#this chapter has neat little animations that i did

[kuro-is-doodlin]

Hey, you know what ?... chapter 2 of still alive is out, and there's some art in it,

teehee

Please read the tags and the note at the start though!

"Oh stars. Time to suffer again.."

[grison-in-space]

I'm sorry? Pigeons have to coo to ovulate?

okay, okay, I left this one out in the tags without elaborating the other day and you were not the only person who asked-- @nanavn and @corvus--caurinus were also curious. I did not have a ton of time yesterday when my brain was not leaking out my ears, so here I am today.

First, I apparently misremembered my grad school teachings: the best-documented case study of doves being required to hear their own coo in order to ovulate is that of the ring or Barbary dove (Streptopelia risoria), not the rock dove which gave rise to our domestic pigeons (Columba livia). They look like this:

They're the domestic doves you see sometimes that aren't domestic pigeons.

But yes, I was completely serious: hens need to very specifically hear their own nest coo to ovulate. The way it works is this: these doves have a very specific courtship pattern, where courting males at different stages of the nesting process perform first a "bow" coo, then a nest coo. Then the hen makes a nest coo back, and the pair goes on to build a nest together in which the hen will lay fertile eggs.

If you prevent the hen from producing this coo--and the first paper I've linked does this in several different ways with both neural lesions and also mechanical blocks of the synrinx--she will not ovulate. Then Dr. Cheng tried rescuing the effect for doves who could hear but not produce their own coos by playing back recordings of devocalized doves' own nest coos, recordings of other hen's nest coos, recordings of male nest coos (their own males, I think, for preference?) and no recordings at all. Hen nest coo recordings, especially the recordings of the hens themselves, were enough to rescue ovulation effect... but deafened hens who could, themselves produce nest coos weren't able to make ovulation happen half the time even when the male was right there. The male nest coo and his mating display is really important, because his coo stimulates the female to make her nest coo, and that's where ovulation starts.

In 2003, a little over a decade later, Dr. Cheng wrote a whole book chapter about auditory self-stimulation as a phenomenon in neuroendocrine shifts. It makes for pretty interesting reading! I'm going to really enjoy it this afternoon. Stimulated ovulation is actually a pretty common phenomenon in animals--often it makes more sense to only bother ovulating if you know there's a partner around to use whatever eggs you yield up--but this one is one of the most interesting and elaborate systems out there, and definitely the one that offers the most options to a given female dove to potentially consciously control her reproductive output.

But grison, you might ask, what about the doves outside my window? Is this just a function of this one dove species, or are lots of doves doing this to make ovulation happen? So I went looking to find out whether anyone has checked. The thing is that the heyday of pigeon behavioral research has faded somewhat in the intervening decades since Dr. Cheng's discovery, so there's not as much as I might hope where people sat down to investigate the question. I did, however, find a neat study on Columba livia demonstrating that auditory stimulation is more important to courtship displays and success than visual displays are, although of course the multisensory courtship is stronger than either sensory modality alone. So yeah, the cooing back and forth really loudly is part of a display that is functionally necessary for successfully producing offspring, and the auditory component is important for basically every pigeon that has been studied in this respect (albeit that number is pitifully small).

I also found this really interesting review of known uses of birdsong to set internal emotional states in birds (either for the self or for a partner or flockmates) that I want to look into with more detail, plus this really thoughtful review from Dr. Donna Maney talking about how "incentive salience" can use learning and experience to make certain cues bring up neuroendocrine changes in state over time, which helps individuals control how their endocrine system is reacting to stimuli in the world they've been shaped by. Clearly I have some reading to do...

[littlemisssquiggles]

Why did no one tell me about the little “omake” chapters of DandaDan?

I was today years old when I learned the existence of these little extra omake or bonus chapters of Dandadan that expand on what’s going on with some of the other DanDandan characters like the Aira and Evil Eye Jiji one for example.

I thought it quite cute that Evil Eye cared enough about Aira to help her with getting her old friends to start talking to her again. That was actually oddly sweet of him.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the Evil Eye might secretly have a widdle crush on Aira. Doesn’t have to be true. I mean it’s just me spitting here.

But I’d be lying if Evil Eye crushing on Aira is definitely feeding into my thoughts on Aira and Jiji eventually being a couple.

I DO LIKE the Jijira ship. I mean Dandadan got me wracking up new ships to love like Uno cards with each new arc.

Already I’m Team Momokarun - obviously. Otherwise why am I even here if not to suffer at the hands of Yukinobu Tatsu as he proceeds to write the most beautiful shoujo romance love story disguised as a shonen battle anime that the world has ever seen and taking his sweet ass time doing it too. That magnificent romantic bastard.

---

I’m Team Jijira - I just think they’re NEAT okay? Our secondary BAKAS IN LOVE potential couple next to Momokarun.

No seriously, I think these two can actually work really, REALLY well together if Aira would just come to her senses of seeing that Okarun is OBVIOUSLY in love with Momo and NOT her, get over him and redirect her interest to the guy who is actually always by her side more than Okarun. Meaning Jiji.

As for Jiji and where he stands on love and romance. To all the people who keep saying that Jiji is in LOVE with Momo, I raise you one important question? Where? Where is this love you keep insinuating that Jiji has for Momo?

Believe me, I have watched the anime. I have read the manga up to date and all I’ve seen so far is a good boy who just simply cares very deeply for his childhood friend and is very protective of her. Nothing more.

I mean Aira is more obvious with her feelings for Okarun than Jiji is for Momo.

I dunno man. The Momiji ship and its shippers is giving me Zutara from Avatar vibes. Ya’ll up in here painting this magnificent love story between these two characters and telling everybody who would listen about it but when you actually read the ACTUAL canon content, there is nothing to insinuate anything like that at all.

Then again, I might just be biased because even IF Jiji DID in fact have a crush on Momo … that means shit because WE KNOW Jiji will NEVER end up with Momo BECAUSE SHE IS IN LOVE WITH OKARUN AND HE LOVES HER TOO!

Not unless Tat-Tat writes an arc where there’s an alternative universe/ reverse time line type shit where Momo ended up with Jiji instead of Okarun due to weebly wobbly, timey wimey stuff.

And now thanks to Aira omake chapter with the Evil Eye, I have more reasons to believe that Jijira could be a possibility. Either way, my Jijira shipping heart has been fed.

---

I’m Team Vaminta: or Kintola? Whatever the official Vamola x Kinta ship is called. Doesn’t matter. Vamola is (literally) a queen and Kinta is her king. Nuff said!

My goat and baby girl deserve each other!

---

And finally; I��m Team Rinuma - yes, yes, I KNOW Rin and Zuma have yet to actually officially interact in the story but how can I NOT ship them prematurely. The girl with gravity powers making people float and the boy with the umbrella? C’mon it’s like poetry. The ship practically writes itself even if Tat-Tat hasn’t gotten there yet. I see the vision and I’m embracing it while I can; dagnabbit!

---

So yeah, those are my current favourite Dandadan ships. Returning to the omakes, I also enjoyed the Chiquitta one.

Did not know Chiquitta was attending school on Earth. I mean it would make sense since his father is currently working on Earth so that Chiquitta can get all the milk he can get to keep himself healthy and strong. Yeah makes perfect sense actually.

Loved the chapter showing Chiquitta protecting his classmates from older bullies. Like father, like son. Chiquitta got hands man! That’s our favourite kappa son!

Also Chiquitta imitating Jiji of all people when interacting with a girl is insanely cute. Of all the people for Lil Chiqui to copy, why Jiji of all people? Then again, better him that Kenta, am I right?

There’s also speculation now that the little girl that suspects Chiquitta to be an alien is actually related to Okarun.

Like she’s his little sister and that Okarun comes from a large family where possibly some of the background characters we’ve probably overlooked throughout the story may allegedly be related to our favourite Yokai speedster.

Personally I’m down for this theory since it’ll actually confirm Okarun as being from Earth instead of my crazy theory of him secretly being a member of a humanoid alien race who was abandoned on Earth at birth and raised by a human family or someting like that. .

Because we have yet to glimpse into what Okarun’s home life is as yet, it’s got me wondering if Okarun even has a family. I mean surely he has to have a home because in spite being a loner/outcast for most of his school life, Okarun is always well-clothed, well fed and stocked up on occult-related magazines.

So outside of the alien heritage theory, it wouldn’t surprise me if Okarun actually comes from a pretty wealthy family and the reason why he’s always seen ready and flexible to go off on his own without his parents wondering about his whereabouts is probably because Okarun’s parents/caretakers are probably living a life where they’re never home with him.

Perhaps Okarun’s parents work overseas and the reason for Okarun’s deep fascination with the occult is cause its related to his parents’ occupation.

Maybe his parents are archaeologists or astrologists or a pair of people who study these kind of things and often have to travel abroad for long periods of time while Okarun is left alone; unable to accompany them due to him attending school in Japan.

I mean, it would make sense why we haven’t seen them as yet in the story. To me, Okarun living alone because his parents work overseas sounds more plausible than them secretly being alien.

Perhaps the little girl who suspects Chiquitta of being an alien doesn’t necessarily have to be someone related to Okarun. Perhaps she’s his neighbour or something. Or maybe she doesn’t even know Okarun and is just someone related to Chiquitta’s side of the story.

On the subject of aliens, it would actually be pretty funny if Okarun’s parents were another pair of refugee aliens who have been living on Earth for years and thus Okarun is secretly an alien who was born and raised on Earth.

Like his parents brought him up on the occult to desensitize him to the existence of the alien race. Their race; although they never revealed the truth of their alien lineage to Okarun, wanting him to grow up believing himself to be just a “normal human boy on Earth” when he actually isn't.

I mean that’s another theory for the pool of possibilities.

If Okarun parents are indeed secretly aliens then imagine them being Ken Takakura fans as much as Momo is because his movies were the first thing they were exposed to once they came to Earth and thus they decided to take the surname of Takakura and named their Earth-born “alien” son, Okarun after him.

It would honestly be insane if there comes a time when Momo gets to meet Okarun’s parents and the first thing they bond over is their shared love for Ken Takakura.

That would actually be insanely cute.

Overall, these are just little headcanons. For all I know, there’s probably no twist to Okarun at all.

He could really just be a regular guy who, despite everything that life had thrown at him, lucked out and found the love of his life and the literal girl of his dreams when she just happened to be passing by on a bad day and noticed him for the first time.

That really could be just it.

Then again; who really knows.

We really have to see what Tat-Tat has cooking up in that noggin of his for this ongoing love story he's made.

The most I will say is that the longer the story drags on with us readers never seeing or knowing anything about Okarun’s homelife, the more this squiggle meister will start to believe that he’s secretly an alien until it’s debunked by the actual story.

~LMS (2025)

[nikofortuna]

JTTW Chapter 76 Thoughts

Chapter 76 for the @journeythroughjourneytothewest Reading Group!

They already killed a bunch of little fiends and stabbing that Elephant Demon King’s trunk surely has made it bleed at least a little already, I do not think making him bleed a little more is going to make much difference.

Phew for a second I was worried they might make light of the gruelling abuse that is elephant riding dragging the Elephant Demon King back to Tang Sanzang by the trunk while hitting him to make him escort them across the mountain. Fortunately they did not, but it is still close enough with the comparison to elephant tenders to make me frown.

On a lighter note the bird demon looks so goofy in the illustration that the German translation incorporates. His head looks like a baby bird’s!

Oh that is a neat detail! Yes, if an animal is stressed before death the meat will indeed “turn sour” from the lactic acid that occurs from the breakdown of glycogen reducing its quality. That is why usually when animals are brought to the butcher they get to stay a couple of days in the butcher’s stable to recover from the transport stress first.

[tactical-mode]

Final Fantasy VII - Episode 13

Turn on CC for dialogue!

(by request, an "Aeris" version has been added under English - Canada)

[Chapter 07] Scene 40

This scene is lifted wholesale from 7R, with the exception of the short exchange between Tifa and Cloud, which is from OG. "There's so much I need to tell you..." is one of those lines that communicates something completely different if this is your second time through the story, but I'll leave it at that. To get the shots, I slowed the engine down so that I could get coverage without the actors blinking away every half a second.

[Chapter 08] Scene 1

For this sequence, I decided to use the OG version of the music - the original soundfont. No remake or remix has quite recreated that eerie sound. While I was at it, I recreated the mysterious voice effect with an on screen text - including downloading a fan-made font (Reactor7) and hand-animating it by frame to evoke the PS1 text boxes.

Scene 2

This heavily anticipated scene has a great script, and it was very fun to play with it. The music is the Ever Crisis version of Flowers Blooming in the Church.

For the shot where Aerith says “You remember!” I in-fact reshot a moment from a future scene in 7R and flipped the image to create her blocking...

Scene 3

This scene starts when Aerith says “Come to think of it…” and ends when Reno enters the church. It doesn’t happen in 7R. To create the scene, first I made a record of all of Cloud and Aerith’s idle animations. Then, I storyboarded out the scene, picking which idle animations I thought could convey the dialogue. I planned the shots to never show the mouth of the character that is speaking, using body language instead. To get each shot, I set up a looping camera path, pressed record, and let ‘er rip for an hour while I did other activities. I assembled the scene from the best takes.

Scene 4-8

This is the Ever Crisis version of Enter Turks. For this scene, I learned more tricks with the Unreal Unlocker, and some of the shots are actually taken in slow-motion! These help with longer reaction shots (like Aerith’s smile after she proposes a date), and Reno saying “mako eyes” (in 7R, he is saying a different word, much faster, but with this manipulation he appears to say the dialogue I gave him!) How neat is this?

Final Thoughts

Yes, there are no time ghosts, and yes, there are no more prophetic visions. Those are the most obvious changes, but I enjoyed every little switch and reshoot, and I especially enjoyed restoring the three music tracks, the first of which (Who Are You?)  has no 7R counterpart. 7R’s version of Flowers Blooming uses piano instead of bells, and the complicated and delightful percussion of Enter Turks has been restored.

No new mods to show off. I hope you enjoy the episode!

[vanfleeter]

My Love: Chapter 7

Characters: Jake Kiszka x Sara Warnings: 18+ || Gore. Vampires. Blood. Blood drinking. Mentions of death and murder. Fire. Burning. Angst. Physical violence. Self doubt. Crying. Tears. Yelling. Arguing. Smut. Sex. Penetrative sex. Cockblocking. Heated make out.

Only a few weeks have gone by since we brought Sara back home and ever since then she has kept herself locked in our bedroom. I’ve tried everything to get her to come out.

Sex.

Blood – human and animal.

Yet nothing has worked thus far. I hadn’t seen a vampire so reserved and so closed off. The guilt of all the humans she killed has been eating at her. And while I’ve been trying to help Sara and coax her out of the bedroom, Danny has been anticipating Nora’s return back home. He’s been getting their house cleaned and ready when she returns. One speck of dust and she’ll never let him hear the end of it. If there’s one thing to know about Nora is that she is a neat freak, even when she feeds. She never wastes a drop of blood and she never gets it anywhere else on her or her chosen victim.

I’m hoping having her here again, she’ll be able to help Sara too. Nora’s been in this kind of situation before, but maybe having another female around will get Sara to talk, or at least come out of the bedroom as a first step. Just something to get her out of her mind and focused on something else.

I tried to be sneaky and have Sam come over one day and infiltrate her mind with anything happy. That only resulted in her causing immense pain to him and him limping away and refusing to ever come near her again until she’s back to her regular self again.

Silently stepping into the room, I watch her as she still sits in front of the window. That’s all she does is sit at the window and stare out of it. What she’s even looking at, besides the same old trees, is beyond me. I slip into the closet and change clothes before going back out to the room and sitting on the side of the bed.

“Are you coming to bed?” I ask, as I have every night since we got back home.

Her eyes slowly leave the scenery outside and focus on me. I brace myself for whatever pain she decides she wants to inflict on me, but instead all I see is nothing in her eyes. Absolutely nothing. Did she flip her switch again? Instead of speaking, she just turns her eyes back to the window and drops her chin into the palm of her hand.

I take that as a no.

“Please come to bed?” I ask, trying again.

“Jake…” I move closer to the edge of the bed, hope festering in my chest. “Do you still love me?”

“Do I..” I slide off the bed and kneel beside her chair. “Of course I still love you.” I reach up and grab her chin in my hand so I can turn her head. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because of what I did..” Her voice shakes and her eyes glisten with tears. “I’m your nightmare..”

“Sara, no..” I reach further up on my knees and draw her in for a kiss. “You didn’t have a choice..”

“How can you still love me?” A tear slips down her cheek and I rub my thumb over her skin to wipe it away.

“I can still love you because I know the real you, Sara. The intense feeling you have right now is remorse. If you didn’t care about what happened, then we'd be having an entirely different conversation.” I crack a small smile and reach back over to kiss her cheek.

“Will I ever go back to normal?” She asks. “How long will this feeling last?”

“It’s all dependent on you,” I say. “You’re in control of your emotions and your mind.” I stand to my feet and hold out my hand to her. “Come lay with me, please?” She meerily nods her head and pushes herself out of the chair.

Together we climb into bed and she instantly curls herself into my body. I still miss feeling the warmth that her body used to give off, I still miss feeling her heart beating. It still beats just differently. One thing though that hasn’t changed is the smell of strawberries. That little red fruit used to make her blood so sweet and so delicious when she was human.

I feel a cool touch to my groin making me flinch. Looking down I see Sara’s hand sliding over my thigh and grasping my length lightly in her hand. “I’ve missed you..” She whispers close to my ear.

“I missed you too,” I say, turning my head to look at her. She looks up at me with doey eyes and I feel myself completely falling to her mercy.

“May I?” She says as she starts to slide the waistband of my sweatpants down to release my now aching dick. I nod my head and she kisses my cheek before sliding her nightgown up her body and swinging her legs over my waist to straddle me. “And when I say that I missed you, I really mean it.”

I chuckle and knead my fingers into her ass. “I’ve really missed you too.”

Within seconds she’s completely sunk down on me, the feeling so intense as if it’s our first time together all over again. Her fingers dig into the skin of my chest as she slowly starts moving her hips. I can’t help but to thrust my hips upwards, driving myself deeper inside and making her moan loudly.

I’m so glad we aren’t still at my brothers’ place. I won’t be teased in the morning because of how loud she is.

I can’t resist the urge to flip us over so that now I’m on top and she’s below me. “For once, let me on top.” She laughs.

“I can’t help it,” I pant before leaning down to kiss her. “You know that I love being in control.”

“Well maybe sometimes, we should switch–” She flips us back over so that she’s straddling my waist again. She pins my arms down to the pillows above my head and gradually picks up the speed of swiveling her hips.

“Fuck.. Sara, don’t do that..”

“Aww, can’t handle not being in charge?”

“Of course.. I can..” I strain against her hold on me, fighting against the throbbing feeling of needing to release. “Fuck..”

I let my head back into the pillows as my orgasm washes over me, my body tensing beneath her. She’s still moving, not wanting to stop even as I feel her own release cover me. But soon she does stop and collapses onto my chest breathing heavily. I feel wetness pooling on my skin and I look down to see her tears leaving wet trails as they slide down my ribcage.

When becoming a vampire, every emotion is heightened, especially sadness. I’ve learned that sadness is the strongest one, and I guess now–so has she..

Carefully removing myself from inside of her, I slid her off from on top and onto the bed beside me. I turn to my side and pull her into my body.

“Why can’t I stop crying?” She says, her voice muffled against my chest. “This sucks worse than when I was human..” I chuckle and bend my head down to kiss her forehead. She swats at my chest before rolling away from me. “It’s not funny..”

“It kind of is,” I say as I prop myself up on my elbows. “Babe, I’ve told you this.. Your emotions are heightened when you transition, they always will be–but you have to learn how to control them.”

“But this sucks!” She cries as she pulls her knees up to her chest.

“This will get easier,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her and pull her close.

“And if it doesn’t?” She says. “What if.. What if I turn into Sitovo and go bat shit crazy?”

“You won’t go crazy,” I say. “Not if I can help it.” Pulling away from her, I climb off the bed and grab hold of her legs to pull her to the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” She groans as I pull her off the bed.

“We are going to go hunt..”

“Jake.. I think I’ve had my fill of that..”

“Not humans.. Deer..”

“Ja-a-ake…” She whines. “After everything that I’ve been through, do you really think letting me kill Bambi is a good idea?”

I laugh and kiss her lips. “Just try it..”

“But it’s Bambi..” She pouts. “Can’t I just drink from a blood bag like the wimpy vampire that I am?”

“Wimpy?” I scoff. “Ha! You’re far from wimpy.” I wrap my arms around her and pull her close to me. “But I guess since you asked nicely, we can drink from a blood bag.”

“Drink,” I say, handing her a fresh bag of blood that I had retrieved from the cooler in the basement. “I’m going to go out back and take care of a few things.”

“Chris?” She questions as she pops open the bag. I nod my head and pull my hair back into a low bun. “How did you even manage to get his body back here?”

“It’s not that hard..” I say with a smirk.

One thing that I love about living in the middle of nowhere is that I can drag a body outside without any suspicious eyes on me while I do so. I always forget how heavy dead bodies can be. The aching in my shoulders doesn’t compare to the satisfaction that I have knowing that I finally ended Chris. For all these years I was stupid to believe that he ever cared. I was stupid to ever consider him a brother. I should have killed him a long ass time ago when I had the chance to do so.

We wouldn’t be in this predicament if he was already dead. Sara would still be human, still have the option to live a normal life. Of course the Onyx would still be after her, but at least I’d still have a shot to convince them otherwise. Convince them to keep her alive.

I always knew my time with her was limited, she knew that too. If I had to give her up, I would have with no hesitation if it meant keeping her safe. As much as it would have pained me to again lose someone that I love, I would know that she was safe and she could live a life of peace and of love.

The fire ignites after I throw a lit match on top of it. The warmth of the fire heated my body, only causing memories of feeling Sara’s warm body against mine.

Picking up his body, I toss it into the flames. First his clothes catch fire followed by his hair. His eyes are still wide open from when I killed him. Flashes of the day run through my mind as I watch the flames engulf his body completely. I had never seen a lick of fear in his eyes until that day. Never once has he ever shown fear but seeing it clear as day in his eyes, I felt power surge through me like I never have before. For once in the nearly five hundred years of my life, I finally felt strong and I finally felt like I was worth something.

I stayed outside, watching the flames burn until there was nothing left except for the ashes of his body and the kindle of the wood. Putting out what was left in the pit, I turn to look back at the house. Flickering light illuminates the bedroom window. A smile spreads across my face and I make my way back inside.

Getting up to the bedroom, I slowly push open the door and peer inside. Sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her, she looks at me with a devilish grin on her face.

“Feeling better?” I ask as I walk up to the end of the bed.

“I will,” She says as she crawls along the bed. “But it seems like you need a release..”

“Baby, I got mine earlier.” I say.

Her hands skim across the exposed skin of my torso, beneath the unbuttoned fabric of my shirt. “Mmm, but that was for me, and you know it.”

“Did it help?” I say as she brings her hands back around my waist and tugs on the string of my sweatpants.

“A little,” She says. “I’m trying to be in control of my emotions and how I feel.”

“So you’re channeling it all into sex?”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Most definitely not..”

I tilt her chin up and connect my lips to hers. Sliding my hands down her body, I grab the bottom of her nightgown and pull it up and over her head. Our tongues wrestle when we reconnect and she pushes my shirt off my shoulders and down my arms.

I got her laid out on the bed when suddenly the bedroom door flew open. “Woah! Hello!” Sam bellows out a laugh as I scramble to get my shirt wrapped around Sara’s naked body.

“Knock much?” I growl as I spin to face him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Apparently barging in on you for the second time,” He laughs. “Maybe you should start locking your front door. Anyways, we need you downstairs.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me..” He says before leaving the room and closing the door with him.

“Oh this better be good,” I say as I go over to the dresser and pull out different clothes for Sara. She gives me a look and I cock my eyebrow. “Uh uh, the last thing I want is for your lady bits to be on display for my brothers..”

“My lady bits?” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “So possessive.”

I smile and press my lips to her forehead. “Sam already pushed his limits once, I’m not letting him test the waters again.” I can see her smirk from below the bridge of my nose and I slap my hand across her ass making her gasp. “Don’t even think about it. Now get changed and meet us downstairs.”

Upon entering the living room, I find not only my brothers seated around the room, but Ellis leaning against the mantelpiece and lighting a cigarette with the burning fire. “I do have a lighter,” I say as I take a seat beside Josh on one of the couches.

“This seemed cooler,” Ellis chuckles. “Anyways, you’re probably wondering why I’m here,” He clears his throat and turns to face me. A long cut stretches diagonally down his left cheek. It looks fresh. “The Onyx is on their way here..”

“And why are they coming here?” Danny asks.

“I don’t know,” Ellis says, shrugging his shoulders. “My eavesdropping didn’t go that far.” He falls quiet, his tiny smirk fading. I follow his line of sight and peer over my shoulder to see Sara slowly entering the room. “You look horrible,” Ellis chuckles.

“I’d be careful with what you say around her,” Sam says. “She doesn’t go easy.” Her eyes flash over to Sam and he holds his hands in the air. “I’m only speaking the truth.”

“They still want me dead, don’t they?” Sara says as she steps up to the back of the couch.

Ellis shrugs his shoulders and pushes his black locks behind his ears. “All I know is they’re coming here. None of it sounded threatening–”

“Nothing they ever say sounds threatening,” Danny says as he leans forward on his knees. “Their actions are more lethal than their words.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Sara asks. “Let them take me again? Be their fucking puppet again?”

“No,” I say standing up and taking her hand in mine. “We won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t exactly say ‘no’ when they tell you to do something.” Ellis says.

“I did once before,” I say. “I’ll do it again.”

“Oh yeah? Look how that ended up.” Ellis says.

“Whatever it is they’re coming here for, we just need to be prepared.” Josh says. “We shouldn’t jump straight to conclusions without knowing exactly the reason why they’re coming.”

I feel Sara remove her hand from mine and I turn to look at her. “I need to be alone.” She says as she starts to leave the room.

“Hey no,” I say as I go after her. I stop her at the bottom of the stairs. “Don’t lock yourself up in that room again. Don’t shut down again.”

“So what if I do? It’ll make killing me that much easier if I don’t fight back.”

“Would you stop talking like that?” I say as I grab hold of her shoulders. “No one is going to kill you.”

“You should’ve just let me die that day..” She pushes me away and storms up the stairs.

“Sara!” I shout as I go after her. The door slams shut in my face when I get there. Twisting the knob, I throw open the door letting it bang against the wall. “So you’d rather be dead than to be with me?”

“Not everything is about you!” She shouts as she shoves me backwards. “This is about me, Jake! My life–or whatever it is that I’m living–is on the line!”

“And I told you that I would protect you!”

“Oh yeah? And how is that working out for you? I’m dead!” She shouts, flinging her arms around the air.

“I thought that’s what you wanted?!” I shout back. “You begged me for so long to change you and I did!”

“You did it because you were being selfish! You never even asked me!”

“What?!”

She can’t be serious. How can I ask her when she was unconscious and on the verge of death? I cannot deny that I was selfish when I fed her my blood. I did not want to lose her. I did not want to bear that pain again.

“How could I ask you when you were on the verge of death?!” I shake my head, digging my fingers into my hair as I begin to pace back and forth. “The one time that I actually do something that you have been begging me to do, and then when I do it, it pisses you off because I didn’t ask you?! You make my head spin!”

“Get. Out.” She says, her eyes lighting up with fury.

“No,” I say, standing my ground.

“Fine..” She storms past me and out of the room.

“Sara!” I shout again. My voice echoes through the halls and bouncing off the walls. “If you walk out that door,” I say as I follow her down the stairs. “I will not protect you.”

“Well you haven’t been doing a good job anyways,” She says as she throws open the front door.

“Excuse me?” I storm out of the house after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to me. “I have done everything to keep you safe to the best of my ability. Sure it hasn’t always been perfect but dammit, I am only one fucking man who loves you so selfishly that it physically pains me.”

A drop of rain lands on my cheek and before either of us knows it, a downpour begins, drenching us both. We look at each other so intensely, both our bodies fuming with anger and lust. Before I can even get my own hands on her body, she’s pulling me into her with her lips crashing onto mine.

“Your emotions drive me insane,” I say when we pull apart.

“I can’t help it,” She breathes. “You made me this way.”

I smile and lean down to kiss her again.

“Pardon, we seem to be interrupting something..” Pulling away from Sara, I look over to the side only to find the Onyx standing under umbrellas and clad in raincoats. Michael steps forward and flashes his pearly white teeth smile. “Hello Jacob..”

“Michael..”

“Nice pleasantries just are not your thing, are they?”

“Towards you? Never..”

Michael chuckles. “Shall we go inside? It’s quite dreary out here.”

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I grab Sara’s hand and motion my other hand towards the door, allowing them to go first. Less of a chance of them getting their hands on her. I won’t take any chances. Josh was kind enough to get us both towels to dry off.

“Relax, Jacob. We come here with good intentions.” Michael says.

“Oh?” Josh speaks up. “That’s a surprise.”

“We put in a lot of thought,” Michael says as he takes a seat on the couch beside Danny. Danny gives him a once over before carefully sliding over to put a little distance between the two of them. The edges of my lips curved slightly as I watched him grow uncomfortable.

“About what?” Josh asks.

“Jacob’s relationship.”

I tighten my grip on Sara’s hand and turn my attention back to Michael. “Around and around in circles..” Josh sighs. “When will this ever stop? Can’t we just move on? She’s no longer human, she’s a vampire just like all of us in this room. Just let it go..”

Michael nods his head. “I completely agree..”

“I’m sorry, what?” Josh says. “Y-You agree?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well that’s a first..” Josh says before taking a sip of whiskey.

“I have thought about what I have done and I am here to issue a formal apology to Sara. I am sorry for all the pain and trauma that I have ordered upon you. I was so blinded by this need to make Jacob realize the mistakes he had made. I wanted him to see the monster he had created and feel regret, because I knew that was his biggest fear and why he was so adamant about not turning her in the first place. We have these rules for a reason and I knew that if I let one slide, I would have to do it for everyone..”

I can sense Josh rolling his eyes which makes my lips twitch ever so slightly.

“So.. I have decided to end this war with you all and wish to start over on a clean slate. I will allow this relationship to continue in its own way. As I can see that Jacob really does love you. I have not seen him so in love since…Vo.” Michael clears his throat.

Danny smirks beside him. “May she rest in ashes..” He mumbles around the glass of whiskey.

“Anyways..” Michael continues. “That was all I wanted to come here for. I believe we can show yourselves out.”

“Please do,” Sam smiles as he motions towards the front door.

“Though I have ended this war, this does not mean that we still won’t be watching you all. You will still be held responsible for any and all actions from here on out.”

“We expect nothing less.” Josh says. “Goodbye. Adios. Hope to never have to see you again.”

Once they were gone, I pry my hand from Sara’s and I turn to look at her. “You can breathe now,” I tell her. She actually releases a breath and I chuckle.

“Well I guess that’s our que to leave now too,” Josh says. “Considering what Sam broke up.”

“Maybe they shouldn’t be so-”

“You better shut up,” I warn.

“Or what? Gonna boil me from the inside out?” Sam laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not scary, Jake.” Sara sits forward and rests her eyes on Sam. “Ow! Ow! Sara!” Sam exclaims as his finger bones crack and bend in odd directions. She smirks a little before blinking and the bone breaking stops. “Why must I always be your victim?”

“You’re just easy,” She says as she stands from the couch. “Now leave.. Jake and I have some unfinished business to take care of.”

“You two nauseate me.” Suddenly Sam begins to slowly lift off the ground. I can’t help the laugh that creeps through as I watch him panic. “Sara, this isn’t funny.” He says. “Put me down!”

“It isn’t me.” She says.

“Then who’s got me dangling like this?”

“Hello boys..” Stepping from around the corner of the threshold is Nora with her finger held in the air and pointed at Sam.

“Nora!” Danny exclaims as he runs over to her.

“Nora?” Sam looks below him, only for a beaming grin to spread across his face. “Nora! Hey! Long time no see! Mind letting me down?”

“Sure,” She shrugs her shoulders and drops her hand to her side, effectively dropping Sam to the floor.

He groans in pain and rolls over to his hands and knees. “Gently…” He croaks.

“Oh sorry, I still can’t quite do it with ease.” She giggles softly before pulling Danny in for a kiss. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” He says. “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought I was too,” She says before turning to look at Sara. “But she helped me escape. Told me to run or she’d have to break every bone in my body, no fault of her own though. Kind of a bitch, but I liked it. Suits her.”

“Well, she is with Jake.” Sam says, dusting off his clothes. He immediately throws out his hands in defense in Sara’s direction. “Don’t even think about it.”

I smile from my place on the couch and laugh just a little. Sam is officially scared of Sara. Who knew? Standing up from the couch, I walk over to the lovey dovey couple and pry them apart before hugging Nora.

“Glad to have you back, Nora.” I say. “Finally done traveling?”

“Well I wasn’t, technically–then the Onyx practically abducted me and well..traveling is officially over.” Nora explains after we pull apart. “You got yourself a keeper, by the way–and a strong one at that too. Definitely can resist being controlled, great actress.”

I look back at Sara and she shrugs her shoulders. “Fake it til you make it?”

“That’s my girl!” I exclaim as I go back over to her. “You are special.” I pulled her in for a kiss, not caring that they were still around.

“Alright, alright..” Josh sighs. “Now we’re leaving..”

I chuckle against her lips and pull away only long enough to see the front door being closed. Finally alone. Not going to be bothered again–hopefully.

I can feel her fingers walk along my jaw and she’s turning my head back so I’m looking at her. “I love you.” She says.

“I love you too.”

@losfacedevil @writingcold @edgingthedarkness @i-love-gvf @katuschka @josh-iamyour-mama @sammysstolenbirks @asendingtothestarsasone @hollyco @musicislove3389 @its-interesting-van-kleep @katiegvf @tinydancer40 @gretavangroupie @lizzys-sunflower @fleetingjake @takenbythemadness @godly-sinsx @psychedelectable @dancingcarbon @oliverfuckingreed @cheersdannyx2 @piratejtk @katuschka @thetroublegetssoloud71

add yourself to the tag list in my master list!

[emmg]

Aftertaste

Chapter 6: Inter-fucking-lewd

Breakfast with benefits: Emmrich swipes his card, Rook shows gratitude by giving him a thorough tonsil inspection via tongue deployment. The Sugar Daddy AU no one asked for.

I keep forgetting to throw this on here. Lol, skipped a chapter again but we ball.

On ao3 or below the cut

She isn't self-conscious. Not in the usual, pathetic way, at least. People, Rook has decided, come in exactly three flavors: the certain, the hesitant, and the shy. Sure, there are endless subcategories, but at its core, this is the only division that matters. Emmrich, for example, is hesitant. Painfully, excruciatingly hesitant. The kind of person who apologizes when someone steps on his foot. She, on the other hand, is certain.

She used to be sweet. She used to be good. She used to smile at the right moments and say the right things in the right tone, like a perfectly programmed social robot. And what did that get her? Jack shit. So now, she asks for what she wants. Not that it works miracles, but at least when the barista massacres her order and she makes them redo it—once, twice, three times—she eventually walks away with the drink she actually paid for. A small, hard-earned victory. Even if, as she leaves, she can feel the heat of a middle finger aimed at her back.

Life, she has learned, is not a heartwarming fable where kindness wins in the end. It’s a glorified scam, a poorly-run customer service line where the only way to get what you’re owed is to be just annoying enough that someone begrudgingly hands it over.

Which is why she feels absolutely no shame as she rolls out of Emmrich’s bed, tiptoes into his bathroom, and starts rifling through his cabinets like a particularly nosy raccoon. There’s an indent next to where she slept—evidence that he existed at some point—but no Emmrich. She feels a little sad about that. Then she feels stupid for feeling sad. And then, because self-awareness is exhausting, she gets back to the important task of snooping.

The usual offerings greet her: mouthwash, floss, a fresh toothbrush standing at polite attention by the sink, and a towel so pristine it might have been confiscated from an angel. But, as always, the real treasure lies behind the mirror.

"Hm," she murmurs, staring at the neat little lineup.

Three orange prescription bottles, arranged as precisely as toy soldiers, standing at ease beside an inoffensive roll of extra floss. For a fleeting moment, she assumes they’re the famous blue pill, and starts giggling like an idiot. But then she actually reads the labels.

Alprazolam—Take 1 tablet by mouth as needed for anxiety. May cause drowsiness. Do not drive or operate heavy machinery.

Sertraline—Take 1 tablet by mouth once daily. Do not stop abruptly.

Hydroxyzine—Take 1-2 capsules by mouth as needed for anxiety. May cause drowsiness. Avoid alcohol.

"Hm," she says again, this time closing the cabinet with a little more care.

She walks away with two invaluable pieces of knowledge.

First, despite floating around in a sea of gold jewelry, clinking and shining like some minor deity of excess (it’s a Nevarran thing, Bellara told her, jewelry is cultural), Emmrich is not, in fact, above the humble embrace of generic pharmaceuticals.

Second, and perhaps more pressing: she is a fucking monster.

She takes a shower; quick in practice, but utterly decadent in spirit. The kind of shower that would make an environmentalist clutch their pearls. Then, still glistening, feeling like some sleek, well-oiled animal, she anoints herself with his undoubtedly overpriced, unreasonably divine-smelling body lotion.

Then she finds the face cream. And oh, bless this man. Bless his fragile little vanities, his meticulous devotion to self-maintenance, his quiet, desperate battle against the inevitable collapse of youth. Because not only does he have a proper moisturizer, no, he has eye cream. A tiny, expensive jar dedicated exclusively to the bags under his precious eyes.

It doesn’t even matter that the label says For Men, as though it’s been engineered with testosterone and car engine grease. She does not give a single shit. She digs in, smearing it on like she’s a prize racehorse in need of maintenance.

There’s a robe, too, a robe that is very much Emmrich-sized. She is tall herself, but Emmrich, in all his spindly glory, has the proportions of a lamppost, so when she wraps it around herself, the hem kisses her heels. Thus swaddled, she shuffles downstairs, following the distant hum of sound.

Humming? No, talking. Muffled, quiet, and decidedly unimpressed. She follows it to the kitchen and, ah, well—would you look at that—it’s an Emmrich, one hand gesturing through the air, the other clutching a phone.

"How about I do precisely the contrary?" he murmurs, taking exquisite care to keep his voice polite. "I have attended an egregious number of administrative functions at the expense of my own sanity. I have published beyond the requisite metrics, despite the institution’s draconian funding model. I have, against my better judgment, served on not one but two outreach committees, despite my well-documented lack of interest in performative bureaucracy. Forgive me, but this time, I will not be participating in the Sisyphean farce of ‘going above and beyond.’" A pause. An exhausted sigh. "Pease do pardon my tone, dear Myrna, none of this frustration is meant for you, of course. You have been, as always, a beacon of patience. I will bring croissants on Monday. Good day."

In academic speak, this translates roughly to: kiss my tenured ass.

She does exactly what she did the night before: shuffles up behind him like some kind of affectionate specter and winds her arms around his waist. Partly because he seemed to like it, partly, more selfishly, because there is something deeply satisfying about watching a distinguished, well-respected professor momentarily short-circuit like a schoolboy handed a love note.

And also because she is still marinating in the deep, briny guilt of being, in every conceivable way, an absolute asshole.

Emmrich tenses for a fraction of a second before his hand settles gently over both of hers, where they are crossed around his middle, as though securing a particularly insistent backpack.

"Good morning, dear," he says at last.

"Mhm," she replies, tilting her head toward the little table. A pot of coffee, a small, unnecessarily delicate vase, and inside it, lavender. Real, fresh lavender.

"Lavender," she observes, brilliantly. "You actually have it."

"I choose my words carefully and I mean what I promise."

"Good to know," she says, finally letting go after inhaling deeply, because his soap smells good, and she is nothing if not indulgent.

She sits, watching as he pours her a cup. In the morning light, with his sleeves rolled up and his reading glasses perched precariously at the end of his nose, he looks strangely soft. As if sensing her scrutiny, Emmrich removes and sets them down, like some small act of self-defense.

"That was hot," she says over the rising steam of her coffee, the heat dampening her cupid’s bow.

"Oh?" He frowns slightly.

"The whole firm but exasperated yet very polite routine. Very sexy."

There is a small shift. A recalibration. "Ah." He glances toward the window, smiling. The color in his cheeks deepens just slightly. "I'm glad you think so."

A strange kind of silence settles as she drinks her coffee and he absently adjusts the edge of the tablecloth. Every now and then, she tries to catch his eye, only for him to suddenly become engrossed in something else entirely. The ceiling. The floor. A rogue tuft of dog hair drifting by with the tragic slowness of a lost soul.

"Do you want me to leave?" she asks bluntly, because there is no graceful way to phrase it.

His eyes widen, and she realizes too late that she has startled him.

"No, no," Emmrich says, immediately, with such startling sincerity that it nearly undoes the whole moment. "That is very much not…" He exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I had intended to apologize for last night, but regrettably," he gestures vaguely, laughing under his breath, "it appears I have misplaced my usual verbosity, and I am not entirely sure how to proceed."

So that’s what this is about. She hums. Not a tune, not even anything in particular, just an aimless vibration of thought. Then, casually, she says, “Do you want to know what happened the first”—a brief pause for reflection, because, really, what a moment—“time I tried to have sex?”

Emmrich does not flinch, but there is a subtle change in the atmosphere, a flicker of something in his expression that suggests he is considering an immediate escape. “Oh, Rook, you do not have to share—”

“So he started crying, right—”

“—hardly a crime,” Emmrich interrupts, looking to the window, fingers now tapping against the table. “Some people are more sentimental than others.”

“I didn’t say it was. But imagine this: you’re naked, a bright-eyed young woman, about to embark on what should be a delightful new chapter of your life, and suddenly—your partner, the man in this scenario, is sobbing into your tits. And not just a few cute, tortured tears. No. We’re talking full-body convulsions, wet, choking, gasping-for-air ugly crying. Snot on my skin, weird little hiccup noises, the whole fucking show. So obviously, my first thought is what the actual fuck. My second is did I do something? And my third is am I really so fucking ugly that this man took one look at me naked and had a complete emotional breakdown?"

“You are not—”

“Then he starts talking about his sister—”

“His sister?”

“Apparently, I looked like her.”

A long pause. “Oh Maker.”

“So this second coming of Oedipus, this absolute fucking specimen, this... Well, I don’t even know what to call him, and I am usually pretty good at coming up with creative insults—”

"Yes," Emmrich agrees. "You have a rare gift."

“Exactly. So there he is, weeping over his sibling while also, simultaneously, making a very determined attempt at fucking me. He gets about a third of the way in—just enough to make it legally concerning—before something, maybe divine intervention, maybe the ghost of his grandmother, whispers in his ear and suddenly, he stops. Pulls out like I’m cursed, stares down at himself as if he’s seeing a dick for the first time in his life, and then, as the grand finale, has a fight with the condom, rips it off while telling me his sister is so very nice and pretty, and blows his fucking load on my knee.”

Silence.

Emmrich, someone who has likely endured entire week-long academic conferences on molecular chemistry, complete with keynote speakers droning on about enzyme kinetics in excruciating detail, now stares at her as if she has just proposed that gravity is optional. His expression shifts through several stages of intellectual agony—denial, disbelief, reluctant acceptance—before he very, very slowly lifts his eyes to the ceiling, as though hoping that if there is a higher power, now would be an excellent time for a well-placed lightning strike.

Then he starts laughing. Not some polite, measured chuckle, not even the kind of laughter that suggests mild amusement, but the real, undignified kind. The kind that briefly robs a man of whatever intellectual superiority he thinks he has. He buries his face in his hands for a moment, then rubs at his eyes as if trying to wipe the mental image away.

"But do you want to know what the worst part was?" she asks, tilting her cup back to get the last few drops of coffee.

"I would have assumed it was the matter of the sister. But I see now that was wishful thinking. Please, continue to traumatize me."

"Noooo," she drawls. "The worst part was that the fucker ate nothing but red meat. And I don’t mean he had a steak every now and then like a normal person. I mean every fucking meal. Just shoving beef into himself like he was personally keeping the cattle industry afloat. Which, fun fact, turns jizz into the worst-smelling substance known to man: a thick, hot, gamey blast of pure death." She makes a face, shaking her head at the memory. "Like, imagine if a butcher shop and a used sock had a baby. I was practically gagging. The dude nut on my knee, and I swear to the fucking gods, I could smell it before I even registered what happened."

Emmrich props his chin on his fist. His smile is small, a little detached, a little shy. "Well," he says at last, "thankfully, I do not eat meat, darling."

She blinks. Her brain lags a little, just enough for the full meaning of that sentence to settle in and punch her straight in the gut.

"Oh," she says. And then, again, "Oh," as something horrible—something hot and shameful and deeply inappropriate—crawls up her spine and detonates in her cheeks. She is not supposed to be the one blushing.

"Anyway," she blurts, desperate to redirect. "All that to say, you have nothing to apologize for. I'm sure you have your own tricks that will surprise me."

“No tricks, no,” Emmrich muses. “Well, perhaps just the one.”

She narrows her eyes. “One?”

“Indeed. Would you like to see? It tends to be something of a crowd-pleaser.”

"Sure," she allows.

He doesn’t go far. Just turns, retrieves a laptop perched on the kitchen counter, and deposits it in front of himself. His glasses slide back onto his nose as he unlocks it and nudges it across the table toward her.

She eyes it, then him. “What’s this about?”

He tests the warmth of the coffee pot with the back of his hand, seemingly indifferent to her skepticism. Satisfied, he pours himself a cup, takes a careful sip, and only then answers, as if the thought had only just reemerged from some distant place.

“You reminded me last night of something I did not particularly enjoy in graduate school.”

She raises an eyebrow, waiting.

He breathes a soft laugh, shaking his head. "The grind,” he clarifies, wincing a bit as if the word itself is distasteful. “The endless, mind-numbing process of running oneself into the ground for the privilege of standing in the exact same place. It is a special kind of stupidity, I think, to build a system where intelligence is measured by how much exhaustion one can endure. A mouse in a wheel at least gets the benefit of ignorance. People, apparently, have to be aware that they are getting nowhere and keep running anyway.” He tilts his head toward the laptop, urging her on. “Let us pay your tuition.”

She stares.

Emmrich, however, simply takes another sip, and shifts slightly to escape a particularly offensive ray of sunlight. “You mentioned you are working three jobs,” he continues, with a polite sort of incredulity. “Perhaps this will allow you to scale it down to two. Or, dare I say it, one.”

Her fingers move before she has the time to think. “You do realize I’m not going to say no, right?”

A slight, knowing smile. “That is rather the point.”

“I have late fees at the library too.”

He frowns, his mouth pressing into a thin line, followed by a pointed tsk, tsk, tsk. “Universities have a remarkable talent for extortion. They charge a king’s ransom for books, guilt alumni into philanthropy, and still have the audacity to fine students for daring to hold onto a volume for a day too long. You would think an institution allegedly devoted to learning might have more interest in providing knowledge than hoarding it like a miser.”

She is already in the portal, already typing in her password. “You know,” she says, watching the page load, “this is how you get taken advantage of.”

A quiet chuckle. He swirls his coffee. “That is not how I see it.”

Her name, her address, tuition staring her down. Just one step left. “Then how do you?”

A pause. The faintest crease of his brow. He makes a contemplative sound, like someone tasting a dish they can’t quite identify. “Less about being taken advantage of,” he finally decides, “and more about taking care of someone. Right now, for instance, I would very much like to take care of you.”

Now she feels a little sheepish, mumbling, “I need your credit card,” like a grifter who suddenly has to confront the mechanics of grifting.

Because she, much like Emmrich, has a tragic inability to shut the fuck up, she keeps going, determined to personally escort this moment straight into the gutter. “You shouldn’t do that for someone you just met,” she adds, helpfully, like an absolute idiot who has no idea how to accept generosity without immediately trying to light it on fire.

“Allow me the dignity,” he says mildly, “of deciding what I should and should not do.”

He slides the card across the table. No hesitation. No need to fetch his wallet. No moment of deliberation.

Interesting.

This means he had already decided. Before this conversation, before she even woke up. Sometime this morning—perhaps while buttoning his exquisitely pressed shirt, perhaps while staring pensively into his overpriced mirror—he had apparently thought, Ah, yes, let me deepen my commitment to reckless philanthropy. Let me turn my casual acquaintance into a full-fledged tax deduction.

She wonders who in this sordid pas de deux is the greater object of pity: him, solemnly presenting his credit card like some banner of surrender, an apology for what he appears to consider a disastrous campaign in the coital theater (something, something, let me financially compensate you for last night’s tragic case of whiskey dick) or her, contemplating the thing with the twitchy, covetous gaze of a sewer rat glimpsing a discarded éclair.

Well.

Far be it from her to stand in the way of such noble self-destruction. She has, after all, just enough self-awareness to recognize when the universe drops a solid gold horse into her lap and suggests she take it for a leisurely gallop. So, suppressing whatever misguided instinct she has to earn things, she grabs the credit card with the dignity of a pickpocket swiping a wallet in broad daylight—slightly clammy-fingered, vaguely ashamed, but absolutely taking it.

He watches her take it, something unbearably kind in his expression. “Remind me,” he requests, “how did Bellara describe me?”

She doesn’t even look up as she enters the numbers. “Smells good.” Expiration date. “Rich.” Security code. “Lonely.”

“Touché,” he murmurs, setting down his cup with a small, satisfied clink. “But let us be thorough. Add ‘lacking good sense’ to the list.”

The portal flashes an acknowledgment in a smug little strip of green. Payment processed. Accepted. She has, in the eyes of the institution, paid her dues.

She keeps looking at the screen for a moment, then past it, through the window, before her eyes land on his laptop wallpaper: his dog, sitting obediently in front of a flower bed, looking irritatingly photogenic.

She wants to kiss him. To say thank you. To do something appropriately grateful for a moment like this. But, unfortunately, she is not sentimental. Or rather, she isn’t sentimental anymore.

Sentimentality turns you into a dreamer, and she is no longer in the business of dreaming. Because when you’re a dreamer, you dream, and when those dreams don’t materialize—when they give you a wink, steal your wallet, and skip town—you’re left standing there like a dumbass, wondering how you got scammed by your own imagination.

Also, there’s the unfortunate fact that kissing him right now would look alarmingly like she is handing out physical affection in exchange for goods and services. Which—well. Technically. But also, no. She might have questionable motives, a flexible sense of morality, and a general disregard for order, but she likes to think she is at least one step above that. At the very least, if she’s going to kiss him, it should be for the right reasons. Like, for example, the fact that she wants to.

"Thank you," she says, deliberately avoiding his eyes and focusing, instead, on his shoulder, which has suddenly become an object of great fascination. A truly remarkable shoulder. The pinnacle of fine fabric and bone structure. A shoulder so riveting, so compelling, that it is absolutely necessary she study it in detail rather than acknowledge whatever this moment is trying to turn into.

She doesn’t want him to think too much of it. She also wants to do it anyway.

So, with great finality, she shuts the laptop, sealing away the dangerous possibility of sincerity, and tiptoes toward him, suddenly acutely aware of the cold tiles beneath her feet, the way every step lands just a little too carefully, as if she’s trying to sneak past her own mawkishness.

"Thank you," she repeats, and, before her brain can interfere, she takes his face in her hands, tilts it up, and kisses the corner of his mouth, light and quick.

His hands close around her wrists and, of course, he begins to speak.

“As I have already said,” he starts, and oh, here it comes, the intellectual dissection of his own inadequacies, “I am quite aware of my limitations, and I do not imagine myself to be the kind of man you would naturally consider. However…” A pause. A dramatic little inhale. “Perhaps I can offer you stability.”

She needs him to shut up. Immediately.

She does not want to blush, does not want to feel warm and tender and whatever horrible, unacceptable, mushy thing is currently trying to jelly-up her spine. She refuses to be some meek, trembling thing, undone by his ridiculously well-articulated generosity.

So she kisses his cheek, then his lips, and if he insists on continuing, he can do so inside her mouth.

The good thing about kissing someone you just shared coffee with is that you don’t taste it; two equally caffeinated forces canceling each other out. What she does taste, however, is his tongue, which is, inexplicably, soft. Softer than she remembers. Suspiciously soft. The kind of soft that suggests he not only brushes his teeth but also, without a doubt, scrubs his tongue. Just like that, mid-kiss, she is struck with the realization that she should probably be doing the same. 

Eventually, Emmrich stands, and just like that, the dynamic shifts; no longer is she leaning over him, keeping him captive in his chair; now he’s the one towering over her. The kiss drives her back, step by step, until her thighs bump against the table. He gives her a small, wordless tap, a silent suggestion, and she obeys without thinking, hopping onto the surface blindly. The cups protest with a delicate clink-clink-clink as the impact shudders through them.

He pulls away, and she takes in the details: the flush of his lips, the slow blink of his eyes, the way, almost absentmindedly, he lifts a strand of her hair to his nose, breathing her in before tracing a path of kisses up her cheek, to her ear, to the very tip of it. 

"Do you want to pick up where we left off yesterday?" she asks, and for once, for the first time in her sorry life, she wishes she could inject some actual emotion into her voice. 

Normally, sounding like a soulless cunt is a feature, not a bug. Keeps expectations low, deters unnecessary social interaction, and, much like a well-deployed resting bitch face, acts as an industrial-strength shield against men who think a smirk and a you’d be prettier if you smiled counts as flirting.

But right now, she is, tragically, attempting to be sexy. Or something in that general category. And yet, against all odds, she still sounds less like a woman seducing a man and more like a weary call center employee offering him one last chance to extend his car’s warranty. 

Emmrich kisses her cheek again, humming against her skin. Murmurs, ever the gentleman, "If you would be amenable." 

She snorts. "I would be amenable, yes." Who could resist such an old-world proposition?

Her hands find his belt, tugging him closer. He steps between her legs, and she tips her head back, offering up her neck like some sacrificial lamb—one that is, admittedly, rather enthusiastic about the whole ordeal. He takes the invitation immediately, kissing a slow path up and down, his hands wandering from her back to her waist, to the front of the robe, pausing briefly before sneaking inside. Skin meets skin, his palm cups her breast, and when she sighs, he does too; his melting into hers, hers swallowing his. 

He lets out a high, lovely little sound when she grinds against him, half yelp, half moan, entirely pleased, before pulling her toward the edge of the table. Not roughly, not even urgently, just effectively, like adjusting the position of a beaker in a lab. 

"May I?" he asks, absurdly polite, as if requesting permission to adjust the tilt of a painting. His fingers hover near the tie at her waist, patient, careful, prepared to wait an eternity if she so much as hesitates.  

She nods, quick and jerky, because language has officially abandoned her. Heat crawls up her neck, floods her ears, spreads down her chest, pooling low, deep, hot enough that she swears even her knees feel it.  

And now she understands why he wanted her half-hanging off. 

Emmrich sinks down, positioning himself between them until his mouth is at her thigh. His lips press there, just lightly, just once. Chaste, if it weren’t there. His breath is warm, the tip of his nose barely brushing, a ridiculous, insignificant little thing, except that it isn’t.

Inevitably, with no grand announcement, no hesitation, his mouth settles against her cunt. She gasps, a short, humiliating thing, because there is no preparing for it, for the way his lips catch, for the heat of him, for the way he seems entirely undisturbed by the fact that he is currently kneeling on the kitchen floor between her legs while she clutches the wood grain of the table like it’s about to launch her into the fucking stratosphere.  

She sucks in a breath through her teeth, and, with a frankly heroic level of restraint, manages to say, "Oh gods," instead of screaming it, instead of yanking at his hair, instead of shouting, holy shit, this is actually happening, what the fuck, what the fuck.

Then she feels his fingers. A touch up the inside of her thigh. Higher, higher, a little higher still, pressing lightly against her, sliding through her slick and swollen folds, gathering everything, coating themselves completely before pushing inside.  

She claws at his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to come back up, and he does, rises, leans in, smiling, kissing her chin. She tilts her head for him, unable to say anything, just panting into his mouth as he kisses her again, as his fingers stroke, curl, move.

She fucks herself on them the way she did last night, except this time she doesn’t have to be quiet. This time there’s no one to hear them. But she doesn’t know how to be loud, how to moan and sigh and keen in a way that’s attractive, so she just moves, just shivers, just thrusts against his hand, presses her face into his neck when he shifts his wrist, and—  

Oh gods—  

"Let's move," she rushes out, too fast, too sharp, because, unfortunately, an absolutely tragic cramp is forming in her ankle, and she refuses to let a minor muscular rebellion ruin this. 

Another kiss. Hurried, fleeting, just a punctuation mark between her hopping off the table and their mindless trek back to his room. Just long enough for her to taste herself on his lips.It makes her giggle, high and a little unhinged; it’s hardly the most depraved thing in the grand scheme of debauchery, and yet, somehow, it still is.

This time, when he lies over her—kissing her, being kissed in return—it's all lips. Wet, then dry, then chapped, then wet again, teeth occasionally knocking. And this time, she feels him. Feels the outline of his cock through his trousers, the warmth, the shape of it. She reaches down, presses her palm against him, and smiles when he shivers. Does it again. Each time, he rocks into her hand, helplessly eager. 

"Rook, Rook," he gasps, catching her wrist to stop it. Sheepish, he adds, "A little slower, darling, or it will be over much too quick." 

"Ah," she says, mercifully relenting. "I don’t care, I don’t care." Why is she saying it twice? Who knows. "It'll still be miles better than the clusterfuck I told you about." 

At this, his eyes immediately lurch to the left. 

"There has been," he swallows, "no one since?" 

"No one," she confirms. 

And now his eyes dart hard to the right. At this rate, they might just pop out of his skull entirely, and then she’ll have to deal with the awkward logistics of catching them mid-air and pressing them back into their sockets. 

"We can, we can," he stammers, "take things slowly." 

The way he says can has a distinct whiff of should, and frankly, she is not in the mood for whatever moral crisis he’s about to spiral into. Emmrich is perfectly free to disassociate or have a deep, introspective moment about the sanctity of human connection—on his own time. But not here. Not now. Not when she is finally, finally about to get laid like a normal, functional adult.

So, no. Absolutely not. And she tells him as much—"No."—before shoving her tongue down his throat like she’s trying to personally realign his moral compass through his tonsils. Just to really drive the point home, she gives his cock another thoroughly encouraging squeeze. For posterity. 

He clearly takes care of himself; lean, tall, the kind of body that suggests an active lifestyle but also a healthy respect for good food and a decent mattress. Still, he’s older—not old, but older—and she sees it in the slight narrowness of his chest, the soft give of his stomach as she undresses him. It’s endearing. It’s real.

He sits back to finish peeling off the last of his clothes, and she shrugs off her, well, his, robe, watching as whatever remained between them falls away. When he moves to settle back over her, she shakes her head, presses a hand to his chest, and pushes him back down. 

She climbs over him, kisses here and there. The dip of his sternum, the stretch of his throat, the slight protrusion of his Adam’s apple. Traces the faint trail of hair down his stomach, following it lower, lower, between his thighs, all the way down to his knees. Biscuit knees, her mind helpfully, uselessly supplies. The kind that would absolutely shatter on impact if he ever fell. Then again, given his height, it would take him a solid three to five business days to actually hit the ground, so maybe it’s a non-issue. 

She strokes his cock, careful not to squeeze too hard, which is already more strategic planning than she usually applies to anything. She even attempts some fancy little wrist maneuver; something she thinks she saw once, something that looks very professional in theory, but immediately cramps up like a fucking amateur.

But that’s fine. She has two hands. And she highly doubts Emmrich, currently sprawled out in front of her, will object to her switching tactics. Now, now she actually feels it. The weight of him, the heat, the way the veins on the underside swell under her palm as he thickens, blood rushing in, skin growing taut and flushed.

She leans down, takes the head into her mouth, licks the salt and musk from his skin; clean, warm, threaded faintly with soap. Gathers spit and lets it drip down his length, then strokes him again, watching the slickness ease the motion, watching the way his hips jerk, his cock pushing eagerly into the tight, wet tunnel of her hand.

She does it again. Once more. Loosens her grip, then constricts it, watching the way the blood surges through him, the way the head reddens, leaks more freely, twitches under her touch. And when she leans once more, swallowing him until the blunt head of him brushes the back of her throat, she barely has time to register the fingers threading into her hair before he’s pulling her off. Not forcefully—Emmrich is nothing if not maddeningly careful—but enough that she knows to stop.

She relents, dragging her mouth off him with a slow suction, admiring the slick sheen of her spit stretch between them before finally breaking.

He settles back over her, and for a while, he just strokes her. He doesn’t even need to wet his fingers; she’s already slick enough that they slide inside easily. But patience is not her virtue, and soon enough, she’s shifting, pressing, urging him on. 

He exhales, soft yet jittery, then withdraws just long enough to search the nightstand. His fingers shake—barely, but enough for her to notice—as he pulls out a condom, struggles briefly with the wrapper, lips pressing together in the slightest show of frustration before he finally rolls it down his cock. 

She doesn’t wait. Yanks him back in, suddenly way too eager, her blood running way too hot. His cheeks are painted pink, and for some reason, she really, really wants to lick them. Or rather, the cheekbones specifically. High, protruding, and—what’s the word? Aristocratic. 

So she does. Just drags her tongue along the bone and, immediately, laughs, breathless, right into his cheek. 

"You smell so, so good," she murmurs, voice hazy, pleased. 

It would probably read as corny in a novel, she thinks. The way his thumbs brush over her cheeks, the softness of the kiss that follows, how everything is patient, unhurried, careful. His hand moves between them, wrapping around himself, guiding his cock to her entrance.

She feels it before anything else—the smooth, warm press of him against her clit, the slow, teasing glide downward, the subtle shift in his grip as he angles himself just right. And then—pressure. A steady push, inch by inch, stretching her open. It isn’t pain, not exactly, just a deep, foreign ache, something unfamiliar, something to adjust to.

Above her, Emmrich shudders, exhales hard against her skin, his face buried in the curve of her neck.

"Rook," he breathes, then again, and again, voice unraveling, a lovely, little litany against her throat, Rook, Rook, Rook, like her name is something essential.

He finds a rhythm, and now—now—it really starts to feel good. The steady drag of his cock inside her, pushing deeper with every roll of his hips. He’s whispering something, words she barely catches, low and breathless, something sweet, something kind, though it barely registers past the heat pooling in her stomach. One of his hands moves over her, palms her breast, fingers pinching lightly at her nipple, sliding down, lower, pressing over her stomach like he’s feeling himself inside her before slipping between her legs.

A slow stroke over her clit, then another, massaging, circling, his pubic bone grinding into her with every thrust, a perfect friction, a sharp little pulse of pleasure each time his hips press flush against hers. Her toes curl, a smile forms. The sound that slips from her mouth is more desperate than she wants it to be; a mewl, something high, something needy, and he hears it, because it has an effect on him.

His hips snap harder against hers, the rhythm shifts, deepens, the sounds between them getting louder, and it’s good, fuck, it’s good, until suddenly it isn’t. A sharp pressure, too much, too deep, something inside her clenching in a way that isn’t pleasure at all.

“Hold on, hold on,” she gasps, legs tightening around his hips to stop him from pushing any further. "Just... Can you not move for a second?"

He stills instantly, breath hot against her skin, his cock buried deep, his body held in place by the tight grip of her thighs. "Did I—?"

"You're sort of..." she begins before cutting herself of. How do people say this sexily? Seductively? In a way that doesn’t make it sound like she’s filing a noise complaint? She gives up. Goes for bluntness. "Long."

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, a tad hoarse, moving to pull out. "I'm sorry."

She doesn’t let him. Her arms tighten around him before he can go anywhere, legs wrapping firmer around his hips, holding him inside. She arches, moves against him, slow, rolling little circles with her hips so his cock isn’t thrusting so much as gliding, caressing her from the inside.

She gasps as she finds the spot he’s already rubbed raw, the one that made her thighs tremble when he had her spread open on his kitchen table. Heat surges through her, another rush of slick rolling around him, and he groans before settling into a slower, more controlled pace.

"Is this all right?" he asks, bracing himself on his forearms, shifting his weight to one side long enough to ease a palm beneath her head, fingers weaving into her hair.

"All right," she echoes, a smile tugging at her lips, too wide, too much, barely able to contain the sheer rightness of it. "So, so all right."

It doesn’t take long before she feels it. His breath catching, his hips starting to stutter, the rhythm breaking into something messier, inconsistant. A shudder travels through him, down his spine, his body pressing flush to hers, a quiet, choked noise escaping his lips as one hand finds purchase beneath her knee, pulling her closer.

"I'm afraid it has been a while," he admits, breath hitching between ragged little half-moans. "I will not be able to—"

"Come," she interrupts, fingers threading through his hair.

She moves with him, against him, tilting her hips to chase every last bit of friction she can get, feeling herself clench, flutter around him, sighing in time with the erratic jingle-jingle of his bracelets, the sound intertwining with the pulse between her legs.

She feels the heat of his release, the way his breath stutters into a quiet, helpless whine as he rides it out, still moving, though his thrusts grow slower, lazier, his body gradually yielding to exhaustion. She feels the steady, insistent thud of his heartbeat—against her chest, inside her, everywhere—before he finally stills, the weight of him pressing down for just a moment before he lifts himself slightly. 

He kisses her, languid and deep, the kind of kiss that lingers in the space between wakefulness and sleep, his eyes drifting shut as if he could rest right here, against her. Without opening them, asks, "How would you like to finish?" 

"What?" she says, dazed, the word barely formed as he kisses his way down her neck, over her breasts, his tongue dragging, teeth catching, lips closing over every sensitive inch he can reach. It’s a stupid question, made even stupider by the fact that she has no idea what she’s even asking.

His hand curls around her knee, pushing it outward, widening the angle until the muscles in her inner thighs stretch, taut and trembling. Then his mouth is on her, lips raw from all the kissing but quickly slicked as his tongue glides through the heat of her, lapping up the mess between her legs.

A sharp jerk in her thighs, the involuntary arch of her back, the sudden, helpless stutter of her breath breaking apart into something that is almost a keen but not quite. Just a strangled sound she doesn’t have the presence of mind to control.

Two fingers spread her folds, slick and flushed, pulsing with every aching throb of blood beneath her skin. His thumb presses down on her clit, firm but careful, at the same moment his tongue pushes inside, slipping past the entrance, licking up everything his cock dragged out, pleasure wet and tacky and slippery.

The heat of his mouth moves with purpose; his tongue curling, stroking, fucking her open between warm breaths and the quiet vibrations of his humming, the sound sending little sparks of sensation straight through her. Praise spills from his lips, soft and slurred and half-formed, slipping between flicks of his tongue, as though every slow, wet drag is a conversation, a promise, a confession whispered straight into the slick, trembling heat of her cunt. Good, lovely, darling—words lost between the obscene suck of his mouth and the way he eats her, like he means every syllable, like he wants her to feel them inside her just as much as his tongue.

Her breath wheezes, her legs tense, her slick drips down over his chin as she grinds helplessly against his mouth, overstimulated, wrung out, gone.

It's the praise that finally pushes her over. It’s not earth-shattering. It's not the kind of orgasm that tears through her in some great, cinematic crescendo. She doesn’t scream, doesn’t see stars, doesn’t arch like some desperate, pornographic thing. No, this one is different. It creeps in slowly, melts her from the inside out, something deep and final, something that leaves her limp and spent and done.

Maybe, just maybe, this is what a proper one is supposed to feel like. Not leaving her restless and ready to go again, but making her tender, sweating, like even the brush of a hand against her ankle would be too much.

He keeps working her through it, lets her ride it out as long as she needs, until she’s limp and tired, nothing but heat and pulse beneath him. Only then does he finally ease away, planting one last kiss against the inside of her thigh before moving back up, his mouth slick and shining, cheeks flushed.

He says something, but she doesn’t catch it before he slips away. The sound of running water drifts from the bathroom, and when he returns, it’s with a damp hand towel, which he presses between her legs, cleaning her up before setting it aside. 

"Thank you," she breathes. 

He makes a sound, not quite a word, more of a hum, something deeply pleased. If a smile could be heard, that’s what it would sound like. Then he leans down, presses a kiss to her forehead, and climbs back into bed beside her. 

It’s morning. They should probably get on with their respective days, but she has no interest in leaving the warmth of the bed just yet. So, instead, she pulls the covers up over them, settling deeper into the cocoon of lingering heat. 

"How early did you get up?" she asks suddenly. "You weren’t here when I woke up." 

"A quarter past five," Emmrich says, and there it is again—that small, almost bashful glance as he takes her hand. She rolls into him, content to leech off his warmth. 

"Criminal," she declares. "But at least that explains why you weren’t there." 

"Oh, I wasn’t beside you at all, I’m afraid. That would have been Manfred. He refused to be displaced." 

"Ah. Hence the mouthful of hair." 

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 15

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

It's chapter 15! Time to figure out what happened to SQQ in the latest cliff hangar.

Today no tea- but I did have a blackberry cider that was very tasty.

I also did impulse buy a baby's-first-fountain pen to get into my little writing flow and add to the ambiance of my note taking journey. So, pls ignore the worse-than-usual writing; I am learning to write with it.

let's goooooo!

Well, SQQ appears to be in a coffin? p29

fuck, i'm already smudging the ink with my new pen. The lefty curse of it all. IDK how much of this is going to be legible later. RIP

okay... but how long has he been in here? MXTX is describing everything as dusty as hell. p30 (resolved as I read further- not very long LOL)

and he has his original body! That's exciting! Who did it though?? p30

LOL SQQ has 0 chance with this "advanced level plot" p31. He is totally fucked for sure.

These 'blind corpses' sound like a walking horror show. I would be so scared omg. I don't know how far the animated series got- but if this is animated that would look cool as fuck. p32

okay! they're fueled by breath! that's really neat though! pp33-34 Scary, but cool.

I would die immediately in this situation. When the thing (blind corpses) that are already horrible and unbeatable are scared of something else -> absolutely no hope in surviving. p35

ah, it is our little snake-man. I had a suspicion this was related to him and Luo Binghe's dad. He probably took SQQ's corpse too and brought it here. p35

OMG LOL Luo Binghe's dad is awful, but also feels like a troll AND is serving dad jokes. Re: thinking back to when SQQ knocked on the coffin and he answered from inside LOOOL. p36

Listen. Can we just take a moment to appreciate the absolute DILF that is Luo Binghe's father? I am a whole lesbian but that character art cannot objectively argued as anything else. p37

and now SQQ is going on about Tianlang-jun having BDE (not those exact words but I mean when you say he's working that coffin like it's a Paris fashion week runway and Luo binghe - the man you are obsessed with- could NEVER, it says something.). p38

That fucking power move too! SQQ: seems you've waited a while to meet me, why don't you come out of there and do so. Tianlang-jun: *bats eyes* okay but only if you hold my hand and work for it p39

SQQ has this habit of getting kidnapped "for his own good" but no one ever tells him why it's good for him XD this entire situation is so annoying. Tianlang-jun did this all so that he could get him away from the sects he wanted to destroy. p43

OMG scratch that. He also wants to use him as bait to snatch his sons body as his own. p45.

aside: I'm going to have to organize these notes later- I'm not catching the nuance in the hand written notes LOL my brain is processing faster than my hand (you will notice that the last 2 points here do not match my hand written notes because they were a hot mess).

What an entrance Luo Binghe! p47

Yes SQQ! You rescue your man from his dad (RE: holding Zhuzhi lang hostage) p51

holy shit. Zhuzhi lang is WILD - he really was about to just die instead of be a hostage LOL p52 I want to know what his character motivation is. He's giving the same blind trust energy as The Core Melting Hand in MDZS. Both just so loyal to a fault/their own demise. Do we learn more? or is this it? (genuine question- don't tell me WHAT we learn, just yes/no if we learn more).

That was so smart to hit the anti-theft measures in the tomb p53

aaaaaaaand he snatched the wrong person on the escape. well, that's fantastic. p54

I am loving the traps in this mausoleum though! The face with the magma and then the various rooms. I want to know if this exists as a D&D dungeon crawl/anyone has made one, I think it would be so fun. p59

omg. I don't think that Luo Binghe realizes/knows that that was his own father and cousin. that's so terrible. Truly Luo Binghe was treated so fucking badly literally his entire life. His dad does not even give a shit. Honestly probably only had him for this situation - needing a new body. p61

:((((( Our boy, Luo Binghe is in a bad way rn. gah! so many cliff hangers. p63

MXTX Cliffhangar Lord

And now I have to wait until tomorrow to see if baby Luo Binghe makes it. I'm sure SQQ is going to do something about it but dang, he is not well.

[tommock]

I DNF'd Mistorn: Here's Why

Disclaimer: You asked for this. Let me start there. Don't get mad at me, Mistborn lover. If you clicked on this link, and that means you are taking the dagger into your own hand. The wound is self-inflicted!

I did not finish Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson. I know, I know, its actually called The Final Empire. The name Mistborn has stuck with so many readers for a reason, so I'll continue to use it as a shorthand. The book didn't work for me, but I think WHY it didn't work for me might be interesting to read about, especially for fellow authors.

If you have read and enjoyed the Mistborn books, or any work by Brandon Sanderson, I'm delighted. I want to applaud any work of fiction that brings people joy (so long as it or its author is not reprehensible in some way (he said, covering his ass)). I don't want you to think this is me taking shots at you or at Sanderson. I'm just talking about a work of fiction and what it did to my brain.

Believe me when I tell you I have no delusions about being some high-handed minister of good taste. You should see some of the anime I watch to destress at the end of a long day trying to be a self-published author, editor, and, well, just an ordinary semi-functioning human being.

I've read many, many books and loved them, only to come back to them later and find they were … less deserving of my matured tastes. Sometimes books meet us at the right time. If Mistborn was, or is, one such book for you, I would be a jerk and a fool if I tried to tell you that you were wrong for liking it. That isn't what this is. But, if you're at all curious why I didn't like it the way you did, here are my thoughts.

Instead of trying to construct some long elaborate essay, I've decided to present my reading notes as I was writing them. If you're at all familiar with my SPFBO9 opening reads thread, this is in a similar, though much protracted style. This is my travelogue of the first few chapters. If these notes are rough or feel stilted in places, I'm sorry. I DNF'd the book a few months ago, and I found in trying to clean up my notes that I was making up commentary to fill in gaps and I don't think that's fair. I've tried to provide some context where I could.

Pages referenced are from the first mass market edition, published August 2007 by Tor

My Notes:

Starts well enough. Interesting introduction to the fantastic elements of the environment (the ash fall) and the enslavement of the skaa. Some neat 2nd world titles “obligator,” etc.

Not great, not riveting, but competent introduction of world and one protagonist, Kelsier. He doesn't know what to do with Vin, though. Disconnect between the characters as we're told they are and their actions. Lacking coherent motivation.

(P.5)The slave that stands and stares defiantly sending a chill through the lord so-and-so is a bit melodramatic. Both actions struck me as over the top.

(writing note)…too many “of courses”

The writing is competent and descriptive. The Mist at night is another interesting setting detail.

(p.6) I immediately dislike Kelsier. “I’ll have to cure them of that (fear of the mist) some day.” This is has an unsympathetic arrogance about it. If this is also the man who stared defiantly at lord-so-and-so, hes blasé about endangering these people, and seems to look down on them, much like lord-so-and-so. I suspect this impression is not intentional. I suspect I’m supposed to think him strong and clever. We’ll see.

(7) rolling his eyes at these people. This seems intentional. But it’s also annoying.

(10) beatings beatings beatings. These “peasants” and their daily beatings. Did I mention the beatings? Their lives are harsh! There are beatings!

(‘) what is this talk about Tepper “leading” the skaa? Leading them how? They’re slaves! What decisions are they making? No, really. What is this forced little conflict? It’s pointless.

(‘) “How do you do that?” “What?” “Smile all the time” - there’s no reason for him to ask this. It’s unmotivated dialogue. How do you smile all the time? How? No. Why, sure. “You keep smiling. Is something about our home funny to you?”

(19-20, ch.1) I’m having trouble with Sandersons storytelling. This is coming across as heavy handed and simplistic. Here’s Vin. She was betrayed. There are betrayals. This boy who came to get her who’s nice enough will also betray her. But the ash is free…

I wonder if we’re going to slowly work through the alphabet section by section. Ash, then beatings and betrayal… who knows what could be next? Crime? I bet it’s crime.

Also - Reen’s sayings and betrayal. I think in general I find it a bit affected when we meet a character and they’re immediately thinking of their backstory … but that’s probably not fair of me. I think what comes across as affected is Sandersons execution. There��s a very light fiction - YA quality about Vin’s angsty introduction. I might have loved it if I read it at 14, but not now.

I’d like to think of an example of what would be more appealing to me - the introduction of a character with similar enough circumstances… Actually, Gideon the 9th might be a good example. We get to hear Gideon’s voice in the prose and the dialogue and get a strong sense of her character as well as the specific and very interesting world building details of how she got into the 9th house. Here, Reen’s betrayal is left completely unexplored, and so I wonder why bring it up at all except for that cheap YA punch in the gut of “my brother betrayed me and now I’m here.”

Maybe Sanderson felt some necessity to move faster here. He wanted to get to the city theiving … but it isn’t working for me, so obviously I think it was a mistake. Obviously he was hoping this would create a sense of anticipation that we would eventually find out HOW Vin’s brother betrayed her, but because he leads with it and then doesn’t explain it, it makes it seem like it doesn’t really matter HOW Vin was betrayed, what’s important is that she was betrayed and now she doesn’t trust anyone. It’s just a bit weak.

THE HEAVY HANDEDNESS (People being mean to Vin - her hard life) (21) the slap in the face (23) Theron looking Vin up and down - “eyes lingered on her … running down the length of her body. … She was hardly enticing (didn’t even look 16); some men preferred such women, however.” (24) “what do you know?” “Enough” - Vin hurts her, expositional dialogue about her brother’s debt and selling her to a whorehouse.

(25) fearing Vin would disappear in a scene she doesn’t have much to do during, we get these unnecessary interjections of her watching the interaction, followed by the explanation of Camon thinking Vin is his good luck charm. This should have been presented earlier, because it just interrupts the dialogue here. But also, it feels inaccurate after Vin made such a useful critique of Camon’s servants. She seems much more useful in other ways than a luck charm, and comfortable offering her criticism without the slightest hesitation.

This chapter ends rather abruptly and without much Go to it. Vin uses her Luck and gets our stuffy official to consider her boss’s mundane business proposal.

The notion that Camon brings Vin along because he thinks of her as his luck charm feels really thin, especially on a job like this where everyone has to look the part. Which raises an important question: what was Vin doing there? I mean literally. Why didn’t Camon have SOMETHING for her to do. Camon didn’t dress her up in any part, she didn’t have any kind of cover story as his daughter or nurse or anything. Just some kid in the room dressed … who knows how while important official business is discussed. She just floats somewhere, doing nothing, as far as anyone is concerned.

VIN’S MOTIVATION Where is it? What does she get out of making this work for Camon if he has no idea what she’s doing? Why is she avoiding him if this is such an important job? Why is she helping him at all?

The pieces are there, but Sanderson doesn’t put them together.

Camon should know about Vin’s ability to “smooth things over” in some capacity. This would give him a serious reason for her being there on this crucial job. Vin should be motivated to help him because if this lucrative job works out, it will go a long way towards paying off her brother’s debt. Now suddenly there is a sense of urgency for her instead of just having a bad time owned by a “crew leader” getting slapped around. The scam itself isn’t enough. Frankly, it’s kind of boring at this point. It’s a slow moving beurocratic swindle.

(32) Kelsier. Sanderson is doing a good job introducing some thieves’ cant here as Dockson and Kelsier are planning their job, talking about how they need a “Smoker.” Someone is a good Tineye. The loss of a man to the Steel Ministry underscores the mortal risk these men are taking. But … there’s something about all this crime play that feels a bit cute, like Sanderson had only a passing, generic understanding of (fictional) gangs/criminal organizations. He’s spent his world building energy on the fantasy aspects of the story - the dystopian Tolkien Lord Ruler and Steel Ministry, skaa, ashfalls, mist - but not on developing the criminal world of the characters, linguistically speaking. They’re all crews working on a job headed by a crew leader. This is the world we’re living in, most immediately, and yet it feels the most underdeveloped.

“Kelsier shook his head. ‘No. He’s a good Smoker, but he’s not a good enough man.’ Dockson smiled. ‘Not a good enough man to be on a THIEVING CREW … Kell, I have missed working with you.”

This stopped me dead. I laughed at the book and put my hand over my eyes. “Thieving crew” is just silly. It’s sixth grade D&D language, but even more ridiculous is the sentiment of Dockson’s statement: that character is somehow a moot point because they are criminals. It’s as if he’s saying: we’re breaking the law, so we’re the bad guys, and bad guys don’t work with “good men.”

Here we see Sanderson’s shallow understanding of the characters he’s portraying. They are stealing from slavers who exist in the service of a brutal, oppressive dictator. But put that aside, and consider we’ve just been told one of their ilk had been caught and beheaded by the Ministry. The risk these people are facing couldn’t be higher. Working with people they can trust, a stand up guy or a “good man,” would be one of the most important things to them. From their point of view a “good man” doesn’t mean a patron saint of the poor, but it means a hell of a lot. If a guy is a drunk who cheats on his wife, you can’t trust him not to turn on you. If he gambles too much, you can’t trust him not to gamble on your safety. He doesn’t keep his apartment clean, how can you trust him to be conscientious about keeping you alive. It all matters - even more so because he’s on a “thieving crew.”

Now, Sanderson probably didn’t give this line more than a moment's thought. He was writing fast and sailed right over it. But that’s exactly the problem. It gives the book a kind of childish, YA feeling.

(33) “Kelsier turned with curious eyes.” I’ve written lines like this, but I almost always revise them because I write about eyes too much. The point is his eyes aren’t curious, Kelsier is, and it shows on his face. I can’t picture curious eyes, and I’m sure you can’t either. And I would cut the next line of dialogue - going to chastise my brother … we already know he was going to do this because he said so, and the line just isn’t very good anyway. A look of curiosity from Kell, and the promise from Dockson “it’ll be worth your time,” gets us out of the section better. Sometimes the best repartee between characters is a look.

(33-34) the scenes with Vin remain heavy handed, and affected. This section adds almost nothing to the story accept for the disappointingly narrow view of a fantasy underworld that the women in it are only ever whores. This from a world crawling with Smokers and Tineyes? I think not. The clumsy presentation of Vin’s awful life is what makes these sections particularly affected. With her particular ability to use her Luck, I can’t help but wonder why she’s even still here. That seems to be the story to me. Not the abuse, but why she remains when she clearly has the power to get out. She can smooth over deals with reps from the SM, but she hasn’t thought to calm some member of the crew and then just … walk? Go literally anywhere in the city and use her Luck to get work where she won’t be whipped and slapped. It seems like the easiest thing in the world, so why hasn’t she done it? This is what the story here could have been, and it would have been so much more interesting.

Obviously she has to be there so Sanderson can have terrible things happen to her so she can be saved by Kelsier just like he saved the other raped scaa girl (let’s all take a moment to roll our eyes) and then her character can have a trajectory from passive victim to active hero - but that’s an excuse, and excuses don’t make good stories.

That said, as is, these two pages could be cut entirely and with very minor revision to the next session, nothing would be lost. It introduces a hideout we don’t need to know about, abuse that is redundant, over the top and unmotivated, and then Camon says “it’s time.” It’s just a prelude, in which nothing happens, before the actual scene. So just cut to the actual scene.

(36) we finally find out what the Camon job was supposed to be, I suspect because Sanderson finally decided what the details were. It would have been much more interesting to know this earlier, just like it would have been more interesting to understand about the particulars of Vin’s brothers betrayal earlier, so we could understand the context of the story being told.

But a LARGER ISSUE continues to emerge. First Camon tells Vin nothing about his plans. She says she is apparently the only crew member who didn’t know what was going on. Then, as they sit in the waiting room, in the vey belly of the obligator beast, he tells her everything. Why? Because Sanderson wants us to know even though he never decided who this character was.

He wants her to be a passive victim of inordinate abuses by a group of irredeemable villains, who only avoids constant sexual assault through the exhausting use of her secret magic so she can be saved and then learn how to be powerful later. But he also wants her to be a smart, capable member of Camon’s crew who is considered as such, because he knows passive protagonists aren’t interesting and because he wants us, the reader, to know what’s going on, and also think that Vin is cool. She can’t be both at the same time. She either needs to be less of an abject, pathetic victim, or she needs to be less involved in this big important scam - and that means she knows less about it and does less to make it work. As is, he’s done too little with either idea of her character and both Vin and Camon are an unmotivated mess.

(42) steel inquisitor. Cool, creepy, disgusting - something straight out of hellraiser.

(43) “Besides, I’m not about to let a possible Mistborn slip away from us” Ah!

Ch3 (45) after the meeting with the obligator (that was a trap), is the first time Vin ever expresses any interest in getting away. Much too late Sanderson gives us a much too thin reason why Vin hasn’t run away (considering the conflicting versions of her character as mentioned before). It’s little more than an afterthought.

(47) in no more than 2 pages Vin goes from never thinking she could make it on her own to leaving for good, telling herself she’d survived sleeping in alleyways before, she could do it again and - “Reen had taught her how to scavenge and beg. Both were difficult in the Final Empire … but she would find a way, if she had too.”

So far, this is all based on a bad feeling. More motivation conflict - Vin has no problem telling Camon directly how his plans won’t work and that he should change the way the servants are dressed, helps him succeed with her luck in both plans, but sees no reason to tell him “I have a bad feeling about this. That was too easy. Why did that obligator suddenly agree. Doesn’t this seem weird to you?”

Sanderson has many of the right pieces, but he hasn’t been able to put them together coherently.

(45)(And, just as an aside, I’m not sure why a girl who has spent to book so far reiterating to herself that EVERYONE WILL BETRAY ME is going out of her way to tell Ulef she has a bad feeling and to get him to come with her. Sanderson says “if he would go with her, then at least she wouldn’t be alone.” But he has also up until this point defined her character by a near constant desire to be alone - when she is introduced sitting in the window of the hideout thinking her brothers word “Vin wasn’t on duty; the watch-hole was simply one of the few places where she could find solitude. And Vin liked solitude. ‘When you’re alone, no one can betray you’- (37) at the “It’s just another betrayal, she thought sickly. Why does it still bother me so? Everyone betrays everyone else. That’s the way life is … She wanted to find a corner - someplace cramped and secluded - and hide. Alone.”

(47) "Bringing Ulef was a good idea. He had contacts in Luthadel." These after the fact explanations are no good. This isn't Vin thinking this, it's the author coming up with more justification for Vin's action, but in order for her character to seem active and motivated, this needed to be revised into the section where Vin decides to bring Ulef. Now it's just tacked on - oh, yeah, and, by the way, if you weren't sure it made sense for Vin to do this, Ulef probably knows people. So, there.

It doesn’t wash. Who is this girl? Can she not stand the idea of being alone, or is it the one and only thing she wants? Is she strong and resourceful in spite of her circumstances, or is she a passive victim? Does she believe everyone will betray her, or does she desperately want to believe otherwise because she can’t live in such an unkind world? Sanderson doesn’t seem to have been able to make up his mind. Maybe some of these details were added in revision on the suggestion of beta readers and the result is a checkerboard character. I’ve seen that before where you make a suggestion to a writer and they add your suggestion but they don’t make the necessary changes to the rest of the book so that the new material earns its place, they just throw it in and dust off their hands - job well done, gotta stay on schedule to publish! But now I’m just writing fan fiction about Sanderson’s process. I don’t know.

(55) Vin’s “weakness” - the contradictions/inexactitude of characters seems to be an ongoing issue for Sanderson, at least for Vin. Is she weak and has to pretend to be strong, or is she strong and often chooses to pretend to be weak (so far she has seemed to be weak and act weak, other than her Luck).

Well, that's as far as I got. Kel shows up just in time to be the wrath of justice for Vin. He's the superman who will make everything alright for this feckless girl. Our hero. Did Sanderson lay it on thick enough? Did you get that these people were all so irredeemably and stupidly bad? Aren't you so glad this strong man has shown up to be Vin's vengeance, just like had been telegraphed all along?

Sorry, I don't mean to be sarcastic. This part of the narrative really isn't so bad, its just been so heavy handedly and clumsily lead up to that there's no thrill in it for me. It isn't a bit satisfying. I'm just glad I don't have to read about any of these shallow side-characters anymore. Except, I have no intention to read on, so I don't have to read about any of them anymore.

Is this book bad? Yes and no. I don't want to read any more, and only read as far as I did as an examination of storytelling, so for me its bad. You only get so many eyerolls before I have to say that. The sentences are very clear and coherent. On their own, they are coherent. Together, they fail to paint of picture of coherent characters who drive the action of the story. If you don't have that, at least in my book, you've got nothing.

The images work. The setting, in its broad strokes, is eveocative. I'd love to set a DnD campaign in a world of ash and a dark lord and all that (I'm not the least mad about the cliché of the dark lord, by the way. Who doesn't love archetypical stories?) But, as near as I can tell, there are no human beings in this book. No one is real. The characters are just that, only characters in a book. They are paper cutouts. They fall flat when the hand of the author isn't pushing them around and making them do things.

Fans often hold Sanderson up as the gold standard of a fantasy author who produces work fast. And having read this far into Mistborn, I can say this about it: It reads like it was written fast.

Yes, Mistborn was an earlier book of his, so I can't judge him by it alone. But it is a work that is so often held up as a favorite by his readers. That's why I picked it up, to see what all the fuss was about. There were many things I enjoyed, but what I enjoyed wasn't the narrative. The story and the characters who moved it were the thing that I enjoyed least. The unique magic and broad setting details and description of places and creepy Inquisitors were what I liked best. The proper nouns were fun.

But proper nouns don't make a story for me. So I did not finish Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson.

If I were looking for a light fantasy read that I didn't have to take seriously and I could pick up and put down whenever I wanted because it was never that exciting or particularly witty or clever, but managed to string along one event after another and kept them going, more or less, whether it made much sense or not, until the end, I think Mistborn would be a fine book to dip into. Lots of people have read it. But then, that seems to me to be its major appeal. It’s a book you can talk about with other people.

It's not enough for me, though. There's lots of fun fantasy books out there that feel more coherent, and, well, INTERESTED in the story they're telling. Interested in violence and revolution and crime in an oppressively totalitarian, dystopian world. Interested in the plight of a young girl who only wants … well, what does she want? To be safe? But the only way she finds she can be safe is to go toward danger and realize how very strong she is? Maybe this story would like to be that, but it hasn't been for the first 60 or so pages.

Sanderson's novel felt more interested in the large and vague story shapes around the characters - a city, a dark lord, slavery, soot snow, bad mist, some kinds of magic, and (I cringe to say it) rape and thieving and beatings - but not in the world of their lives.

I've heard good things about The Way Of Kings from people who did not like Mistborn either, but its safe to say at this point that I have reservations about my reading tastes being a good match for Sanderson's work, at least at this point in time.

If I'm looking for fun I'd rather read another swanky, noir fantasy by Douglas Lumsden any day, or the next gothic gaslamp fantasy mystery by Morgan Stang, or discover my next favorite author, indie or otherwise.

I don't think Mistborn was terrible by any stretch of the imagination. Sanderson has delighted readers for over a decade now! He's prolific, hard working, and he delivers what his fans want, and he and they continue to be richly rewarded for his efforts. He is a Name in the genre, often listed alongside the greats. And why not? Isn't pleasing readers what this is all about? Taylor Swift has oceans of adoring fans, and she's no less deserving of her accolades. Brandon Sanderson is the Taylor Swift of fantasy, you could say. I just don't like her music either.

[antsday]

first impressions of good coffee, great coffee (game)

the graphics, as always, are very cute and satisfying- which i expected considering good pizza great pizza's level of quality. although i did appreciate the slight animated bits and the occasional switch of scenery for the train sidestory- gpgp introduced that mechanic in chapter 5, so it makes sense that gcgc would use the same mechanics.

i have to say: it seems to me like gcgc isn't as concerned with dialogue trees or alternate options as gpgp was. like, in gpgp you could risk your pizzaria's stability by committing any number of bad decisions available to you via the dialogue trees (ex. giving pizza to the robber, giving pizza to the robot, etc). in gcgc, it almost seems like the game is encouraging you to try out different 'personality' pathways- like the option to be nicer or more antagonistic towards your rivals- but ultimately doesn't provide any of the same consequences of being nicer or meaner. i get that it might make gameplay more stressful to have dialogue actually matter, but i think it would be neat to have it affect the story even a little bit, especially since the game seems to like providing different sorts of reply options! this MIGHT just be me though, and it is a little too early to say for sure.

a lot of people do not like the energy feature but i find i actually don't mind it all that much! personally i enjoy the extra layer of pressure it adds to get as much done as i can, while also giving me an incentive to give myself a break every once in a while. i also heard somewhere that they're doing this so that they can roll the story beats along more cohesively, so.

i do get why it's frustrating though- a lot of the story objectives, after some of the wca trials, are pretty much just "reach level x", which means you just have to keep playing to get xp, which can be hard to manage w/ limited energy. on the other hand, i think the current level system kind of needs to go hand in hand with the energy feature- once all the ingredients are available and the current story has been completed, playing for the sole sake of advancement becomes kind of pointless, like how it is in gpgp, so after most of the general "story" has passed it'll probably also start adding seasonal events and such. this is a non-issue if you're playing entirely for leisure

this game isn't all that much like good pizza great pizza, which is both good and bad in a lot of ways. i find the customers to be pickier and the coffee-making mechanics to require much more precision than the pizza-making mechanics in gpgp, which is good if you want more challenging gameplay and bad if you're mostly trying to play a relaxing game.

this might also have smth to do with where both games are at atm- like, gpgp has been out for long enough that you can kind of get to a point where the game can't really surprise you gameplay-wise, and advancing in levels doesn't matter much, so the most important aspect is seasonal events and decor. gcgc on the other hand is still new, and the story has yet to unfold, so there's much less decor options or focus and obviously it hasn't started implementing seasonal items or events.

i'd say steaming milk is my least favorite part of the coffee making process in game. this is entirely a personal gripe, but i will also mention that the tutorial doesn't accurately explain how you do it. you're supposed to put the tip of the nozzle into the milk until the cloud button hits like, the middle of the yellow bar, and then push it all the way through until the temperature hits the yellow bar as well to perfectly steam milk.

overall i think i really enjoy the game, for me it hits that sweet spot of being challenging enough to want to keep playing but still easy-going enough that playing doesn't feel all that frustrating or tiring. the cute graphics help a lot. im excited to see where it goes!!

[detectivereads]

Delicious in Dungeon vol 5 by Ryoko Kui

4/5

This post is for fan entertainment, I’m not being paid.

Yes! It took me awhile to get the next few volumes but now I have volume 5! I will say that I have watched the anime, that covers the whole of the manga. Keeping Dungeon Meshi Thursday alive!!!!!

Ok starting off on this volume, I did get creeped out with how Falin was going to the Mad Mage under that trance like state and the Mad Mage they are absolute terrifying.

Now I will say this, because I guess there are people who think with what Marcille did to bring Falin back with ancient magic was evil. I honestly don’t believe that Marcille did anything wrong. Marcille knew what she was doing, she did everything correctly to bring Falin back with no issues, however I do think she should have planned ahead a bit.

Being in a magic dungeon with the rumor mad mage running around (granted no one has confirmed that the mad mage was alive) and using the meat of the servant to the mad mage was probably not the smartest idea. (but hey how can you plan for that scenario?)

I don’t think that Marcille deserves the backlash she got from former party members. Marcille learns the forgotten ancient magic so it won’t be forgotten, it’s a part of history that should be remember or at least learn enough about it to see why it was label by the non-magic users as forbidden. (Ok rant over)

Also, I wanted to bring up some of the realistic emotions that Chilchuck showed in this volume. I do remember when Laios, Marcille and Chilchuck agreed to come back down into the dungeon in the beginning that he knew that the group would need his help to scout for traps and the like. But Chilichuck is not a fighter. I was so emotional when he was planning on leaving the group after the run in with the Mad Mage. I am also glad he didn’t.

Senshi is still Senshi and he is awesome and perfect.

In the later chapters we meet back up with Karbu’s group, I thought Laios was a bit odd, but I think Karbu is under that category as well. But I do find the way Karbu interacts with his team a bit more refreshing than Laois and his group.

Also, in this volume we learn some lore about Namari, which I did feel bad that she was left holding the bag for her dad, while he skipped town.

I guess I could understand why she is more brash after learning more about her. I also understand that she needs to make money and can’t be tied down to a situation she can’t benefit from.

I felt bad for Laios’s team when they met the dryads, pollen is horrible.

Throughout the manga we also me back up with the Samuri of Laios’s old group and he is running with a new group as well.

Ok I will say that these new characters are amazing to look at, and they are power houses in their own right.

On a somewhat unrelated note, I think the pumpkin heads are so neat and when I was at the At Home store, I found this and I was tempted to buy it, but I did some thinking, I could find something a little more similar to the picture in the manga. Also, I think this pumpkin thing in the picture is a vase or candy dish, not a bowl.

FYI Code Orange is happing.

Dungeon Meshi Thursday!!!!!!!

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou in 2009 Ch. 8 Matsuribayashi pt. 98

This doesn’t really have anything to do with anything but where do you draw the line on calling something a figure? I’m not even debating it from the angle of it being an action figure where you can pose it, what I really mean is do you consider things that come with a stand a figure or not? I don’t want to refer to this Miyo Takano figure as a statue, but it kind of is, you know? Only it’s a plastic thing sitting on my desk now, and not a big thing made out of granite or marble. This has no bearing on anything, but maybe I’ll put her next to either John Sekiro, or the Doom Slayer.

You know, this is something that never occurred to me before now. Why is it that Satoko never scratched her neck up like everyone else who was shown to be terminal? I’m sure it was probably just an oversight, but I’m kind of using this as a way to push my Takano is infected with Hinamizawa Syndrome and going terminal narrative.

I think this is just reflective about the prevailing attitudes of the era. It does seem like medical shows have more or less stepped away from using the phrase vegetable when it comes to accidentally destroying a patients brain. I’m sure there’s a proper medical term for it, but I am drawing a blank. Oh it's bugging me now, trying to remember what phrase they use for when someone's in a vegetative state.

I don’t recall if it showed up on the PS2 mod of the 2009 Higurashi but I find the little detail of the kanji being visible on the fragments to be pretty neat.

I knew there was a reason I took this screenshot, aside from my love of boner jokes. This shows that back in 2009 Rena’s noise was depicted as “hao” and not “hau.” I wonder if this change was to keep it more in line with the fan translations of the manga and anime?

I doubt the console arcs will get into it, but I wonder how it was their wanderings led Hanyu’s people to Onigafuchi? Did they bring the parasite that causes Hinamizawa Syndrome with them, and that’s why the people of Onigafuchi became “consumed by demons?” They must have right? The way the text portrays it, everything was just ducky until Hanyu and her people showed up, and again I have to wonder how did they look? Were they just in a demonic form until Hanyu was chosen to represent them and was able to become the Hanyu we know? I think it would be kind of neat if one of the arcs I haven’t read had a depiction of how Hanyu’s people used to look.

Also, it only took eight or nine readings of this scene for it to hit me that the son of the Furude priest was a bit of a freak. He saw this demonic being and chin, firmly in-between thumb and forefinger bit his lip and went “would.” Do you think like most monster fuckers he saw Hanyu become a more human version of herself and went “maaaaaan?” Do you think that’s why he never shows up again, he lost his desire when she became just a horned girl?

Another thing that just occurred to me is that there’s never really any reason given for why Hanyu started getting referred to as Oyashiro-sama. I think maybe they start calling her Oyashiro-sama to try to cover up the fact that people were falling in love and having children with “demons,” but I don’t recall if that’s a thing they actually said at any point in this chapter. I know they’re playing up the importance of the Furude bloodline being tied to Oyashiro-sama, but do you think any of the other people who wound up having horned children are similarly gifted? This is entirely a theory I’m pulling out of nowhere, but is this why the Three Families of Hinamizawa are so important? Did the Kimiyoshi, and Sonozaki ancestors also have affairs with demons and that’s why they’re some of the more important people in the village? That would help justify why the Sonozakis tattoo the next head of the family other than the notion to keep track of which twin is which anyway. Is Shion, and Natsumi Kimiyoshi in a similar situation with their respective demonic forebear? Is that why Shion during Meakashi had an otherworldly figure around to pester her during the final parts of that chapter? I think I’m on to something here. Please do not spoil the console arcs, I am very early in Someutsushi.

[tala-bez-i]

At first sight Chapter Sixteen

(m!reader x Bonten!Haruchiyo Sanzu)

Fluff/slash/reader is male/cursing/BontenTimeline/drugs and alcohol mentioned/violence/blood/death

All characters that appeared in the Tokyo Revengers manga and anime belong to Ken Wakui.

Words: 4853

Today is my day off from work, so I decided to publish the next chapter. The next one is on Saturday as usual, so this week instead of two chapters there will be three.

This chapter may not be pleasant to read for some people.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You couldn't remember the last time you sat in the passenger seat of a car, but you loved it. You were finally able to focus on something other than driving and your eyes wandered around the houses and parks you passed. The street lamps illuminated your path as you approached your destination. To Uchiyama's house. 

There was a smell of tobacco in the car, but it was not as intense as it might seem, knowing who it belonged to. The interior itself was very neat and clean - the blond strategist certainly contributed to this. 

“From the next street you can get to the back of the Uchiyama house.” You said in a calm tone and your companion nodded slightly. 

“Tell me, L/n... Do you sometimes miss working directly with me and Kisaki?” Hanma asked in an equally calm tone. 

You looked down for a moment, remembering the old days when you were still members of Valhalla. It was during one of the fights between the gang you belonged to and Toman that you saw Haruchiyo. 

“No offense, but I'm not complaining about the change.” You replied, looking up again. “Basically, not much has changed.” 

“Huh? Really?" Hanma laughed, looking at you secretly. “That's something new. And I thought you were more on vacation than at work.” 

"Why?" 

“Sanzu usually kept you away from riskier tasks.” 

"Are you sure? Because acting as his bodyguard and getting rid of the bodies of traitors for him and Bonten is not an easy task." You winced slightly and looked at the tall man pointedly. 

“Do I hear you complaining?” 

"Absolutely not." You shook your head and Hanma parked the car near a tall fence at the back of the well-kept house. “I like my job and believe me; I have no intention of changing my closest company.” 

“The closest company…” Hanma repeated thoughtfully, a mischievous smile appearing on his lips. “Really, Y/n?” 

You looked at him colder than you intended, and his smile grew, a dangerous glint in his golden eyes. 

"If you say so. Apparently you're more happy with being imprisoned by Sanzu than the freedom Kisaki gave you." He shrugged, and just as you were about to share some sarcastic remark with him, Shuji looked thoughtfully at the house you were planning to break into that night. “The light is on upstairs. Haven't our little ones gone anywhere today?" 

You looked in the same direction as him and frowned. The house should be empty... 

“Maybe the meeting time has changed?” You muttered, but after a while the light in the window went out and after a few more minutes you saw in the rearview mirror a car driving from the direction of the Uchiyama house. “It's their car.” 

"Very good." Hanma said as he got out of the car, and you did the same. “Do they have any free-roaming animals in the garden? I would rather not come across a guarding dog.” 

You pursed your lips and looked out of the corner of your eye at the tall man with you. 

“I don't know…” You said truthfully and Shuji looked at you coldly before smiling and pointing to the fence you would have to get through. 

“So, you go ahead.” 

You cursed quietly and easily climbed the fence. You mentally cursed yourself for not wearing much more comfortable clothes than a suit, but it was far too late. Besides, you weren't alone, Hanma didn't prepare well either. You have obviously become unaccustomed to this type of action. After all, you always used the front door... 

You looked around carefully and saw no trace of the dog, so you signaled to Hanma that the path was clear and jumped silently to the other side. After a short while, a slim man landed next to you, and you headed towards the glass door. 

You looked carefully through the glass into the nicely decorated living room and were about to say that everything was fine when you saw a light turned on by someone in the open door to the room. 

“Fuck, someone's home.” You said quietly and Hanma pulled you around the corner of the building. 

He did it at literally the last moment, because after a short while you heard the glass door slide open and someone came outside. You and Hanma looked at each other, trying to stay as quiet as possible, and you heard someone light a lighter, and after a second, the smell of a cigarette wafted to your nostrils. 

Hanma peeked surreptitiously around the corner, smiled broadly and, like a ghost, attacked the unsuspecting figure, covering their mouth and blocking their arms to prevent them from screaming and defending themself. You jumped around the corner right behind him and the last thing you saw was the tails of a woman's silk robe and they both disappeared inside the house. You quickly followed them inside, sliding the glass door shut and immediately closing the curtains. 

Shuji was struggling in the living room with a woman you hoped you wouldn't have to see again. 

*slap* 

The tall man's head snapped to the side, his face showing surprise and something much darker than anger. His eyes flashed with sadism, and he responded to the petite woman in kind, but unlike Hanma, she fell to the floor with a loud moan. 

You looked at all this with complete indifference. It's like you're watching a movie. 

“Be good, honey, and no more harm will come to you. We understand each other?" Hanma asked in an artificially gentle tone, grabbing the woman's hair and pulling her up so he could look into her face. 

“Fuck you, dickhead.” She shouted angrily, grabbing his hand with both of her small ones to free herself from his grip. “Both of you, fuck you!” 

*slap* 

The woman moaned once again and your body shuddered in a way you hadn't felt in a long time. You didn't like to use violence against women, but since some of them asked for it... 

Hanma grabbed her face with his other hand and twisted her head towards you. Her beautiful brown eyes that you could once stare into for hours widened in horror. She inhaled loudly and froze. 

“I guess that's not what you expected, huh?” Hanma asked, smiling cruelly at her, bringing his face close to hers to get a closer look at her. “You're beautiful, darling. Now I understand how someone could lose their head over you.” 

“Give it up, Hanma.” Your voice was so dispassionately cold that it even surprised you. “It was so long ago it can't even be true.” 

“Y/n…” The woman whispered and Hanma lifted her off the floor by her own hair. “Let go!” 

“Oh, no, princess.” He led her out of the living room into the small dining room and sat her on a chair. “We'll talk politely, like adults... And then we'll see.” He looked at you with a wide smile on his face, sadism lurking in his eyes. “Hey, L/n! Search everything you can and I'll take care of Mrs. Uchiyama, what do you say?" 

"No problem. Have fun, Hanma.” You said leaving them alone in the room and the woman called your name in a terrified tone, asking you to come back and not leave her alone, which you completely ignored. 

You slowly walked away from the dining room, hearing Hanma teasing Emiko. The first room you went to was the living room where you were just a moment ago. You looked around the room carefully and put on the gloves you kept in your inside jacket pocket. 

You walked up to the bookshelves and checked if there were any interesting documents on them, but you didn't find anything. You checked the coffee table for any hidden drawers, but all you found was an unfinished crossword with a woman's clear handwriting. 

Emiko's wedding photo hung on one of the walls, but there was no groom at her side. She looked phenomenal in a wedding dress decorated with white flowers. Her black hair flowed in curls over her slender shoulder... 

You shook your head and moved away from the photo you had walked towards without even knowing when. You looked away from it and tried to calm your racing heart. If Sanzu saw you now, he would probably kill you... You almost started imagining yourself next to the woman who abandoned you five years ago. 

You weren't supposed to feel anything for her anymore... 

Her scream reached your ears and you felt terrified. Halfway through your step, you stopped and with all your willpower, you forced your legs to take your next steps in a completely different direction than the dining room. 

You started walking up the stairs to the first floor where you assumed the master of the house and Emiko's bedroom was. You opened the first door, behind which was the bathroom, and out of curiosity you opened the medicine cabinet. You saw several bottles of pills; the labels had the name Haruka Uchiyama on them. You took one bottle in your hand and found out that it was painkillers, but another... Antidepressants? 

You snorted loudly, put the pills back in their place, closed the cabinet and left the room, heading towards the next door. From downstairs you heard the sound of several more blows and the woman's cries of pain. 

Another shiver ran down your spine, which wasn't necessarily unpleasant, and you opened another room, which turned out to be... Empty. Strangely empty. 

There were colorful wallpapers on the bare walls that had not been completely removed, and a colorful rug was carelessly rolled up against one of the walls. In one place there were traces of a bed on the panels. Your shoulders slumped slightly as you realized that they were traces of the small bed. The room you entered was the child's bedroom. A child that Emiko gave to an orphanage, giving up all parental rights. 

You walked to a door in one of the walls and opened it. It was a built-in wardrobe that was empty. There were only specks of dust on the shelves, but when you looked down... In one corner of the closet, you saw a small, tattered teddy bear and children's scribbles on the wall. You crouched down and gently took the toy in your hand to look at it, and your heart sank for a moment. 

You recognized it. It was the teddy bear you gave to Emiko when you were still in school and not yet engaged. You got up and left the room, unconsciously still clutching the teddy bear in your hand, which had certainly seen too much with its glassy eyes. 

You opened another door and this time you found yourself in an adult's bedroom. It smelled of women's perfume, but the decor was more masculine. You walked over to the desk that was right next to the curtained window and started searching through it. 

The first thing you found were documents that might interest Kisaki, so you took them. In one of the drawers, you found a notebook with a leather cover, which, when you opened it, turned out to be written by Emiko's hand. You put it in your jacket pocket and checked the drawer again, looking for the second bottom. You weren't disappointed and after a quiet click, you lifted the plate, underneath which was a key that looked like it fit into a padlock of some kind. You took it and looked around the bedroom. 

There were a few photos and two small paintings on the walls that didn't look too expensive. You walked over to the low chest of drawers and started looking through its contents. A few drawers contained some women's clothing and the rest contained men's clothing. Nothing special and apart from a small sum of money, you found nothing else. 

Your eyes landed on the large double bed, and you decided to look underneath. On the dusty floor there was a small cardboard box that looked like it had previously held shoes. You pulled it out and lifted the lid. You saw tiny baby shoes and some documents. 

You frowned, wondering why Emiko left these things instead of throwing them away, and pulled out a piece of paper folded in half. It was the act of birth. The date was five years ago, and the child's name was Yuuta Miura. It was the maiden name of the woman interviewed below, so the boy did not belong to her first husband. 

You continued reading and when you reached the section where the name and surname of the child's father should appear - you froze. 

Your heart started beating faster and stronger, and you could hear the sound of your own blood in your ears. For a moment you felt uncomfortably light, as if you were floating in the air, but the pounding of your own heart brought you down violently. Your eyes wandered over the page, constantly returning to father's name and surname. 

Y/n L/n. 

Y/n L/n. 

Y/n L/n. 

Father's Name: Y/n L/n. 

You felt sick and had to fight yourself not to vomit. You had no idea how long you had been kneeling on the bedroom floor of the Uchiyama’s house, staring at the birth certificate in your hands, when Hanma's slightly concerned voice snapped you out of your trance. 

“Hey, L/n. Everything's all right?" He walked up to you and you could feel his searching gaze on you. “Fuck, I'd say you're pale as a sheet, but I don't think I've seen such shades of gray and green before…” 

His voice died in his throat as he leaned over you, and you knew he had read the same thing as you. 

“Tell me my eyes are playing tricks on me, Hanma.” You whispered without looking up at him. “Please tell me this is bullshit.” 

Hanma cursed heavily under his breath and lifted you off the floor by your arm. “Ask that bitch yourself. The document does not appear to be a fake.” 

Hearing the disgust in his voice, you looked at him and for probably the first time in your life, you weren't able to read any emotions on his face. 

“Did you find anything else?” He asked and you handed him the papers from the desk and the key, which he looked at and nodded in approval. “We're going down. I tied her to a chair, but I want to take her to the hideout so Mikey can talk to her.” 

You nodded, putting Yuuta's birth certificate and the teddy bear in the box you took with you. 

“Are you taking it away?” Hanma was surprised as he followed you. 

“I need to know more.” 

“And what next?” 

“I have a son, Hanma... I guess.” You started walking down the stairs and Hanma followed you with a heavy sigh. 

"And what about this?" 

"Seriously? What about this?" You shot him a cold glance over your shoulder. "It's my son." 

"Probably. She could have just given your details, you know the paper will accept anything. Plus she never tried to contact you, even about alimony..." Shuji said, taking out a pack of cigarettes. 

You grabbed his hand. “Don't smoke here. We don't want to leave any more traces.” 

The man wrinkled his nose, but put his cigarettes away and licked his lips without saying anything. 

You entered the dining room and seeing Emiko tied up and broken, you felt some kind of satisfaction. Her pretty face was starting to swell on one side, and the lips you kissed so often were cut and bleeding. There was pain in her eyes, and when they landed on the box you held in your hands, there was even more fear than before. A long moan escaped from her chest and turned into a silent cry. 

“Please, Y/n... Please, no.” She whispered through her tears, turning her head away so as not to look at you. 

Your blood boiled and you placed the box right in front of her on the table before grabbing her face and turning her around with such force that the woman groaned in pain. 

“Whose baby was it?” You asked in a quiet, icy voice. “Look at the box, Emiko! Whose son is this?” 

Spasms wracked the petite woman's body, and an anger similar to the one you felt when Mina tried to shoot Sanzu rose within you. It was bad... 

“Listen, bitch…” You growled, but the woman interrupted you. 

"Your! This is your baby, Y/n. Yuuta is your son… God, please…” She sobbed loudly and you felt your hand tighten into a fist and you began to raise it up to punch her right in the face that you loved so much years ago. At the last moment, Hanma grabbed your elbow and moved you away from the sobbing Emiko. All you had to do was pull out your gun... 

“Calm down, L/n. Control yourself.” He said in a warning tone and you were about to tell him to go to hell when you saw a dangerous gleam in his eyes. You knew he understood your anger, but this wasn't the time or place to take it out on this woman. 

You pulled away from his grip and, taking the box from the table, moved away against the wall of the dining room. Your eyes were fixed on the woman that Hanma was leaning over again. He whispered something in her ear, and she sobbed louder, shaking her head. 

The tall man shoved a key in front of her and Emiko gasped. Still furious, you couldn't hear their words, and the muscles in your neck and back tightened and relaxed. You wanted to beat the woman out badly, more than when she left you. 

“Give it to me, Y/n.” Hanma said, placing his hands on the box you were holding tightly to your chest. You looked at him with wide eyes, your fingers tightening on the box. You had no idea when he approached you. “Y/n, give me that box, man. I'll take care of it while you go down to the basement and find the door Mrs. Uchiyama kindly mentioned and open it with the key that was hidden in the desk. Do we understand each other?" The man's voice was hard, but there was a certain gentleness in his golden eyes. 

You started shaking your head, trying to pry the box from his long, slender fingers, but you let go of it obediently as you looked into his eyes again. You took the key from him and tried to look at the woman tied to the chair, who was effectively hidden behind Shuji. 

“The entrance to the basement is at the end of the hall, right next to the toilet door.” The tall strategist instructed you calmly and, placing one hand on your shoulder, directed you to leave the dining room. 

Without a word, you followed his instructions and opened the door, beyond which were stairs and darkness. You searched for the light switch with your hand and when you turned it on, you began to carefully climb down. 

The temperature was slightly different from the house itself, but a strange smell filled your nostrils, mixed with air fresheners and the chemical smell of cleaning products. You knew this smell perfectly well, and even a layman would know that it was not typical of basements. You knew that if the police looked into the house itself more specifically, they might find some traces of the missing and murdered prostitutes. 

At the bottom of the stairs, you stopped and looked around the room. Against one brick wall you saw a small workshop and some tools scattered around, while against the other there was a washing machine and a dryer. The small shelf contained cleaning products, washing powders and an air freshener. You walked over to it and checked to see if it was possible to move it to the side, but the shelf wouldn't budge. 

You looked around again and in the corner of the room, behind several crates, you saw a piece of material. You walked over to the spot and without picking up the fabric from the floor, you could tell it was a piece of underwear. Most likely female. Still crouched, you looked at the wall near the workshop. There were several shelves hanging on it with some jars with unknown, suspicious contents. In the very center there was a metal wardrobe, typical of workers' locker rooms or gyms. It wasn't locked with any kind of lock or padlock, so you walked up to it and opened the door. 

The hinges worked perfectly, as if they had been regularly oiled, and you saw several hangers with some work overalls, and another two air fresheners. You moved them to the side and your eyes were met with the back wall of the closet, which looked completely ordinary. Too ordinary. 

You put your hand on it and pushed it forward slightly. The wall gave way slightly under the pressure and you already knew that you had found a hidden entrance to the next room. You started looking more closely at the shores, looking for anything that would help you open the passage. You certainly didn't need a key at this point because, again, you couldn't see a lock or padlock. 

As you began to feel frustrated, you placed both hands on opposite edges of the closet wall and pushed forward. Suddenly, the wall moved slightly to the side, and you realized that it was a type of sliding door, so you pushed it further to the side and an unpleasant smell filled your nose. You immediately felt a metallic taste on your tongue, and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stood up so much that your skin hurt. 

You've done a lot of bad things in your life, and you've probably seen even more with your own eyes, but something told you not to go into the dark room on the other side of the door. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you swallowed hard. You went back to the workshop where you saw the flashlight and went back to the aisle with it. You turned it on and swept the hidden room with a beam of light. 

You saw a table, several chairs next to it, and chains attached to the wall. You carefully entered the room and found a light switch on the wall next to the entrance, which you pressed. Lamps started to come on all over the room and you immediately wished you had stuck to shining the flashlight. 

Your wide-open eyes wandered around the room, stopping at various pieces of equipment whose purpose you didn't even want to know. Everywhere you saw darker stains on the walls and floor, indicating recent suspicious activity. The entire room smelled of dirty bodies, chemicals, decay and death. 

At the end of the room, you saw another door, but this time it was locked with a padlock. You walked over to them and checked to make sure the key fit. It slid into the hole without any problem, and when you turned it, the padlock opened with a soft click. You took it off and opened the door. 

You weren't prepared for this sight and your eyes almost popped out of your sockets. Behind the door was something like a warehouse. The shelves were full of neatly arranged small packages. You didn't have to get closer to know what was in them. You've seen them many times when you accompanied Sanzu to pick up large shipments of drugs. There were several crates lined up against one wall and when you lifted the lid of one of them, you saw the guns and your heart started beating faster. 

You felt all the blood drain from your face as you realized what you had just discovered and backed out of the room. “Fuck, fuck…” You cursed quietly, your voice shaking with emotion. 

“L/n?!” You heard Hanma's voice in the distance and shouted back over your shoulder. 

"I'm here! Go through the metal closet!” 

After a moment, you heard a surprised whistle and turned around to see a shocked Shuji looking around the room with wide eyes. 

“Fuck, Bonten could learn from that bastard Uchiyama.” He said in surprise, and you extended your hand towards the freshly opened door to the warehouse. 

“Look there.” 

Hanma looked at you confused but moved closer and peered inside through the doorway. 

“Fuck me, I think I'm dreaming.” He muttered. “Is today a fucking holiday? Because I didn't look at the calendar, and this..." 

“I guess Santa Claus came earlier this year.” You laughed uncertainly, feeling beads of sweat begin to form on your forehead. 

"Fuck..." Hanma echoed, amused, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket and starting to record everything. “You broke the bank, Y/n. You broke the fucking bank.” 

Just as you were about to answer him, a soft moan came from the corner of the torture chamber and you both almost jumped in place. Your heads snapped towards the sound,and you saw a crouching figure in the darkness. 

You stood frozen, but as soon as you heard Hanma pull out his gun, you pointed the lit flashlight at the corner of the room and felt like you were in a horror movie. 

A naked girl was cowering on the floor. Her entire body was covered in bruises, cuts and blood, and her hands were covering her face. You didn't have to get any closer to see that every single one of her fingers was broken. Her long hair was tangled and caked with so much blood and dirt that you couldn't tell what color it was. 

“Fuck…” You whispered and Hanma slowly started to walk closer to her. 

“Hey, little one…” The man began quietly, holding his gun at the ready. “You're safe now, darling. We'll get you out of here. Do not be afraid." 

You observed the battered girl, but something about her didn't suit you very much. 

“Hanma?” You whispered, but your companion raised his hand slightly, signaling you to be quiet. 

He crouched down next to the quietly sobbing figure and lightly tightened his long fingers around one of the girl's wrists, wanting to expose her face. The poor girl didn't resist, but when Hanma managed to push her swollen hands away... He froze. 

You stepped closer and shined your flashlight on her so he could take a closer look and you felt sick. This time, the contents of your stomach rushed up your throat and you had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep from vomiting. 

You saw a lot, a lot, but you just realized why there was a sweet smell of rotting meat in the air. 

“Dear God, what have they done to you, honey?” Hanma whispered, and for perhaps the first time in your life you heard terror in the man's voice. 

The girl's face was in such a state that you couldn't recognize her facial features, and her eyes... 

“Those motherfuckers gouged out her eyes.” Hanma growled softly, and the girl let out another moan of pain. “All her wounds are infected. She's rotting from the inside. How are you still alive?” He got up from his crouch and aimed the gun at the girl's head. “Sleep peacefully, honey. No one will ever hurt you again.” He said gently and pulled the trigger, ending the girl's unimaginable suffering. 

You turned on your heel and quickly left the torture chamber. You ran up the stairs, fell into the toilet and vomited. Your body racked with tremors worse than during those rare moments when you overdose on alcohol. You felt terrible, you felt dirty. 

You vomited again and fell onto the cold tiles with a groan. You lay there for a while, feeling your head spin and gasping for breath. 

“L/n?” You heard Shuji Hanma's voice again as he anxiously poked his head between the door and the frame to look at you, and you gave him a thumbs up to let him know you were recovering. “I'll call the boys. The entire house and warehouse need to be secured.” He withdrew his head from the room, but then put it back inside. “Are you sure you can do it?” 

“Yes, I'm fine. I'll just lie here for a while, okay?" You replied in a weak voice and after a few seconds Hanma told you that it was no problem. 

“Don't worry, I won't tell Sanzu about this.” He said calmly and you heard the outgoing call. 

You rolled over on your back, glad that the toilet room was larger than normal, and you stared at the ceiling, wondering in your mind whether Emiko Miura would be capable of all this. You closed your eyes and sighed heavily. No, not Emiko... But her name was Haruka Uchiyama now, and she was a woman who probably didn't really have much in common with the girl you once loved. 

<PREVIOUS/NEXT>

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Dangancember 2024 - Danganronpa Top 24 Class Trials - Number 15: Danganronpa 1 Case 6

//This render is sick^^^

//Anyway.

//I want to quickly jump back a little bit to the beginning of this countdown at the beginning of this month. If you've been reading these posts as they've been uploaded daily, you would remember that one of the kickstarters of this list was Chapter 6 of Danganronpa V3; i.e. the final trial of that game.

//And you'll remember that I largely had very negative opinions of it. For a variety of reasons.

//However, to V3-6's credit, if there's one thing I can say it DID hit the mark on, it's the fact that it was both climactic AND emotional.

//Regardless of what kind of emotion it made you feel, whether you satisfied with the twists of it or not, I don't think any of us can deny that the final trial definitely felt like a final trial.

//Which...is strangely not the case for me in my relationship with the finale of Game 1.

//Let's talk about it.

//For starters, let me just preface that I don't dislike the ending of Danganronpa 1. It DOES contain one of my favourite plot-twists in the series, as most of the final trials tend to do. But to quickly sum up my thoughts on it, I think I generally feel about it the OPPOSITE of how I feel about Game 2 Case 2.

//Game 2 Case 2 was incredibly satisfying for the story, and the character development, but it felt incredibly lackluster as a mystery. Game 1 Case 6 is an incredible and fun mystery, but once it's solved, it's packed with what I think are really mediocre and cliche character moments that feel a bit too...anime, compared to the rest of the game.

//For what it's worth though, the setup for this finale is pretty solid. I think that largely has to do with the fact that unlike the rest of the games, where the 5th Case is far removed and kind of only slightly lays the groundwork for the final chapter, the one that did it in this game, I feel, was Case 4 with Sakura. While Cases 5 and 6 feel like a 2-part finale, especially since Case 5 can end with the Bad Ending where Kyoko dies, and the remaining students are forced to live out the rest of their days in the school.

//But in the alternative TRUE ending of the game, things take a turn that’s both fascinating and a little...anticlimactic.

//Let’s be honest: the final chapters of the Danganronpa series tend to be less about storytelling and are basically one big investigation. Even though the trials themselves kind of round up all the key mysteries in the plot in one...not-so neat little bow, the 6th Chapters themselves are mostly trying to scramble together loose clues to SUPPORT the final points.

//But in this case, it's not just an obligatory sprint to the finish line. It’s a clever, engaging lead-up to the climax.

//Chapter 5 leaves Makoto narrowly escaping execution with an assist from Alter Ego. Instead of the afterlife, he gets the cozy confines of a garbage pit, where he hangs out for a while before Kyoko shows up to save the day.

//Of course, Makoto’s earlier decision to let Kyoko’s gambit slip didn’t just keep her in the game, it also boxed Monokuma into a corner. Caught in a lie, Monokuma has to save face, and Kyoko masterfully reminds him that the "outside audience" is watching. So rather than just brushing the gang off (which he can easily do, might I add), Monokuma makes a bold move: he dares them to uncover every mystery of Hope’s Peak and their situation. If they can figure it all out, they can leave.

//This is largely why I like Monokuma so much in the first game, because these are his roots, and what sets him apart as a villain. Although, to be perfectly frank, I admit that this trial is probably where things kind of take a poor turn for him. That's not the bear's fault though, but...we'll get to that.

//Either way, challenge accepted, queue what I actually think is one of the best investigation segments in the entire series.

//I didn’t love it at first. My initial impression was that it was one giant info dump, which can be a problem for the final chapters in this series, as I've kind of already said.

//And trust me, this trial definitely IS an info dump. As I said before, the issues with the final trials are universal throughout the whole series, and that includes DRA and SDRA2.

//But on reflection, I came to appreciate how dynamic and rewarding this investigation feels. Compared to 2-6, or V3-6, this one doesn’t feel like a tedious game of “connect the dots.” Instead, it’s like you’re genuinely piecing together a massive, vital mystery.

//I think that's especially because of the sense of freedom. Throughout the game, even in the later stages, there are areas you’ve known about all along but couldn’t access until now. Finally getting to explore them feels as satisfying as closing a dozen browser tabs after finishing a huge project.

//(That's the same joke I made back when I reviewed these trials on Reddit. Needless to say my opinions have changed a bit.)

//It’s an “ahh, yes” moment that makes you feel like you’re cracking open the heart of the game.

//Then there’s the trial itself. Sure, it’s not as flashy as some of the earlier trials, except maybe the first and fifth one, but that’s okay. It doesn’t need to be.

//What makes this trial stand out is that the Big Bad isn’t spending the whole time lecturing you or dumping plot twists on your head. Most of the revelations are things you’ve already uncovered during the investigation. You’ve got all the puzzle pieces; now it’s just a matter of putting them together.

//Unlike in the other games, the villain isn’t spoon-feeding you answers, and the clues actually feel meaningful, which is a step up from some of the other final trials.

//There's a lot of really neat plot twists in this case, particularly the fact that the students have actually been here for over 2 years now, and they WILLINGLY locked themselves inside the school, but as far as they go, there are two major twists that stand out especially.

//And while I think both are good, the first one...is executed a little strangely.

//I won't say POORLY.

//Just...strangely...

//The twist I'm referring to is the twist of who the Mastermind controlling Monokuma is, and who actually is that's running the Killing Game.

//And...You know what? I don't know why I'm dancing around so much, we all know who it is.

//It's fucking Junko Enoshima. THE Mastermind. The biggest villain in the series and one of the most all-time notorious villains in FICTION.

//Again, I shouldn't have to explain this to anybody who's a fan of Danganronpa and has played these games, but...I have to pad this out somehow. What makes this reveal especially shocking is that Junko was presumed dead early in the game. During the first trial, she is graphically executed for breaking Monokuma’s rules, leading everyone to believe she was just another victim of the deadly game.

//However, the twist reveals that this was part of an elaborate ruse. Junko faked her own death to continue manipulating events from behind the scenes. The rumored 16th student hiding somewhere in the academy, Mukuro Ikusaba, who we find out was actually the Ultimate Soldier; and in this trial, Junko's older twin sister; willingly posed as her and took her place as the first apparent victim.

//This misdirection ensured that no one would suspect the real Junko was still alive and controlling Monokuma.

//I have complained previously about how Mukuro really wasn't much of a character in DR1, because honestly, I generally don't think I would have given a single shit about her had it not been for IF, and this game really just treats her as a plot twist and a throwaway character.

//At the same time though, I do have to commend this segment not just for its cleverness, but how it immediately sets up what kind of threat you're dealing with. The fact that Mukuro and Junko were not only working together, but also Junko's reveal that they're SISTERS, shows her ruthlessness and willingness to sacrifice anyone, even her FAMILY, for the sake of her goals.

//These days we obviously know that Junko doesn't care about anything enough to think twice about making these sacrifices. But remember, this was the first time we ever got to see her in action.

//And for what it's worth, I think this really is a good way of showing how the person who set up this absolutely horrific game is every bit as evil as we anticipated they would be.

//(Also, minor note here, but one thing I really like is the fact that the reason why Junko's surname is Enoshima and Mukuro's surname is Ikusaba is never actually explained, and Junko absolutely refuses to say why. I just think it's kind of funny.)

//But anyway, when Junko finally reveals herself, her character takes center stage. She is far from the shallow Fashionista image she projects in the outside world. Instead, she is the embodiment of chaos and despair, characterized by her erratic behavior and constant personality shifts.

//The Ultimate Despair, if you will.

//Her motive is not rooted in greed or revenge but in a nihilistic obsession with despair itself. She orchestrated the game to spread despair to both the participants and the outside world, reveling in the suffering it caused. Her ultimate plan involved broadcasting the killing game to the apocalyptic world outside, amplifying despair on a global scale.

//Generally I think this twist itself is fine. It does a good job in recontextualizing much of the game, from the participants’ amnesia to the overarching theme of Hope VS Despair. It also highlights Junko's brilliance as a manipulator and cements her as the standout villain of the series, and it's its still one of the most defining moments of the franchise, even though today, we all KNOW who Junko is, and that she's essentially Hitler in a schoolgirl outfit.

//...Don't imagine that, please.

//Actually, I take it back. Hitler WISHES he could be this evil. But again, we will get to that.

//So with all that said, the real question is what do I think of Junko as a character, AND as the Mastermind?

//Well...that's a bit of a difficult question, because the honest answer is that it depends on the iteration.

//For example, I think she's an extremely competant and awesome villain in DR2, wheras in DR3, I still think she's a cool, sadistic villain, but only when she's not being such a valley girl.

//(DR3 is legit the only iteration in the series where I generally prefer the sub instead of the dub, but then again, the majority of the voice cast is different, save for Makoto and a few of Class 77. I do love Jamie Marchi, but I'm just so taken by the afflictions of Bennett Abara and Erin Fitzgerald, and I think they nail the switching personalities way better.)

//As for the first game...eh...It's honestly not her strongest.

//To be completely and totally blunt, the first time I played Trigger Happy Havoc, the moment the mastermind stopped hiding behind Monokuma and revealed themselves was a standout point where my enjoyment of the game took a SWANDIVE.

//While the twist revealing her as the mastermind pulling all the strings is undeniably clever, her execution as a villain in this game feels…underwhelming.

//Don’t get me wrong, some of her later appearances, show a much darker, more sadistic, and outright evil side to her character, but...we'll talk about that when we eventually cover those cases.

//Here though? It’s almost hard to believe that this cartoonishly over-the-top douche-canoe is the Mastermind behind all the heartbreak, destruction, and death you’ve endured.

//And yeah, I know I said that killing off Mukuro really showed that villainy out of the gate, but...that's really it, at least at first.

//As established, learning that Junko was behind everything was one of those jaw-dropping moments that sticks with you. It’s a classic "mastermind was hiding in plain sight" reveal, and I loved the sheer audacity of it. But as soon as she starts talking, her dialogue and exaggerated mannerisms make her feel like a Saturday morning cartoon villain.

//She’s dramatic to the point of absurdity, and while that’s part of her...ahem..."charm"...it also undermines the gravitas of what she’s done. Especially when she goes on to reveal what's ACTUALLY going on in the outside world.

//You’ve just spent the whole game mourning your friends and unraveling this massive conspiracy, and now you’re confronted with...what is basically a living meme? It’s a bit of a tonal whiplash.

//Then there’s her motivation...or lack thereof.

//When you first find out that Junko orchestrated this apocalyptic nightmare purely because she felt like it, it’s almost laughable. She’s not driven by revenge, ideology, or even self-preservation.

//Nope, she just wanted to watch the world burn because despair is her jam, and it is QUITE LITERALLY the only way she can feel anything anymore.

//Don't get me wrong, that can work for a villain. I mean, look at the fucking JOKER from DC comics. He's basically the exact same.

//But just because the Joker manages to pull it off, that doesn't make it any less tricky of an archetype. Villains who are bad just because they can be need to be handled with finesse to avoid feeling hollow or one-note.

//Unfortunately, Junko in the first game falls victim to that curse. The game shows the things that she has achieved, mostly on her own, might I add, and when you look at it, is really shows just how INSANELY powerfil this creature of a woman is. But the issue is that that isn't reflected in her personality, or the way she conducts herself. If anything, it downplays her.

//But at the same time, Junko's not designed to be a "likable" villain. She’s not supposed to have layers of tragic backstory or moments that make you empathize with her. Junko is the ultimate embodiment of Despair, a character specifically crafted to make you loathe her.

//And in that sense, she’s excellent at her job. She’s less of a person and more of a force. A plague infecting everything she touches, leaving destruction and misery in her wake. The sheer hate she inspires is exactly the reaction she’s meant to evoke, which is why she works so well as the overarching villain of the series.

//Especially compared to the other big bads, Monaca and Tsumugi. Not counting Mikado, Utsuro, or Akane Taira, because they're another matter. Junko still stands out as the strongest antagonist.

//Sure, Monaca had her moments, and hell, even Tsumugi had hers in the end, as limited as they were. But Junko’s influence is on a whole other level.

//She’s the original, the template, the blueprint for despair in this universe. Her character’s impact, not just on the narrative but on the players themselves, is unmatched. You’re not supposed to like her. You’re supposed to hate her with every fiber of your being, and that’s why she’s so effective.

//Which is kind of what I hope to capture in Survivor. What's most important for me with Junko going forward in this story is I want to make sure she damn FEELS like the most dangerous creature on the planet. Hence why her introduction in the final arc of Phase 2 immediately shook everyone to their core before she even revealed herself.

//So, while I’m still not a fan of her cartoonish antics in the first game, I can’t deny that Junko’s presence lingers long after the credits roll. She’s not a "fun" villain or a "cool" one, but she’s the right kind of villain for this story. The kind that gets under your skin, makes you uncomfortable, and ensures you’ll never forget her, whether you want to or not.

//But in short, the whole way she's presented just makes it hard for me to take these sinister aspects seriously, and thankfully, it gets fixed in later games.

//But then there’s the other twist. THE twist. One of the best in the series, hands down: the reveal of the outside world.

//Turns out, the world beyond Hope’s Peak’s walls; that, might I add, everybody has been fighting this WHOLE game to break through and breach through any means necessary; is a post-apocalyptic wasteland, courtesy of "The Biggest, Most Awful, Most Tragic Event in Human History."

//Because why the FUCK not!?

//The twist is devastating, not just because it’s essentially...well...the goddamn APOCALYPSE, but because of the weight it retroactively adds to everything that’s happened.

//All those characters who died trying to escape? Their desperate struggles were for a world that’s beyond saving. It’s heavy, gut-punch stuff, and it reframes the story in such a tragic, chilling way that it hit me like a brick wall.

//For me, this moment was peak Despair. It’s haunting, it’s horrifying, and it lingers.

//But again, this is another reason why I struggle to take Junko seriously as a villain, because the sense of sadism she gives off throughout the game when she's acting as Monokuma doesn't match when she finally reveals herself.

//You're telling me that the entire world outside of the school fell into a state of despair and destruction...because of HER?

//THIS chick!? REALLY!?

//It just...It feels so unbelievable at the time, and...thankfully, it DOES get fixed in later games. But that doesn't change that I really wasn't okay with it at the time I first experienced it.

//Still, it doesn't really take away from the horror of the twist itself, and I think these days, we're so attuned to this aspect of the Danganronpa games that we tend to forget just how POWERFUL this moment is. Like I said, it's one of THE BEST plot twists in the series.

//The students' isolation is no longer just physical but existential. They've spent this whole game fighting to get back to the safety and freedom of the world outside this school, but...now there is seemingly no safety or freedom to return to.

//And you realize, with horror, that this school, where anyone could drop dead at any moment by someone else's hands, is the LAST BASTION of humanity, and the SAFEST PLACE IN THE WORLD!

//I also forewent mentioning this, but this also explains why the Killing Game is being broadcast. Unlike the rest of Junko's main motivations for getting her classmates to murder each other in this game, it’s not just a sick experiment but a psychological weapon in a larger, twisted agenda.

//Junko’s ultimate goal of spreading Despair gains new weight as the broadcast of the game becomes a tool to perpetuate the hopelessness consuming the world. This revelation elevates the stakes BEYOND personal survival, tying the characters’ struggles to a global narrative and making their choice to hope all the more significant.

//But what you might be wondering so far upon reading this is...why do I have this so low on the list if I have so many good things to say about these twists?

//So far, my biggest issue with the trial is that I struggle to take Junko seriously as a villain. But I also admitted that in the later series, this gets reprimanded because Junko as a villain becomes more dangerous.

//Well...ah...the simple answer is that I'm REALLY not a fan of how this all gets resolved.

//Because as I kind of implied at the beginning of this post, there's...a strange lack of impact here for me, for something that's supposed to be an incredibly climactic finale.

//I can actually break the explanation why down into three things.

//One: Hope winning out over Despair feels way too simplistic.

//The way that this trial ultimately resolves itself is that Junko sets up a gambit where the survivors of the Killing Game get to vote for her to be executed. Complying herself with the rules of the Killing Game, she is the one who killed Mukuro, so that technically makes her the blackened for the case.

//The catch is that EVERYONE has to vote for Junko, and when Junko dies, they will get to leave the school. If even a single person doesn't vote for her, the spotless (everyone else) suffers the punishment.

//It sounds simple enough, considering voting for Junko is the only way that they don't die, but the twist is that the way they "die" is of old age, being trapped in the Academy forever. And it's a difficult situation because if they stay trapped in the school, the killing game will continue with Junko watching over them. But if they vote her out, they'll be forced to step into the outside world, which as a reminder, is a hellscape.

//Also, Makoto gets killed because Junko doesn't like him. Perfectly understandable at this point considering he's basically fucked her over.

//(Also, I know this is from the anime, but I love this little cartoon, don't @ me.)

//Well...we have a franchise, which includes a trilogy of games, and a spinoff game, so you probably already know how this gets resolved. The survivors boldly choose hope and triumph over Junko’s despair, thanks to Makoto "planting his seeds" in them.

//Also, this is probably the most impactful thing Makoto does the entire game beyond his relationship with Sayaka in the first chapter. Most of the stuff he does, he's either told to do, or is goaded into doing, by Kyoko. She's basically the real heroine of the story and Makoto is the sidekick.

//Although, despite the way I feel about this, I can't really talk bad about Makoto in this case, because even with the fact that this is the biggest impact he leaves on the game, it doesn't feel outwardly nonsensical or contrived for him to be doing this.

//And no, that's not just because he's the protagonist. Hajime and Shuichi did the same thing effectively, but somehow, Makoto's tirade still ends up being distinct.

//I know that they don't spend much time dwelling on it, since this is the only time in the whole series where the two of them actually meet face to face. But I genuinely think people don't talk enough about Makoto's relationship with Junko and how they are are perfect narrative opposites, with their contrasting ideologies and approaches to life defining the thematic core of the whole franchise.

//Makoto represents unwavering hope, kindness, and the belief in the inherent goodness of people. Despite his initial self-perception as "ordinary," he consistently demonstrates an extraordinary ability to inspire others and bring people together. He believes that hope is not just about avoiding ruin but actively choosing to confront challenges and inspire growth in oneself and others.

//This perspective is why he's such a beacon of resilience and optimism, emphasizing that Hope is a collective force built on trust and unity.

//On the other hand, Junko embodies nihility, chaos, and a deep CONTEMPT for humanity. Her obsession with despair stems from a warped view of life’s meaninglessness and the thrill she derives from causing suffering.

//Where Makoto uplifts and motivates those around him, Junko manipulates and tears them down. And even without him realizing it, her attempts to crush hope are repeatedly thwarted by Makoto’s ability to inspire perseverance and unity in his allies.

//Their dynamic showcases how these two ideas aren't just opposing forces but choices individuals make in responding to adversity. The dichotomy between Junko's cynical, destructive despair and Makoto's optimistic, constructive hope underscores their roles as perfect foils, driving the series' exploration of human resilience and the enduring power of belief.

//But even with all of that said, am I the only one who feels that this is almost suspiciously...tidy...given the dark and gritty narrative leading up to it?

//For a game that throws its characters into a relentless spiral of betrayal, murder, and despair, the ending wraps things up in a way that left me scratching my head more than anything.

//The survivors’ unanimous decision to embrace hope feels a bit too streamlined for a group that just spent weeks accusing, lying, and voting each other to their deaths.

//As a reminder, Makoto is literally the ONLY PERSON here who didn't try to screw over the whole group at least once.

//(Before anyone asks; Byakuya in Chapter 2, Toko, Hiro, and Hina in Chapter 4, Kyoko in Chapter 5. Also, Hiro and Toko did nothing to help this whole game and my god this is probably the worst group of Survivors in the entire series including the Another games so help me god Kyoko and Makoto are the only good ones here and I guess Hina too because she's a sweet bean but fuck the rest of them I know Toko redeemed herself in UDG but she sucks here they all suck WHYYYYYY-)

//These are people who were at each other's throats, sometimes literally, yet by the end, they're standing shoulder to shoulder as a united front. It’s as if all those emotional scars and lingering trust issues evaporated the moment Makoto delivered his TED Talk on hope.

//While inspiring, it also raises the question: Did nobody need at least a little therapy first?

//Anyway, two: The ambiguity of the Post-Apocalyptic Setting.

//There’s a stark contrast between the gritty narrative tone of the game and the saccharine optimism of its finale. The world outside is still a post-apocalyptic wasteland, riddled with despair and ruin, but the survivors walk out of Hope’s Peak Academy with the confidence of contestants on a game show finale.

//Sure, they’ve chosen hope, but how do they plan to, you know, survive out there? The optimism feels less like a well-earned triumph and more like the developers waving a bright "TO BE CONTINUED" sign at the audience.

//For a plotline that doesn't really get resolved in the best way, might I add.

//Putting DR3 aside, the only sign we get of what happened to Makoto and co. after the Killing Game is the fact that the main trio shows up at the end of DR2 and reveal that they are the members of the Future Foundation trying to save the Remnants of Despair, and then we get further context in Ultra Despair Girls.

//But we don't actually SEE a lot of what happens to the survivors and how this came to be in those games. Even in the anime, they're kind of already established members of the Foundation, so...there's still a lot that isn't ever really explained. We don't know what they actually DO with their lives post-Killing Game.

//I can't complain because yeah, the sequel at least proved to be an absolute godlike game that really built a solid foundation from DR1. And again, a lot of these issues are mainly because of DR3, not DR1.

//Finally, Three: The lack of impactful consequences for Despair.

//Junko’s obsession with Despair was such an overwhelming force throughout the game that defeating her with a pep talk and a group vote feels like it might have oversimplified things a bit.

//I'm not saying they could've jumped her and killed her on the spot is a good alternative, because that solves nothing, but still...

//Junko spends the entire trial, as well as most of the game when she masquerades as Monokuma, proving that despair is layered, intricate, and relentless.

//But Hope? Hope wins in a neat little package with zero paperwork or follow-up emails. For a villain as theatrically chaotic as Junko, her defeat feels almost anticlimactic.

//The only villain defeat that's more anticlimactic than this is that one Borderlands villain who dies falling down some stairs.

//And that's the real killer for this final trial. It's anticlimactic. At least, it's anticlimactic compared to the final trials of literally any of the other game finale's.

//Despite its tidiness, the resolution does fit thematically with Danganronpa’s central message: Hope, no matter how improbable or naive, is the antidote to Despair.

//Still, for a game that thrives on complexity and moral gray areas, this resolution feels more like a rainbow-colored band-aid slapped onto a very messy wound. It works, but it doesn’t stop you from side-eyeing the optimism as you imagine the survivors squinting into the wasteland and wondering what on earth they’ve gotten themselves into.

//But in short, when it comes to the Danganronpa series and fangames, if you can do an ending that's better than this ending, then it's a good ending.

//And luckily for us, we still have three more final trials to talk about.

[incorrect-junji-ito]

Uzumaki episode 3 review

Spoiler warning for this episode

Okay, so this episode wasn't as bad as episode 2, at least. The animation is a little better, and the impactful moments get a little more weight than in episode 2. But I'm not here to compare this episode to the last. I'm going to talk about it as it is.

This episode covers the hospital arc, as expected. I also expected the anime to combine it with the end of Mrs. Saito. But even though it takes up a big part of the runtime, it still feels like it went by too fast. This is another argument for how this anime should have been given more episodes.

The firing effect section was disappointing for me. It's one of my favorite chapters in the manga because it contains one of the best quotes in the story: "We try our best with human hands, but sometimes nature can create things beyond our imagination. After all, most shapes are really patterns, but we can only see a piece of them at a time." This quote from Mr Goshima is important because Uzumaki is a piece of cosmic horror, and one of the biggest themes of cosmic horror as a genre is forces beyond what humans can comprehend. And it foreshadows that it's already too late to escape town because the spiral is already everywhere, we're only witnessing pieces of it at a time.

It also skipped over some great character moments that are in the firing effect. Kirie forcibly dragging Shuichi to her house is replaced by Mitsuo pulling him along, we don't get to see Shuichi running away and throwing up after eating from the spiral plate, or Kirie yelling at her dad for serving Shuichi food from that plate. And the fact that the clay comes from dragonfly pond doesn't come up in dialogue either. Shuichi calling Kirie because he felt lonely isn't there either. It just felt like they adapted the chapter with none of the depth that it had in the manga.

The typhoon chapter also changes things by having Shuichi being the one coming to Kirie's house in the storm instead of the reverse. It's a change that I don't like, since Kirie going out in the storm to make sure Shuichi has food is part of why I like their relationship so much. We didn't get Shuichi predicting the storm was coming either, or their nice quiet moment at the beach together.

Now for a part that I did like. The way they adapted chapter 13, "the house" was neat, even though a lot of details were skipped. Namely, because in the anime, Shuichi starts living with them in the row house. Though he doesn't speak a lot in this section, it's nice to see that he's included and is staying with Kirie. It makes sense that he would want to stay with the family to look after her, and I'm guessing his house was destroyed by the typhoon in this one. We don't get the Goshimas being temporarily infected with the spiral, but Wakabayashi's transformation is scary and effective.

Then there's Jack in the box. Yeah, he's here too, I guess. He just comes in at the end, does a few bounces and then falls apart. If they weren't going to do his part properly, then he shouldn't have been included, because the ending of the episode would have been fine without him.

Things that I liked:

Junji Ito himself voicing the typhoon was neat. Shuichi having more interactions with Kirie's family was also neat. Though I said the hospital arc went by fast, I actually think it was okay. The pregnant women were creepy, and Shuichi being with Kirie when the "mushroom" twist was revealed was pretty cool.

Overall, it's an okay episode. It's a big improvement from episode 2 at least. And I'm feeling slightly more optimistic about the end of the anime.

[chuckeroo777]

Frieren Liveblog- Chapters 29-32

Last time, we found a new companion. Not sure how long he'll be sticking around, but he should be fun.

I see. So it's been exactly two years since chapter 4. I think you should be a little leniant with him. After all, it was only back in chapter 26 that Stark learned birthday gifts were even a thing.

Sein has only been with the group for a few days, and even he can see the romantic tension between those two.

Good to see Sein and I are basically on the same page here. I don't get what Fern's problem with the pouch was though.

Stop overthinking things. Just talk to people. It's easy.*

*It very much is not easy. But it is usually the correct course of action.

I see they went to the Loid Forger school of helicopter parenting.

Yes! She finally gets her revenge for all of Heiter's unsolicited head pats!

Definitely bigger on the inside.

TLDR: Flying is hard.

Once again, I suspect we are conflating warrior traits with dwarf traits.

Oh. Oh no. I've suspected it for a while, but...

Himmel really did love Frieren, didn't he?

What an oddly specific and oddly useful spell. Does it only work on things that belonged to you, or can it be used as a general loot-finding spell?

:(

I really hope Frieren does get a chance to talk to him by the end of all this. Even if they can't be together, I really want to see them reconcile and bring closure to their relationship.

I think this is the only lingering spoiler. I saw a clip a long time ago of a scene where Frieren explains her deeper motivations when it comes to mimics. It's the same scene that gave me the impression that this manga was more dungeon based.

I think I also remember a clip of Frieren having a wizard duel in a dungeon, but that's such a vague scenario it barely counts.

Was it, Frieren? Was it?

Huh, neat. I was wondering why Frieren wasn't able to cure poison and stuff despite studying so much magic.

A standard round in DnD is six seconds. It'll be fine.

Talking is a free action. Seriously. I've read enough Manga at this point to know definitively that talking is a free action.

Also, Frieren's go-to slaying spell is a varient of Soul Track, so it would probably bypass refection.

That's how it goes with this sort of party. Frieren is terrifyingly OP, so the rest of the squad is tasked with covering her blind spots.

Is this that Yaoi thing I keep hearing about?

Lol, Fern and Frieren barely hesitate to consider selling Stark's body for money.

Ah, I see. Guess Stark gets to keep his innocence for today.

Frieren knows what she's about.

Also, I've long learned to ignore money values in this sort of setting. It tends to come up so infrequently, that there isn't really any consistency.

Could be worse. And judging from this chapter's cover, I think things will work out fine.

Talk about imposter syndrome. Not only is he being forced into a noble position, but the young prince is basically in the same position Stark used to be in.

On the one hand, Frieren may be doing this due to understanding the romantic tension between Fern and Stark. On the other hand, it's just as likely because she's lazy.

Yep, that's pretty much how I've felt at every wedding I've ever attended.

Weird. Outside the cover illustration, we basically don't get to see them dance. I imagine the anime won't skimp out.

And that's a wrap! Not too much of note happened this session, but Sein is quickly establishing himself as a nice member of the team, and Fern and Stark are clearly forming a connection, even if they won't admit it.