#the mystery in this one is really intricate and engaging

[woodaba]

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

[aethon-recs]

2024 Update to Tomarrymort Longfic Recs — 8 additional fics

I wanted to add 8 lovely new longfics that have been published since the last time I put together this rec list — 6 more for the Intermediate reads list and 2 more for Advanced. Hopefully you’ll find something within these additional 950k words of absolutely brilliant Tomarrymort fic to sink your teeth into and enjoy:

Longfic rec list collection:

Tomarrymort Beginner reads are the fics I would use to introduce someone to the ship and help them get a baseline for the variety, themes, and tropes that best represent our ship;

Intermediate reads are for readers that are already familiar/sold on the ship, and are looking for fics that explore interesting new facets of the Tomarrymort dynamic; 

Advanced reads comprise challenging works of some nature, whether the writing features more complex subject matter and/or pushes the boundaries of what’s possible in a piece of fanfic.

Please enjoy these 8 additions to the list, all of which are either completed or still updating as of 2024!

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Intermediate Longfic Recs

A Light That Never Goes Out by @kippipies (M, 80k, WIP)

Setting: Non-Magical AU Premise: If Harry is the target of a dangerous crime lord called Voldemort and his gang of Death Eaters in a modern mafia AU. Why I rec it: This is a delightful, high-energy caper of a fic in which Harry is a scrappy low-time criminal who accidentally crosses crime boss Voldemort. Naturally, Voldemort sets his sights on getting revenge, but Harry slips through his fingers at the last minute each time. The action scenes in this fic are incredibly dynamic and super fun — I felt like I was watching an action movie at each confrontation between Harry and Voldemort.

And the Living Will Envy the Dead by @k-s-morgan (M, 81k, WIP)

Setting: Time Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry were flung back in time to Tom’s sixth year and almost immediately reveals he is Tom’s horcrux, setting off a chain reaction of obsession and control.  Why I rec it: An intricately crafted character study of Tom and how he gained control over the rest of Slytherin House by the time Harry meets him at the start of sixth year. Harry’s arrival throws Tom’s plans off-kilter, especially once Harry reveals he was Tom’s horcrux in another timeline. This leads Tom to believe the other version of him had somehow loved Harry, and shows him that it’s possible to form such a connection with Harry here if he wants, despite how dark, cruel, and violent he turned out and how little he cares for others. 

By Any Means by @corpium (E, 74k, WIP)

Setting: Alternate Universe Premise: If Harry has a younger brother Evan who is the Boy-Who-Lived, yet Harry’s overprotective actions towards Evan end up attracting the attention of Voldemort directly onto himself. Why I rec it: This is a really engaging and fast-paced adaptation of canon events if Harry were born 2 years earlier and his younger brother were the one that the prophecy applied to. The relationship between Harry and Evan is really sweet, as they share the burden of growing up at the Dursleys and all the adventures that Harry underwent in canon. There’s also such a fascinating exploration of magic as Harry gradually becomes more powerful as a result of all the trials that he’s put through, eventually becoming powerful enough to attract the attention of Voldemort. 

Pledged by @moontearpensfic (E, 118k, WIP)

Setting: Alternate Universe Premise: If Harry and Tom are best friends that enter together into a Hunger Games-crossed-with-Triwizard Tournament in their seventh year.  Why I rec it: This fic depicts co-dependency to such an intense degree between Harry and Tom. Not only are they inseparable best friends throughout their time at Hogwarts, they also perform a cooperative magic ritual that binds their magic to each other permanently, and allows them to share thoughts and feelings with each other across a mental link. There’s also an intriguing mystery at the heart of this story, as Harry and Tom try to figure out the origins of the Triwizard-style tournament that they enter into in their seventh year. 

Revolution of Configured Stars by @tollingreminiscentbells (E, 153k, WIP)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU Premise: If Harry was raised in a pureblood family in a universe where Voldemort wins, and ends up attracting the attention of Voldemort in his seventh year at Hogwarts.  Why I rec it: This is such an intricate, incredibly thoughtful depiction of a society where Voldemort won and Harry was raised as a ward of a pureblood family. By the time it’s Harry’s seventh year, he’s a budding Arithmancy scholar who wants to explore whether it’s possible to choose the optimal timeline via arithmantic calculations, which catches the attention of Voldemort. Voldemort and Harry’s relationship unfolds in such a steamy way, and they truly feel like equals who hold each other in high regard, as Voldemort reveals that they have been inextricably linked by fate, whether or not he ended up trying to kill Harry as a baby in this particular timeline. 

the stars, my destination by @milkandmoon-ao3 (M, 15k, WIP)

Setting: Time Travel (Marauders Era) Premise: If Harry is sent back in time as an infant and adopted into the Potter family, growing up and attending Hogwarts alongside James.  Why I rec it: There is a dearth of Harrymort fics set in Marauders Era so it is such a delight to read about Harry’s friendships and rivalries with Marauders Era characters, like being best friends with Regulus and Quidditch rivals with James. As Harry starts his sixth year, the First Wizarding War heats up in the background and begins spilling into their life at Hogwarts as many of their classmates are recruited to fight on either side of it. All the while that he has to keep secret the strange mental connection that he’s had with the Dark Lord all his life. 

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Advanced Longfic Recs

Hearthstone Abbey (Series) by @ramabear (E, 152k, WIP series)

Setting: Soulmate AU Premise: If second year Harry is plucked away from his canon universe by Voldemort from another universe who is his soulmate. Why I rec it: I wholly melted at all the ways Voldemort takes care of Harry in this fic, better treatment than Harry’s ever gotten in his entire life, and Harry is so lovable and adorable in turn. Voldemort has established himself as a religious figurehead/cult leader in the alternate universe, and it was very interesting to read about his alternate path to power. The soft grooming in this fic was so so delicious, ramping up in intensity as the fic progresses; Voldemort completely dotes on Harry and their dynamic is so sweet and tender, a very nice counterbalance to the sinister and predatory tones that underlie their relationship.

if we were lovers by @reggieblk (E, 277k, complete)

Setting: Non-Magical AU Premise: If Harry and Tom meet in a prestigious drama programme and fall for each other against a backdrop of high stakes threatre productions.  Why I rec it: The character work is so rich and detailed in this coming-of-age story in a modern AU setting. It’s clear there was so much thought that went into all the character interactions here, not only between Harry and Tom, but also the ensemble cast of characters who inject so much heart and humor into this story as well. I love the way that @reggieblk cleverly weaves in elements from Shakespeare’s plays and uses the theatre backdrop to depict how the love story between Harry and Tom unfolds — their developing relationship feels, at the same time, both very immersive and cozy, as well as highly fraught with tension. (As a bonus, there is an absolutely amazing original play in the interlude chapter that was written specifically for this fic!)

*

[latteodyssey]

Hi! I wanna request smth cute for Tim!

Tim the handsome nerd in Gotham highschool fell in love at first sight at shy fem!reader who helps at library and has same taste in coffee 🥺👉👈✨️

hello, dear! thanks for requesting and sorry if this took a while! Hope you enjoy! 🤍🥺

latte love and frappé dreams | tim drake x reader ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

masterlist

Today is the day, no excuses.

He keeps repeating these words in his mind as if they’re going to give him the ultimate confidence boost he needs to finally try and say something.

The air was tinged with the earthy scent of aged paper and the faintest hint of varnish, conjuring an atmosphere both scholarly and inviting.

The high ceilings stretched above the both of him, adorned with intricate woodwork. Sunlight streamed in through the grand, arched windows, casting a warm glow across the polished wooden floors. Rows upon rows of towering bookshelves lined the room, each packed with volumes of every shape and size. Gotham’s oldest buildings are known for being dramatic, quite fitting for such a broody city.

Gotham’s city high school library was one of Tim’s favorite spots on campus, and it came with a lot of perks, it’s almost never crowded, it’s a quiet and peaceful place and most importantly, he gets to see you.

Ever since you became a volunteer there, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It was almost impossible for him to not notice you; were always really sweet and friendly with the other students that asked for help finding resources, the way your eyes squinted whenever you smiled was especially pretty, and noticed you always get the same order of coffee as him.

“Is that a caramel frappe?”

As soon as the last syllable came out of his mouth, Tim almost regretted asking, he can feel the nervousness running through his veins. What a ridiculously stupid thing to ask. Where does he even go from here?

You were sitting behind a computer, helping out by cataloguing returns, your fingers dancing deftly across the keyboard. You stop what you’re doing to look up at him, offering him a gentle smile.

“Yeah” You glance at your drink for a quick second, the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air. “it might be too sweet for some people,but it really gives me the boost I need, you know?”

“Yeah, i get that!” He feels a little more calm after you respond, but his heart is still beating rapidly on his chest. He really underestimated the effect a kind-eyed stranger could have on him. “I always order it, it’s the only thing that helps me get through a busy day”.

You adjust yourself in your chair, you weren’t expecting him to come up and talk to you. Not that you’re complaining.

Although he keeps to himself, Tim is a well known person around the school, partially for being one of Bruce Wayne’s adoptees, but mostly for being one of greatest minds to come across the school, sometimes vanishing for long periods of time with little to no explanation.

He’s a handsome man, with jet-black hair that framed his face with an air of casual elegance. His eyes were a startling shade of blue, and they seemed to hold a depth of emotion that was both intriguing and mysterious. He dressed simply, yet there was an undeniable sophistication to his style.

However, throughout your life, you’ve always been a shy, introverted person. Engaging in activities such as lending a helping hand in the library and assisting fellow students has proven to be quite a challenge for you, despite your determination to do your best. So, having a conversation with the most charming guy on campus feels like a significant leap out of your comfort zone. Yet, his own hesitance seems to mirror yours, creating a shared understanding between you.

"So, you spend a lot of time here?" He inquires, attempting to keep the conversation flowing, his voice soft but curious.

You nod, a small smile gracing your lips. "Yeah, it's like a second home to me. There's something comforting about being surrounded by all these stories, you know?"

The two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, the initial awkwardness slowly melting away. You talk about favorite detective stories, classes and even share a few laughs about the quirks and the peculiarities of Gotham itself.

“Speaking of stories, I really wanna hear yours too” He says, and your heart races with excitement, his attention is solely focused on you, his eyes sparkling with genuine curiosity and interest in getting to know you on a deeper level. “Would you mind grabbing coffee me with me later?”

“I would actually love that”.

[five-and-dimes]

Your Eyes Slay Me Suddenly

Finally get to share my fic for the Spring Exchange! I got assigned @im-not-corrupted, and it's my first time writing a knight au, but I'm really happy with how t turned out, so I hope you like it too! <3

AO3

If you had asked Sir Robert Gadling just a few years ago, he would have told you that he had no plans of settling in any kingdom. Ever since the loss of his dear Eleanor, he had found himself most content in traveling. A sword for hire making his way through the lands, throwing himself into new adventures before inevitably moving on. He escorted nobles and adventurers, he protected priceless treasures, he fought in tournaments for gold and glory, and then he carried on. Each new place brought their own unique experiences and joys, but none so great as to convince him to stay. 

Then he entered the kingdom of the Endless.

He had heard rumors of the turmoil the kingdom had gone through in recent times. One of their main allies and trade partners had been brought low by their king’s death and near fatal wounding of the only prince, leaving the prince’s consort to struggle to hold the land together. The loss of protection and major imports left the Endless kingdom vulnerable, and they fell into a period of famine and darkness. However, a few years later saw one of the princes staging a coup, exiling the king and queen as well as a few other members of the royal family, taking the throne for himself. 

And King Morpheus brought the realm back to prosperity.

Hob found the land intriguing in a way he hadn’t experienced before. The landscape was lush and vibrant, the kingdom built within the forest as opposed to clearing it away, and even the homes of the lower class were adorned with intricate artwork carved into the door and window frames. When he made his way into a boisterous tavern, he was greeted as though he was coming home, not a newcomer. As the ale flowed, he had tried to learn more about the history of the realm, especially the years when the crown had been taken. What he learned was that, for all the drama that a grab for power like that must have been, to those outside the palace, it had all been very quiet.

“Went to bed one night the same as ever. Next day we woke up, and there was an assembly being called,” An older man explained, leaning heavily on the table, “Standing on the balcony like some angel of death, there was King Morpheus, wearing the crown.” He shook his head, lost in the memory of his astonishment, “The King and Queen have so many kids I never could keep track of ‘em. But I coulda sworn that one was dead,” he shrugged, taking another long swig of his ale, “Guess I was wrong.”

Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Hob was more eager than ever to join an upcoming tournament. As always he enjoyed buddying up with the kingdom’s knights, sharing tales of his travels, learning more about the land he was visiting, placing bets and engaging in friendly banter. He was excited to join the festivities, and to get a closer look at the mysterious king.

As he entered the arena, looking up to the stands, he understood why his drinking companion had called the king an angel. King Morpheus was a spot of darkness amongst the colors of the crowd. The royals and advisors sitting beside him wore rich, deep colored fabrics that shone in the sunlight, but the king himself was garbed all in black. His robes flowed around him, draping over his form and concealing his figure. His collar was buttoned up his neck all the way to his chin, and gloves covered his hands where they lay primly in his lap. Long black hair was braided elegantly and made his face look even paler, as though he had never seen the sun before. The gold circlet with ruby accents on his head was the only color Hob could make out on his figure.

He was beautiful. 

Hob was never one to deny his ego, and he always aimed to impress when he competed, but on this day he forgot about the crowd. There was only one person he hoped to impress with each swing of his weapon or shot of his bow. The days of the tournament passed, and he couldn’t help but glance up up up to the King after each success, hoping desperately to be noticed. And his pride clearly paid off, because when the tournament ended, as Hob collected his winnings and made his way towards the feast, he was approached by an elegant figure. Her waistcoat was perfectly tailored and a deep purple which made her dark skin seem to glow. But her poise and demeanor gave away her station far more than the richness of her clothing. Delicate spectacles sat on the bridge of her nose, and her posture was proud and sure, looking down on Hob without seeming to look down on him.

“You performed very admirably, Sir…” she stated, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Robert Gadling,” he bowed in greeting, grinning.

“You are new to these parts, yes?”

“Aye, I am a traveler.”

“Just passing through, then?”

“Unless I am given a reason to stay.”

She gave him a reason.

The King had in fact noticed him, had been pleased by his performance, and was looking to grow the order of knights protecting the castle grounds. Though a few years had passed, he was still new enough to the throne to be vulnerable to attempts to usurp him. And he wanted Hob to join. Hob had no intention of turning down an opportunity to be closer to the dark shadow of a king.

It did not occur to him until much later that he hadn’t even needed to think about it before deciding to settle here, in the Endless Kingdom. He moved onto the castle grounds, and he kneeled before King Morpheus and swore an oath, and the king looked down at him with glittering eyes. Hob felt like a madman for all the things he wanted, but he felt a little less mad when, before the season even had a chance to change, he was selected as the King’s personal guard.

“If I may ask,” Hob could not help but inquire, standing watch as the King worked in his study, “Why me? There must be knights whom you are more familiar with.” He was one of the newest in the order, and yet it was he who stood at the king’s side.

The King barely glanced at him, continuing his elegant penmanship, “I am interested.” 

“In me?” Hob felt his traitorous heart flutter.

Here, King Morpheus did look at him, something sly and mischievous in his eyes, “In your experience.” Slowly and deliberately, he put his quill down, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands in his lap, “Tell me, sir Gadling,” Hob shivered every time he heard his name on those lips, “of your travels. Tell me of your life.”

And, well. Hob would never deny a command from his king. 

Although he would not deny… editing, occasionally. Never lying, of course, he wouldn’t dare. But he saw no harm in skipping the less flattering parts- the years lost to drinking his grief away, the times he tripped over his own feet learning to charge in heavy armor- and only slightly embellishing his victories. Morpheus always listened with rapt attention, as though Hob’s tales were the most interesting things he had ever heard. Perhaps, Hob considered, they were.

“It seems you have always been a capable warrior, Sir Gadling,” Morpheus smiled as he delicately ate his breakfast, Hob leaning against the wall beside him as he finished the most recent recounting of his exploits.

“Had to learn fast,” he grinned, “Some of us have to get roughed up if we want to keep you royals so soft and pretty.”

At first, he thinks he has said something wrong, because Morpheus’ head snaps up to look at him, eyes sharp and calculating. But a moment later, his body softens, like an exhale, and there is a pleased smile on his face, and Hob knows that he has said something right.

“I do not remember that part of your oath,” he says teasingly, “a vow to keep me soft and pretty.”

“It was unspoken,” Hob replies immediately, “Took one look at you and knew a delicate thing like you needed a skilled sword and shield at your side.”

“And it seems I chose well,” he sits up a little straighter, almost preening, “I trust a knight of your strength and… stature,” Hob felt his cheeks warm as Morpheus blatantly looked him up and down, “will have no trouble protecting my integrity.”

“With my life, my lord,” he gives a half bow, and when their eyes meet he is certain that something is there.

It became a regular part of their time together, after that. Time passes with Hob telling his stories, and Morpheus fluttering his eyelashes at what a rough and adventurous life he’s led, and Hob gently teasing about the soft and cushioned life he’s led. The contrast between them was exhilarating, and each time the king leaned into it was a bolt of excitement to Hob’s bloodstream. If Hob had his way, King Morpheus would never have to lift a finger. As he accompanied him through the castle, from his chambers to the throne room to the dining hall and back again, he opened every door for him with a deep bow. He would lift the king’s fork to his lips if allowed. 

Morpheus does not seem to mind. For all that he is known as a stoic and cold king to those outside of the palace, each day Hob sees his little smiles, and the laughter in his eyes as Hob bends over backwards for him. 

On this day, Hob thinks he might be the first knight tasked to pick blackberries for his king. Morpheus sits on a stone bench in the shade of the garden as Hob diligently fills a bowl with the ripe fruit, occasionally glancing back to see Morpheus’ warm, amused smile.

“It would be a shame to stain such finary,” he had claimed, eyes crinkling slightly in restrained mirth, turning to show off the glimmer within the fabric of his clothes.

“Oh of course,” Hob teased in return, “We wouldn’t want our precious king to get his hands dirty.” He bowed, taking the king’s gloved hand to kiss his knuckles. His skin was covered by such fine leather, he could only imagine how butter soft the skin beneath it must be. 

King Morpheus smirked down at him, “You earn your keep well, my knight.”

“Anything to be kept by you,” he winked.

The only response is a silent huff of laughter, but Hob cherishes it all the same. As he stands, he holds a berry out between his fingers, “Perhaps you should test them. Make sure they are up to your standards.”

His eyelashes flutter, a coy smile on his lips as he leans forward, and Hob may have started it but he was unprepared for the feeling of his king’s mouth wrapping around his fingers, plucking the fruit from his hand before pulling back with a soft swipe of his tongue. Hob feels himself shudder as Morpheus hums in pleasure.

“Yes,” he purrs, “delightful.”

“Is that so?” Hob feels his heart beating wildly in his chest, but he feels confident and daring as he leans in closer, “Perhaps I should get a taste myself.” He thinks that no fruit on earth would compare to being able to lick the taste from Morpheus’ lips.

But he will never know if he is right. Before he has a chance, he lays his hand on Morpheus’ waist, only to have his wrist gripped tightly and torn away.

“Do not-” The hissed words are cut off so abruptly that Hob can hear the click of Morpheus’ teeth as his mouth snaps shut. His eyes are steely, stepping back to put himself out of Hob’s reach. It is so far and away from any interaction they have had before that Hob feels as though he has whiplash.

There is a moment's pause where Morpheus seems to be waiting for him to speak, and it is only then that Hob remembers their respective ranks, “I apologize, my liege,” he bows deeply, the formality feeling wrong. This is not who they are to each other. Or so he thought.

He glances up just in time to catch the way Morpheus’ throat bobs as he swallows thickly, “I have been away from my work long enough. Deliver what you have harvested to the kitchens and then rejoin me in my study.” He leaves no room for a response, turning on his heels and stalking away, heedless of the fact that they are not meant to be separated this way. Hob’s job is to watch over him. But, after watching his king’s back disappear back into the castle, he does as he is told.

His thoughts are a storm as he passes the fruit off to the kitchen staff, dragging his feet to delay his return to Morpheus’ side. King Morpheus has always been vocal about fighting tradition- about making a better realm, even if it meant going against the “old ways”- and Hob had, foolishly perhaps, assumed that meant that Morpheus would not be against marrying outside his station.

Apparently he was wrong.

Arriving outside the study door, Hob feels his heart burn. With rejection, yes, and grief, certainly, but also with anger. Anger at the king’s hypocrisy, his arrogance and conceit, to think so lowly of Hob as to toy with his feelings and then snub his touch. As though Hob’s hands would somehow taint his royal figure. 

Well, Hob refused to be ashamed. He was proud of his rank and status, he was proud of his life, and no man or king would make him feel lesser. So when he walked into the room, he held his head high, and kept his eyes cold.

Morpheus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, but did not say anything.

The weeks following are tense. At first, Morpheus seemed to try to restart their flirtatious banter, but Hob refused to engage. He was not a toy for the king to play with as he pleased and then shove away when he got too bold. In another kingdom, Hob thinks he might have been executed for the glare he sent the lord’s way. But Morpheus only sighed and looked away, and eventually stopped trying. Their days were now filled with tense silences as they walked together.

Hob is seriously considering leaving Morpheus’ order to continue his travels on the day the assassination attempt happens. He is overseeing a trial between two nobles, something about one of them infringing on the other's land, Hob hadn’t really been paying attention. In hindsight, the two seem more amicable with each other than one would expect for a dispute to reach the point of coming before the king, but at the time Hob had just been grateful that it was a quiet day. 

“My King, I have some evidence that I believe may sway you in my favor,” one of them announced. 

Morpheus, with varying success, did try to keep from being too far above his people. As such, it was not unusual for him to stand and approach the noble when he gestured him forward, presumably to show or explain something to win his case. Hob, as usual, is only a step behind him. It is because of that that he catches the glint of metal in the noble’s hand within his robe.

With a wordless cry, Hob lunges forward, shoving Morpheus roughly to the ground to step in front of him. There is a loud clang as the noble’s dagger connects with Hob’s gauntlet. His eyes are wide at Hob’s speed, and he has no time to react before Hob’s fist makes contact with his nose, blood spraying as he collapses. Around them, the rest of the knights in the room rush into action, restraining both nobles and sweeping the room for any hidden danger. 

With the threat so swiftly taken care of, Hob is free to look down at where the king was sprawled, dark fabric pooling around him as he pushes himself up, dark hair concealing half his face. They look at each other, the adrenalin of the moment still rushing through both of them. 

“Are you alright, my liege?” Hob asks softly, holding a hand out.

Morpheus nods slowly, taking his hand and allowing Hob to pull him to his feet, “I am. Thanks to you.” 

As they stand, hands still clasped for a moment longer than necessary, Hob realizes that he has missed Morpheus. Perhaps he cannot have everything that he wants so desperately. But if this is all he can have, well. At least he can have this. 

“Of course,” he smirks, “I did swear to keep you soft and pretty, remember?” 

He means it as an olive branch, a remembered joke between them to show that they can still be more than simply knight and king, even if they cannot be more. He does not mean to make Morpheus’ eyes fill with tears.

“Yes,” his voice cracks, “Of course.” 

Hob is not given a chance to respond- not that he knows how to respond at all- before the king is turning away, calling for his advisor, Lady Lucienne, the one who had first approached Hob about his position within the court. The two convene quietly for a moment before Morpheus orders the knights present, including Hob, to take the two traitors away to be questioned and search the grounds for any other suspects. 

It feels wrong to leave the king’s side. Hob feels a desperate need to watch over him, to keep him safe and protected, to wipe away the tears that look so perilously close to falling. But he has been given his orders, and the king and lady are already moving to sequester themselves somewhere private to discuss what to do with the situation. So, with one last look back, he goes to fulfill his duty.

Hours later, when the palace is confidently secure and the traitors are under lock and key, Hob feels no less anxious to be at his king’s side. He was told to return to his own quarters, to rest for the night, and he did try at first, setting his armor aside and laying in bed to try to calm the burning in his heart. But there is no rest to be found here, and soon he finds himself walking purposefully through the halls in his casual clothing, a decision he only regrets when he finds himself faced unexpectedly with the king’s advisor.

Lady Lucienne is exiting the room just as he approaches the king’s chambers. Still half in the doorway, she raises an eyebrow at the clearly off-duty knight before her, and Hob freezes, feeling like a child caught stealing sweets.

“Sir Gadling,” she greets cooly, “I did not expect to see you so late. I thought you were resting,” she raised an eyebrow at him pointedly.

“Yes, m’lady,” he bows his head, but tries to continue awkwardly, “I simply could not rest, and wished to check to ensure the king was well after the attack today.”

“He is well,” she answers shortly, “so you may-“

“Lucienne,” a deep voice calls out from within the room, “he may enter.”

Frowning, Lucienne gives Hob a quick narrow-eyed look before re-entering the room, closing the door behind her and leaving the knight alone in the hallway. He waits awkwardly as a hushed conversation happens behind the door. Finally, Lucienne emerges once more, still eying him warily, but opening the door wider to allow him entry into the king’s chamber. As he enters, he is surprised when she exits, closing the door again to leave him alone in the room with Morpheus.

The room is grand, as expected for a king, and Morpheus sits primly on the edge of the large, ornate bed in the center. He is no longer wearing the extravagant, heavy garb that he dons in public. His current night robe, while as dark and elegant as all of his attire, is also thinner and more lightweight. It is also… revealing. The silky fabric contrasts sharply with his pale, nearly white skin, and for the first time, Hob is granted the sight of his king’s forearms, his neck, the jut of his collar bones, his calves. And with it, he is granted the sight of countless scars. 

Dark, rough scar tissue circles both his wrists like bracelets, a matching ring around his neck. There are some marks that Hob recognizes as blade wounds, and others that he thinks might be burns. They criss-cross over each other and dip below his robe, suggesting that what he is seeing is only a fraction of what exists. All of the marks look old. It does not make them look any less painful. 

Hob feels his mouth open, the breath rushing out of him as though he has been struck. He can tell, he knows, that the scars are old enough to have been made long before Hob ever met Morpheus. Still, he feels a strange sense of failure. As though it is his fault for not meeting Morpheus in time to protect him.

When he finally raises his gaze, he finds Morpheus looking at him, patiently waiting for Hob to finish his inspection. Hob opens his mouth, but cannot find any words that might soften whatever is happening right now.

Finally, Morpheus speaks, “Once, I was a prince. And now, I am a king.” His voice holds the gravity of an execution, and the sorrow of bowing his own neck beneath the blade, “But there was a time, in between, when I was neither.”

Hob takes another shaking step into the room. There is something dreamlike in the situation, an anticipation, a feeling of falling. “What do you mean?” he asks.

Morpheus turns his eyes forward to stare at one of the large landscape paintings he’d commissioned from a local artist, “I was sixteen when I was taken,” he states plainly, as though his words don’t gut Hob to the core, “It was… easy. For them to steal me away. Far too easy, even for an unloved spare like myself. As if it had been allowed.” He pauses, but keeps his face carefully smooth and neutral, “I still do not know for certain. Whether I was stolen or given away.” His next words are spoken more to himself than to Hob, “Perhaps it does not matter.”

Everything in Hob wants to move closer, to hold his king and shield him with his body, as though the past was an arrow aimed for his heart that Hob could stand in the way of. And yet, he feels frozen. Feet rooted to the ground by a pain so great even his strong and stoic king cannot keep it from his voice.

“When my blindfold was removed, I found myself brought before King Burgess.”

And now, Hob gasps, a too-loud inhale in the heavy tension of the room. Morpheus looks at him, his body stiff and his face still carefully empty.

Hob feels like he can’t breathe, “How…” his voice cracks desperately, “How long were you there?” He might be making a mistake by asking, by speaking at all during this tale, but he has to know. He has to.

“I was kept as a secret treasure for ten years,” Morpheus reveals bluntly. “I escaped my imprisonment roughly six years ago.”

The timeline stretches before Hob’s eyes, and he wants to weep.

“I was there,” Hob exhales in horror. Morpheus’ blinks, eyes blank and not understanding. “I… Ten years ago, I…” his throat feels like it is closing, but he forces the words out, “Burgess’ kingdom was one of the first I traveled to after I lost Eleanor. I was raised in the land neighboring it. I was there for nearly a year, drinking and fighting and participating in tournaments to distract myself from grief. I was offered a place in his court but I. Declined.” He takes half a step back, and then a full step forward when he sees the way the motion makes his king’s face fall. “I was right there,” he whispers.

“I doubt you could have done much,” Morpheus replied, turning his face to look at the wall again, “I was not flaunted before his people, or even the rest of his court. Only a select few knew of my presence beneath his castle. He…” his voice trailed off, and his eyes glimmered as tears began to well. But he stubbornly blinked them back, “It does not matter,” he says again, even softer. 

Hob wants to scream that it does matter, of course it matters. But his king looks so wounded right now, and it has nothing to do with the scars. So for now he waits, and lets Morpheus tell him no more than what he is ready to share.

“Eventually,” he continues, his voice steady once more, “the prince’s consort grew pitying. I am sure when he released me he expected me to simply run. But I had more than earned my right to vengeance.” His hands clenched into fists in his lap, “Burgess was almost too easy. He had grown old and careless. He was not so powerful as he thought himself when I was in chains. I spared his son the killing blow only out of gratitude to his consort.”

The stories of the fall of the Burgess Kingdom make much more sense now, with this information, and even the decline of the Endless kingdom who had for so long been allies with them. 

“It took me some time to return to my home kingdom. I was weak, and needed to heal and regain my strength. I also gathered allies. Lady Lucienne, Sir Matthew, among others. My family was not expecting my return, and so it was easy to claim the throne for myself. My parents I exiled, along with their supporters. My siblings I allowed the freedom to do as they wished. And what they wished was to leave.” 

A few of the king’s siblings had visited in Hob’s time at his side, but never for long. Hob ached at the pain he saw now. The pain of being abandoned so quickly after his return.

“And a few years later…” Morpheus’ gaze was heavy as he looked at Hob once more, “a traveling knight competed in a tournament, and caught my eye.”

Hob still remembers that day so vividly, the dark shadow of the king, the way he was too far for Hob to see his eyes and yet he fantasized about them looking at him. His heart swells in his chest to know that they were. And now he is here, stepping towards his king, his friend, the man he has stood beside for nearly two years now, and he cannot help but ask, “Why did you not tell me this before?”

When Morpheus sighs, it is heavy, and Hob thinks that a lesser man would have crumpled under the weight of the despair in that single breath.

“The parts of me that appeal to you…” he explains slowly, “being… soft. And pretty, and delicate, and pure…” he keeps his head high and shoulders back and it does not make him look any less ashamed, “they are all a fantasy. The reality is that I have long been. Damaged. And sullied.” Almost unconsciously, he brought one hand up to clutch at his robe, holding it closed just a little tighter, “Perhaps it was cruel of me to deceive you in such a way, but our games… brought me comfort. I could pretend, even if just for the briefest times, that it was true. That I was someone you could want.”

Eyes fluttering closed, he sighed, “I thought. If I could have nothing else. I could at least have that.”

His voice is so even, despite how soft it has grown, barely audible in the expansive room. He speaks as though reciting history- something that has already passed and cannot be altered. A tragedy that cannot be changed.

When Hob moves towards him, it is barely conscious. It is like floating down a river, like gravity, a force of nature that perhaps he could fight against if he wanted to. But he does not want to. And so he moves to his king and he kneels, and he did not know it was possible, but it feels even more right now than it has every time he has kneeled before. Morpheus looks at him, the slightest furrow in his brow, confused, surprised, strangely lost. Hob takes his hand, as he has countless times before, and for the first time feels the rough calluses on his fingers. He kisses his knuckles, and his lips brush his bare skin for the very first time. Morpheus gasps, silent, and Hob would have missed it had his eyes not been fixed on his king’s face. 

And then he continues. He brings his lips to the ring of scar tissue around his bony wrist, kissing first the outside, then the inside, leaning forward to continue kissing up his arm. There is a part of him that is appalled at his daring- this is his king, he has no right to take such liberties. But there is a much larger part that is desperate to prove him wrong. He has sworn an oath to protect this man. In this moment, he wants to protect him from his own expectations. 

And so he pushes himself up, still holding Morpheus’ hand as his lips trail over the landscape of texture across his skin. He kisses over the fabric of his robe, not pushing it aside, not asking Morpheus to reveal any more than he already has. He stands until he is, like blasphemy, looming over his king, leaning down to kiss along the rope of scarring along his neck. He feels, more than hears, the way Morpheus gasps as his lips caress his skin.

“No game could compare to the reality of you,” Hob breathes against his skin, letting his tongue lightly trace the texture of him, “You do not need to pretend that you are wanted.” Leaning back, he finds his king staring at him with wide, watery eyes, and Hob allows himself a moment to sweep his gaze down his figure in appreciation, “Look at you,” he whispers, “Look at how much you’ve survived.”

He brings his free hand up to cup Morpheus’ cheek, and his king still looks disbelieving, and so what can he do but lean in and kiss him. When their lips meet, it feels like the inevitability of dawn after a long dark night, like everything was meant to lead them here. They move their lips together slowly, softly, until the taste of salt blooms between them. Hob pulls back, and Morpheus drifts after him, tears streaming down his face. And for all that he has been through, he looks at Hob as though this, this love and wanting, is what will finally undo him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob kisses the tears from his cheeks, even as Morpheus shakes his head.

“I am not.” 

Hob tuts softly, “You are.” 

Feeling emboldened by his love, by a love he now understands is returned, he pushes gently at Morpheus’ shoulder, guiding him down to lay on the soft, rich fabric of his bed. Morpheus’ eyes are wide when he moves to straddle him, but he does not push him away. His hands hover over his hips hesitantly, and that is the moment Hob stops worrying about this being his king. Right now, this is just Morpheus, who has been torn apart, and pieced himself back together, and pushed Hob away because he was so certain he would not be wanted as he is. And Hob wants him, and so there is nothing more important than leaning down to kiss every inch of exposed skin.

“You are so strong,” Hob whispers, pressing his lips to the rough skin of his neck again, “but you have protected yourself for long enough. Let me, now.”

“Hob,” Morpheus’ voice is breathless, his hands finally come to clutch at his tunic, “I…”

“I have sworn an oath to you, my king,” he kisses the burns along his collar bones, “And I would swear another to you, my friend,” he kisses the raised scars on his chest, “and yet another for you, my love.” 

Slowly he kisses down to his stomach, where he feels Morpheus tense and shudder even through his robe. Morpheus is breathing heavily beneath him, gasps and sobs and moans as Hob touches him all over. He tugs at Hob’s tunic and Hob obliges, tugging it over his head and reveling in the way Morpheus stares up at him, his tears slowing and his throat bobbing as he swallows at the sight of Hob’s muscled chest, his body hair broken up by ropes of scars from his years of knighthood.

Hob takes Morpheus’ hand, calluses caressing calluses, and leans down to settle his weight on top of him. He pressed their chests together, pale and scarred against tan and scarred. “See?” Hob whispered against his ear, “We match.”

Morpheus’ breath hitches, and his hand clings tighter to Hob’s. He does not let go for the rest of the night, even after they have finished their gentle rutting and have both stained the insides of their clothes. He allows Hob to use his own shirt to clean them both, and to wipe his tears away, and to curl around him beneath the covers, but he does not let go. 

In the dark, Hob kisses each of his fingers, “Would that I could protect you from the things that have already happened,” he whispers, “But I swear to you, my beautiful Morpheus, that no new scars shall adorn your skin while I am here to prevent it.” 

He feels fresh tears fall against his skin, and he knows it will take time for Morpheus to truly believe his words. Hob will slowly reveal the parts of his past that he had edited out, and Morpheus will do the same, and eventually they will lay together with no fabric between them, and Morpheus will still cry at the kindness and the love and the want in Hob’s eyes, and that will be okay. For now, they sleep in the safety of each other's arms.

And in the morning, Hob will help Morpheus dress, kissing up his body as he buttons his robe until he is once more fully covered, kissing his lips as he fastens the last button.

[aihoshiino]

Hi, I hope you've had a nice day so far!

I'm sorry if this is a weird question, but how does one "get as much into a character's head" as you did with Ai?

All your posts about her are so incredibly in character, it's actually amazing. You seem to have a really deep understanding of her.

Sorry if this question comes off as rude or anything. I really like reading your blog posts.

thank you, anon! <3 i hope your day was nice too!

unfortunately i am going to make it slightly worse by giving what is probably the world's most unhelpful answer and say. I Don't Know. DJFKSJDSKLS

I think part of it just comes from the fact that my main hobby for basically my Entire adult life has been crosscanon roleplay, so nailing down a character's patterns of behaviour and extrapolating from it to draw conclusions about it that aren't just regurgitating canon verbatim is kind of baked into how I engage with media now, especially something that's really compelled me. That and I just enjoy this kind of analysis and meta for its own sake (AS IS PROBABLY OBVIOUS BY NOW)

In addition, a really formative work for me was Umineko: When They Cry which is, in short, a mystery novel about training you to be good at reading mystery novels and essentially demands that you Git Good at this kind of intricate character analysis in order to have the best experience with it. Higurashi defo has this to some degree as well, of course, but Umineko is the most explicitly About this aspect of its own narrative. So I was very much microwaved in the WTC mines.

THAT SAID, I can't tell you Exactly the process my brain works to arrive at the conclusions I do, but I can break down the process I'd recommend to start getting into a character's head.

First thing to do is pretty straightforward - revisit the canon material! Revisit all their appearances in canon and also seek out supplementary material - spinoff works, creator interviews, etc etc. Familiarize yourself with how they behave in the material as written.

From there, sit down with all this info and start drawing connections and following through on the patterns they establish. This is the part of the process that's hard to explain because it's basically just the meat and potatoes of forming your actual interpretation - like, as a random example; "hm, A-ko says she hates cats but we later find out that she's actually allergic to them. This seems small but it's part of a larger pattern of her trying to cover up for her weak spots even when they're small and inconsequential. Why does she feel so insecure that even something as small as a cat allergy is something she feels she has to lie to cover up?". That kind of thing.

Something else that's also important is... I'm not quite sure how else to say this but if you're looking to get into a characters' head as they're portrayed in canon, then you need to meet the canon text where it's actually at. By that I mean you need to think about the tone and the emotional themes of the work and how that character is placed within them. For example, a big reason I was always so exasperated by the 'omg what if ai was secretly teh evilz' speculation was because our sympathy for Ai and empathy with Aqua and Ruby's love and grief for her is the emotional foundation of OnK's story and taking that away compromises so much of the core premise that it would require a total restructuring of the very idea of what OnK even is, which is clearly way beyond the scope of what the manga was actually trying to do. Keeping in mind an author's intentions and what the story actually is can be really helpful when it comes to nailing down a character's internal world.

Hopefully this is helpful, anon! Some of this was very like, esoteric and vague lol but again, this is kind of just how my brain responds to narrative, so it's hard to explain.

[waywardxwords]

Witches

Summary: While hunting a witch, you accidentally stumble upon her collection of sex pollen. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: ~4.2k

Warnings: DO NOT ENGAGE IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18; THIS CONTENT IS RATED M FOR MATURE Swearing, Supernatural-y things (witches), sex pollen trope, smut (p in v, f masturbation), fluff

A/N: This is my first time writing Dean smut and also my first time using the whole sex pollen trope. But this was fun, and I enjoyed writing it. If you’re feeling up to it, please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

There wasn’t anything you hated more in this supernatural world than witches. They were ruthless, conniving and downright batshit crazy. But alas, if you and your hunting buddies didn’t hunt them, then no one would. They would continue wreaking havoc on anyone they wanted, and you couldn’t have that.

So now you found yourself in the living room of a woman you had suspected spent her free time doing witchy things. You had no idea what you were looking for–bones, spell books, weird herbs or plants; the options were literally endless. 

All you knew: people in this town all connected to this woman were ending up in rather interesting predicaments and you were determined to find out why. 

“Don’t touch anything that looks suspicious,” Dean’s voice came through the other line as you used one hand to press your phone to your ear. “I really wish you would’ve waited for me. We should’ve gone in together.”

“Yeah, well, there’s no time for that,” you muttered as you searched. There were a bunch of old books, but none of them screamed hocus pocus to you. You fumbled with a tiny wooden trinket box that had intricate lines and details on the outside. As you lifted the lid, you saw it contained some kind of yellowish-green powder. “This is interesting…” your voice trailed off as you brought the box closer to investigate. With your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear, you lifted the box. 

“I’m serious, do not touch anything. You listenin’ to me?” You rolled your eyes at his voice. 

“I’m not touching anything, Dean. Cool it,” you mumbled as you examined the substance. Within a moment, your nose suddenly felt tingly and itchy. It started before you could stop it—sneeze. A cloud of the yellowish-green powder encircled your face and created a haze. Your eyes immediately felt watery. The phone fell from your ear as you hurried to place the box back down on the table and brushed your face with your hands. As you pulled your hands away, you saw dusty yellowish-green hues. You missed Dean calling your name through the phone, but he didn’t miss the words that fell from your lips in the background. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” You breathed as you plucked the phone from the hardwood floor and brought it back to your ear.

“What’s happening?” Dean’s voice was elevated and you heard the rev of the Impala’s engine in the background.

“Uh, Dean?” You watched the powder on the floor around you. “I accidentally touched it.”

“God dammit,” he groaned. “I’ll be right there.”

Dean had gotten to the witch’s house in minutes, which made you realize you probably should have waited for him and gone in together. But that didn’t matter anymore. You were waiting for symptoms to start–every little thing you felt made you wonder if it was caused by the mysterious substance. 

“Talk to me, Sammy,” Dean answered the phone roughly as he sped to get back to the motel. He said it was the safest place to be in case something happened. Sam was on his own hunt, about four hours away. “It’s like a yellow color,” he described, as Sam probably asked what it looked like. 

“Like pollen,” you murmured from the passenger seat. Suddenly, you felt warmth in the pit of your stomach. It was an odd feeling, almost like you had just consumed a warm cup of tea or hot soup. 

“Yeah, like pollen,” Dean repeated into the phone. The warmth wasn’t going away, it was only getting hotter. So hot, you felt the need to pull off your leather jacket even though the cool autumn air nipped at your skin. Dean did a double take from the road to you, and back again. “What are you doing?” He pulled the phone slightly away from his mouth. 

“I’m getting really hot, Dean,” you mumbled, worry crept through your words. You didn’t get worried often—or show it, at least—but these damn witches…all bets were off. 

“She says she’s getting hot,” Dean relayed over the phone before pulling it away and hitting the ‘Speaker’ button. 

“Uh, okay…so she sneezed into a box of pollen and now she feels hot?” Sam was typing as he spoke. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Dean confirmed as he turned into the parking lot of the motel. By now, your skin was on fire. The heat had spread from just the pit of your stomach to your chest, your arms, your face, and…other places you preferred not to mention. 

“I’m on fire,” you mumbled as tears stung your eyes. As soon as the car was in park, you had the front passenger door open and moved to be outside of the Impala. The cold air felt glorious on your skin, but the fear kept your feet moving. 

“She’s burning up, Sammy. You got anything? Anything at all?” The worry was present in Dean’s voice, as well, though you barely noticed over the waves of heat coursing through you. 

Once the two of you got into your shared motel room, you beelined for the bathroom. Your fingers wrapped around the edges of the porcelain sink and you closed your eyes. The coolness from the surface of the sink calmed your shakes, even if just for a moment. 

“A what pollen?” Dean asked into the phone, as if he couldn’t have heard Sam correctly. After a pause, he continued. “You gotta be kidding me.” He breathed, but didn’t hesitate to get his mind back in the game. “Okay, walk me through it.” 

Dean’s tone should have made you nervous, but all you could focus on was the way your heart nearly vibrated in your chest. There was a heat blazing so hot in your center, that you realized at that moment it had created a slickness in your underwear. Your nipples were so hard, they ached against the soft cotton fabric of your bra. 

You glanced up to look in the mirror for the first time. That’s when you noticed the heat had risen and created patches of redness up your chest and into your cheeks. Your breathing was labored, almost, and you realized it was as if you had just had…

“Okay, hear me out,” Dean grumbled as he tossed his cell phone onto his bed and ran his hand over his mouth as he tried to find the right words. “You’re not gonna like this…but it’s called sex pollen.” He cleared his voice before he said it. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Your chest rose and fell with each breath, you eyed him carefully but that made you feel even hotter. The warmth was overwhelming, so you fanned yourself with one of your hands. 

“I know, I know,” he held his hands up as if he were just the messenger. “It’s a spell. It makes you wanna get it on, Marvin Gaye style.” He couldn’t help the grin that tugged at the corners of his lips. You rolled your eyes and threw the hand towel at his face, missing slightly. “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.” 

“Get it together,” you huffed. “So how do I break it?”

Dean gnawed at the inside of his lip, which was something you hadn’t seen him do before—or noticed, anyway. God, you couldn’t look away from his mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and you thought you might crumble. Your fingers reached out quickly to grip the doorway of the bathroom. 

“From what Sam has read,” he paused as he nervously rubbed at the back of his neck. “You gotta…do it.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. “Do it?” You repeated. “Can you be a grown-up for five seconds, please?” 

“Sex, darlin’,” he closed his eyes and said it hurriedly. “You gotta have sex.” 

All of the color drained from your face. Even though you knew that was what he meant, it was still a lot to take in (no pun intended). You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to force your brain to work, but all of the blood seemed to be rerouted to other parts of your body. 

The feelings that ran over you made you realize you were feeling extreme sensations of being turned on. This went far above any other time you had felt this way—thinking about it almost made it worse. 

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. When you peeled back your eyelids, you were met with his green gaze. You had never seen his eyes so green before—and in the hue of the motel bedside lamps, you spotted speckles of gold and brown. You had never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before. 

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered over the word. “So what now? Just try to let it pass?”

Dean cleared his throat and broke away from your stare, his tongue darted out over his bottom lip again. God dammit, if he doesn’t put that tongue away… You tried not to squirm standing there in your jeans and a tank top. “Uh, actually, Sammy said if you don’t…take care of it,” he waved his hand in front of himself in a circular motion. “It uh, it can be fatal.” 

“I’m sorry, come again?” You blinked once, then twice. 

“Yeah, uh, you gotta take care of it,” he brought his hand up to rub at the back of his neck again. You noticed the way his bicep flexed and tugged at the flannel that covered his arm. The heat in your parties made you think they may actually catch on fire. 

“Fuck, Dean,” you groaned and turned to move. The only thing that seemed to bring you any kind of relief was pacing. The friction your jeans caused between your legs was incredible. “What if…” you hesitated as you processed. “What if I try to ‘take care of it’ myself?” You used air quotes and looked back at him. 

He seemed to process for a second. “I mean, maybe? I don’t have any idea…” the tension in the room was so awkward. But the more time that passed, the harder it was for you to look at Dean and try to not jump his bones. 

“Okay, go to the bathroom…do not come out, you hear me?” You instructed firmly. Dean grabbed his phone and nodded. 

“I’ll text Sammy and see if he’s found anything else,” he mumbled and hurried to the bathroom before he closed the door. You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn you saw him blush—and Dean Winchester never blushed. 

By the time you heard the door click closed, your fingers worked the button on your jeans. As soon as the clasp was freed, you shimmied them down your thighs and kicked them off to the side. You decided to leave your underwear and tank top on, fully aware of the man just on the other side of the bathroom door. 

As you dropped down on the bed and sat up against the headboard, your knees parted automatically. The heat that escaped between your legs was so intense that the cool air made you gasp. You closed your eyes as your hand snuck under the band of your black panties. The only thing you could see was Dean…his chiseled jaw, the way it tightened when he was mad, or frustrated or deep in thought; the rough stubble scattered across his lower face and chin; the way his eyes bore into you every time he looked your way. These weren’t new feelings, just feelings you had been able to avoid for so long. Now that the sex pollen had taken over, all bets were off. 

Your index finger circled your clit. You tried to be quiet, truly. This situation was awkward enough and you knew the doors in this motel were practically cardboard and didn’t contain the sound. But the moans still fell from your lips hastily. You couldn’t stop them once you started. You dipped your fingers down and couldn’t believe the wetness there; the feeling was overwhelming. You squeezed your eyes tightly shut once more, envisioning the god of a man on the other side of the door. And then it happened. “Ugh, Dean,” his name rolled off of your lips dripped in absolute bliss. 

“Uh, you okay in there, sweetheart?” Fuck. He had heard it. The blush rising even stronger in your cheeks literally burned your face. Tears you hadn’t realized had pooled in your eyes blurred your vision. 

“God dammit,” you groaned. No matter how hard you tried, you knew this wasn’t working. “I’m uh, I’m fine, Dean.” You hoped it would be enough to appease him. 

“Listen, uh, Sammy just wrote me back. He said it’s not gonna work…you, uh, taking care of it yourself,” he cleared his throat twice. Oh awesome, you thought to yourself. Both of the Winchesters know I’m trying to masturbate this spell away… You knew what that meant. Before your brain could process, you heard him again. “You decent? I’m comin’ in.” 

You practically squealed and clawed at the comforter to cover yourself. The door to the bathroom creaked open and Dean hesitantly peered around it. By the time he made it into the room, you were mostly covered but your right leg had slipped out under the comforter and Dean caught a glimpse of skin from your foot all the way up to where your underwear sat above your hip. 

Your eyes connected and you noticed his jaw tightened. But this time, it wasn’t because he was mad or frustrated…maybe in deep thought, but something felt different; something felt darker than that. 

“It’s not working,” you murmured, your chest still heaved with each heavy breath you took. Your fingers gripped the comforter so tightly at your chest, your knuckles were white. 

“I know, sweetheart,” his voice somehow sounded deeper than it had moments before. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, or maybe it was the sex pollen. But either way, it made your body tremble. 

You followed Dean’s gaze to your leg—he absolutely saw the tremble. 

“Listen, I don’t want to make this weird,” he rubbed a hand down his face again. The way his mouth dropped open made the heat rise even more. “But you can’t fix this by yourself.” You knew he was hesitating; hesitating to take it further. You wondered if it was because he didn’t want it, maybe he didn’t want you. 

“Help me fix this,” the tears blurred at your eyes again. “Dean, I’m begging you. Everything is on fire. My body literally feels like I’m going to combust.” You hated that your voice cracked, but you were truly starting to freak out. “I don’t want you to do something you don’t wanna do…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean nervously chuckled as he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I don’t want you to do something just because you have to…” his voice trailed off as his eyes studied you. Realization set in that Dean wasn’t able to hide his attraction or interest in that moment. His jeans had tightened quite a bit in his groin, revealing a bulge that made you practically pant.

“I need you, Dean. But I also want you,” you practically drooled at this point. “I want you so, so bad.”

Dean’s hands moved to unbutton the buttons to his flannel quickly—you scrambled out from underneath the comforter to where he stood at the end of the bed on your knees to help him with the rest. You gave up after the second button and pulled the two sides harshly apart, sending buttons flying to bounce onto the multicolored carpet below. 

“Christ,” he breathed as he moved to undo the metal button on his jeans. Instantly, his hands cupped your cheeks. He paused for only a moment. After one more look into your eyes to make sure this was okay, you met in the middle as your lips crashed against one another. 

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” the words rolled off of your lips like it was nothing—but it was so much more than nothing. It was something you hadn’t meant to say, but the sex pollen haze made your filter dissipate. Your lips pulled apart with a pop and your eyes found his. 

“God, me too,” he almost growled as he toppled you back onto the bed once more. Dean was on top of you, your legs parted automatically. He held himself up with one arm and kissed you in a way you had never been kissed before. 

“Dean, I need you to touch me. Please,” the need in your voice was mixed with begging at this point. “Everything is on fire.”

“I’m gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” his words drawled together, intoxicated with lust. The hand that wasn’t supporting his body weight trailed down your side. He pulled back and sat on his knees, pulling you with him so you were sitting up. His fingers grasped the hem of your tank top and pulled it up and over your head in one swift motion. He reached behind you and masterfully unclasped your black bra. As soon as it fell away, the cool air from the room bit at your already hardened nipples, causing you to hiss out loud. 

Just as quickly as he pulled you up, he pushed you gently back to the bed on your back as he settled between your legs once more. 

“You’re so god damn beautiful,” he murmured as his lips connected with your neck. He planted hasty wet kisses from just below your ear lobe, down your collarbone to the top of your breasts. 

“Dean,” your hips writhed against him. You needed more. 

“I know, baby,” he breathed as his hand finally began to trace down your side, his fingertips left goosebumps on their way until they reached your hip bone. He pulled the material of your underwear until they slid off of your hips. He pulled until they were down near your feet where you could kick them off. 

His fingertips trailed to your center and circled your clit just as you had done moments before. His index finger slipped easily inside of you before he decided to add his middle finger to the mix. 

“Oh,” you breathed out, your head tilted backward so your neck was exposed. Dean took the opportunity happily, his lips sucked and kissed every inch of skin there as he pumped his fingers into you. “Dean, please.” You were doing a lot of begging, but you literally couldn’t help it. You felt like you would implode if he didn’t take you right then and there. 

“Patience is a virtue, sweetheart,” he murmured against the flesh of your neck.

“I don’t really have time for patience,” you groaned. Dean pulled back for a moment, almost as if he had forgotten this was initiated from the sex pollen to begin with. He swallowed hard as his eyes trailed your naked body, his jaw tightened. He quickly pulled off his flannel, within seconds his fingers pulled at the hem of his t-shirt. Next up was his jeans, and then his boxers. 

Your body squirmed at the sight–he was stunning. Your eyes trailed down his biceps to his forearms–down his chest, to the delicious V and then…

Your breath got caught in the back of your throat, but before you could gasp for air, his lips were back on you again and you felt his hardness against your thigh. “I don’t have a condom…” he grumbled as his head dropped into the crook of your neck.

“Birth control, Dean,” you mumbled against his hair. His lips found yours again, moving against them as if his life depended on it–and, well, yours sort of did. He pulled back for a moment and found your eyes, as if he was asking if you were sure about this. You knew there was no going back at this point, so you raised your head to capture his lips in yours again. You pulled his bottom lip between your teeth gently, which elicited a moan from him.

And then in a second, you felt him enter you. It could have been the sex pollen, but you didn’t think so. The feeling was the most incredible sensation you had ever felt. The way your body fit against his was something you could have never imagined—even in the nights you had drifted off to sleep thinking about what this might feel like. 

He moved slowly at first; too slowly to appease the effects of the damn sex pollen. Your hips rose to meet his and you wrapped your legs around his waist, linking your feet behind him at your ankles. He obliged, and angled his body in a way that you could feel absolutely every inch of him inside of you. 

“God damn, you feel so good,” he groaned as he pressed his forehead to yours. You had never felt so close to someone in your entire life, and you prayed it wasn’t just another symptom of the pollen. 

“You’re tellin’ me,” you moaned as he reached down with the arm that wasn’t supporting his weight and pulled your leg behind your knee so it rested in the crook of his elbow. “Jesus, Dean.” You bit down on your lower lip so hard you thought you tasted blood for a second. It didn’t matter; nothing mattered in that moment. 

He rocked against you so hard, the headboard bounced off of the thin wall of the motel room—the picture that hung above you rattled. Nothing mattered. 

Dean brought his lips hastily to your ear and kissed just below it before he whispered, “I want you to touch yourself, sweetheart. Let yourself go.” You shuddered at the feeling of his warm breath on your earlobe and the words he whispered huskily. You could hardly take it. 

Your release had already started to build—which wasn’t too surprising, considering how turned on you were to begin with. You snaked your fingers down between your bodies, the feeling of his pelvis crashing against yours sent another wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

You began to circle your clit with your fingertip as he secured your leg in the crook of his arm, his bicep flexed tightly. The sensation was overwhelming and you found yourself practically babbling moans and words strung together. “Fuck, Dean. Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” that elicited another chuckle from his lips but didn’t disrupt his movements as he plummeted into you. It felt like he was breaking through your cervix at this point. 

“Let yourself go,” he could feel your muscles beginning to twitch around him. His words tossed you over the edge. “Take what you need, sweetheart.” 

That was it. You felt like your release was practically boiling as it shook you to your core. You saw flashes of color, and your ears were ringing. Dean moved through it for you as you rode the wave. You vaguely heard yourself yell out his name as everything crashed around you. 

“You okay? You want me to stop?” He almost winced as his hips urged him to move but he wanted to respect the fact that the spell you were under had most likely dissipated now. 

“Don’t stop,” you hurriedly told him as you rocked your hips against him once more. “Your turn.” You leaned up to connect your lips to a sweet spot on his neck, your tongue ran over his stubble and nipped gently which elicited a groan from the back of his throat. 

“God damn,” he growled as his pace quickened again. Your muscles still twitched from your orgasm, you thought it might roll into a second wave—which would have been a first for you. 

After a few more thrusts from Dean, he practically collapsed on your chest. Your fingertips found his back, coated in a thin layer of sweat. You dug your nails gently as you drew small smoothing circles upon his skin. After a moment, he rolled so he was on his back just beside you. 

“That was magical,” your words practically slurred together as the room was filled with heavy breathing from both you and Dean—your chests rose and fell with each breath. 

Dean’s eyes were sealed shut, but you saw the grin that pulled at his lips and he chuckled. 

“You sure that’s not the sex pollen talkin’?” He drawled, his words etched together as well—a combination of exhaustion and post-sex effects. 

You gently bit at your bottom lip and glanced at him from your side of the bed. His eyes were still shut lazily, a slick layer of sweat glistened in the dim light of the motel. Maybe it was still sex pollen remnants, maybe not—but something gave you a sense of courage you had never had before. You leaned over his body and inched towards his face. “Guess we’ll just have to let round two decide…”

His eyes shot open but his grin stretched wider so you could see his bright white smile. His gaze trailed from your eyes to your lips. Just before he leaned up to press his lips to yours, he said, “Guess we will, won’t we?” 

And for the first time in your entire life—you were thankful for witches.

---------

A/N: Eek! I always get nervous posting ~smut~, but here we are! I love hearing what you think, so please don't be afraid to comment! Even if it's something I could work on for next time. Hope you enjoyed it!

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @lyarr24 @roseblue373 @nelachu2423 @deans-spinster-witch @stillhere197

[emblemxeno]

If we're being honest, I got a lot of issues with Ingrid because I feel like she has the wrong character development

Her support with Dedue is realizing that she shouldn't apply her negative view of Duscur onto every Duscurian indiscriminately

That kind of thing works for Oboro because Nohrians really did kill her parents

But, Duscurians didn't actually cause the death of Lambert or Glenn, so her development should've been to learn that all those years of hatred were misdirected, and she hated them for no reason

It also didn't help that Dimitri states multiple times that Duscur didn't commit the crime, and Ingrid is still ignorant about it

I have this unhinged hatred of the Faerghus Four as a concept because every time, it's like they're consciously refusing to acknowledge the importance of Dedue in Dimitri's life in the present "Oh, these are Dimitri's childhood friends. Of course, they're close." Yeah, sure.... They're totally closer to Dimitri than Dedue is in the present.... *Internal screaming*

Combining these because my answer to both is similar!

In my opinion, it showcases how 3H's writing philosophy is ultimately shoddy in its foundation. The backstories, supports, and character-to-character dialogue itself is great in theory, but execution it clashed with what both FE usually tries to do and what 3H desperately wants to do.

FE typically has characters join chapter to chapter, with important ones having plot moments, while side characters fall to the background once their designated chapter is up. But this isn't at the cost of character interaction, pre-established relationships, and the micro-to-macro worldbuilding precisely because they're not overly important. You can have canon romances, friendships, familial relationships, etc. because that's all supplemental side material.

3H was written in a way in which the characters were all connected to its grandiose world, to the point where Fodlan itself can be almost considered a character. Multilayered backstories that infer key points in the narrative, each character no matter how trivial having opinions on how the world works, shifting dynamics, etc.

The problem though is that these two philosophies clash already at base, but also run into the problem of FE's gameplay integrated story elements.

None of the Faerghus Four can meaningfully comment on their relationship with Dimitri during a story cutscene because they can die. Ingrid can't meaningfully change her perspective on Dedue or Duscur beyond her supports because she can die. Therefore, all you get are (admittedly pretty good) supports, the monastery dialogue, and other tidbits intentionally disconnected from one another so as not to be important enough to write around potential death. The comments they do get in cutscenes were intentionally written in a way to be surface level and easily replaced. Look at the FEdatamine site for example, where conclusions are reached by Byleth, the lord, the unkillable retainer, and other important story figures, with numerous possible instances of "if X character is alive they comment this, but if X character is dead this line is skipped."

That is proof of how sloppy 3H's writing is in foundation when you think about it long enough. The game that has such an intricate world, thorough details, and fascinating story beats, is actually extremely bad at delivering a story, especially an FE story. Being the judgmental and petty cunt that I am, 3H gets a pass most of the time a) most don't care or bother to care about actual stuff like this and b) the game has the aesthetics of being a down to earth, gritty, serious narrative. The foundational issues don't matter when you have Edelgard yapping about "THE CREST SYSTEM", dark character circumstances, and intriguing mysteries to solve in part 1.

People want the appearance of sophistication, especially after Awakening and Fates bent a lot of rules to fuck around with their respective stories. It's why Engage, despite not having nearly as many basic issues at conveying its plot and is actually extremely good at being a Fire Emblem story (e.g. more character being able to actually die, pre-established relationships, chapter to chapter joining, not nearly as much centering on Alear as the ultimate decider on a character's fate compared to Byleth), is panned because... why? Its bright aesthetic? Its good dragon vs evil dragon plot? Its softer or humorous moments?

Hell, even its call backs to past FE games is called cheap, soulless, or a gateway to gacha (one video I saw even described it as something like "when art becomes obligation" or some such nonsense), despite it LITERALLY being the prime anniversary title. The main character is the Fire Emblem, and the writers-through Lumera-wish a happy birthday to Fire Emblem!!! What about that is lacking heart and soul?

But yeah, again, I preface that I'm a judgmental asshole who proudly proclaims that the audience (at least the western one) has for years been too obsessed with yearning for darker serious aesthetics of FE's past (despite said past being wackier than they remember), that when a new game has them in overflowing spades, the many fundamental video game writing issues do not matter as much anymore.

Aesop for the day: Serious tones and aesthetics are not automatically better than lighter, heartfelt, or funny ones. You still have to write well for a story to be good.

EDIT: Funny enough this is also why Three Hopes is a more comfy environment for the Fodlan cast's in terms of tangible development, because the things the writers want to do with that game's story complements its gameplay. Because KT is better at making Warriors plots than FE plots.

[vanfleeter]

Alora: Chapter 1

Summary: Never one to fall in love, Jacob finds himself doing just that when he dances with a mysterious woman at a masquerade ball. In his search to find her again, he does not realize that she is now living under the same roof as he.

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Alora Word count: 4,039 Warnings: 18+ || Fluff. Shyness. Love at first sight. Dancing. Light flirting. Angst. Panic. Chasing. Tears. Disappointment. Rumors. Self doubt. Mentions of physical ailment. Worry. Mentions of potential war. Engagement.

Dancing that night with her was magical. The way she flowed so easily with the music, her gentle touch as she held his one hand and the other placed delicately on his shoulder. Most of her face is hidden by a mask, the only visible part being her nose down to her chin. She wore a dark shade of red lipstick that still stood out from the rest of her ensemble. Her eyes, though darker than his own, still shined brightly beneath the mask. He had never met a woman such as her who seemed to have captivated him. He had no clue as to who this woman really was, all he knew in the moment was that he felt things for her. Without knowing her true identity, a simple touch of their hands meeting sent a warm feeling through his body, his heart skipping a beat, and just the feeling of knowing it was her, the one whom he was supposed to love.

Everyone was surprised to see him out on the floor and dancing, dancing with such a nobody no less. No one in the grand ballroom could recognize who the woman was. Some whispered claiming she must be a witch if she’s got him so enthralled. He had refused to dance with anyone, much less even be at the ball. He attended anyway due to it being his younger brother’s birthday after all. He must be in attendance, all royal family members must at least show themselves at functions such as this. He had been asked numerous times by different women throughout the night to share a dance with him but he declined gracefully while calling them beautiful. Truly they were, he was not one to lie. However, he just did not want to dance.

That is until she appeared. His eyes had been scanning the room, taking in all that was going on in that grand space when they landed upon her as she descended the steps. She chose to wear a black ball gown with intricate lacings that covered her arms. Her dark hair was curled neatly and elegantly it fell over her shoulders and down her back. Her hands were placed against her abdomen as her own eyes scanned the room. He could tell she was nervous, as if she didn’t belong here. Little did he know that she didn’t.

Handing off his chalice to the servant, he walks down the few steps from the throne altar and onto the floor. Many were surprised to see him leave his spot. They followed his every move as he walked through the now parting crowd, allowing him to move freely along the floor and towards whatever or whomever he was going to.

Her eyes fell on him as he approached the bottom of the staircase. She walked down the next few steps until she was in front of him, having a little more height being a step above him. He smiles up at her before dipping his head down and bowing before her. Light gasps could be heard around the room as the people still watched the scene that was still unfolding before them. He never bows before anyone, not even to his own brother who is the King, but now he is bowing to her.

Who is she?

Straightening back up, he held out his hand to her, palm facing up as an invitation to join him. With just a simple look, he promised her safety. The touch of their hands alone sparked something within them both. Neither of them spoke a word to each other as he led her onto the floor. The music changed from a quicker beat to a slower one, inciting that was indeed love in the air. She stood at the appropriate distance from him and curtsied to him, nearly touching the floor as she did so. This move was only reserved for the King, who stood in front of his throne and watched alongside the rest of the crowd.

The prince smiled and chuckled slightly as he allowed her to finish and stand back up. He stepped up close to her, immediately covering her with intimidation. She dipped her chin slightly, averting her eyes to the floor beneath their feet. He delicately lifts her chin with the knuckle of his index finger and gives her a reassuring smile, his eyes still holding the look of safety.

She thought he was going to kiss her cheek as he leaned in close to her. Instead of a simple kiss, he whispered into her ear. “That was a curtsy for the king, though I enjoyed the gesture.” He could see a light shade of pink appear on her cheeks and he chuckled. “Do not be embarrassed.” He takes a step back, letting his knuckle lightly scrape her skin as he lets go.

“My apologies, your highness.”

“Do not apologize either.” He says. “Shall we dance?”

She merely nods her head as he gently places his hands on her hips and pulls her close, their bodies touching. Bodies are not supposed to touch as when two people dance together. That act is only reserved for a man and a woman who are married. They are most certainly not married but he does not care. He felt something when touching only her hand, but he longed to feel more of her. She knew it was wrong for her body to be so close to his but he made sure that it was okay.

Together they swayed and twirled to the music, their eyes never leaving the other. They were in their own small world, not bothering to worry or think about the other people in the room.

The king, as he still kept his eyes focused on his brother and this mysterious woman that seemed to have entranced him, leaned over to whisper to the guard. “Do you know who this woman is?” He asks.

The guard shakes his head. “No, sir, I do not even recognize her. Even with everyone wearing a mask, I would still recognize who they would be, but this woman, I cannot place who she is. Does she seem a threat to you, your majesty?”

“No,” The king says. “At least not at the moment she does not. I am simply curious how out of every woman in this room, she is the one who miraculously gets my brother to dance. He never dances unless forced to, but this is him willingly dancing.”

The music only lasted a couple minutes before it came to end. Those two minutes, the prince had believed that he may have just found the woman whom he is supposed to marry and love with his whole being. It all felt right, as if he finally found the missing puzzle piece.

His queen.

Deep down he had a feeling that he would not be allowed to marry her. She was not a princess, that much he knew. The curtsy alone gave that away. Everyone knows who the king is, yet she went down to the floor for him.

When the song ended, she tried to thank him for the dance and make a quick getaway, but he held firmly to her hand, preventing her from going anywhere. “Your highness, I–”

“You must stay,” He says. “Even if we only spend this one night together.”

“I am not who you might think I am,” She says.

“I do not care who you are,” He says as he gently tugs her back to him. Their chests collide, their faces just a mere centimeter from each other. She could feel his breath along her skin, which sent goosebumps down her neck and skin. “I have never felt this way for any woman I have encountered. Not a single one had made me feel like this before..”

“Feel like what, your highness?”

“You make me feel as if I am flying high into the heavens.”

“A little dramatic, your highness.”

He chuckles, swaying their bodies side to side in time with the new song that the orchestra has begun to play. “Please, call me Jacob. I do not like the use of titles.”

“Well, Jacob, if I am making you feel like you are flying, what happens when you get too close to the sun?”

“My wings will begin to melt and I will fall back to the earth.”

“Mmm, Icarus.” She says. “You know that is not a love story.”

“You know your myths,” He says, amused.

“I know some.” She says with a small smile. “But you mustn’t fly too close to the sun, Jacob. You might lose your wings and fall to your death.”

“Then death shall be my fate if it means allowing me to be close to you. To love you.”

“How can you love someone who you have only met just a small amount of time ago?” She asks, tilting her head back to look at him better.

“Love is a thing that a mere human can never understand. I do not understand it but here I am, dancing with you and falling for you with each step we take.”

“You speak of a poet.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I am wise with my words but I cannot rhyme to save my life.” She giggles, her head falling forward to rest on his shoulder. “I do write,” He says. “My brother assumes I am not right in the head because I just write and write and fill some many journals with ramblings and thoughts.”

“Not right in the head? As if you have gone mad? Insane even?”

He chuckles and nods his head. “Exactly that.”

“How else can one express their own thoughts?” She questions. “I have some of my own journals too.”

“So we are similar,” He says. “Why do you write? Too many thoughts?”

“I fear my mind never shuts off.” She says. “It is constantly going and writing is an escape for me to clear it.”

The music comes to an end again and soon the king is pounding his jeweled cane against the floor of the altar capturing the attention of all the people in the room. “As your king and host of this magnificent ball, I would like to invite you all to please join me in raising your glasses for a toast to my dear younger brother, Samuel, as we continue to celebrate his birthday well past the midnight hour!”

Jacob stops a servant walking by and grabs two glasses of champagne off of the tray and hands one to the woman. Together they toast his brother before indulging in the tart drink. As Jacob lowers his glass, he looks beside him only to find the woman had fled. Frantically looking around, he spots her making a run for the stairs, in a hurry no less. Handing off his drink to someone random, he quickly moves through the crowd desperately trying not to lose sight of her.

Running up the stairs, he comes out to the main hallway where small groups of people lingered, chatting and drinking. He scans the whole area until he sees the tail end of her dress disappearing around the corner leading to a separate stairwell. Following quickly after her, he stops at the stairs and looks down the spiraling staircase. There, running with her dress held firm in her hands, is the woman as she hurries down each step.

“Wait!” He calls after her. She pauses momentarily and looks back up at him. Her mask was gone, revealing the entirety of her face. She looked even more beautiful, her eyes just as dark and beautiful without the mask. They glistened at the fiery torches reflected off the tears that threatened to fall. “Please don’t go!”

Her mouth opens as if she were going to say something but no words come out. Instead she dips her head and continues on down the stairs.

“No! Please!” He calls again as he rushes down the stairs after her. He follows her out into the courtyard, the chill of the air already beginning to nip at his nose. “Please stop! You mustn’t leave just yet!”

“I’m sorry, but I must go!” She calls back over her shoulder. “I truly had a wonderful dance with you, your highness.”

As she darts out of the courtyard, past the tall bushes, something falls from her hand and lands on the ground. Coming to the gates of the courtyard, Jacob finds the area surrounding it completely void of her presence, as if she were never there, as if he dreamt of the whole thing.

Bending down in front of him, he picks up her mask. It’s made of a fine velvet material with black jewels embedded into it. How he never noticed the details of it back inside the ballroom, he’ll never know. Running his fingers over the mask, he looks up towards the woods just across the clearing. His mother used to read him and his brothers fairy tales when they were younger. Her idea of love is what stuck with him the most. But never did he think he’d be living in one. Meeting a stranger at a ball, chasing after her when midnight struck, though instead of a glass slipper, she left behind her mask. No magic could ever disguise her face, he made sure to save it for when he goes out to search for her.

He had to find her again. He had to know her name, know her story. His heart already longed for a woman he knew nothing about.

“Your highness,” He hears one of the guards speak behind him. “We may go look for her, if that is what you want.”

Jacob shakes his head and turns to face the guard. “No.. That is not necessary.” He says before walking back the guard and making his way through the courtyard and into the palace.

He didn't bother going back to the ball. There was no reason to continue this night if he did not have her. He will deal with his brother’s disappointment in the morning.

Running through the woods and making it back to the townsquare, the woman rushed down the dirt road and past the still flowing fountain until she reached the steps of the general store. She stepped inside the quiet store, the only sound of the bells that jingled above her head. She hastily took off her shoes before heading to the back of the building where the living quarters would be. Her heart still beats wildly in her chest as she quickly undid the ties on the back of her dress.

She was not expecting to have danced with the prince tonight. She only went to enjoy the livelihood of the kingdom and celebrate the youngest prince’s birthday. Just go, have a drink, and go back home. Her intentions were not set on meeting a man, or even the prince no less. She was surprised when he came up to her at the bottom of the stairs. She’s heard whispers of Jacob, never really knowing what was true about him. Some said he was arrogant and stuck up while others said he was reserved and hardly ever left the palace. If a woman ever tried to talk to him, he’d be polite before excusing himself. He was never one to court, he never fell in love.

Tonight though, she got a glimpse of the prince. A small one but one to know that he neither of those things. He was kind and gentle, and made her feel safe. He spoke with elegance and poise and never once made her feel inferior. If anything he was inferior to her. He treated her as if she was the only woman in the room, the only one he had a care for.

She felt utterly regretful when she had to leave. She didn’t want to leave him like that but she had no other choice. Someone had to be the one to run the general store and that required early mornings. She wanted to stay longer, dance with him all night, but her duties lie elsewhere, though some would say her duties should be to the royal family.

Settling into bed for the night, she picked up her journal and began to write, her mind a constant flow with words that needed to be written down and expressed and as she wrote, she couldn’t stop the smile as she wrote about the prince. Maybe one day she'd be brave enough to make an appearance again, just to see him, but right now she cannot live in a fantasy, she has to live her real life. If he knew who she truly was, he would never want to be with her, let alone love her. She was of low class struggling to make ends meet as she worked hard to keep her father’s store in business. He is of royal blood, generations of kings and queens have come before laying out the very foundation with which his feet walk upon. He has never had to work a day in his life, never had to get his hands dirty. He has people for that. Why would he ever love someone like her?

Little did she know that he really was in love with her. He knew she wasn’t of a higher class. He knew that from the moment she laid her hand in his. He could feel the roughness of it, the hard work of the low class. He was sure his brother would never approve of such a courtship, now that he was to be engaged to the princess of Spain. A woman he has never met, nor has he seen. But dancing tonight with this mysterious woman, whose face is imprinted on his mind, felt like love. A love he grew up watching, a love he longed for. His heart could not, would not, allow him to marry someone he did not love. Even if it was for the greater good of the kingdom, he just could not do it.

He would happily fight for his kingdom, lay down his life for it, but to marry for it? He could not.

A knock came on the door of his bed chambers and he called for them to enter. He set the mask down on the table beside his bed. His brother, the king, steps into the room and closes the door behind him.

“May we talk?” He asks. “If you are not too tired.”

“Go ahead,” Jacob prompts. “But if you are to speak of the mystery woman, I do not care to hear what words might come from you.”

“Even if they are kind words?”

“I know your intentions for me, Joshua. Do not stand there and attempt to lie. You do not approve, I already know.”

“How can I not approve when I do not know who this woman is myself?” Joshua says as he goes to lean against the post of Jacob’s bed.

“You must sit down,” Jacob says as he goes over to his brother.

“Oh relax, Jacob, I am fine,” Joshua says as Jacob still helps him to sit on the bed. “I have broken limbs, Jacob, I am not sick.”

“Let me worry,” Jacob says. “Someone has to.”

“Dare I say again that I am not sickly, Jacob?” Joshua chuckles. “About this mystery woman,” He says. “She had you in a trance.”

“She did not,” Jacob denies.

Joshua rolls his eyes. “Have you forgotten we share the same DNA? You are my twin, Jacob, I feel all that you feel. I have never seen you so in love.” He chuckles upon seeing the light pink hue decorate Jacob’s cheeks. “Do not be ashamed to admit it, Jacob. It is okay to be in love.”

“Even if I am to be engaged soon?”

“Yes.. However, as king, I can still end this engagement.”

“Are you willing to start a war with Spain to make your brother happy?”

“I saw the way you two looked at each other,” Joshua says. “It was the same way Papa and Mama always looked at each other… May their souls rest in peace..”

Jacob sits down on the bed beside his brother and reaches for the mask. “I do not know her name, I do not know where she is from, if she is even from this kingdom.”

“Then shall we go look for her?” Joshua says. “I will not let you give up on love just because you were stupid and did not ask for her name.”

“I would not even know where to start.” Jacob says.

“There has got to be something about her that will give us a clue.” Joshua says. “What does she look like? I could see a little of her face.”

“Beautiful.. She was beautiful.”

“Saying she is beautiful will not help us, brother.” Joshua says. “What color were her eyes?”

“Oh umm.. Brown.. A deep shade of brown–as if they were almost black. More like those chocolates that Papa used to bring back with him when he would come home from his trips.”

“Very few have brown eyes around here,” Joshua says. “That helps narrow down the search. What else about her stood out?”

“Her hands,” Jacob says. “They looked soft but they were rough.”

“Low class,” Joshua says.

Jacob rolls his eyes and stands up from his bed. “Just say it, Joshua.”

“I do not know what you mean?”

“Say that you do not approve,” Jacob goes on. “Say that she is not of royal blood and that we cannot taint the bloodline.”

“You do not realize who is King, do you, Jacob?”

“You are.”

“And who can approve the marriages of the royal family?”

“You can.”

“And have you ever asked me what it is that I want for my family?” When Jacob stays silent, Joshua pushes himself up from the bed and limps over to Jacob. “You have never talked to me of love or of marriage before. I am not our parents, nor am I anyone who came before us. Love happens regardless of status and who am I to stand in the way? And besides, did you ever know who Mama truly was?”

Jacob’s brows furrow. “No?”

“Ahh the secrets you learn when you become King,” Joshua chuckles. Jacob helps him back to the bed. “Mama wasn’t of any royal bloodline. She was a commoner, much like your mystery woman. She was a farmhand, mostly collected chicken eggs and milked the cows. Papa fell in love with her when she was hired to work here at the palace. He was coming home from a ride on his horse when he saw her coming out of the stables.

“Papa fell in love with her as soon as his eyes landed on hers. Much like yours did with your mystery woman. Grandpapa did not approve of his love for Mama–practices forbad them being together. Papa was engaged to a princess from Russia at the time, the marriage was supposed to happen in three months' time. But then Grandpapa ended up passing before the marriage even came into fruition. Papa ended the engagement, nearly starting a war with Russia–” Joshua chuckles. “He solved that problem of course. Once he patched things with Russia, he found Mama again and he proposed and well.. You can clearly piece together what occurred after that.”

“What you are saying is…”

“What I am saying, dear brother, is that if you love this woman like I know you do, then I will help you find her. I could always abuse my power and force every woman in the kingdom to come here to the palace. Though it may take a while and you would probably be ready to rip your eyes from your skull but it could help us find her.”

“I’d rather look for her my own way.”

“Very well..” Joshua sighs. He gets off the bed again and hobbles over to the bedroom door. “Maybe your mystery woman knows a thing or two in medicine. I am tired of all this limping..” He shoots a wink at Jacob before leaving his bed chambers.

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[movieshead]

a lot of deltarune discourse pisses me off. but one that really stuck with me was people being like "why would kris be upset at seeing toriel drunk and dancing w sans" and its like, theyre fourteen/fifteen years old, clearly had their life turned upside down by their parents divorce (and the circumstances) and i feel there's very strong indications that they want to in some way "get back" part of their younger years when they had asriel and dess and their parents together etc.. people really do not understand any of these characters and are not playing the game TO understand them but r just trying to solve a mystery or something. It's like how people engage with twin peaks! total disregard for the intricate character writing that is almost more central than the plot itself. Deltarune isn't done yet but I'd argue the plot will end up serving the characters more than the other way around

[kamenstranger]

A review(?) of Dandadan

Starting these reviews off is always the hardest part, but it often comes to me after some time filling out the rest of the article. Dandadan has been stubborn in that regard, so much so I've been trying to figure out where to start with this series since it first came out.

I began reading DDD before tankōbon's were being printed, hell before it even made it to NA digitally (There were translations in Europe which got them early iirc.) Then batches starting coming out, and I still have those original single chapters from Sept. 5 '21

I became captivated, but, like its namesake, describing why I enjoy DDD is daunting in how esoteric it all is.

The general plot is straightforward on its own: Momo Ayase, the granddaughter of a spirit medium, though circumstance meets with an occult obsessed otaku, Ken Takakura, and, yes, he's named after exactly who you think, which drives the Takakura obsessed Momo nuts. She calls him Okarun, which I will also be doing for the rest of this.

Okarun's big obsession is UFOs and aliens, which he believes in, but not ghosts. You see where this is going. Hi-jinks ensue, both go to hot spots for each others interest and what do you know, Momo gets abducted by Aliens and Okarun is possessed by a geriatric genital biting speed demon.

Feel free to re-read that last part a few times.

Suffice to say, Dandadan gets fucking nuts almost as soon as the first chapter, but we're not even close to how off the rails this series gets.

I'll save you the details of how they deal with the Turbo Granny, but I will say the mythos and rules surrounding the various spirits, urban legends, cryptids and aliens is handled with a shocking amount of intricate care. If you're like me, you grew up surrounded by a plethora of Unsolved Mysteries, caught UFO Files as it was airing, maybe you even had some of those Forbidden World books laying around from the 80s before getting into stuff like Yokai. Even though I don't really engage with that sorta thing outside Weird NJ nowadays (It stops being fun when people in public office are into conspiracies-- particularly of the nazi variety like lizard men and flat earth)

The narrative and aesthetic appeal of them has stuck with me.

Anyone that's read my Kamen Rider reviews would know how much of a sucker I am for that quintessential cryptid look, which Dandadan has plenty of along with just being absurdly unhinged and hilarious.

The first two volumes do a fantastic job setting up the limitations and powers of spirits in particular, eventually resulting in part of Turbo Granny's soul being trapped in a Meneki Neko and leaving her speed abilities with Okarun. Unfortunately, Okarun only got 1/3 of his bits back.

So now have two super powered protagonists touched by the supernatural and the unearthly on the search for…missing nuts. Or I guess testicles that look like magic golden orbs of power. That's seriously how we're kicking this off.

And yes, there is a basis for that in mythology called Kintama. If you're familiar with Gintama you probably knew that.

But beyond that basic set up… where the fuck do I even go from there? The series is far more than OTT action and good monster lore, but it's also hard to delve into the how and why of its overall qualities. Sure The supernatural and sci-fi bits are fantastic, and the comedy is wonderful, but it's a by product of the real core of Dandadan: the interpersonal relationships of the characters. Surprise.

Which yeah, if it wasn't clear from the get go, DDD has a romantic angle between Okarun and Momo.

Under the monsters, dick jokes, and the completely unhinged nature of everyone and everything is an oddly captivating and flat out adorable love story between our two leads, one that slowly unfolds but is challenged by the various shake ups from monsters, invaders and cast additions that occur to hinder that development; or in some cases push it further by bringing the two closer.

Okarun in particular very well might be one of my favorite interpretations of the Otaku with a heart of gold. He's a legitimately sweet person, cares for people, he trains his ass off to earn mastery over his powers to make things easier on Momo and to keep up with the ever increasing threats they face. In a sea of otaku power fantasy characters, it's nice to be reminded that characters with limitations and weaknesses to be overcome or dealt with are still showing up.

He's also just a total sweetheart to Momo.

And it's pretty clear even early on that the feeling is mutual. Momo is easily flustered whenever a cute girl gets a little too chummy with Okarun, or strings him along. She even retaliates in some cases.

Momo is also about as dorky as Okarun (As seen above) just in different ways, which makes the two complement one another while also contrasting in how much of a hot head Momo can be.

For a series that gets as bonkers as DDD, Momo's grade A shit talking "too stubborn to admit her feelings" gruff Gyaru personality helps ground the series with a rather realistic portrayal of a girl her age-- albeit one with psychic abilities and goes through some extreme struggles much later in the series.

In fact one of the more overlooked aspects whenever I read about Dandadan is how surprisingly dark the chapters start to get in the 80s onward. Because despite the major kick off involving Okarun having his balls stolen, the series is capable of being very sardonic.

For all the absurd fun like giant enemy crabs or the Flatwoods monster as a Sumowrestler, and even a daikaiju way later, you also have things like human sacrifices and tragic ghost stories which are treated with a heavy tone that is never undermined by that off-kilter comedy. You even see tones of that with Turbo Granny of all things, involving the trapped spirits of butchered girls.

Don't misunderstand, however, the series is first and foremost a romcom with horror elements, but sometimes the horror shines through in surprising ways. That nuance is also seen in the rest of the cast, which I've yet to talk about much because one of the biggest challenges of this whole thing is figuring out how.

Talking about Dandadan beyond the very bare basics of the opening chapters is difficult without spoiling something, it's part why I was hesitant to review it back when I first started reading, despite how enamored I was. For one thing, focusing on any one aspect would be a gross oversimplification, doing a disservice to how each angle of the series is handled. Conversely, delving into Dandadan as whole would mean recapping the story arcs and events because Dandadan has some of the most tightly woven threads I have seen in some time. I can barely graze the surface of why character dynamics work or are unique before inevitably getting into a full blown synopsis and spoiling character arcs and entire narrative structures, which is… frustrating, to say the least.

For example, I can't really give you a good look at Aira Shiratori without getting deep into how she's a schoolmate of Momo and Okarun, gets into a rivalry with Momo because Aira thinks she's a demon while viewing herself as "The special one"; a delusion made stronger when she gains her own demonic powers which is basically Sedusa. But over time she forms a bizarre friendship with the two over their trial and tribulations, while also dealing with the massive weight of guilt over cruel rumors she spread about Momo. But that really doesn't even begin to tell you how much of an absolute fucking perfect little bitch she is, and yet what an enjoyable dork she becomes. To do so would be to just tell you everything that happens in her story, which, while not complicated, is tied heavily into the narrative.

It's a similar scenario with Jin "JiJi" Enjoji, Momo's first crush, which you can imagine the upset that causes; one that's pretty goddamn funny because the dude, while handsome, athletically fit and arguably the strongest of the entire cast, has the personality of a goddamn muppet. So Okarun's getting all strung up on a guy even more goofy than him.

In a nice subversion, his relationship with Okarun develops into something surprisingly positive pretty quickly, if not without complications due to a fairly dark story with his character, which pushes Okarun even further in his training after Jin gets his own possession. And it also makes it all the more hilarious that the chipper muppet baby has a secondary Shadow the Hedgehog cracked to 11 persona that's a legit threat.

Then there's Kinta "Kinny" Sakata who is basically if Okarun was even more socially inept and a dipshit Gunpla addict who tried really hard to be a Jojo. His strengths is a vast knowledge of sci-fi tech and a chuuni like ability to imagine entire fantastical constructs; quite handy when mind reading alien nano machines enter the picture. It also helps break up the monotony of everyone else having or developing some sorta supernatural power.

And then we have Vamola, a character I literally cannot say a single thing about without giving away massive plot points. I can't even show a photo because her design itself contains spoilers. Just know that her story is when shit really hits the fan and will be a gut wrenching read while also having the most Battle Manga goodness.

What I can at least tell you is that for as much as Momo and Okarun are the main protagonists, Jin and Aira get damn good focus and are fully formed characters in their own right, they're not just a monkey-wrench thrown into the fray. I mean, they are also that, but they add to those elements while being more than a foil to our main heroes developing relationship, making the story much more varied and expansive than a supernatural will/won't they. Vamola especially in that area.

If there's one takeaway from this it's that Yukinobu Tatsu is capable of creating a great, varied cast full of humor and impeccable chemistry. (not to mention a lot of cheescake that shouldn't work as often as it does.) I'm constantly surprised with how masterful all the different pieces come together to create a compelling dynamic in this deranged Sci-Fi, Supernatural comedy mishmash. Hopefully I can convey a little bit of that Dada-esque appeal despite my spoiler aversion.

What's a lot easier for me to get across without spoilers, however, is the drop-dead gorgeous artwork. Good god is this series beautiful to look at.

Tatsu has a backround in, uh, backgrounds, and it shows on just about every page. Any one side panel has more detail than most double-page fight spreads in other books, and when they do a splash page it is breathtaking.

The fact this is a Weekly series is goddamn insane and… honestly kinda makes me a lowkey worried about their work ethic. But a lot of panels feature just the character on simple stark backgrounds (And some pages feel a little heavy on the reference material, if you get my meaning.) But even so, it's hardly a sacrifice for the impressive amount of work that goes into each chapter and how just about every other page has at least one impressive environment to gawk at.

Not only is the detail impeccable, but the layout, timing and expressions are goddamn phenomenal and a big part of making the series legitimately funny. That same talent translates seamlessly to high energy fights and impactful creepy moments.

This truly is one of the most compelling reasons to read the manga. At the time of this writing we're 5 episodes in the Science Saru anime and I want to make clear I'm enjoying it and do highly suggest watching it. I think their high octane stylistic approach is, in many ways, perfect for the series. There's clearly a lot of love put into translating page to screen best they can. Realistically, I know there's no way you could completely capture Tatsu's style 1:1, especially with what the industry is nowadays. The budget and man power it would take for that wouldn't be worth it.

But that sense of scope, scale, the depth, shading and a ton of small eccentricities is something unique to the manga and a big part of why it works. If you only know the anime then I think you're missing out. Plus you've got 8 volumes to read up on.

But also still watch the anime, I'd love a season 2. Hopefully with a bigger budget. Frankly, they're gonna need it.

That said, while I have praised and gassed up Dandadan, I should mention it has a number of trappings that by all means should not fly with me. As previously stated, there's a lot of cheesecake, and I like cheesecake, but it can bog down stories like this and they're a dime a dozen in the manga and anime world. At first glance DDD can look like that from the outside. There are so many instances of things that are annoying in other works, schlocky things (derogatory) that are sell themselves only on the limp-dicked exploitive elements like Fan service. Make no mistake, Dandadan is schlocky (complimentary) but it's also incredibly endearing not only outside those aspects, but in them. At least for the most part. I have to imagine it's aware of the more stupid indulgent elements but wisely plays them straight while at the same time employing a cleverness many other series fail to have.

For example, the characters are comically stripped very frequently, even (and usually) during otherwise semi-serious moments like battles (although not if the stakes are dire.)

But the cheescake is always balanced out by the other qualities. Hell, the cheesecake is often imbued a certain charm that is funny in itself or oddly sweet, which certainly becomes more true in the later chapters. Think more Cutie Honey and less Highschool of the Dead in terms of how it's handled.

A big hand in that is they're not afraid to get silly with all the characters, especially the girls, so it typically feels more tee-hee fun. They're almost if not equally goofy in their own ways and that does a lot in keeping it from being obnoxious. And ya know, they also have real developed personalities and relationships outside just having their clothes blasted off, which also happens to Okarun if that wasn't clear. Actually it's worse because he usually loses everything, and the same is also true for Jin.

It's so audacious in every aspect that I simply can't fault it. I mean, I also wouldn't fault anyone not gelling with it, but I just sorta expect it and roll with it for a series this absurd. I'm a critic, not a goddamn puritan. I know exactly what it is, and it's doing it far better than most. It is, at worst, background noise.

That's not to say the series handles all of its exploitative elements well. Rather infamously the first chapter has an almost not quite sexual assault for Momo. It's… not as bad as it sounds-- in part because it doesn't happen and also the situation is so absurd. Honestly I think there's been a bit much blown out of proportion with it. Still, the over the top nature of an Alien with a metal syringe dick getting his comeuppance by having it bitten off by a granny speed-demon can only mitigate the general grossness of the implication so much and I still wince at it. It's the only part of Dandadan that dips into a level a cheapness it otherwise sidesteps in most other endeavors. Thankfully, it happens early on, but it also isn't a great first impression, especially if you didn't have more chapters or episodes to view at the time, leaving you to wonder just what the hell kinda story this is.

It's worth noting some of the other early chapters have bumps here and there, but nothing quite on the level of chapter 1, and those parts are ironed out overtime to be a lot more palatable. Compare how chapter 3 handles T&A to chapter 26 and you'll know what I mean.

Aside from that, however, there is at least one semi major stigma I have against Dadadan's otherwise enjoyable self indulgent nature, which is that a lot of the monster designs are painfully derivative. And I mean DERIVATIVE. Just about every alien creature in this series is an Ultra Kaiju.

Oh Shin Godzilla in the case of Nessie.

And, look, I get homaging stuff you like. Dr. Slump has loads of references, Patlabor has references to Ultraseven, depending on which version of Urusei Yatsura you're looking at it's loaded with them, Project A-KO has them, Eva is a love letter to Jissouji Ultra (along with flat out copying a few fights from various 70s mecha anime) and even something like Bocchi The Rock is at least a quarter references. References are not the problem. Well, maybe a little, but I'm not gonna get Orson Wells on you here.

Regardless, its hard not to think that maybe they could've dialed it back a little bit.

The Z'gok in Gundam is based on Alien Zarabe but it's doesn't look like a knock-off version of it. But the Dover Demon in Dandadan looks like "original the character" Kanegon that turns into Baltan. Because it is.

Like come on, man. Even the Space Pirates in Metroid aren't this blatant.

Why this sticks out to much is because the art is so damn impressive but the design aspect is lacking in certain areas. I'm willing to give leeway for some designs if they're based on folklore elements like Ghosts, Yokai, and crypids. You want to make them recognizable, but can still work in cute references or original ideas without being as glaring as "we have Ultra Seijin at home." For what it's worth, I guess Dada knockoffs with Pegassa eyes are better than generic greys. But while it's cute at first, I felt it got irksome by the time I saw Shin Godzilla… and then Hipporit as a subterranean shows up. Then a tail-less xenomorph. And Alien Guts, and a Metal Gear, and Elecking, even an Alien Zarabe.

A lot of those do end up as cannon fodder so I can understand not wanting to put a lot of work into stuff that ends up being one offs. I can't deny the art looks incredible and hype as fuck. But man, it gets distracting sometimes, especially when Gomora shows up at one point with the body of Red King and later on they end up making that a major deity in an alien culture. It's not played as a joke at all. It is one of the most dead serious chapters… But it's still just an Ultra Kaiju. Sometimes I'm reading Dandadan and I'm having a great time and I'm getting all the referential designs, and I don't *hate* this, but in the back of my head all I can think of is that line in Akibaranger.

And on some level I do get how that borderline level of infringement adds to the absurdity, how the near mono focus of a singular love for Tsuburaya is charming. Hell, it's even refreshing in some ways considering how that hasn't really been a thing in Japan since the 80s. But it does still get a bit much from the sheer volume.

I think on some level Tatsu knows this because in the more recent chapters the Serpo Aliens are primarily depicted in their disguised forms and the fake Gomora gets a slight redesign in later appearances that's a lot more generic. I sort of get the impression things that were maybe meant to be one off gags ended up becoming reoccurring elements, but given the tone and humor of the series that's really hard to tell, for better or worse.

Although kudos to Science Saru saying fuck it and making the opening to the anime one big Ultraman reference. They know what they're doing.

All that said... I don't really know where to lead off from here. Dandadan is still ongoing, currently at about 170 chapters in Japan, while the anime is still currently airing the first season. So I can't really give a full review of either. Likewise, for all I know the series could go completely off the rails at some point-- in a bad way, I mean.

As it stands I'm still finding enjoyment out of this series and now seems good a time as any to suggest everyone check it out. There's multiple manga out, it's easily available digitally, there's the anime across multiple platforms in NA, we've got figuarts coming out. It's good to see.

I was long over due for look since first reading those Glitter screen-grabs some years back.

Funny enough, this late August I visited my Girlfriend in Illinois and got to see 8 volumes of Dandadan on the shelf in a comic shop, that was a nice surreal experience for something that wasn't even available digitally in NA when I first started reading it.

What I didn't realize at the time was when I took a photo of them on the shelf, it was September 5, three years to the day I got the first few chapters. So yeah, it was time for this to happen.

Given the on going status of DDD, I'll certainly be revisiting the series for a future look at and proper review. Until then, I encourage you to read the manga and see if you see what I see. It might not be some super deep narrative, but it is most certainly unique and well worth your time.

As always, thanks for reading.

[cherubiyeon]

on my knees begging for a male reader (or gender neutral if thats more comfy) x minji or wonyoung where he's just so obsessed with her and is constantly pining or showering her in gifts and flowers

here, there and everywhere | ive jang wonyoung x gender neutral reader

just you, being the most absolutely smitten dork for your girlfriend.

✩ warnings. non-idol!au, university!au, established relationship, very dialogue heavy lol, reader sucks in budgeting fr do not try to be like them, mention of food like once ?

✩ word count. ~3k words

✩ playing. here, there and everywhere [the beatles]

☆ notes. hi anon! i didnt really like this fic ong this sucked but i chose wonyoung bc i havent wrote a fic for her for awhile :P anyways hope u like this!!

"y/n? y/n? earth to y/n?"

wonyoung's voice cut through the haze of y/n's thoughts, jolting them back to reality. they blinked a few times, their gaze refocusing as they met wonyoung's amused eyes. the campus cafe buzzed around them, students chatting, forks clinking against plates, and the aroma of brewed coffee filling the air.

"oh, sorry," y/n stammered, feeling a flush rise to their cheeks. "i guess i zoned out for a moment."

wonyoung grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "you're always getting lost in your thoughts, aren't you?"

y/n nodded, offering a sheepish smile. "guilty as charged. you have that effect on me, you know?"

wonyoung's laughter was like music, filling the air around them. "well, i'm flattered," she said, her smile turning into a warm, genuine one. "so, what were you thinking about?"

with a soft chuckle, y/n leaned in slightly, their tone conspiratorial. "alright, alright. i was pondering the mysteries of the universe. you know, the usual."

wonyoung's laughter tinkled through the air again, and y/n found themselves mesmerized by the genuine warmth in her expression. "well, as long as you're not plotting world domination in there," she teased.

"world domination is so last century," y/n quipped, finally fully engaged in the conversation. "i'm thinking more along the lines of solving the eternal debate: cats or dogs?"

wonyoung's laughter died down, and she regarded y/n with a soft smile. "you're something else, you know that?"

as they continued bantering, y/n's heart raced. it was still hard to believe they were actually dating someone like wonyoung. the laughter, the teasing—it all felt so surreal.

just as y/n was about to take another bite of their sandwich, they suddenly remembered the hidden treasure in their bag. their eyes widened, and they glanced at wonyoung with an almost comical mix of excitement and apprehension.

"wonyoung," y/n began, their voice a tad nervous, "i... i have something for you."

wonyoung's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "oh? what's the occasion?"

wonyoung's eyes widened with surprise as she accepted the gift. "y/n, what's this?"

y/n's cheeks turned a shade of pink that rivaled a sunset. "i... i wanted to get you something special." they cleared their throat, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. "i may have, um, spent this month's allowance on it."

wonyoung carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing an exquisite piece of jewelry, something that would catch anyone's eye. she gasped softly, her fingers tracing the intricate design. "y/n, this is... this is stunning."

y/n grinned, their heart doing somersaults. "i'm glad you like it."

wonyoung's gaze shifted between y/n and the box, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "well, aren't you full of surprises today?"

y/n's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. "i just... i saw this and thought of you. i know it's a bit extravagant, but i really wanted to get it for you."

wonyoung's laughter tinkled like wind chimes. reaching across the table, she brushed her fingers against y/n's hand, her eyes twinkling with affection. "... i must admit, spending a month's worth of allowance on a gift isn't exactly the wisest financial move, but i truly appreciate this."

y/n couldn't resist the gleam in wonyoung's eyes. with a mischievous grin, they leaned in closer, their voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "you know, wonyoung, they say that people who receive extravagant gifts are obligated to give the giver a kiss."

wonyoung raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "is that so? and who are these 'they' you speak of?"

y/n shrugged, their smile growing wider. "oh, you know, the wise sages of campus lore. they're quite adamant about it."

wonyoung chuckled softly, her gaze locked onto y/n's. "well, who am i to go against the wisdom of campus lore?" as she spoke, she carefully placed the necklace back in its box, sliding it away slightly.

y/n's cheeks were tinted with a rosy hue as they looked away, and wonyoung wore a smile that could outshine the sun. "well," wonyoung said, her voice a playful purr, "i suppose it's only fair that i follow tradition."

before y/n could react, wonyoung's lips pressed against theirs in a gentle, sweet kiss. it was as if time stood still, the world around them fading into a distant background as they savored the moment.

when they finally broke apart, y/n was left breathless and dizzy, their heart pounding in their chest. "wow," was all they managed to say, their voice a soft whisper.

wonyoung giggled, her eyes twinkling with affection. "you're such a dork, y/n."

y/n grinned unabashedly. "well, yeah. but hey, who can resist when they're in the presence of someone as amazing as you?"

wonyoung rolled her eyes in mock exasperation, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "you really know how to lay on the charm, don't you?"

y/n leaned back in their chair, a mischievous glint in their eyes. "well, i believe it's my duty to keep the amazing people around me entertained."

wonyoung chuckled softly, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. "you certainly have a unique way of doing that."

"oh, you haven't seen the half of it," y/n replied with a grin, their fingers drumming playfully on the table. "i've been practicing my pickup lines, you know."

wonyoung raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "oh really? do share."

y/n feigned a thoughtful expression, rubbing their chin dramatically. "hmm, let's see... are you a campfire? because you're hot and i want s'more."

wonyoung burst into laughter, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "that's... something, alright." she leaned back slightly, still chuckling.

"i have plenty more where that came from," y/n teased, their smile growing wider. "but i'll save them for special occasions."

wonyoung shook her head with an affectionate smile, her laughter fading into a delighted grin. "you say the worst pickup lines, ever."

y/n's expression turned softer, their eyes locking onto wonyoung's. "only because you bring out the best—or worst—in me."

wonyoung's smile was warm, her gaze locked onto y/n's. "well, your worst lines are still pretty endearing." she leaned in a little closer.

y/n leaned in as well, a playful glint in their eyes. "oh, just wait until you hear my best ones." their lips curled into a mischievous smile.

wonyoung's laughter blended seamlessly with the café's ambiance, and she shook her head in mock disbelief. "i can't believe i'm dating someone who actually uses pickup lines."

y/n's tone turned mock-innocent. "what can i say? i'm just a person of many talents."

wonyoung's eyes twinkled mischievously. "and do these talents include making me smile?"

y/n nodded dramatically, their hand resting over their heart. "absolutely. making you smile is my top priority, followed closely by making terrible puns."

wonyoung's laughter filled the air, a delightful melody that never failed to make y/n's heart skip a beat. she leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "well, you've certainly succeeded in making me smile today."

y/n couldn't help but grin, their gaze locked onto wonyoung's. "that's all i ever want to do."

as they basked in the warmth of each other's presence, y/n noticed wonyoung eyeing the unwrapped necklace on the table. with a gentle smile, y/n picked it up and held it out to her. "would you like to try it on?"

wonyoung's eyes widened with surprise, her fingers hovering over the exquisite piece of jewelry. "you're really okay with me trying it on?"

y/n nodded, their voice soft. "of course, it's meant for you, after all."

wonyoung carefully took the necklace, her fingers tracing the delicate chain and the shimmering pendant. she turned her attention back to y/n, her expression a mix of gratitude and wonder. "i can't believe you spent a month's worth of allowance on this, y/n."

y/n reached out, their fingers brushing against wonyoung's cheek. "you're worth every penny, wonyoung. that necklace is too small compared to how much you mean to me."

wonyoung's eyes glistened with emotion, and she leaned in to press a soft kiss to y/n's lips. it was a sweet, tender kiss that spoke volumes, a silent affirmation of their love.

when they finally pulled away, y/n whispered, "i'd spend a lifetime's worth of allowance just to see you smile."

wonyoung's smile was radiant, her fingers gently threading through y/n's hair. "so cheesy of you, y/n."

with the necklace draped around her neck, wonyoung looked even more stunning, if that was even possible. she leaned in to whisper in y/n's ear, "you know, i think you've officially spoiled me."

y/n's heart swelled at wonyoung's words, their fingers gently brushing against wonyoung's cheek. "and you've spoiled me too, in the best possible way."

as they gazed into each other's eyes, the air around them seemed to crackle with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. y/n's heart raced, and they found themselves leaning in, their lips meeting wonyoung's in a soft, delicate kiss. it was a kiss filled with the unspoken emotions that had been building between them, a sweet exchange of feelings that left them both breathless.

when they pulled away, their eyes locked onto each other's, their expressions a mix of surprise and wonder. y/n's voice was soft as they whispered, "i couldn't resist any longer."

wonyoung's smile was a mixture of delight and affection. "i've been waiting for that."

y/n's fingers played with a strand of wonyoung's hair, a playful glint in their eyes. "well, i had to catch up to all those times you stole kisses from me."

wonyoung chuckled softly, her fingers tracing patterns on the table. "i couldn't help myself. you're just too irresistible."

y/n's grin grew wider. "i'm glad you think so."

the café bustled around them, students coming and going, the aroma of coffee filling the air. but in that little bubble they had created, it was just y/n and wonyoung, two souls intertwined in a love that was as real as it was captivating.

y/n's fingers absentmindedly traced the rim of their coffee cup, their gaze never leaving wonyoung's. "you know, i've never been one to believe in fate, but meeting you has made me question that."

wonyoung's smile held a touch of playfulness, her gaze locking onto y/n's with a glimmer of curiosity. "wait a minute, is that one of those pickup lines you've been practicing?"

y/n's eyes widened in mock surprise, their hand placed dramatically over their heart. "i am deeply offended that you'd accuse me of such a thing! my words are as sincere as my undying love for... coffee."

wonyoung laughed, the sound tinkling like a melody. "oh, really? coffee, huh? that's quite the declaration."

y/n's lips curved into a mischievous grin. "well, you know, it's a classic. coffee has always been there for me, unlike certain tall and charismatic individuals."

wonyoung's playful expression turned into a mock pout. "are you saying i'm not dependable?"

y/n's gaze softened, their fingers brushing gently against wonyoung's knuckles. "on the contrary, you're the most dependable thing in my life. and the most extraordinary."

wonyoung's pout transformed into a warm smile, her thumb brushing over y/n's hand. "you really have a way with words, don't you?"

y/n shrugged, their expression bashful. "i guess they just come naturally when i'm around you."

wonyoung took another sip of her coffee, her gaze focused on the table for a moment as if lost in thought. y/n, ever the observer, watched her with a soft smile, taking in the way her features seemed to light up in the warm glow of the café's lighting. finally, unable to contain their admiration, they spoke.

"you're so pretty," y/n said softly, their voice a gentle affirmation of the thoughts running through their mind.

wonyoung looked up, her eyes meeting y/n's, and her cheeks took on a faint rosy hue. "stop it, you're making me blush."

y/n chuckled, their heart swelling with affection. "i can't help it. i'm just stating the facts."

wonyoung's laughter filled the air once again, a sound that never failed to bring a smile to y/n's face. "well, i have to say, your compliments are almost as charming as your terrible pickup lines."

y/n feigned offense, placing a hand over their chest dramatically. "how dare you insult my impeccable taste in pickup lines? they're an art form!"

wonyoung laughed even harder, her fingers wiping away a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "oh, believe me, they're a form of something, alright."

y/n grinned, their heart dancing with joy at the sight of wonyoung's laughter. and in that moment, as wonyoung's laughter echoed through the café, something welled up inside y/n—a feeling they had been carrying for a while, a truth they couldn't contain any longer.

"i've got to admit something," y/n's voice wavered slightly, their gaze never leaving wonyoung's.

wonyoung's curiosity was piqued, her eyes attentive as she leaned in a bit closer. "oh? what is it?"

a moment of vulnerability hung in the air, and y/n took a deep breath before continuing. "i think about you... a lot. like, i'm completely and utterly infatuated."

wonyoung's expression softened, her fingers finding their way to y/n's hand. "you're not alone in that, you know."

a playful grin played on y/n's lips. "really? you're infatuated with yourself too?"

wonyoung's pout transformed into a warm smile, her thumb brushing over y/n's hand. "you really have a way with words, don't you?"

y/n shrugged, their expression bashful. "i guess they just come naturally when i'm around you."

wonyoung's fingers found their way to y/n's, their touch sending shivers down y/n's spine. "you have a way of making my heart race too, you know? and i don't mind it one bit."

y/n's breath caught in their throat, their heart pounding like a drum in their chest. with wonyoung's fingers interlaced with theirs, the connection felt electric, a current of emotion flowing between them.

the air around them seemed to shimmer with an unspoken understanding, a shared sentiment that transcended words. and in that moment, the weight of their feelings hung in the space between them.

wonyoung's eyes held a mixture of affection and vulnerability as she whispered, "y/n, there's something i want to tell you."

y/n's heart skipped a beat, their anticipation growing as they waited for wonyoung's next words. "what is it?"

wonyoung took a deep breath, her voice steady but filled with emotion.

"i love you, y/n."

the world seemed to stand still for a moment, and y/n's breath caught in their throat. did they hear her right? was this real? for a split second, doubt crept in, freezing y/n in place.

wonyoung's gaze held a hint of playfulness, her smile warm. "cat got your tongue?"

y/n's eyes widened, and they quickly shook their head, the words tumbling out in a rush. "no, no! i mean... i love you too! i really, really do!"

wonyoung's laughter was like a gentle breeze, her eyes dancing with mirth. "oh, how the tables have turned."

y/n's cheeks flushed, and they tried to regain their composure. "i didn't mean to... i mean, i did, but..."

wonyoung leaned in, her lips brushing against y/n's ear as she whispered, "it's okay, you know. i don't mind being the first one to say it."

y/n's heart swelled, their embarrassment melting away in the warmth of wonyoung's reassurance. "well, now i've said it too. and i mean it."

wonyoung leaned back, her expression soft and affectionate. "i know you do. and i'm so glad you do."

y/n couldn't help but smile, their heart full to the brim with affection for the girl sitting across from them. "you know, i never thought i'd be lucky enough to experience something like this."

wonyoung's fingers danced along the rim of her coffee cup, her gaze never leaving y/n's. "and what's that?"

"being utterly and completely in love with you," y/n confessed, their voice a gentle whisper.

wonyoung's smile was a reflection of the stars that had aligned to bring them together. "well, get used to it, because i have a feeling that's not going to change anytime soon."

the corner of y/n's lips quirked up mischievously. "is that a promise?"

wonyoung's laughter, like the tinkling of wind chimes, filled the air around them. "absolutely. i'm not going anywhere."

the world continued to move around them—the café's patrons came and went, the lunchtime rush in full swing—but none of that mattered. in this cozy corner they had carved out for themselves, it was just the two of them, lost in the cadence of their conversation and the unspoken promises that hung in the air.

"y/n?"

wonyoung's voice pulled y/n from their thoughts, their focus narrowing solely on the person who held their heart.

"yeah?"

wonyoung's smile was as bright as the midday sun. "i love you."

y/n's heart swelled, their voice a gentle echo of the emotion that had taken root within them. "i love you too."

wonyoung's laughter danced through the air, a delightful melody that wrapped around them like a warm embrace. "well, you didn't seem as nervous this time," she teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

y/n playfully nudged her shoulder. "hey now, cut me some slack. it's not every day that someone as amazing as you confesses their love to me."

wonyoung's laughter continued, a joyful chorus that painted the air with happiness. "point taken," she managed to say through her giggles.

"shut up," y/n muttered, though their lips curved into a fond smile.

wonyoung's laughter lingered in the air one last time, a joyful serenade that resonated with the happiness in y/n's heart. with a gentle nudge, she leaned in to place a sweet kiss on y/n's cheek. "you're adorable," she said with an affectionate grin.

y/n's cheeks flushed, their heart dancing with joy. "and you're insufferable," they replied, their tone playful.

wonyoung raised an eyebrow, a mischievous spark in her eyes. "insufferable, huh? is that why you can't seem to get enough of me?"

y/n rolled their eyes with a mock exasperated sigh, a smile playing on their lips. "you caught me," they admitted, raising their arms in surrender.

as they shared a laugh, y/n found themselves enveloped in a sense of contentment that was as comforting as a warm embrace. in wonyoung's presence, everything felt right, and every worry seemed to melt away.

[pech-es]

some of my thoughts after reading The Partner:

(*DISCLAIMER: while there will be NO SPOLERS, I will be discussing some basic plot and character elements so if you want to go in completely blind, keep scrolling)

TL;DR: I loved it, very excited to see it adapted, Patrick is nothing like any character we have seen Tom play, the final plot twist I found kinda unsatisfying but am curious to see how they will or won't change it, worth the read for me)

~ I blew through it in one night, so I definitely found it very compelling and interesting material! This didn't really surprise me though since I already loved mysteries and am a fast reader, but I didn't know if maybe I would be bored by the legal stuff or even just straight up not understand it. But! I found all that actually very interesting and it was easy to follow while actually being very intricate and detailed (and presumably accurate, considering the author is a lawyer and writing legal thrillers is like his whole thing).

~ I feel confident in saying that this is the most different character by far from the rest of his filmography, we have NEVER seen Tom in a role like this. I even went back to look at his list of roles to make sure I wasn't mentally erasing anything. I am not of the opinion that he's "always playing the same character" but that's definitely a common criticism of tom antis and I would absolutely fuckin love for them to try it with this lol. This will be something very fresh. Patrick is cunning, in control (both of himself and of a situation), always 3 steps ahead. But even while he's not a "hero" in any sense or really a character you're supposed to like I guess, I at least found myself wanting him to get away with it. I think it'll take skill to pull off the balance between how calculated and sometimes cold the character is while also not making him some cartoon character evil unfeeling villain. I believe Tom ABSOLUTELY has the chops and I'm excited to see him finesse that shit!!

~ Based off of reading the short little blurb on Deadline I was surprised about how the book actually went down, I thought facing up to the wife and child would be a way bigger part. I also thought that they would be the super sympathetic characters that you end up hating Patrick for what he did to them but that is nottt at all the case. They're definitely a part of the plot but they're more supporting, I would say Patrick's lover and his lawyer are the biggest players along with him. There's also just a LOT of supporting characters between all the lawyers, FBI agents, and just all the people involved with all the companies he fucked over. Not in a way where it was too much, I think it makes it very interesting. I also think all the characters are very interesting!!! It's not a case of simple good and bad, sympathetic and unsympathetic. No one is especially LIKEABLE, but some characters' actions that are technically "wrong" end up feeling kinda acceptable or even sometimes straight up justified. Or sometimes it's just so clever that it's like ok gotta hand it to you! There's some characters that are just straight up slimy and evil the whole time though lol.

~ There's not really just one plot twist that you're building towards the whole time, it feels like it's constantly unfolding and evolving and you get surprised a lot! I really liked that, it was easy to stay really engaged bc you're so frequently reading something that made me go omg then what! There is one FINAL plot twist that it ends on though and I'm not really sure how I feel about it. I like when for a big final plot twist you kinda go "OHHHH" and it makes you want to reread or rewatch with fresh eyes so you can catch all the little hints and clues and what was building up to that, and for this one I didn't really feel like anything was pointing towards this? Granted it's not some insane "and then everyone got abducted by aliens" bonkers ass plot twist, I just didn't necessarily feel like we built towards that payoff. I don't know that I'll even say I was disappointed by it, it's just sort of like oh. Well why did ABC occur if XYZ was gonna happen? Idk maybe they'll adapt the movie so that it pays off better or even sometimes in adaptations like this they change endings altogether to surprise the audience, who knows!

~ I'm kinda surprised that it's being adapted as a movie, not because I don't think it'll be a great movie, but just because I feel like this is the type of material that in this current day and age would be like an 8 episode miniseries or smth. Again, very glad for it to be a movie!! Not everything needs to be a miniseries!! I kinda want to watch some of the other movies of John Grisham works to see how they maybe sort of condense the legal stuff, bc it was a LOT of the book and I wonder how they might allocate the runtime?

~ I'm also just absolutely thrilled that Tom is producing again! I've been so enjoying seeing him get more involved behind the camera as time goes on, work it smoochie!!! Also very excited that Graham Moore is writing, obvs The Imitation Game was super widely acclaimed (haven't seen it though tbh sorrrryyy), but I also though The Outfit was so underrated, I liked it a lot!! I mean clearly the man can write/adapt a thriller. I really hope we'll be hearing more about this one sooner rather than lately bc I feel like it's become the TZ project I'm most excited about, but I also wouldn't be that surprised if it moves a little slower bc Patrick is an older character, in his 40s in the book, so there's not like a time crunch where Tom could get too old to play him like there could be with something else. That also makes me wonder if they'll age down the character a bit or just have him play older, or maybe just never really address it directly. I'm SUPER excited for casting news to come out now that I have a good grasp on all the characters. I wonder if it'll be more established names or newcomers? Also eagerly awaiting news of a director!! Basically I'm thrilled on this project and if it dies in development hell I will be so upset so everyone pls join hands and pray. I would totally recommend reading!

[peppymintdreams]

Sakuverse Daycare Setting:

Daycare Friendships/Groups:

Isaac + Andrew – A quiet yet intense bond. They’re inseparable, always found whispering in a corner, solving “big mysteries” that only they understand. Other kids see them as a pair of mini-detectives. Or in the attendants eyes “lovers”

Elias + Luca – Elias is the protective, wild older brother to Luca’s shy, gentle nature. If anyone messes with Luca, Elias is there, puffing up like a mini-hero.

Isaac + Elias – Isaac, the stern curious older sibling type, guides Elias with wisdom beyond his years. Elias looks up to Isaac like a little brother to his older brother, even if he won’t admit it.

Andrew + Luca – Andrew, surprisingly warm for such a quiet child, gravitates toward Luca. They sit together during snack time or nap time, forming an unexpectedly close bond.

Xanthus + Elias – They bond over a shared love of beauty—Xanthus creates intricate art with blocks, while Elias talks endlessly about the stars, wondering if they’ll meet an artist like Xanthus in the sky.

Isaac + Luca – Isaac shares random facts or deep musings with Luca, who listens in awe, even if he doesn’t fully understand. Luca asks curious questions, and Isaac patiently explains things to him.

Xanthus + Everyone – Xanthus is the distant observer, studying the others like a scientist. He occasionally steps in to help Elias with a prank, answer one of Isaac’s questions, or calm Luca with a perfectly timed hug.

Behavior Breakdown:

Luca

The Gentle Soul (Age: Youngest)

Shy, soft-spoken, and always clutching a slightly worn stuffed animal (probably a bunny or cat).

Shares toys with everyone, often without being asked.

Gives quiet, comforting hugs when he sees someone upset.

Looks up to Elias like a hero but feels safest near Andrew’s quiet presence.

His favorite thing? Building little tea parties or lining up toy animals to "care for them."

His mom leaving him circus animal cookies that he shares.

Likes to play hopscotch

Isaac

The Inquisitive Thinker (Age: Second Oldest)

Asks deep, thoughtful questions like, “Why do stars disappear in the morning?” or “Where do feelings go when you stop feeling them?”

Always sharing his crayons and explaining things in a calm, patient tone, especially to Luca.

Talks a lot about his mother, often making other kids curious.

Watches everyone with curiosity, mentally piecing together how they interact like a puzzle.

“Close” to Andrew—often seen sitting quietly beside him, reading or thinking. (Holding his hand)

Likes to play the roller tic tac toe

Andrew

The Quiet Organizer (Age: Middle)

The child who arranges toys by size, color, and function without being asked.

Observes the other children with a critical, analytical eye but rarely speaks unless necessary.

Often reads “big boy” books while side-eyeing the chaos Elias creates.

Best friends with Isaac, always seen discussing “important” topics or quietly watching over Luca.

Doesn’t openly engage in physical play but steps in if something becomes too chaotic.

If his twin Simon were to attend the daycare he’d like to go on the teeter totter (or see-saw) with him

Elias

The Mischievous Charmer (Age: Second Youngest)

The daycare’s little troublemaker, grinning mischievously as he leads the other kids into harmless pranks.

Quick to charm the adults with his big, innocent eyes and request, “Kiss my boo-boo? It really hwurts.” 🥺

Protective of Luca and looks up to Isaac for “big ideas” while subtly challenging Andrew for being too serious.

His energy is boundless, but his loyalty to his “little brother” Luca and admiration for Xanthus’ creativity shows his softer side.

Often climbs things he shouldn’t, causing chaos before flashing a grin to get out of trouble.

Enjoys slides (he pushes Luca down them)

Xanthus

The Silent Architect (Age: Oldest)

Always sits apart from the group, meticulously stacking blocks into intricate, almost impossible towers.

Exudes a quiet authority that makes other kids give him space, though they’re drawn to him out of fascination.

Occasionally joins the group, offering cryptic but oddly insightful advice or lending a hand with Elias’ pranks.

Shares a unique bond with Elias over their admiration for beauty—Xanthus in art, Elias in the stars.

He rarely speaks, but when he does, it’s often profound and leaves the other children thoughtful or quiet.

Likes playing on the swings, will quietly ask any of the other children if they want to join him.

[tricitymonsters]

i am thinking of your dudes so much lately.... what kind of stories do they like! for movies/comics/books/series/games/whatever, are they more into a complex plot or individual characters or cool scenes or author's individual style orrr?

Ahhh thank you ;w;

Mori has like terminal attention span issues so he's very big on stuff that is concise and big-impact that can hold his attention. He's not a big reader usually but he likes movies and tv with a fair amount of spectacle and high information density. Mysteries and intricate dramas are usually the worst genres for him while action, horror, and comedy type media are usually best for him. He also watches a lot of cartoons.

Amir needs engagement so intricate plots, well written twists, elaborate set dressings are definitely his favorite. Murder mysteries, complex fantasy or sci fi (he leans harder into fantasy as a genre but both are fine), but he also likes to critique everything he watches so/can't just watch something for the fun of it so expect his thoughtful analysis after everything you watch. He's also into some drier stuff like documentaries, history, or socio-political stuff.

Akello is either Totally Into or Totally Disinterested in a lot of tv/movies. Like Amir, he gets absorbed in documentary or educational-type stuff because he is genuinely interested in most of the usual topics there. He also likes what I call "Dad Movie Classics" and has several that he goes back to a lot/tends to rewatch movies he likes. Akello played a lot of video games when he was younger (they kept him sane during college struggles) and likes really intricate RPGs/JRPGs though it's been a long time since he's played one. Fantasy settings are cool and all but he tends to gravitate towards modern and sci-fi settings most, and best if it's a combo.

[novelmonger]

Sorry, i know this is a bit random, but i recall you wrote ages ago that Carol Berg helped you get over disowning Robin Hobb as your favourite author (did i get that right?), and being familiar with both authors myself, I couldn't help but wonder what’s the story there? :) (just discard this if it's something very personal)

Ohhh, impressive memory! Yeah, I don't mind sharing, if you'll forgive me for being a little dramatic about the matter...and long-winded ^^'

(To be clear, the only Robin Hobb books I've read are the Farseer Trilogy, Fool's Errand, and The Golden Fool. The only Carol Berg books I've read so far are The Spirit Lens and The Soul Mirror.)

I was first introduced to Robin Hobb when my brother gave me the Farseer Trilogy when he went off to college, a year before I did the same. That was a very weird and stressful in-between sort of year, one where I really needed some other world to escape to, so I utterly devoured that trilogy.

Assassin's Apprentice, especially, really grabbed my imagination (and is the one book of hers I still have on my shelf). In many ways, it's the kind of story I hope to be able to write one day. It's high fantasy, with magic and kings and queens (and eventually dragons, but not in that particular book), but it feels very grounded. It doesn't brush aside some of the more sordid aspects of medieval life, while not making everything feel grungy and ugly like some grimdark stories I could name. There is ugliness, but there is also beauty - in realistic measures that makes the world feel like one that actually exists somewhere.

I also loved how deeply emotional Robin Hobb's writing was. I immediately felt like I was living under Fitz's skin, feeling things as he felt them. It's not rare for me to cry when reading a good book, but there were several scenes where it really struck me hard and I just sobbed my heart out. (I'm particularly thinking of the last scenes with Smithy and Nighteyes, as well as Fitz saying goodbye to Burrich in...I think that was the third book?) A lot of fantasy in general, and especially the books I'd been reading around that time, were much more plot-focused, so even when the worlds were cool and the plot was engaging, I wouldn't get hit with emotion that strongly. Robin Hobb really stood out in that regard, because while her stories have intricate plots, they're also intimately characterized. I don't think there was a single character in that series who felt flat.

Besides that, Fitz is a very sympathetic character, especially in the first book when he's just a kid who doesn't fully understand what's going on - and I've always had a thing for lonely little boys. And then there's his animal companions! Nosey! Smithy! Nighteyes! (Oh my word, Nighteyes alk;djfsdlkjf) And I also really liked a lot of the human secondary characters, especially Burrich, Kettricken, and Verity.

But more than anyone else, my favorite character, at least from the second book onward, was the Fool. He was so kooky and weird, so mysterious, so multi-faceted. One minute he seems almost half-witted, the next he rattles off something truly wise. And certainly by the end of the Farseer Trilogy, I adored the way his relationship was unfolding with Fitz. It seemed like everything I've always wanted and so rarely seem to find: two men who trust each other with their lives, who would die for each other, who aren't afraid of telling each other that they love each other, without even a question of romance.

Well. If you've read the Tawny Man trilogy, you might be able to guess some of where this is going.

I think my main problem was identifying too closely with the writing. I didn't just say, "Robin Hobb is my favorite author!" or "Robin Hobb is my writing role model!" It was like...because I recognized multiple very important things in her writing that I also wanted to achieve in my own writing, I went beyond simply trying to learn from a master and skipping ahead to assuming that she would craft her stories the same way I would in ten, twenty, thirty years. Like the only difference between us was time and experience, like we had the same values and the same ideas about characters and stories.

(To draw a contrast, I would now say that my primary writing role model is Brandon Sanderson. I really admire his worldbuilding and the way he crafts compelling plots and interesting magic systems but also does really well with making characters interesting and realistic, so I can enjoy a breathtaking plot and also sob my heart out in the emotional scenes. And I also really like the way he writes romances. But while I know there's lots I can learn from him, we write very different stories. I don't really have any aspirations to write epic fantasy with huge, sprawling casts and intricate magic systems. I'm much more interested in smaller, standalone stories that focus on just a few characters who might not even be saving the world. So it's much easier to read his books and go, "Wow, that was awesome! I have so much to learn from him! But I would never have written XYZ that way.")

Looking back, I can see a lot of red flags that should have jolted me out of this weird way I was reading Robin Hobb, things that should have clued me in much earlier that it wasn't just that Robin Hobb is a much better writer with ages more experience than me, it's also that we have very different ideas of how to handle a story and its characters. If I'd noticed sooner, maybe I would have been able to just enjoy her books for what they are instead of imagining that they were something else and then getting sucker-punched when I couldn't deny the truth any longer.

One indicator was Robin Hobb's stance on fanfiction. She took her rant down from her website, so I suppose it could be that her opinion of fanfiction has changed, but she's still on the forbidden list on FFNet, for whatever that's worth. Anyway, my point is simply that anyone who ever felt that strongly against fanfiction is clearly not someone who sees eye to eye with me on everything XD

Another interesting point is how, now that I've put several years between me and these books, I see how kind of...excessive Robin Hobb could be with all the horrible things that happen to her protagonist? Don't get me wrong, I love angst and whump probably more than I should, and it made for some really dramatic and nail-biting plots because it was clear that she wouldn't balk at going so far as to permanently maim Fitz if she thought the story called for it. Worse than that, she kept on tearing away everyone he loved in one way or another. There is so much pain and darkness in these books, and Fitz always seems to come out the worse for it, despite all of his efforts. If I'd been writing the stories, I would have given him a bit more of a break here and there ^^'

More to the point, though, is the way Robin Hobb handles romance. I knew from the second book (when Fitz is actually old enough to have romantic entanglements) that I did not care for her romances whatsoever. I don't think there was a single romance in any of the books I read of hers that I whole-heartedly liked without any reservations. (Kettricken and Verity came closest, but we hardly even see them together, and then there's that whole thing with Fitz....) Content-wise, they're not the most graphic scenes I've flipped past read, but the way Fitz never fails to make the absolute worst choices when it comes to romance, and the way he never fully commits to any of his romantic partners...like, I get it (at least sometimes), but I don't respect it.

Normally, I wouldn't keep going with an author who puts so much sexual content into her stories, even if it's not usually described in much detail. I would have gotten fed up with Fitz's dumb romances...but I really liked everything else about the books, so I persevered. Even if Robin Hobb's romances were crap, at least she was doing a really good job at making me care about all the other relationships. At least she was doing something I'd so rarely seen, with Fitz and the Fool's close friendship. There was no drama there. No dumb misunderstandings or stupid choices.

Until there was.

When I got to a certain scene in The Golden Fool, where rumors abound about the Fool's sexuality and Fitz finally confronts him (for the second time) and is like, "There's nothing romantic going on between us, right???" I was crushed by the Fool's response. I was waiting for another scene kind of like the one in...Assassin's Quest, I think it was, where he asks a similar question and the Fool's answer is basically, "Why does it matter? I love you, that's all." Instead of that, the Fool's response leads Fitz to understand that the Fool is in love with him (I don't have the book anymore, but I seem to remember the line going something like, "I love you in every way possible."), and he handles it as well as Fitz ever does, which is to say, terribly.

That was the moment where everything came crashing down. I don't know, maybe no one will really understand why that was such a big deal to me, but it was like all of a sudden I couldn't fool myself anymore, and I saw that Robin Hobb was taking the relationship in a direction I never wanted it to go. I wanted it to be the one uncomplicated relationship Fitz still had. I wanted it to go without saying that they loved each other, but not romantically. In that moment, I realized I didn't care what the answer to the mysterious things about the Fool's identity was. I didn't care if the resolution of it all ended up being that the Fool was a woman after all, or that he's some kind of androgynous or hermaphrodite creature, or that he ended up being a dragon or a fairy or anything else. I didn't care what the answer was, because I didn't want them to ask the question in the first place.

It was the weirdest feeling. Like...usually, if I make it past a certain point in a book, nothing short of a graphic sex scene or something truly horrible will make me stop reading it, even if I'm bored and don't care anymore. I usually at least want to see how things end. But when I got to that scene of this series I was deeply invested in, that had made me cry and smile so many times...all of a sudden, I didn't care at all. I didn't care if everybody died horrible deaths. Because the magic was shattered, and suddenly I was looking at letters printed on a page that I didn't much care for, rather than a vibrant world passing before my eyes.

So I kept Assassin's Apprentice, because I still think Robin Hobb is an excellent writer, and that's the one book in the series that doesn't have any romance for Fitz to screw up. But I sold all the other books, and have never felt even the slightest urge to read any more of her writing.

At long last, this is the part where Carol Berg comes in! I don't remember how long it had been since I disowned Robin Hobb as my favorite fantasy author, but at one point I picked up The Spirit Lens. I don't know if you'll agree with me or not, but I noticed a lot of similarities to Robin Hobb's stories. The way Portier hides in plain sight but is the one who really gets things done in the kingdom. The way the fantasy is magical and interesting, but still very grounded, paying attention to things like the workings of the court and such. The exquisitely horrible torture Portier suffers.

But most of all, my favorite character, Ilario de Sylvae! 8D The second he came on the page, I sat up straight, feeling like I'd just heard a familiar voice. Not necessarily because of his actual voice, but his character is so reminiscent of the Fool! Pretending to be a foppish rich boy who faints on couches at the sight of blood, only to reveal he's actually very serious, very skilled, and has a heart of gold. He comes through for his friends in the nick of time. He cares deeply for Portier, especially, but there's not a hint of romance between them. (At least, not in the two books I've read. I picked up on what might be some hints as to his sexuality, or at least the hints of questions, so if that becomes a thing in the third book, I guess I'm wrong about this. But so far I don't see any of that between him and Portier.)

So it's really interesting, because I was so enamored with Robin Hobb's stories, just blown away by the sheer emotion, but while I've enjoyed Carol Berg so far, I wouldn't say she's in my top five or anything. I think she's an excellent author and I really do love her characters, but I don't think they've made me cry so far. And yet, reading The Spirit Lens kind of healed the wound left by The Golden Fool. I'm not expecting Carol Berg to write the story exactly the way I would - in fact, I don't think I would ever get to the point of writing that particular story! - but that frees me to just enjoy a good story well told. And I can see echoes of Fitz and the Fool in Portier and Ilario, without any of the qualities that aggravated me so much. Like I can finally get the resolution I didn't realize I still needed.

Anyway, that's my story! Hopefully I didn't bore you to tears! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the two authors.

[hexenmond]

Webcomic Wednesday: The Witch Door

Well, I've been thinking about this the whole day now, and I'm almost frustrated that I can't seem to put this into words so easily. What's great about The Witch Door? Well honestly, what isn't?

I thought about Anni's other comic (Transfusions) and how I'm finding that easy to sum up – vampire BL with explicit scenes. I mention those few words and most people will have a fairly good grasp of what to expect and whether they might like it or not. (I personally hesitated a long time before reading it, because this is actually NOT something that's right up my alley. Turned out to also be good though.)

For The Witch Door, I can't seem to find an easily digestible handful of descriptive words like that. I feel like it is very much the sum of all of its intricate details, and it doesn't fit any simple bill. So I'll resort to reviewing my favourite bits about it…

It has great characters

Seriously, all of them are well thought out and engaging, not a single dull person among them. I love all of them so much that I have actually put ALL of them in my fanfiction (except for the Lintukoto people as they belong to the main canon storyline, which I'm not touching on). That includes Ulriikka, the fluffiest plot device ever.

Tangential to that: it has great representation

There's young people. Old people. Thin people. Fat people. Light-skinned people. Dark-skinned people. Live people. Dead people. Bird people. Ummm… a cat who is definitely also people. And other assorted… humanoids? And oh, sexualities for every letter of the alphabet!

The worldbuilding is intriguing

I'd roughly call the setting "urban fantasy", but that could mean so many things really. In a world much like the one we know, there are witches with differing magical abilities, some powerful, some almost mundane, but most importantly there is this one simple, cool thing that opens up so many possibilities, and that is the concept of the Witch Door: each witch has a special door that can lead to any other witch's special door. So even though our protagonists live in Turku, we have already spent an afternoon in New York and one in Kyoto, without anybody breaking a sweat.

… but it's also kinda slice-of-life

I really love the way that protagonist Katariina – non-magical, bog-standard human who works as a nurse – accidentally stumbles onto her neighbour's secret (he's a witch with a witch door), but her life's still lifing, so it's not all just magical discoveries and fun and games from then on. More like her world gets expanded, but that also means that on top of her own, mundane everyday problems she now learns about things happening in the magical community that are possibly even more concerning, and even less actionable. Katariina deals with all those new experiences with curiosity, wonder, compassion, delight, and occasionally overwhelm, and she feels so real for that.

It's about friendships

The more I think about it, that might be what I love most about the comic. We meet a whole bunch of people and all the relationships and interactions are just gold. At the heart of it, there's a lot of people caring about other people in quiet, everyday ways. Everyone is allowed to have their own struggles, and people are so supportive of each other. And there's also snark and banter, delicious!

I nearly forgot: It also has villains!

I do feel I've managed to avoid spoilers in all my rambling here, so I won't say too much about the antagonists. Just this: they exist, they are still a bit of a delightful mystery (we're in chapter 12 as I am writing this), and I fully believe they are just as complex and well thought out as all the other characters. I love to hate them.

Conclusion

If I've managed to pique your interest, why not take a look at the 6 page prologue? And then take the plunge into a completely different kind of mystery with chapter 1 🙃 where we're introduced to both of our protagonists separately, and then to the magic of the fluffy plot device.

Or, if you're unsure about whether reading this comic will bring joy to you and you don't want to just take the plunge and check it out (which I can relate to!), feel free to ask me questions about it!