiet they are and with the mask they basically almost never take off so the others never know what y/n looks like except for tails. and they work with tails projects and makes sure the welding on the machines he makes is stable enough or just to make sure the machine won't go explode or something.

Tails: "hey guys! Meet my sibling, y/n!"

*y/n somehow having a shadow look over them making them look more intimidating*

Sonic: "you sure they are your sibling?...they look like they are from a slasher movie"

tails to y/n (y/n just beat one of his bullies into a pulp after the bully tried to make fun of his machines and tails again)

Cube bot: "did we get the right fox? Cause I don't remember tails fighting us this hard"

*Orb bot looks over seeing y/n standing in their cell that's locked under several force fields*

Orb bot: "I might have to check the logs again"

(anyways that's it for my yap session. Hope you guys like it and if you did, please don't be shy and request any ideas for stories or y/n's. But for now please stay safe and drink water!)

#yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #x gn reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere male x male reader #male reader #yandere sonic the hedgehog #yandere sonic #sonic x reader

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woodaba · 6 days ago

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The Copied Cathedral: Drakengard

In September 2022, something odd happened.

A group of talented NieR: Automata modders released footage of a church they added to the game on reddit and twitter. It was a pretty big accomplishment - Automata’s engine is difficult to work with, and many players with a cursory familiarity with it felt that this kind of addition to the game was unfeasible, so for something of this scale to be created represented a shift in the landscape of NieR modding. However, this achievement was practically rendered irrelevant by the way in which they chose to reveal their work: an arg/”hoax” wherein they pretended to “discover” the mysterious church in an unmodded copy of the game, presenting it as a long-hidden easter egg.

This gained unusual traction. This kind of thing happens a lot, but I’ve rarely seen it gather the kind of steam the copied cathedral did. The collective practiced cynicism of the internet, as well as the increasingly white-box nature of our favourite games, reliably helps quash the kinds of rumors that would easily gain traction on the playground, when it was much harder for someone to definitively prove you a liar when you claimed to have climbed aboard a rocket and shot off into space to find Deoxys in Pokemon Emerald. And I think there’s a pretty clear reason for this: anytime anyone expressed scepticism over the church and its impracticalities, they were met with the same refrain.

“It’s Yoko Taro. Of course he would do something like this.”

This refrain remained intact even when how people engaged with the modders’ work changed. In the beginning, it was “It’s Yoko Taro. Of course he would include an easter egg that people would only find 5 years later!” When it became clear that the cathedral did not, in fact, exist in the game, it became “It’s Yoko Taro. Of course he would craft an ARG to tease future NieR content.”

As someone who has had a relationship with Taro’s oeuvre since playing NieR at 14 years old, this was all very confusing to me. Because the Yoko Taro that I thought I knew didn’t do stuff like this. None of his games were ever advertised with any kind of obscure ARG disseminated through social media. His games didn’t really have obscure secret content that remained secret for years after the fact. I thought Yoko Taro was a guy who directed games with sweary, murderous protagonists connected to each other through intricate lorebooks that never left Japan…and showed up to promote Drakengard 3 as a sock puppet. Without my realizing it, what “Yoko Taro” was had changed, and he had become, in the eyes of many, a kind of mystical trickster, whose mad genius was simultaneously incomparable and unpredictable, whilst also falling into neat patterns that were easily and instantly recognisable.

Did I miss where these collectively agreed readings of Taro and his work came from? And if not, where did this perception of Yoko Taro come from?

When did Yoko Taro become Yoko Taro?

In The Copied Cathedral Branch A: Anarchy in the UK

It seems appropriate, somehow, when talking about Drakengard, to start at the very end. That’s where the conversation often begins and ends, isn’t it? In the public consciousness, this game is practically a footnote, an inciting incident to the more significant, more complete work; this is the game that led, in one of its endings, to NieR, and in turn, to NieR: Automata.

This history weighs heavily on Drakengard. It’s practically impossible to imagine anyone experiencing it now without some knowledge of how it connects to the various strands of Yoko Taro’s Cinematic Universe. I’m very much included in that - “Ending E leads to NieR” was the first thing I learned about Drakengard, and it was the curiosity over what that meant that led me to the game. It’s unfortunate, then, that this approach completely inverts what Ending E of Drakengard actually is - a joke.

Going through the experience of unlocking Ending E and playing it for yourself makes this so clear in a way that hearing about it second-hand will never quite manage. You have to go through the painstaking task of finding every single weapon - some of which have requirements so arbitrary and obscure as to practically necessitate a guide - only to unlock an ending where absolutely none of them are required. You play a rhythm game to the tune of the game’s deliberately abrasive and discordant soundtrack, and then are unceremoniously shot down. And in case there was any doubt left, the game laughs at you after thanking you for playing.

In context, this is a prank played on completionists, a surprise sucker-punch that revels in what a stunning anticlimax it is. Good job, buddy! Thanks for spending hours of your life pressing square-square-square-triangle, or maybe circle if you’re nasty. Here’s your reward: a confirmation that you wasted your fucking time.

And to be clear: I think that’s great. It’s a joke that just gets funnier the more it builds throughout the rhythm game section - starting off easy, and remaining manageable throughout, until you finally reach a section that is so unbelievably difficult practically out of nowhere, pulling the rug out from under you just as you’ve managed to stumble to your feet. It’s audaciously mean, and utterly wonderful.

But Ending E isn’t a surprise anymore - it’s the most famous part of the game. Ending E of Drakengard is, now, the opening notes of one of the most beloved - and lucrative - series’ in Square Enix’s roster. For most people who play the game now, it’ll be the reason they’re here, either literally, or metaphorically, as their NieR curiosity brings them to this title. For NieR fans, this is not an anticlimax punchline to hours of tedious weapons collecting. This is the final battle between The Dragon and The Queen Beast, a battle fought in terms incomprehensible to the fragile human psyche, ground zero for White Chlorination Syndrome and the Legion, and the beginning of the end of the human race. The fact that I can come out with that jargon without having to take a trip to the NieR wiki demonstrates that I too, am infected with the future history of Taro et al’s work, work that has collectively robbed this sucker punch of its impact, and turned it into the most laboured Marvel Cinematic Universe teaser in the history of the medium. What a terrible thing to do to something you helped create.

I don’t mean this to say that the mere existence of NieR has destroyed the intentions of Drakengard, but history’s shadow has undoubtedly fallen heavy on this game, obscuring a lot of what it actually is, even down to what the minute-to-minute play of the game is actually accomplishing.

The common reading of the game these days is that it is intentionally unpleasant to play in order to comment on or satirize violence in video games. I can see it! Drakengard’s combat is often described as monotonous, but I don’t think that’s quite right. True monotony would turn it into routine, and could potentially allow the player to sink into a flow state that makes the game drift past you. Instead, the game is interested in creating little sticking points that force you to keep yourself present in the fight. Whether it’s long-range attackers, the game’s propensity for enemies to strike at you from outside of the camera’s vision, or scattering enemies in among the packs that require you to approach them slightly differently, the game manages to keep its killing a conscious, methodical act, never letting them forget about the things they’re doing to others.

But how different is this from its contemporaries? Many of the features I’ve described here - a camera that doesn’t always effectively every threat, parceling out enemy encounters into smaller waves - aren’t unique to Drakengard, but are common to many of its contemporaries on the PS2. In particular, Drakengard does not feel noticeably more abrasive than the PS2 Dynasty Warriors games that the ground battles are in direct conversation with. It’s not identical - Drakengard choosing to strip out the light strategy framing of Dynasty Warriors to focus entirely on killing enemies is notable - but playing a Warriors game alongside Drakengard made the latter feel less like satire of the former and more like imitation - the sincerest form of flattery. If Drakengard is boring, it might simply be because the form it is most closely emulating has often struggled being a critical darling. In fact, for a certain generation of people, the musou form is practically gaming’s biggest and most laughable punching bag.

This accusation of the combat being, in some sense, deliberately unfun, in particular, largely fails to explain the dragon-riding sections. In the hybrid levels - where you can hop aboard your dragon to rain death from the skies - it arguably acquits itself in this context well enough, particularly with the choice to use an awkwardly close-up camera angle that frames you above the ground but close enough to it to see bodies flying from every fireball and explosion you cause. Anti-air attacks are common and send you flying off your dragon, a consciously annoying friction which again forces you to remain in the current moment and avoid zoning out. But equally, this friction often comes with it a straightforward payoff - the satisfaction of, having eliminated any anti-air threats, of hopping back on your dragon and incinerating an entire platoon of soldiers. Less interesting is the dedicated dogfight missions. Here, there is no sense of weight to the violence at all, and the enemies themselves are so abstract - often being literal evil cubes that shoot lasers at you - that it’s hard to derive any sense of humanity from them. It can definitely be read as an extension of the slight abstraction of the violence that happens when you hop on your dragon during the ground missions - we’re so far above the violence now that we can’t even see the viscera that is so present on the ground - but that just ends up ringing hollow for me.

No, I ultimately think that Drakengard’s air combat is engaging in very straightforward, very traditional ways. I enjoy it. In particular, the weight of the Dragon itself makes those moments where you swoop down to let loose a volley of lasers genuinely thrilling, in a kind of way that even contemporaries like Panzer Dragoon don’t quite emulate. And yet, despite these sections comprising a significant portion of the game’s runtime - around a third unless you’re going for 100% completion - they seem to elide the conversation surrounding this game as a satirical work. The fairly straightforward video-gamey thrills of flying a big dragon around and shooting lasers at monsters and evil imperial airships would seem to simply be somewhat inconvenient when attempting to explain Drakengard as a deliberately boring game.

I’m being cheeky here, I know. But I do think there is a huge sword of damocles, with the words “PS2 GAMES KINDA PLAYED LIKE THIS A LOT” etched into it, that hangs over anyone reading Drakengard as tedious on purpose. For all that the PS2 and its library is often lauded as one of the high points in the entire history of the medium, growing up owning one didn’t mean you were playing a Resident Evil 4 every time you put a disc into your console. Sometimes you came home from the game shop with something that played quite a bit like Drakengard.

This commonality it shares with its contemporaries is core to what I think Drakengard is actually doing with its violence. I am not suggesting that Drakengard is not abrasive at all, because to suggest they is to ignore what’s happening on the aesthetic layer, particularly the utterly phenomenal score composed by Nobuyoshi Sano and Takayuki Aihara, which is not only probably the best thing about Drakengard, it’s probably one of the best in the medium. Making use of discordant, cut-up, and repeated samples of classical music, the soundtrack drapes the entire game in an uncomfortably dissonant air without falling into completely atonal noise.

Similarly, the dialogue that plays over the gameplay, while presented in a manner not dissimilar from Dynasty Warriors, is of a very different tone, even if it is equally unsubtle. Priests crying out that the world is ending, rival dragon riders going mad, dragons remarking about the worthlessness of humanity and your cause…It isn’t quite Cao Cao talking about how big his brain and dick is, even if it operates on a similar register.

This is an aesthetic dissonance that highlights the ludonarrative resonance that drives the game. It is also a reasonably common maneuver. If you’ve ever played a game with a sad piano track playing out over a boss battle, you’ve seen this before, though admittedly rarely on this kind of scale. Drakengard is less interested in being truly aberrant as it is in this kind of aesthetic dissonance bringing the genre’s assumptions into relief.

This helps explain why some might find the story of Drakengard far simpler than its reputation - or the reputation of its director - might suggest. An evil empire is conquering the world and destroying a series of Seals in order to awaken some dark gods, and the protagonists would prefer if that didn’t happen. It is, quite consciously, an extremely stock video game plot. The difference, of course, is that said protagonists are led by Caim, whose personality, goals, passions, hobbies and sexual fetishes can all be described the same way: “killing imperial soldiers”. Drakengard sees the two points common to the collective idea of the archetypal JRPG hero - dead parents and a high bodycount - and draws a direct line between them, constantly underscoring that Caim is wholly uninterested in protecting the world, and acts in the game entirely to express the trauma of his parents dying in front of him.

(Actually, side note - one part of that isn’t quite true; the game is surprisingly resistant to the claim that Caim’s enjoyment of killing is in any way sexually motivated. It’s just not something the game wants to touch. The game exclusively uses sex and sexuality as a point of straightforward horror and taboo-crossing in a way that is quite revealing. More on this in a moment.)

Angelus is Caim’s dragon partner, and an absolute riot. She’s almost everyone’s favourite character in Drakengard, and it’s very easy to see why: she drifts above much of the emotional conflict of the narrative, commenting and mocking it in equal turns, like a one-dragon greek chorus, or, if you prefer, a fire-breathing Statler & Waldorf. Crucially though, she remains invested enough in the narrative to never become an annoying figure of detachment. She’s not riffing on things, like a Marvel character might, as if she’s not part of the same world as the rest of the cast, she just has very little patience for the affairs of humans despite her forced entrapment within them. It’s a very delicate balancing act to walk, writing this kind of character without making them irritating, and it's a testament to the script, and particularly the performance, that Angelus comes across so well. Mona Marshall’s dub Angelus is pitch-perfect, infusing her dialogue with a careful balance of righteous, haughty indignation and weary resignation that makes her an absolute delight to listen to as she mocks the worthless humans you and her are roasting with dragonfire, especially once notes of affection towards Caim begin to creep into her character. In a dub of mixed virtues, she’s consistently fantastic, and it speaks volumes that despite this kind of side-glance to the audience becoming a recurring theme in Taro’s work, it's never as successful as it is with Angelus.

Alongside Caim we have Furiae and Inuart, the central love triangle that drives the narrative. Furiae is Caim’s sister, and the Goddess; a pure shrine maiden whose enforced chastity seals away the Empire’s dark gods. She’s also completely infatuated with Caim, who pointedly avoids confronting her incestuous feelings towards him throughout the game, even as her longing and desperation for him builds and builds, to the point that even Angelus comments on it. Inuart is Furiae’s betrothed, a soft-spoken bard whose sexual frustration at and jealousy of Caim leads him to become brainwashed and turn evil. And then there’s Manah, the game’s villain - an evil little girl who, after being rejected by her mother in favor of her twin brother Seere, turns to the Empire’s evil gods for the love that she has been denied, becoming their possession and instrument in the world.

This is the actual core theme of Drakengard - that of rejection and resentment, unprocessed, unexpressed, unrequited feelings left to fester and rot, turning outwards onto the world itself, of this kind of unfulfilled need being the origin of violence in the world. For all the hyperbolic claims of Drakengard’s essential horror, it all settles into such a disappointingly neat and straightforward freudian framework. Every character - aside from Angelus - is fundamentally reducible to their singular freudian frustration. This makes the game’s perspective somewhat limited, but also makes it incredibly clear and transparent - there’s no avoiding these taboos.

It’s not that this is entirely bad - I actually think Caim and Furiae’s relationship in particular is extremely effective, the obviousness of the taboo being brought into sharp relief by how Caim simply refuses to engage with it, letting the emotions fester and fester until, at the point when they are directly stated to him and he can no longer pretend that he cannot see them, his final rejection really hits hard. I particularly like that the game is uncharacteristically ambiguous on the point of whether or not Caim reciprocates Furiae’s feelings, which brings a messiness to how their relationship ends that really works. But by and large, the game is so laser focused on the binary contradiction of each character’s familial trauma, they always break in the exact same way, and it reveals just how little the game actually has to say on its own central topic.

This becomes particularly apparent once you look at the other playable characters, who aren’t so much one-note as they have about half a note to share between them. Leonard is a kindly and empathetic priest who also happens to be a pedophile. There’s Arioch, a jokerfied elf cannibal who eats babies because she was driven insane by losing her womb in her pact. And then there’s Seere, a young boy who will remain a young boy forever thanks to his own pact. He becomes friendly with Leonard. Each of these characters will send you on side-stories that all feature you slaughtering children.

It’s not just that the transgression here is largely shallow, it's that it's the same transgression, over and over. The conflict between the central trio at the very least is driven by exploration of a theme of unrequited love and the enforcement of taboo reaching a breaking point - for the rest of the cast, there is nothing there except for the taboo, and the taboo encompasses their entire characters. Arioch is a particular low point: the outrageous misogyny inherent in the depiction of a woman being driven completely insane by losing the ability to reproduce is self-evident, as is the game’s complete lack of sympathy for her in comparison with even Caim, but it’s everywhere when it comes to these characters. You can just imagine the sneer on the game’s face as they describe Leonard, the “aha! Isn’t that fucked up!” of quality of the reveal that the nicest member of the party is actually a pedophile. For all that I am willing to be sincere in my engagement with the game’s exploration of familial violence, there really isn’t anything to the missions where you engage in mass slaughter of child soldiers other than “isn’t this fucked up”. And I don’t object to it being fucked-up: my problem is that it’s so one-note that it isn’t fucked up at all. The shock is so surface level that it becomes boring extremely quickly. It’s all so fucking teenage.

Put a pin in that.

What the game does gain by how incredibly loud and unsubtle it all is, is that it becomes impossible to ignore. The viscera of the relationship drama is as in-your-face as the viscera of Caim’s violence, and achieves the same effect as the game’s soundtrack (though, less effectively than that). How surface-level it all is may make Drakengard largely unsatisfying to consider on these terms, but it is effectively oppressive, and I think that is key to why the game lingers in the memory.

As the game goes on, its narrative begins to fray at the seams, sometimes in disappointing ways, and sometimes in delightful ways. The game’s standard ending is fine enough, and sings when it caps off the burgeoning romance between a murderboy and his dragon in an oddly sweet and earnest manner. Caim and Angelus’ odd and sad relationship is easily my favorite part of the game’s narrative, and is, interestingly, something director Yoko Taro fought against depicting in this way, by his own admission. Taro wanted Caim to be as a parasite to Angelus (interestingly, a reversal of the relationship between the Dragon and its rider in Panzer Dragoon, where the will of the rider was subsumed unconsciously by the will of the Dragon), but at the suggestion of producer Takuya Iwasaki, scenario writer Sawako Natori imbues their relationship with an earnest romance without dodging some of the more toxic suggestions of it, and it ends up being the highlight of the game’s writing. It is worth noting, when considering the direction of future games in this series, that almost all of the game’s most effective moments come from treating the relationships with sincerity instead of shock.

But of course, this isn’t really the end. As would become tradition for the games in the Drakengard/NieR lineage, the game offers a series of branching routes that lead to different endings. As the series would go on, this tradition would become increasingly superfluous, wielded more as an aesthetic and expectation than anything else, but in Drakengard, there remains something exciting about it, as each branch splits further and further from this relatively sedate ending until you finally arrive at the punchline that we all now know is coming.

Route B feels like the “truest” ending to the game, engaging most with the themes of toxic affection that end up driving the plot. Inuart tries to resurrect Furiae, and does so…but as a monster that kills him, grows giant, and has to be put down by the player. Caim finally confronts his sister and their relationship in the only way he can: murdering her enormous, twisted, eikon. It’s a classic gothic move, but it's the twist of the knife of the route’s final shot, the sky being filled with countless more Furiae monsters, that is distinctly Drakengard. It’s fitting that the game’s theme song plays at the end of this route, rather than the others. This feels like the end of the road for these characters, so it's no surprise that the following routes feel more like we’re veering off that road into far stranger and far sillier territory.

Route C, on the other hand, is a total misfire. If the last route was the one that felt like it most naturally emerges from the themes of the narrative, then this is the opposite - the one where the entirely offscreen Dragon species decide apropos of nothing that, actually, they’d like to conquer the world, and so Caim and Angelus must do battle. The two lovers battling to the death should be something really impactful, but ends up as a baffling wasted opportunity. Without the care and investment the scenario brings to these characters elsewhere, Route C is a glimpse into a version of Drakengard that didn’t have the touches of earnest investment that elevates these ludicrous mean-spirited caricatures - a hugely boring video game. I’d say that it would be better if it had been cut from the game entirely…if not for how the feeling of the narrative being derailed in this way lays the groundwork for the game’s incredible - and I mean that in both senses of the word - climax.

Branch D is probably the most iconic part of Drakengard, and it is definitely the part of the game that left the greatest impression on me when I first saw it as an 18-year old. Here, the involvement of Manah’s twin Seere makes things with his sister even worse, as he regards Manah’s desire for affection with horror and tells his Golem to kill her, which the God possessing Manah does not take kindly to. Thematically, the route ends here: another rejection, another breakdown in familial bonds - and interestingly, a parallel drawn between Seere and Caim’s respective emotional stuntedness towards the feelings of their sister being drawn but never developed - leading to disaster. You could see a version of Drakengard that has the same approach as Branch B, simply cutting off at the point at which the doom of humanity becomes obvious, but delightfully, the game simply keeps going, setting its final few chapters in the invasion of the Watchers - who, of course, are giant stone babies.

Of course, here we return to the problem of the future. It's not just that this turn has been spoiled - plenty of works, even the majority, retain their power even after they have been spoiled. Contrary to the opinion of the most annoying guy in your film class, knowing what “Rosebud” is does not actually make Citizen Kane less electrifying. But the power of Branch D is, to me, entirely within the shock value of it. Its excitement is in the sense of how completely the narrative has been derailed. When you know about the giant babies ahead of time, the shock of their appearance is less effective.

However, unlike Ending E, whose intention I do think is somewhat obliterated by the context by which most players will find it, I actually think the conscious anticipation of this moment by a player of Drakengard coming from the present day won’t rob them of the effect, because the audacity of it all is still enjoyable. It’s an absurd literalization of the game’s shallowest engagement with familial love and desire as violent: evil babies that are going to eat you all…and that you must slaughter in their dozens to survive. I remember showing this scene to friends when I got to it, purely and straightforwardly to say “look how weird and fucked up this is!”, and see their reaction to it, devoid of all the context of the game leading up to this point, which I think is telling. It wasn’t important to me that they knew that this was a game filled with the need for love turning violent. It was important that they see just how weird these evil babies were.

There was a point in my life where, for those around me, the funniest type of joke in the world was the erstwhile Dead Baby Joke, a type of joke where the punchline is always, in some form, a dead baby. The punchline here is pure, naked transgression - you can’t joke about a dead baby! It’s the same kind of impulse that makes swearing when you are a kid fun, of sneaking into a movie the age certificate declares you too old for, and approximately 95% of the reason anyone plays Grand Theft Auto - the fun of breaking boundaries for the sheer thrill of breaking boundaries. And in a game that has made the transgression of taboo the core of its entire being, this feels not like an elaboration of its themes so much as the literalization of them in the most audacious way possible - the invasion of the dead babies.

It’s worth comparing this to the series that Drakengard is perhaps most in aesthetic conversation with aside from Dynasty Warriors: Panzer Dragoon. While Ace Combat was the direct inspiration for the flight mechanics, Panzer Dragoon is the source of much of how they look and feel. And, interestingly, it too is a series that wrestled with the astronomically high bodycount of its game in Panzer Dragoon Saga, the third game in the series which reinvented itself as a to-this-day utterly unique RPG. Set decades after both of the previous games, but not so far that their events have fallen out of living memory, Saga reframed the events of those games as world-shaking historical events that have turned the Dragon into an icon of power not unlike a Weapon of Mass Destruction. Much of the plot of the middle stretch of the game is defined by the factions of the story attempting to control the era-defining power of the dragon, as much because of the fear and symbolic weight of the Dragon as its ability to shoot lasers.

This reaches its head in one of the game’s best sequences, where the mayor of the hub town asks the player character to assault a nearby Imperial base with their dragon. The mayor knows that this won’t deal a major blow to the empire, but is attempting to demonstrate the use of the dragon as a deterrent against the empire’s moves to annex the town so that he can get elected as the new leader of the town. This, of course, backfires massively when the Empire responds to the threat of the Dragon by bringing their own Weapon of Mass Destruction to the frontline and wiping the town off the face of the map, an irreversible scar left on the game map, removing (almost) every single NPC and sidequest related to the town from the game, all in response to the threat the player and their dragon represents.

The difference here is that while Drakengard makes the violence of its central conflicts more visceral and obvious, Panzer Dragoon makes it more complicated and, ultimately, nuanced. But to frame this as a criticism rather than an explanation accuses Drakengard of seeking nuance as a goal, and failing, and I just don’t think that’s true. Despite Panzer Dragoon Saga’s Empire being about as hazily defined as Drakengard’s, it manages to make them feel like a real entity, one staffed by human beings that believe in their cause and react to the phenomena of the world around them . It’s telling, I think, that when you shoot down imperial vessels in Panzer Dragoon Saga, their crew cry out, often saluting the empire with their last breaths, but Drakengard’s mind-controlled masses of soldiers and their abstract vessels often give no reaction at all. There’s rarely a sense that these soldiers are meaningfully people, or that the Empire is anything other than a mass of bodies for Caim to slaughter. Panzer Dragoon Saga articulates violence as something that affects the world in ways beyond how much blood is spilt when someone swings a sword, while Drakengard is only ever interested in the blood itself, as an expression of the freudian frustrations of the characters. The viscera is the point, and the viscera is what Drakengard ultimately is.

For all my sincere engagement with the game’s clear themes of taboo and familial conflict, there is a futility to it, because it’s so clear to me that first and foremost, the game is interested in the fun of transgressing these taboos within a largely accessible framework. The thrills of Drakengard are the thrills of watching a Saw movie, the audacity of them actually doing that…the enjoyment of a dead baby joke. This might all sound like an insult, but I promise it isn’t. A couple of years ago, I made a youtube video about edgy PS2 games, where I argued that these kinds of games with self-consciously edgy aesthetics are valuable for the straightforwardness of their rebellious attitudes. Drakengard’s closest bedfellows, to me, are not Panzer Dragoon or Ace Combat or even Dynasty Warriors, but Jak II: Renegade, Prince of Persia: Warrior Within…and Shadow the Hedgehog. Transgression for the sake of enjoying transgression might indeed be shallow, but it is also profoundly worthwhile, especially for young people chafing at the condescending and limited avenues they are offered to engage with the world. Hell, it’s why I was drawn to NieR, when I played that as a 14 year old - I wanted something weird and different, for the weirdness and the difference. And for all my criticisms, I cannot deny just how good Drakengard is at this simple appeal.

I feel a little like I’m engaging in some Sacred Cow butchery here, and to a certain extent that is a conscious thing. There’s so much received wisdom about Drakengard out there online that I do feel compelled to try to articulate what I think it is actually doing.in the final verdict, I ultimately like Drakengard a fair bit, and I do think it is worthwhile. But I don’t think it’s worthwhile because it is a wildly aberrant, abrasive work that challenges norms. I don’t think it has much to say about video games, and I don’t think it’s meant to be so bad it’s good. In fact, I think it is something that inshrines the norms it tackles in how fundamentally irreconcilable it views them. It is a straightforwardly effective bit of rebellion that we all need as teenagers, one that has a keen understanding of its target audience and their emotional needs. Games market themselves on offering illusions, of freedom and power, and Drakengard offers the illusion of rebellion against and excoriation of the status quo better than most any game I can imagine, and I think that is why it, ultimately, has become quite a popular game. It isn’t a surprise, the right kind of anger for a mass audience has always been popular. Never Mind the Bollocks, Its the Sex Pistols, for all that it declared itself oppositional to society’s norms, was ultimately extremely popular within them. It's loud, in your face, and guaranteed to get at least some kind of reaction out of an unsuspecting player. It is a dead baby joke, a loud, abrasive, screaming metal album played so loud that it pisses off your parents, an act of petulant, adolescent rebellion whose purpose never extends far beyond the rebellion itself. Show me someone who doesn’t see any appeal whatsoever in that, and I’ll show you someone who really needs to cut loose a little. But equally, show me someone who still thinks dead baby jokes are the height of comedy, and I’ll show you someone who needs to hear more jokes.

in the copied cathedral ending a dead b[a]by jokes

#video games #rpg #drakengard #nier

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