#and struggling w whether he can be proud of that legacy or not when he knows hardly anything about it

[ironmanstan]

Ill forever be mad ab the pink diamond reveal tho btw

[keigoslovebird]

Next Chapter

Pairing: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

Warnings: Manga spoilers!! Pregnancy and references to pregnancy, you have a child (obvi), aged up characters, breeding kink, negative self image (on Toshi’s part), references to alcohol, self deprecating language, very fluffy Daddy Toshi shenanigans

Genre: Fluff, smut

Word count: 8.3k

Author’s note: I had so much fun writing soft husband Toshi, if it isn’t obvious by the word count. I just want to rub his soft belly and tell him how much I love him. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Note: Flashbacks indicated by italics

Wakatoshi Ushijima has always been a man of few emotions and even fewer words, with just one thing on his mind—volleyball. 

Since he was a young child, he has always slept, eaten, breathed volleyball. Nothing came close to his fiery, burning passion for the sport, not that he had the time to care about anything else.

That all changed when he retired from professional volleyball at the ripe young age of thirty-one, the years of wear and tear on his body finally catching up to him. He knew it was time when the pain in his joints was so severe he could no longer keep up with his much younger teammates. It was a difficult, emotional decision, but he ultimately viewed it as passing the torch to the next generation of volleyball players.

The announcement of Wakatoshi’s retirement was met with great sadness from the sports community at the loss of such a talented, renowned player, but he left behind an exceptional legacy marked by achievements and historic wins. 

His final game with the Schweiden Adlers concluded in a symbolic victory, this chapter of his life drawing to a close the same way it began—with Wakatoshi as an indisputable champion. Every player, coach, and audience member rose from their seats, clapping and screaming words of encouragement. Each of his teammates got on their knees, lowering themselves to press their foreheads into the floor of the stadium, bowing in an ultimate show of respect. The sight of his peers, his coaches, the entire auditorium giving him such an impassioned send off made a heavy lump form in his throat that refused to go away, no matter how many times he tried to swallow it down. Tears pricked at his eyes but he didn’t want to cry, not in front of all of these people.

The dam broke when you sprinted across the court, wrapping yourself around him in a bone crushing hug.

“You did so well Toshi. I am so proud of you,” you praised through choked sobs, pressing your tear-stained face into his neck. Your watery eyes and trembling smile shattered whatever willpower he had, his own tears streaming down his face like a waterfall. All those late night practices away from you, the excruciating injuries, the heartbreaking losses, all led up to this moment. This was the last time the Super Ace would step foot on a volleyball court as a professional player, but all good things must come to an end. 

The screaming and clapping was so loud you could barely hear his quiet, trembling whisper of, “I love you.”

----

It took him awhile to adjust to what one would call a “normal” life, one that didn’t include daily flights from country to country or backbreaking practices that lasted from sunup to sundown. Sure he still went to the gym and practiced with the volleyball net strung up in your backyard, but it was nothing like his grueling schedule when he was a pro athlete. To make matters worse, the blinders he wore his entire life that blocked out anything but volleyball prevented him from finding any real hobbies of his own. This meant for the first few months, your husband followed you around the house like a lost puppy, just wanting to be a part of whatever you were doing.

You would be cooking dinner, some soup simmering on the stove, when Wakatoshi’s massive form would come up from behind you to shyly peek over your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” he wondered, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You could feel a smile tugging at your lips at how cute he was being, getting used to domestic life, something you never really got to experience until now. Before, you would often be sleeping when he came home at night, and still be asleep when he left in the morning. “I’m just cooking, do you want to help me?” you asked, holding a knife out to him to cut some vegetables. He nodded silently as he took the knife from you. 

His chopping skills left much to be desired, but what could you really expect from a man who only ever held a volleyball?

Another time you were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Twitter on your phone. You could feel your husband staring so intensely you were afraid he’d pop a blood vessel in his head.

Looking up at him, you cleared your throat and asked, “Did you need something, Toshi?” You set your phone down and gave him a questioning look, hoping to solve whatever was troubling him.

He was pensive for a moment, his eyebrows scrunching as he figured out what he was trying to say. “No, I just… There’s nothing to do,” he answered finally.

You nearly burst out laughing at his concern for simply being bored, but you held it in. “Of course there’s something to do!” you exclaimed, “You can go on a walk, read a book, watch TV, or even just take a nap.���

His head tilted quizzically, unsure of what you were suggesting. “A… nap? Why would I sleep? It’s the middle of the afternoon,” he questioned, sounding like you had proposed he eat sand and not to take a quick snooze.

You chuckled and walked over to the chair he was sitting in, plopping yourself down into his lap. “Sometimes people sleep in the middle of the day because they’re tired, or just because they want to,” you clarified, “We can go take a nap right now if you would like.” 

Suddenly Wakatoshi stood up, causing you to squeak in surprise, his arms securely carrying you bridal style.

“W-what’re you doing!?” you squealed, panicked by your sudden lack of solid ground, slightly struggling in arms. 

He tilted his head again, reminiscent of a pet confused by its master’s orders. “We’re going to take a nap together, yes? I’m taking you to our room,” he said, jerking his head in the direction of your shared bedroom. 

You stopped squirming once you took in his words, your belly fluttering with affection. Sighing happily, you snuggled your face against his chest, giving him a simple “mhm” in response.

That day Wakatoshi took his first nap since he was six years old and to this day, he still swears he’s never had a more restful, peaceful sleep in his life.

Those instances happened less and less often as he figured out ways to occupy his time that didn’t involve volleyball. 

You adopted a dog, a commitment you didn’t want to make in the past due to both of your busy schedules, but your lives became a lot less hectic after Wakatoshi’s retirement. Your husband made it a daily ritual to take your puppy Leo out on a morning run, both of them returning tired and sweaty before promptly passing out for an hour. He took up a job at the local university to help coach their men’s volleyball team, deciding to try it out when the requests to lend his wisdom and skills kept coming in. Although, his favorite pastime now consists of him standing outside on the patio, beer in hand as he sweats over the flames of his fancy silver grill.

But perhaps the most significant change in your lives came in the form of your son, Hidetoshi. 

Much like your refusal to commit to taking care of a dog, neither of you wanted to have kids while your lifestyle was so unfit to raise a child. You didn’t mind making those compromises for your husband, having known the path he would take since you started dating in high school. Frankly, you didn’t mind not having children at all, so it surprised you when he was the one to broach the subject. 

“What if we did?” he inquired under the darkness of your bedroom.

You turned over to face him, reaching up to gently stroke his cheek. “What if we did what, my love?” you murmured.

His eyes flitted across your face with an uncharacteristic nervousness. “What if we decided to have a child?” The shock on your face made his stomach churn uncomfortably and he almost regretted saying anything at all, but his fears quickly vanished as your expression melted into a soft smile.

“We’d have to talk about it more but I’d love to have your children, Wakatoshi Ushijima.”

You had a deep, lengthy conversation about your wants, needs, plans for the future, and whether or not a kid would fit into them. Once all of your cards were on the table you decided to start trying to get pregnant, a mission that your husband took very seriously.

Even as a teenager Wakatoshi’s sex drive wasn’t very high, and his frequent absence and exhaustion in his adult life made it somewhat difficult for you to have sex often. You made up for it where you could, having phone sex and masturbating together over FaceTime, once you convinced him to do it. When he was bewildered as to why you would suggest such a salacious act, you explained you were a grown woman with needs and if he wasn’t there to take care of them, he’d have to help you in other ways. Once he realized how serious you were, he agreed. 

But your husband as a young adult and your husband post-retirement are almost two  completely different people in regards to sex. He has seemingly unlimited reserves of stamina, built up over years of rigorous, intense training, and he no longer had an outlet to expend them. So, his new outlet to test his endurance became you and your body.

He began fucking you every chance he got with the vigor and gusto of a hormonal teenager, seeking to make up for lost time. He asked for sex at all hours of the day, waking you up in the middle of the night with the insistent prodding of his arousal and lazily thrusting between your thighs in the early hours of the morning before you had to leave for work. He fucked you in every room in your house and on every surface—on the dining room table, in the shower, on the living room floor, and even on your back patio when you both got a little too drunk on some cheap rose. 

You welcomed Wakatoshi’s insatiable hunger with open arms, unable to resist your strong, ridiculously handsome husband, but that, coupled with his seemingly limitless stamina, spelled trouble for your muscles and pelvis. In the first year after his departure from professional sports you had to call in sick to work seven times, too tired to function, too bruised to look presentable, and too sore to walk to the bathroom. At first he felt guilty for fucking you out of commission, but the way you begged him so sweetly to pound your needy, gushing cunt deeper, harder, faster and how you whimpered with delight when he bit bruises down your throat, he didn’t feel that bad. A baser, more primal part of Wakatoshi’s brain purred at his marks covering our body and relished in the way you limped. You were just too tempting, too irresistible not to ravage you every chance he got.

After you agreed to start trying for a baby, your partner’s already voracious sexual appetite became downright menacing now that he had a goal to strive for. 

“Gonna breed you, gonna fill you so full with my cum and knock you up,” he grunted as he battered into your sore, dripping hole, your body folded in half in a mating press.

“P-please Toshi! Ah~ please,” you babbled, nonsensical and uncertain what you were even asking for. He had been fucking you for so long everything was muddled into a singular dreamy, intangible haze of pleasure and ecstasy. 

Wakatoshi gave your clit a slap, hard enough to make you cry out. “Please what? Please breed you like a bitch in heat? Please stuff you full with my cum?” He leaned down to wrap his fingers around your throat, squeezing with enough force to make your head swim and forcing you to look into his wild olive eyes. “Well, what is it?” he demanded.

“W-want you to b-ah! Want you to breed mee,” you slurred, too drunk on the delicious feeling of his cock dragging against your pulsing walls to form a more coherent sentence.

His thrusts grew sloppy and uncoordinated with his impending orgasm. “G-gonna give you what you want, you cock hungry slut, I’m—” He came with a choked, shuddering groan, his warm cum flooding your awaiting womb.

You were both basking in the afterglow, exhausted and soaked in sweat and your combined fluids, when you noticed the furious blush spreading across your husband’s cheeks. “I apologize for what I said during sex. I… I don’t know what came over me,” he confessed, giving your shoulder a remorseful squeeze.

Giggling, you leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed it,” you proclaimed, “I love it when you get rough with me.”

Trying to get you pregnant gave your husband a new goal to strive for and he has never been one to do anything with less than his all.

Thanks to your husband’s dedicated efforts, you got pregnant six months after you started trying, to your shared elation and delight. Those two little lines filled you with as much excitement as they made you anxious, but as long as Wakatoshi was by your side, everything would be okay. 

Seeing your little bundle of joy in a 3D ultrasound changed you, changed Wakatoshi forever. Up until then you had only seen him as a colorless little blur on a computer screen, but getting to watch his precious face scrunch and his chubby legs kick reminded you that he was a real living being. The late night sprints to the bathroom, horrible morning sickness, and miserably aching back were all worth it when you were able to hold Hidetoshi for the first time. With his olive eyes, brown hair and chubby cheeks, he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and to this day he still is. 

Taking after his father from the start, Hidetoshi was a happy baby that rarely fussed or cried, not that you complained. He slept soundly through most nights, so soundly you slept in a chair by his crib for the first month to periodically check he was still breathing, despite your husband’s insistence the baby would be fine. Your mother-in-law had insisted that you and Wakatoshi would be exhausted for the first several months after the birth. Imagine her surprised when you and Wakatoshi looked just as well-rested as usual, better even, since you no longer had to deal with pregnancy. Many people, relatives and strangers alike, were astounded at how charming and polite your son was, even as a newborn. He was happy to just sit and play with his toys as you had lunch, smiling and waving at everyone who passed by.

A man as attractive as your husband with a boy as sweet as your son meant that, much to your irritation, women were tripping over themselves to flirt with him. To make matters worse, Wakatoshi picked up your son alone most days due to your office job preventing you from leaving early enough to go with him. This meant many of the moms at Hidetoshi’s school thought your husband was single and they weren’t shy in their pursuit.

A crowd of women surrounded Wakatoshi as he waited for school to end so your son would come running out with his arms spread wide, confident his daddy would always catch him. Most of the moms simply stared at your husband with dreamy looks in their eyes, attempting to make small talk with him.

One especially bold mother reached out and stroked his bicep, slightly squeezing to get a feel for his muscles. “My my Ushijima, you’re so handsome and strong,” she purred, batting her eyelashes at him.

“My wife thinks so as well,” he grunted as he gently but firmly removed his arm from her grasp. 

The woman looked as if he had slapped her across the face and cursed her family. “Y-you’re married? But you don’t even have a wedding ring!” she spluttered, “If you have a wife then where is she everyday?” 

“I do have a ring. I just don’t wear it on my finger because I’m afraid of losing it,” he clarified, lightly tugging on the chain around his neck for emphasis, his ring clinking softly against the metal. “I’m happily married to my wife who cannot be here because she is hard at work providing for our family. Do not disrespect my wife or my marriage again or we will have a problem.”

After that the other moms kept their distance, choosing to admire Wakatoshi from afar. It did not, however, stop them from staring with envy on the rare occasion you came with him to pick up your child, glowering at you with an intensity that surely wished you would drop dead. Your husband paid them no mind and neither did you because at the end of the day, you’re the one he chose to marry and have a child with. They can all flirts and look as much as they want, but they’ll never have him like you do.

----

Fast forward to present day, Wakatoshi is seven years into his retirement at the age of thirty-eight and Hidetoshi is now six.

Your husband is an assistant coach part time for the men’s volleyball team at an up and coming university, the rest of his time divided between you and taking care of your son. Hidetoshi just started kindergarten, growing far too fast for your liking. He seems to have gotten a double dose of his father’s genes as he’s already several inches taller than his classmates, though you can tell by the way he smiles and the slope of his nose that he’s yours as well. He’s the perfect combination of both of you—he has Wakatoshi’s tenacity, work ethic, and confidence and your sense of humor, intelligence, and empathy. He continues to amaze you every single day and you nor your husband couldn’t imagine a boy more wonderful than him. 

These days your lives are a lot less busy than they were when your husband was still a pro, but sometimes it doesn’t feel that way. With all the playdates, school functions, and parent-teacher conferences combined with your own job, Wakatoshi’s games, and regular house chores, sometimes it feels like you’re right back where you were ten years ago. This time, however, you have your incredible husband and son helping you and you wouldn’t trade your life for anything, no matter how hectic it may be.

Today is Saturday, it’s the weekend, and you’re only awake because of the bright sunlight that’s streaming through your bedroom window and hitting you directly in the face. You rub the sleep out of your eyes with the back of your hand, yawning loudly as you stretch your tired limbs. As soon as you try to get out of bed Wakatoshi’s arm around your waist tightens, pulling you flush against his solid, muscular chest. 

“Don’t leave. Don’t need to be anywhere,” he mumbles into his pillow, voice even deeper and raspier with sleep. His legs entangle themselves with your own so you’re completely enveloped in the warm, comforting embrace of your husband.

“Need to start getting ready for the party,” you sigh drowsily, but make no efforts to remove yourself from his sleepy but surprisingly strong clutches.

“Not yet,” he says simply, and that’s when you realize when he’s doing. He’s slowly, lazily grinding his morning wood on the soft curve of your ass. You’re a little more awake now.

“Oh I see what this is about,” you chuckle, wiggling yourself against him teasingly. 

He groans quietly under his breath, but you can feel the sound rumble in his chest. “Want you,” he says, still groggy from just barely waking up. His fingers find the hem of your shirt and he slips them underneath it, trailing his digits lightly down your stomach, making you shiver.

“Little man will be up soon,” you halfheartedly protest, but you can feel the warmth pooling between your legs.

“He’s not up yet, we have time.” The movements of his hips become more insistent, more demanding and you have to stifle your mewls behind your hand. Wakatoshi easily maneuvers his hand into the waistband of your panties, making a satisfied hum when he discovers you’re already dripping for him.

You’re still resisting, though it’s weak and feeble. The list of all the preparations you have to make for the barbecue still manage to just barely cut through your sleepy arousal. “We have so much to d—ahh~” You try to sound firm, but it just comes out as a breathy moan when he begins rubbing your swollen clit. 

He uses his other hand to push up your shirt that’s actually his shirt, tracing small circles around your nipples with his rough fingertips. You try to push your hips into his hand in hopes to gain more friction, but his arms keep you locked in place. 

“No need to rush. Let’s just enjoy this,” he insists, but the finger massaging your bud gets faster, knowing just how to make you whine after all the time he’s had to learn your body. He pinches one of your nipples between two fingers and squeezes with just enough force to make you gasp.

His erection has gotten even harder at the sound of your mewls and whimpers, hot and achingly hard against your ass and your cunt clenches in anticipation. Your slick is dripping out of you in thick, syrupy strings that makes your thighs sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Please Toshi, need you,” you beg, desperate for your husband to stuff you full just as he’s done so many times before.

Wakatoshi doesn’t respond, opting to push his pants and underwear down to his knees and you almost sigh in relief, just needing to satisfy the desire that’s threatening to burn you from the inside out. You’re so hot you feel like you’re burning and you throw the comforter off of you to try to escape the heat. He removes the hand that was in your panties, instead using it to rub his hard length along your slick folds. You’re keening and so so needy, gasping each time the head catches on the tight ring of muscle around your entrance. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he grits out, barely able to control himself.

Your breath is coming in short, uneven pants as you try to sink yourself down onto him. “I love you so much I...”

That’s the moment when he sheaths his entire cock inside you in a singular fluid movement. You let out a strangled moan, relishing in the familiar burning as you stretch to accommodate how thick he is.  Your pussy clamps down on him like a vice, molding perfectly around his length.

“It’s like you were made for me, made to take me,” Wakatoshi growls, sending another wave of arousal rippling through your body. He stays still for a moment, breathing deeply because he doesn’t want to cum and have this end so soon.

He starts moving his hips, thrusting slow and deep to reach the spongy spot inside you that makes you scream. The hand on your breast reaches around to grab your throat, stifling your moans into small, stuttering gasps. You whine each time he shoves himself deep inside you, his cock dragging deliciously against your spongy walls.

You stay like that for a while, bodies joined in the most intimate of ways as Wakatoshi moves his hips in leisurely, unhurried strokes. Your body is hot, sweaty, thrumming with the pleasure that’s so overwhelming all you can focus on is the intoxicating feeling of your husband’s cock deep inside you. The tightening in your core signals your impending orgasm, but each time you get close to the edge, it escapes your grasp over and over again. You need him to pound into you faster, harder. You need more.

“Toshi please, I-I need,” you manage to stammer out, but your words are stolen from your throat as he sharply thrusts as deep as he can, the tip of his cock smashing against your cervix with just the right amount of pressure. 

“Don’t worry. I know just what you need.”

Wakatoshi is fucking you with so much force that your eyes are rolling back in your head, and all you can hear is the wet slapping sound each time he’s sucked back into your wet heat. He’s close, you can tell by the breathy groans he’s making, but so are you. You clench and spasm around him, growing impossibly tighter and bringing both of you closer to climax. His merciless pounding of your insides just gets faster and rougher, and his other hand moves down to rub your clit in tight, fast circles. 

The pleasure that clouds your senses is overwhelming, just dancing on the edge between pleasure and pain and your body can’t take it anymore. Your vision goes white as you cum, cunt clamping down so hard Wakatoshi can barely move. You clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming, your body shaking and trembling as you gush around him. The endless clenching of your muscles practically milks his orgasm out of him, a stifled groan leaving his lips as his thick, hot cum coats your insides. All you can do is moan softly in appreciation, too incoherent to say anything else. 

Your husband presses a kiss to your sweaty neck. “Are you okay?” he asks, taking in the sight of your limp, spent body. 

You haven’t caught your breath yet and your lips won’t form proper words, so you make the only noise you can, “Mmfmm.”

You whine as he slowly pulls out his softening length with an audible pop, sensitive cunt spasming at the slightest stimulation. He untangles himself from you and you want to reach out for him, but you’re too boneless to even attempt to do anything yet.

As Wakatoshi gets out of bed to get a warm washcloth, you hear the familiar sound of little footsteps making their way towards your room and you shoot up in bed, fully alert. You quickly pull the covers over your body, just in time for Hidetoshi to come bounding in.

“G’morning Mama! Where’s Daddy?” he wonders, his little head poking around the corner.

Your husband comes out of the bathroom, now fully dressed and washcloth in hand. “I’m right here, Hidetoshi.” The boy runs straight towards his father who picks him up effortlessly, swinging him around in the air as he squeals with delight. “Did you sleep well?”

Hide bobs his head enthusiastically, “Mhm! I had a dream I was a professional volleyball player just like you.” 

Your loud, exaggerated sigh draws both sets of olive eyes to you, but you train your gaze on your husband. “Have you been putting ideas in his head?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head no, but the child in his arms pipes up first, “Daddy has been showing me videos of his old matches from when he was with the Schwimmy Addles.” Your husband makes a noise of surprise, a guilty look on his face now that he’s been found out.

“You two are going to be my undoing, I swear,” you chuckle as you flop back into the fluffy pillows.

Hide squirms in his father’s arms, reaching out to you, but the man recognizes the warning look in your eyes and tightens his arms around him. “We should let Mama finish waking up first. Why don’t we go downstairs and make breakfast?” he asks, tickling his sides.

The boy shrieks with laughter and wriggles even harder in Wakatoshi’s arms. “F-fine Daddy! Stooop it!” Your husband stops his tickling and hoists your son over his shoulder, gently patting his back.

He passes the washcloth to Hide. “Why don’t you give this to your mama? Then we can go have something to eat.” 

Hide uses his little arms to hold the cloth out to you and you take it from him, nodding with gratitude. “Thank you sweetie, now go with your daddy.”

Your husband starts walking towards the door as a small, chubby hand waves bye to you and you blow kisses to them as they disappear into the hallway.

Using the washcloth, you clean the mess between your legs and muster the monumental effort it takes to get out of bed. You begrudgingly walk over to your dresser to put on clean pajamas and brush your hair so you’re presentable for a meal with your family. The sound of the fire alarm going off has you racing downstairs to the kitchen where Wakatoshi and your son should be.

As you slide into the kitchen and almost fall on the slippery hardwood in your haste, you realize your panic was for nothing. There’s a pan on the stove, grey smoke billowing out of it. Upon further inspection you discern that it’s eggs, you think, that are simultaneously under and overcooked. The guilty parties are sitting at the kitchen table a few feet away, a jug of milk and a couple of boxes of cereal surrounding them. Hide is shoveling spoonfuls of Cheerios into his mouth as your husband eats his own breakfast, only slightly neater in his approach.

“So… you tried to cook?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at the large man chewing his Wheat Chex. He looks over at you and nods, mouth full with milk and cereal. “I’m guessing it didn’t go very well, judging by all the smoke,” you say slowly. Your husband simply shakes his head no, unbothered by the fact that he nearly gave you a heart attack.

Deciding it’s not worth the argument or the work to make a proper breakfast, you sit down next to Hide and pour yourself a bowl of Cheerios. He smiles at you, mouth open and full of disgusting half-chewed food, but you still return his beaming grin and ruffle his hair. The both of them are troublemakers in their own ways, but they’re your troublemakers nonetheless.

After you’ve all eaten breakfast, you lay a notepad in front of them that has a list of all the things you have to do before your guests arrive for the barbecue. 

You’re standing between them, pointing at each task on the list. “I still have to sweep and vacuum the house, Toshi you need to go to the store and buy all the food, and Hide you need to pick up all your toys that are in the backyard. We have a lot to do today and everyone has to do their part, okay?” you urge, looking between the males on either side of you and they both nod emphatically.

With everyone so busy, it’s difficult to find weekends where they’re all available so this get together has been planned for months. You’ll all be seeing friends and loved ones you haven’t seen in a long time, and it’s a team effort to make sure everything is ready for tonight. 

----

You finish all of the tasks on time, with an hour to spare thanks to your joint efforts. 

Hide is playing in his room while you and your husband get dressed and ready for what will likely be a long night of socializing and entertaining.

As you’re doing your makeup and getting ready for the party, you notice Wakatoshi staring at himself in the mirror, shirtless. His brows are furrowed, a deep frown on his face as he scrutinizes his reflection. He pinches his belly with both hands, scowling at the softness that used to be hard muscle. Tracing a finger along the stretch marks on his stomach and arms, he sighs heavily.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” you ask from the bathroom. 

Your husband walks over to lean against the wall behind you, his unreadable expression reflected in the bathroom mirror. He hesitates before answering, “I’ve let myself go.”

You set your mascara down on the counter and spin around to face him. “Wakatoshi, what in the world are you talking about?”

“I just said what. I heard a couple of my players say that I’m not as strong or as fast as I was when I was a professional.”

You loosely wrap your arms around his torso, squeezing gently. “Of course you’re not what you used to be, Toshi.” At the sight of his deepening frown you quickly add, “You’re so busy being a father, husband, and coach you don’t have the time to work out like you used to.” Getting on your tippy toes, you press a kiss to his nose, “And that’s okay.” It’s a rare occasion that he looks this vulnerable. His anxiety and self-consciousness are so clearly written in his features and it makes your heart ache for him. 

“It doesn’t bother you that I don’t look like that anymore?” he asks, pointing at the framed photo of his first win with the Japan National Team that hangs on the wall.

“Why would it bother me? This is the body races my son across our backyard, helps me fix our home we bought together, and makes love to me every night. I love you just as much as I did back then, and even more now that we have Hide,” you reassure him and you mean every word of it. Sure he’s not the most romantic of husbands, but he’s your husband and you love him just the way he is, with or without muscles.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips and he squeezes you even tighter to him. “I know I probably don’t say this as much as I should, but I love you.”

You pepper kisses all over his eyelids, lips and nose. “And I love you more than anything, Wakatoshi. More than you will ever know.”

Your hands lovingly caress his chest that’s softer now, but still sturdy and muscular, and his arms that are not as lean anymore, but are still just as powerful and capable. “For the record, I love how soft you are these days. It’s great cushioning for when we cuddle.”

“Hidetoshi says the same thing,” he recalls, smiling at the thought of your beloved son.

After giving him a knowing look, you go back to putting on your makeup. “See? I told you. That boy is just as smart as his mother.”

It’s nearing five o’clock so Wakatoshi goes to the backyard to start grilling the food for everyone, while you and Hide finish plating the fruits and vegetables you prepared earlier.

You work in comfortable silence until your son turns to you, his eyes shining with unanswered questions. “Hey Mama?”

Putting down the strawberry you were holding, you sit down on the stool next to him and hold his hands in yours. “What’s on your mind, sweetie?”

“Do you not want me to be a volleyball player like Daddy? Is that why you got mad when I told you he showed me the videos?” 

You almost break your neck with how fast you shake your head in denial. “Of course not! I wasn’t mad, it’s just…” you start, trying to find a way to phrase your thoughts that he’ll understand. “Daddy’s job was very hard. His body still hurts a lot from all the times he got injured when he played volleyball. And… his job took him away from me and I missed him a whole lot.”

The look on his face is so reminiscent of his father, it’s like young Wakatoshi was frozen in time and plopped into the chair right next to you. With the way his eyebrows are scrunched up and his mouth is downturned as he thinks, he really is the spitting image of your husband. “Did it make you sad?”

Taking a deep breath, you hold your arms out to him so he can climb into your lap. “Sometimes it did. Mostly at night when I was all alone and Daddy was really far away.”

He rests his head against your shoulder, looking up at you. “Do you wish Daddy had a different job?”

You look out the window at your husband who’s starting up the grill, then look back at the sweet, round face of your boy. “No, I don’t. Daddy’s job was really important to him and it made him so happy that I grew to love it too, even if it made me sad sometimes.”

He sits up in your lap, thinking hard about what you said as he plays with your necklace. “Does Daddy still wish he could do it?”

“Probably, but it’s okay. If he hadn’t stopped, we wouldn’t have you, and you make our lives so much brighter and happier. Your Daddy and I love you so much, you couldn’t even imagine it.”

He spreads his arms out as far as he can. “This much?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Even more.”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” Hide’s eyes are wide with surprise, mouth slightly agape as he tries to imagine something so large and vast.

Laughing, you press a kiss to his head. “It sure is a lot, baby. Now why don’t we finish putting out all the food so we can go see what Daddy’s doing?”

Your son leaps out of your lap to grab handfuls of grapes and blueberries from the cartons on the counter, dropping them into the divided sections of the serving platter. “Aren’t you going to help me, Mama?”

You give him a look of mock offense before standing ramrod straight, giving him a mock salute. “As you command, Commander Ushijima.”

You carry both trays of food out to the backyard, not trusting Hide’s ability to hold them upright, while he carries a volleyball in his arms. Wakatoshi turns at the sound of footsteps, a small smile on his face as your son drops the volleyball, barreling straight into his legs with a force that makes the man grunt.

Hide looks up at his father, both arms wrapped around his legs. “Whatcha doing Daddy?” he asks.

Your husband reaches a hand down to ruffle his hair, a slight look of pain in his eyes from the boy slamming into his shins. “I’m just getting ready to start cooking the food for tonight. Do you want to help me?” He bends down to pick him up and Hide quickly hops into his arms, well practiced and effortless with how strong your husband is. The man points to different parts of the grill, explaining what they do, taking care to keep the boy far away from the flames. 

Setting the plates down on the table, you inform Wakatoshi, “Hajime and Tooru should be here soon, so should Tobio and Eita. Satori called and said he might be late, something about his luggage getting lost.” At that moment the doorbell rings, signaling your first guests are here. “I’ll get it. You two stay here and get the food on the grill.”

You open the front door, greeted with the familiar faces of Hajime and Tooru. “It’s so nice to see you two! Come on inside, don’t be shy,” stepping aside, you hold your arm out to welcome them into your home. 

“Mrs. Ushijima you get more and more beautiful each time I see you,” Tooru teases as you snicker in response.

“I see marriage hasn’t changed you at all, has it?” you question, more so directed at Hajime. 

“I tell him people are going to get the wrong idea,” the shorter man replies, sounding exasperated.

You usher them towards the backyard before picking up various soda and beer cans. “Wakatoshi and Hide are both in the back. You two go ahead and keep them company while I bring these out.”

It takes a few trips before you join them in the backyard, handing each adult a can and a juice pouch to Hide, who’s sitting at the picnic table with Tooru while Hajime chats with your husband. 

“How old are you now, little man?” the brunette asks.

Hide holds up five fingers plus his thumb as he swings his legs back and forth. “I’m six! I just started kindergarten.”

They both wave at you as you join them, sitting on the other side of the table. Tooru leans in towards you, a hand cupped around his mouth, and you tilt your ear towards him. “He’s so… polite and well-mannered. Are you sure Ushiwaka is the father?” he whispers, narrowing his eyes.

You lightly smack his head, glaring daggers in his direction. “Yes, obviously. Look at them, they’re basically twins.” Tooru looks at the boy sitting next to him then at your husband standing at the grill, then back to your son, then back to your husband. Hand on his chin, he takes in their matching olive eyes and hair and similar expressions, nodding seriously.

“I was just making sure.”

The doorbell rings a couple more times, Tobio and Eita arriving one right after the other. With almost all of your guests present, everyone is drinking and catching up, some casually passing a volleyball back and forth with Hide.

You’re in the middle of telling Tobio that Hidetoshi is too young to be thinking about his future career when the doorbell rings once more, indicating the last of your guests has arrived. You rush inside to get it, not bothering to check who’s there because you already know who it is. Swinging the door open, you pull the man into a tight hug. 

“Satori! We’re so glad you made it,” you exclaim, giving his back a few hard slaps.

The redhead pulls away from you, smiling. “I’m so glad I was able to make it in time. The airport lost my luggage, then my parents forgot to leave me a key to their house so I had to wait until a neighbor could let me in. To make matters worse, I got stopped by security when I landed because of this,” he says, holding up a white box with a bow around it.

You quickly grab the box, shaking it to try to hear what’s inside and sniffing it for good measure. “Ooh la la, did you bring us some fancy French chocolates?” you ask. “Actually, don’t tell me, Hide will want to open it.” You hand the box back to him and gesture him to follow you, “Everyone’s in the back so just follow me.”

With Satori in tow, you step onto the back porch and call your son’s name. He hands the ball to Eita before running over, eyes lighting up when he sees the man standing next to you.

“Uncle Tori!” he shouts, launching himself into Satori’s arms.

“Hey there Little Toshi, how you been? Keeping your dad out of trouble?” he asks, hugging the boy tightly.

“I think so! Well… we burnt some eggs this morning and the smoke machines started beeping, but that doesn’t count, right?”

The red-haired man waves his hand dismissively. “Of course it doesn’t. Any crimes committed in the name of breakfast are excused,” he insists. Pulling the box out from behind his back, he offers it to Hide. “I brought you something all the way from France, do you know where France is?”

Hide takes the present from him, “Yeah, it’s in Europe! Daddy showed it to me on a map.” He struggles a bit with the bow before he decides to just rip it off, lifting up the lid.

Satori points to the various chocolates laid on top of wax paper. “This one is filled with something called ‘ganache,’ which is basically just more chocolate, but it’s liquidy. That one over there has caramel, and the one right next to it is a bonbon filled with strawberry jelly. I picked all the best ones just for you.”

The boy smiles, eyes wandering over the chocolates like they’re bars of gold. “Thank you Uncle Tori! I bet they’re really yummy.”

He pats Hide on the head. “I hope you enjoy them lots. Now I gotta go say hi to your daddy, where is he?” Your son points to where Wakatoshi is standing at the grill, a spatula in one hand and a beer in the other as he chats with Tobio. “Thanks Little Toshi,” he says, ruffling his hair.

Satori walks over to your husband, pulling him into a crushing bear hug before he can say anything. “Wakatoshi, it’s been too long! I sure get lonely all the way in France, have you guys ever thought about moving?”

Wakatoshi freezes for a moment before giving in, hugging the man back, though slightly stiff in his movements. “We will not be moving to France. Hidetoshi will be raised here in Japan.”

The redhead releases him, sensing his discomfort. “Well, it was worth a shot. How’s your retirement? You miss being a pro?”

“I do miss it sometimes, but it was necessary to let a better, younger player take my place. I wouldn’t trade a few more years on the court for the life I have now with my wife and my son.” 

 Satori lets out a loud whistle. “I never thought I would hear the day that Wakatoshi Ushijima would say he cares about anything more than volleyball.”

“Volleyball was my entire life before, but they’re my entire world.”

The shorter man just smiles, silent for a moment before pointing to the apron your husband is wearing. “I didn’t think you’d actually wear that thing, Wakatoshi!” The apron black with bright red lettering that says ‘Wakatoshi: Grill Master,’ with a drawing of a flaming steak next to it.

“It keeps my clothes clean. Why wouldn’t I wear it?” he asks, genuinely curious. The redhead just laughs and shakes his head, patting him on the shoulder.

Your husband finishes grilling the food, much to the excitement and relief of the many hungry men who have been circling him like a hawk. Everyone takes from the piles of meat and vegetables, noticeably happier now that their stomachs are full. You’re all sitting around the picnic table, laughing and enjoying each other’s company.

Hajime recalls a story from when he first signed on as the athletic trainer for the national team. Wakatoshi had approached him after practice, saying he had a serious issue that he wanted someone to take a look at. Concerned for his player’s wellbeing, naturally he took him into the locker room and Wakatoshi took off his shirt. At first, he thought he might’ve stretched one of his ligaments too far or had even torn his rotator cuff muscle. Imagine his surprise when Wakatoshi pointed to an ingrown hair on his back, saying it was inflamed and causing him pain. It was then that Hajime had to explain that he’s not that type of medical professional, and that he should make an appointment with a dermatologist.

 The sun starts to set, but with the fun everyone is having they barely notice. The night begins to wind down once Hide yawns, rubbing his eyes tiredly, and it sets off a chain reaction of yawning that reaches every person at the table. Your son starts tugging on your sleeve, informing you he’d like to go to bed. Not wanting to leave him alone in the house and taking note of the exhaustion on everyone’s faces, you politely suggest to end the night early. A chorus of heads bob, indicating their desire to head home and sleep. 

All three of you hug and kiss everyone goodbye, waving to them as they drive away. You sigh from exhaustion and head inside to put Hide in bed. You and your husband hold each of his hands and take him to his room, pulling back his covers so he can climb in. 

He yawns again and closes his eyes, settling into his bed. “Night night Mama, Daddy. I love you.” 

You stroke his cheek lovingly before placing a kiss on his forehead. “Goodnight sweetie, I love you too.”

Your husband comes up from behind you to kiss Hide as well. “Sleep well, Hidetoshi. I love you.”

With your son asleep in his own bed, all you have to do is take off your makeup and brush your teeth before you too can sleep. 

You’re in the middle of washing your face when Wakatoshi comes into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“I enjoyed tonight, I hope you did too,” he says.

You turn around to look at him and smile. “I did, it was amazing to see everyone in one place. It’s been years since we were all able to see each other.” After you finish washing your face, you stretch and yawn loudly, telling your husband, “I’m getting in bed now, join me when you’re done.”

Climbing under the sheets, you nestle yourself into the softness of your bed. You nearly doze off right then, but the shifting of the bed under Wakatoshi’s weight keeps you awake just a bit longer.

He slides in behind you so he can spoon you, an arm slung over your waist. 

“Goodnight Toshi, I love you.”

“Goodnight, I love you too.”

Before he falls asleep, Wakatoshi thinks of all the things in his life that led him here, to you, his wonderful wife, and his precious son.

Leaving professional volleyball was one of the hardest decisions he’s ever had to make in his thirty-seven years of living, but the end of that chapter of his life gave him Hidetoshi.

He knows that every moment of uncertainty, suffering, and hardship was worth it because it ultimately led him to you and your son, to this life you’ve built together. 

He’d do it all over again a thousand times over if it meant that your beautiful, shining face would be there to greet him in the end.

[incarnateirony]

Without maybe putting too fine a point on it, based on your observation of the way the show is headed, do you think we're moving to an ending that separates all of TFW from each other? I know the diverging of Sam and Dean's paths is a big part of their journeys, but do you think that applies to Cas (and even Jack), too? I think of all of them, I'm least clear on what the rest of Cas's journey looks like from here (beyond the Empty-that's pretty clear).

If you watch nothing else of my videos, I suggest taking the time to watch Galactic Grudge and Destiny’s Reflection. It takes about 20 minutes total, requires headphones and 1080P and yes, I understand people with audio processing hurdles or language barriers might struggle a bit but long term it maps out a path that would take several hundred pages or more to map out in text.

That disclaimer out of the way as to why I’ve arrived at this destination:

Yes.

Not entirely, nor permanently. Death is nothing to fear. Once they stop fearing death, and especially once they break the system so people aren’t auto-sorted into cages of passivity without their People and Families -- once All of the Heavens function on grand scale like, say, Ash’s bar did -- once humanity has reclaimed the throne/garden. What IS there to fear? That’s the real question.

With the video TLDR spec minded, my hot take:

Whether before or after Cas gets yeeted to the Empty (probably after), he’s due to mirror Rowena’s unbirthing of hell for a long, long list of reasons. Which sure, is her final death. But it wasn’t her end, was it?

But it’s Castiel most definitely arranging a home in which the Winchesters can have peace.

While I see Sam being the one to throw open all the doors of heaven as Chuck did hell and lead a giant MOL resistance through it to TAKE back the throne (another reason I think Cas won’t be until after the Empty, because taking heaven back is  one thing but actually stabilizing it in all the omens of what happens if God disappears or w/e is another -- we’re talking 15.20 here) (also a note, berens wrote 12.22 as a two parter alongside Dabb for 23, and Dabb also wrote Inside Man where the Bobbies revolt), Cas is probably the one going to end up with that throne. Very loosely.

Because they can’t just throw it to their kid and put the weight of the world on his shoulders, it doesn’t break anything. And Rowena has gone from Cas foil to Cas mirror over the years, and even as far as, say, The Things We Left Behind -- much less later Funeralia when she actually MEANT IT, or anything else to follow -- it’s about regret over a child that our stupid battles pretty much condemned. Sam and Dean also have a foot in this story pond but it most centrally belongs to Cas.

So while Cas chases the path of the goddess (Mary, Rowena, Amara), and Sam subverts the allfather he was tied to this season (John, Chuck and yes, even histories of Dean himself), where is Dean? Well one, Dean’s always been tied to someone fans aren’t asking enough questions about right now: Death. Who is very, very prominent this year, and I think everyone has to go rewatch Two Minutes To Midnight right now, too. Focus on more than the pizza or even “one day I’ll reap god, too”. Just focus on it all. Hell, focus on the inversion of Death finding them inconsequential to them being important. Focus on it all.

Dean has emotionally lensed parts of Chuck’s pillar this season, but that’s not really HIS, that’s what Sam was directly tied to. Dealing with daddy issues has always been a Dean thing, and part of his residual anger and hurt are what drove him and Cas apart this year, so the Chuckmara mirroring he kinda filled that emotional slot, sure. But his mytharc positioning, I’m gonna need everybody to think about that.

Dabb has spent like, 2 years teaching people that it’s fine to let go in a mature way and process your grief. Both Sam and Jack got passed a philosopher’s stone in order from Dean to Cas to (cursed aeonchild), once in 15.09 and once in 15.13. The magenta light of death is on both Dean and Cas, but largely avoids Sam, and Jack after his rebirth, while they stand over the christchild in place of Joseph and Mary.

Be it Swan Song “I can’t keep treating you like a kid anymore; you’re a grown--well, overgrown--man”, to modern “But now... you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you”; it’s recognition of the child as a man. Be it Dean’s 12.22 “I saw you. Back there. You’re ready for this.” -- be it John’s “What next?” while moving on. Be it “go, mom, be happy.” be it even when she died, and they thought of bringing her back, “I saw your mother’s heaven. And she is. Happy. She’s... with John. And there’s no hurt, there’s no pain, guilt. Just joy.”

Sam’s place is on earth. His chance to have a home. A family. Dean... Dean has a family. And sure, Sam does as part of that family. But to even be a head of a home. To HAVE a wife. And a son. To finish leaving behind his legacy. Dean... has his I’m sorry.

So let’s play a game, presuming relinquishing the angel’s hold on heaven is done. Saving Cas from the empty is done. But Cas is sitting on that heaven throne while they all look different ways on what to do. Sure, Jack could revive Sam and Dean and bring them back to earth even if Cas is stuck glued to heaven like Rowena is hell. But if Dean’s done his duty AND is proud of his brother beyond duty, if the monsters are all but taken care of short of some stragglers Sam’s legacy system with Eileen can clean up. And ultimately... someone still needs to raise Jack, yes-- what does that give us?

I saw you. You’re ready for this. Now, you’re a grown-- overgrown-- man. I can’t treat you like a kid anymore.

It’s okay, dadmom. You fought for me, raised me, loved me. That’s enough. Go. Be happy. I’ve got him.

So back to “Dabb’s Dark Side of the Moon, Ash bar, megascale”, well. I’m gonna say. They’re gonna need a good hand on deck for that dream to let people find their people, to find their heaven, hell, to decide if they haven’t found their people yet and go back and try again.

It’s not goodbye, it’s I’ll See You Later. Because there’s still parts of earth they can make better. Every day they can make it better. And once Sam has his life, full, he can and would rejoin them all, in heaven. Be that wayfarer bars or toes in the sand, a world where people, families--they’re just as real there as they are on earth, able to make their perfect worlds. Dean and yes, Cas, can go and make that world even ahead of Sam-- with John, and Mary, and whatever old friends they choose to see again. And Sam, and Jack -- and Eileen -- can live on earth. Because for years Dean has wanted Sam to have a life. And die old of something normal and have a kids and grandkids. Trial and Error (Dabb), anyone.

The issue is letting go without it either being suicidal ideation of destructive sacrifice. And I think that’s the framework we’re going to be delivered.

Could I be wrong, sure I guess, I’m human. But as of right now, that’s what I see.

Cas has always wanted to bring his People home. But who have his People become? While yes, being seated in that chair gives chance to make things right with a few remaining angels he would no doubt give a chance, humans reclaiming the garden and planet from the divine they surrendered it to (Hammer of the Gods, Dabb, if you read between the lines on the Billions of pagan gods), or reversing various sealings (Clip Show, Dabb, if you pay attention to how and why EACH WORLD WAS MADE TO BEGIN WITH and how many Falls there have been and WHY THE TABLETS EXIST TO BEGIN WITH), whatever. It wouldn’t really be about establishing authority--and in the end, I’m fairly certain the Castiel seated in that throne would be irrevocably human. Because it’s the human soul that’s immortal. Be it using his grace to establish a spell and reversing elements like in Sacrifice, or tied into the angel blood and human heart theme that’s screaming at us this year-- that’s pretty much where I see Cas ending up. 

So Dean and Cas separate off to heaven in one way, Sam and Jack another, but still fated to come back together. Sam will have Eileen waiting for him. And Jack to raise.

Because the point is that they were here at all and you got to know them. And when they’re gone, it WILL hurt. But that hurt will be a reminder of how much you love them. But learning to let go -- it’s a part of growing up.

I’ve seen you. You’re ready for this. I can’t keep treating you like a kid anymore. You’re a grown, overgrown, man, and I am incredibly proud of you.

Go, be happy.

“See you on the other side.”

If people can’t watch my vids and pull anything out of it, my second note is to go do a Dabberens rewatch. Pull up Dabb and Berens eps on superwiki, make yourself a chain. I WILL note most of 6 and 7 has been seemingly obsoleted by Dabb, which should surprise none of us with all the ball punches at season 7 he does, so if you wanna save yourself a few hours, feel free to bypass. Season 10 also seems to have been addressed in season 14, and everything after that is the onset of Dabb era, so once you get to season 11 (where Carver and Dabb were sharing) and/or 12 (where Dabb took over entirely), just do a straight run. I also won’t blame you for bypassing Bloodlines. 

But if you do truncate 6/7, and a few eps, I suggest replacing them with the finale of each season (4-14, 6 and 7 pretty much already addressed last year), because Dabb still heavily employs those whether they were his own or not. Before Carver came back Dabb was sitting in the upcoming showrunner slot even during Gamble era. Dude has been primed and paying attention for a long fucking time. Absolutely 0% of people should have been surprised at Dabb inheriting the show when he did. And he’s been telegraphing his ideas for this show for years. Notice how many eps I cited above have Dabb’s pen all over it.

It’s where my headspace already was but damn if it doesn’t put Dabb and Dabberens’ direction in scale.

So for all my talk of philosopher’s stone and Death and all of that, if you can’t bring yourself to wade through all 20 minutes of Grudge-Reflection, I ask you to at least think on symbolism here

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[dweemeister]

Best Animated Short Film Nominees for the 92nd Academy Awards (2020, listed in order of appearance in the shorts package)

Since 2013 on this blog, I have been reviewing the Oscar-nominated short films for the respective Academy Awards ceremony. This is one of my favorite traditions for the “31 Days of Oscar” marathon I hold yearly, and I recommend to all my North American followers to seek these shorts out (see this) – they have just released to theaters as of this review’s publication and the reach of each package’s distribution increases every year. As a one-off for the 92nd Academy Awards, the Oscars are being held on their earliest weekend ever, giving everyone less time to see the nominated shorts.

Without further ado, here are the Academy Award nominees for Best Animated Short Film. Three of the five are stop-motion animation. It’s a solid bunch and – despite the fact I have seen better nominee slates – all fully deserving of their nominations (it is rare I feel that way) in a tightly contested year. They are all, in some ways, featuring characters and showing how they connect to others.

Hair Love (2019)

Co-directed by Matthew A. Cherry (former executive at Jordan Peele’s Monkeypaw Productions); Everett Downing Jr. (a journeyman storyboard artist who has worked with Blue Sky, DreamWorks, Netflix, and Pixar); and Bruce W. Smith (creator of The Proud Family and former supervising animator with Walt Disney Animation Studios), Hair Love becomes what is most likely the second film in the history of the Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film to have significant involvement from a former professional athlete (Cherry; the first is probably 2017′s Dear Basketball). Distributed by Sony Pictures Animation following a Kickstarter campaign, Hair Love played in front of 2019′s The Angry Birds Movie 2 – talk about a disparity in quality. The film follows a young girl as she refers to a YouTube channel (this film showcases modern technology but does not, like many other animated films, date itself in its technological depictions) to style, if not tame, her hair. Her father – who appears to have little experience with cutting or styling hair – is hesitant to help his daughter, but they struggle and learn together. The final moments of Hair Love reveal that their time learning from these online tutorials extends beyond their bonds as father and daughter.

Hair Love, riding on Hollywood goodwill from figures rarely associated with animation, has been lauded for its depiction of black fatherhood. In American popular culture, black fathers in black-centric narratives have often been portrayed as abusive or absent. So to see the opposite in hand-drawn animation is a welcome sight. The daughter’s hair almost has a life of its own and is normalized (black hairstyles have long been otherized in the West); an abstract sequence where the father is doing combat with the out-of-control hair represents the awkwardness of this scenario – with zero dialogue – perfectly. For an animation studio ridiculed for releases like The Emoji Movie (2017), Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018) and Hair Love serve as partial correctives. 

My rating: 8.5/10

NOTE: Hair Love can be seen on YouTube as of this review’s publication.

Dcera (Daughter) (2019, Czech Republic)

The Czech Republic can lay claim to being the home of the late Jiří Trnka, arguably one of the greatest, most innovative stop-motion animators of all time. Carrying that legacy forward is Daria Kashcheeva, a graduate of the Film and TV School of the Academy of Performing Arts in Prague (FAMU). Her graduation film, Dcera (“Daughter” in English), won a Student Academy Award and was deemed the best graduation film at the famed Annecy International Animated Film Festival (the most important all-animation film festival in the world). In Dcera, we find a young woman at the side of her father’s hospital bed, reminiscing about their relationship. Wordless and shot largely with a shaky camera and in close-up, we see several images from the woman’s childhood – how her father, barely scraping by with household duties, had little time to express his love to her. Dcera often breaks into literal flights of fancy and the daughter’s surrealistic imagination. And yet even when retreating into a world crafted so that she can escape, there is a longing to bring her father in.

Kashcheeva’s notes about Dcera elicit that she wished to accomplish an, “authentic immediacy and a para-documentary nature” to her film via the film’s constant close-up shots and low depth of field. She mostly succeeds; although the shaky camera is distracting and prevents the audience from forming an emotional connection with the characters onscreen. The stop-motion puppets appear to be made of papier-mâché and are intentionally rough –reflecting how difficult their lives have been and the innumerable imperfections of their personhood. The production design – when we are allowed to see it (the lack of production quality is not any fault of the film’s, considering that it is a graduation work) – resemble something from a lucid nightmare. Dcera is an outstanding feat of stop-motion stylization. In its final minutes, it seeks to understand and to forgive that which was never realized. Its emotional impact is imperfect, but its intentions nevertheless pack a wallop.

My rating: 7.5/10

Sister (2018)*

When the Chinese Communist Party brought an end to its one-child policy in 2015, it concluded a decades-long experiment that has left China in a demographic bind. Stemming from a decision made in 1979, the policy’s consequences include a skewed age disparity and sex ratio at birth that will affect the nation for more several decades. Siqi Song’s graduation film from CalArts, Sister, has the one-child policy in mind. The film, narrated by Bingyang Liu (no previous film credits) is a reflection by a man thinking about his life with his little sister. More than midway through Sister, the audience learns that the film is nothing more than speculation. In China even now, the one-child policy – since replaced by a two-child policy – has left its mark on numerous generations be they children, parents, grandparents. The film’s unique character design is wool-based, with its monochrome pallet recalling an older family photo album.

According to Song, the film’s story, “didn’t change from the very beginning. [She] always knew the film would be about a man imagining how his life might have been like had he had a little sister.” What did change while Song – a “little sister survivor” whose family made a tremendous effort to keep her a part of their family – made Sister were the stories of a brother and sister as the two grow up. The never-to-be siblings have their conflicts, as well as their moments of familial love. Not all of the ways this is depicted work, most notably the scene where the sister grows beyond her crib to become a giant looming over her brother (the metaphor here is too heavy-handed). Our narrator ponders whether he might have been a different person if his mother – pregnant with his younger sister, wanting very much to bear her – never had the policy-forced abortion. Given the trauma it inflicted on his mother, the narrator – even from an early age – will be left pondering this well into his adulthood. Is there regret in his narration? Guilt? I don’t have any answers, but I will leave it to those of Chinese descent to discern theirs.

My rating: 8/10

*Sister is entirely in Mandarin. For non-English language films, I usually list the film along with its country/countries of origin unless it was primarily an American production. Despite Sister being listed as an American/Chinese co-production by Song, I see no evidence of a Chinese studio backing the film. For record-keeping purposes, Sister will be deemed an American film.

Mémorable (2019, France)

Last year, Ireland’s famous Cartoon Saloon garnered acclaim for Louise Bagnall’s Late Afternoon. Late Afternoon, an expressionistic study in an elderly woman’s dementia, is a distant cousin to Bruno Collet’s Mémorable. Here, an artist named Louis (André Wilms) shifts between periods of remembrance and forgetfulness. His wife, Michelle (Dominique Reymond), tends to his needs and to his increasing disconnection to the things and people around him. If Louis has one fixture in his life, it is his painting – with brushes or, close to the end, with his fingers. Collet, noting the increase of short films – animated or otherwise – about dementia in recent years, indeed questioned the wisdom of yet another film about someone suffering from it. He then encountered the works of artist  William Utermohlen. Utermohlen, like Louis, continued painting even as his dementia impaired his understanding of his surroundings, let alone his work. Collet, now convinced of the validity of his plans by learning of Utermohlen’s life, set straight to work on Mémorable.

Mémorable evolves as the film progresses. What seems like a straight stop-motion animated short film transforms itself as Louis’ dementia worsens. By the film’s end, Louis’ figure begins to melt into something like oil paints, making him a living Impressionist painting while others around become surreal on the terms of a Picasso or Dali. With Mémorable containing plenty of dialogue, none of this ever detracts from this short’s abstractions The film’s final moments – an uplifting dance scene between Louis and Michelle – is an extraordinary marriage of stop-motion animation and computerized animation. By then, Collet has depicted the progression of Louis’ dementia in as cinematic a way as possible using an array of styles that could not have been predicted within a twelve-minute animated short film. The technical daring of Mémorable and the strength of its artistic conceit is breathtaking to behold.

My rating: 9/10

Kitbull (2019)

If any animation studio has a history with animal, it is Disney. Released as one of Pixar’s “SparkShorts” – a program created in 2019 to foster the talents of Pixar’s younger animators to force them to make short films with limited resources – Rosana Sullivan’s Kitbull joins that esteemed company. Sullivan, a storyboard artist who worked on the likes of Monsters University (2013) and Incredibles 2 (2018), was previously training to be a veterinarian and had helped many pit bulls in clinics and shelters. She, “saw how sweet and gentle they could be, despite [her] initial fears.” Her work with unadopted black cats formed the other half of what would become Kitbull. In San Francisco’s Mission District, a scrawny kitten and a pit bull who is forced into dogfights (even the implication of dogfighting would render Kitbull ineligible for wide theatrical release by Disney executives, knowing their insistence on a sanitized brand) strike up a friendship.

The design of the kitten is not realistic, but it would not be believable if Kitbull was filmed as a stop-motion or CGI-animated film. The kitten’s unrealistic body proportions make it more appealing and the minimalism of the pit bull’s design (there is a minimum amount of lines used to trace its facial shape) is effective artistic economy. The pit bull is a type of dog in need of an image rehabilitation. Perceived the be among the most violent of dogs, pit bulls are anything but naturally violent and Kitbull plays into this misconception. Sullivan’s experience as a former veterinarian student are fused with themes of loneliness and trust-building. Cut down from an 18-minute-long storyboard to its nine-minute runtime, Kitbull is an efficiently told animated short film evoking the pathos of animal-centric Walt Disney Animation Studios’ feature- and short-length films of the 1930s and ‘40s.‡

My rating: 8/10

‡ Which, for younger readers that have not seen Disney films from those decades, should be taken as a high compliment.

NOTE: Kitbull can be seen on YouTube as of this review’s publication.

^ Based on my personal imdb ratings. Half-points are always rounded down.

From previous years: 85th Academy Awards (2013), 87th (2015), 88th (2016), 89th (2017), 90th (2018), and 91st (2019).

[setskill]

          hi  everyone  !  i’m  sab  ,  nineteen  ,  nd  using  she  /  her  pronouns  .  super  amped  to  get  to  write  w  u  all  and  introduce  u  to  jiho  who  has  recently  become  a  favorite  muse  of  mine  .  all  his  info  is  under  the  cut  (  i  tried  to  make  it  as  short  as  possible  bc  lord  knows  i  ramble  too  much  )  nd  i’d  def  love  to  plot  w  all  of  u  if  that’s  ur  thing  ,  so  just  hit  that  like  button  nd  i’ll  make  my  way  over  to  u  or  ur  welcome  to  come  to  me  !  d*scord  is  usually  easier  for  me  ,  but  i’m  not  super  keen  on  giving  it  publicly  ,  so  ask  for  it  if  u  want  !

˗ˏˋ    (  hwang  hyunjin.  20.  cismale.  he/him.  )  kang  jiho  is  a  98  liner  +  has  been  at  so!ar  entertainment  for  five  years.  they  are  the  main  rapper,  main  dancer,  &  maknae  in  the  group  zon3.  they  are  known  by  their  fans  to  be  observant,  diligent  +  passionate  but  they  can  also  be  reticent,  candid  +  flighty.  i  hope  that  they  can  make  it  in  this  industry.

          TRIGGER  WARNING  FOR  :  INTERNALIZED  HOMOPHOBIA  ,  RELIGIOUS  THEMES  ,  BODY  IMAGE  ISSUES  ,  &  SELF  ESTEEM  ISSUES  !

background  .

jiho  comes  from  a  dancer’s  home  .  his  mother  &  father  both  professionals  ,  while  one  was  a  ballerina  &  the  other  was  an  idol  .  

from  the  moment  he  was  born  ,  it  was  pretty  much  written  in  the  stars  what  his  life  would  turn  out  to  be  .  starting  to  dance  &  train  for  a  life  to  come  from  the  moment  he  could  walk  .

his  parents  were  relentless  .  never  gave  him  the  time  to  have  a  life  as  a  child  .  it  was  dance  or  nothing  .  there  wasn’t  ever  a  choice  .  

father  hung  up  on  passing  on  his  legacy  ,  mother  hung  up  on  people  remembering  their  name  .  

it  was  all  about  fame  &  appearances  .  never  about  love  or  family  .  they  barely  cared  for  each  other  as  it  was  ,  all  of  it  caught  up  in  their  heads  ,  both  after  what  the  other  could  give  them  material  wise  rather  than  emotion  wise  .

(  so  it  was  no  surprise  there  were  other  people  flowing  in  &  out  of  his  parents’  lives  ,  out  of  their  home  in  the  middle  of  the  night  when  one  was  away  or  the  click  of  the  lock  too  early  in  the  morning  for  it  not  to  be  suspicious  )  .

they  were  strict  .  would  work  him  to  the  bone  from  a  young  age  because  he  was  going  to  be  successful  whether  he  wanted  to  or  not  .

dance  was  his  life  .  never  having  the  chance  to  be  a  kid  ,  he’d  go  to  school  ,  come  home  do  work  ,  then  leave  for  his  mother’s  studio  until  the  early  hours  of  the  morning  .

life  was  lonely  .  kids  would  bully  him  for  dancing  .  make  fun  of  how  scrawny  he  was  .  the  whole  nine  yards  .

didn’t  quite  help  that  his  parents  only  cared  about  his  dancing  &  not  himself  as  a  person  .  they  fought  a  lot  ,  lots  of  yelling  at  each  other  ..  lots  of  yelling  at  him  .

worked  his  ass  off  in  hopes  that  if  he  kept  doing  everything  right  his  parents  would  treat  him  like  their  own  child  &  not  some  robot  they  manufactured  .

they  always  sort  of  saw  him  as  a  failure  .  nothing  he  did  was  right  .

it  was  their  idea  to  have  him  audition  to  an  entertainment  company  .  carry  on  the  family  name  .  make  them  proud  .

he  was  indifferent  .  he  loves  dancing  despite  it  consuming  him  until  he  can’t  breathe  .  without  it  ,  he  would  be  lost  .

went  along  with  it  ,  auditioned  &  right  off  the  bat  at  age  fifteen  ,  he  became  a  trainee  for  solar  .  the  new  up  &  coming  dancer  that  people  needed  to  look  out  for  .

it  was  so  much  pressure  ,  training  has  always  been  hard  ,  but  with  the  new  edition  of  his  whole  life  on  the  line  ,  it  just  got  worse  .  

didn’t  help  his  parents  were  always  breathing  down  his  neck  .  they  were  more  harsh  with  him  than  they’d  ever  been  before  .

had  to  be  perfect  .  had  to  have  the  best  body  ,  had  to  look  perfect  ,  had  to  act  perfect  .

taking  so  long  to  lead  up  to  debut  ,  he  felt  he  wasn’t  good  enough  ,  still  doesn’t  really  think  so  ,  his  parents  don’t  think  so  either  .  

yet  ,  they’re  content  with  him  finally  on  the  road  to  debut  ,  but  they’re  not  satisfied  which  means  this  journey  is  only  going  to  get  worse  .

some  other  tidbits  about  him  :

he’s  bi  …  but  doesn’t  really  want  to  admit  it  to  himself  ,  kinda  doesn’t  really  know  ,  due  to  his  upbringing  ..  thinks  he’s  a  hettie  .

his parents are very religious . old school religious you know ? liking anyone that wasn’t the opposite sex of you just . wasn’t a thing .

he’s  a  sagittarius  .  haven’t  decided  his  full  chart  yet  though  !

definitely  a  secret  romantic  .  can  be  quite  cuddly  when  he’s  comfortable  with  someone  .

likes  to  reflect  a  lot  ,  he’s  very  ,  very  hard  on  himself  &  never  thinks  anything  he  does  is  perfect  ,  so  he  keeps  journals  &  tracks  his  progress  &  has  been  doing  that  since  he  was  young  .

practices  way  too  fucking  much  .  like  he’ll  be  up  until  the  sun  rises  bc  he  needs  to  make  sure  he’s  succeeding  .

struggles with a lot of self-esteem issues & body images issues . it doesn’t help the sexier concept of his group that he has to flaunt himself .

struggles a lot with his sexuality .

personality  .

jiho  is  very  closed  off  .  doesn’t  necessarily  know  how  to  make  friends  ?

but  he’s  a  sweetheart  ?  he’s  not  overly  rude  ,  he’s  just  kind  of  blunt  ?  isn’t  gonna  say  more  than  he  has  to  .

he’s  kinda  drawn  back  .  not  super  touchy  or  affectionate  unless  he’s  comfortable  &  knows  u  well  .

more  into  superficial  relationships  bc  that’s  all  he’s  had  his  whole  life  .

he’s  very  determined  &  won’t  let  anything  get  in  the  way  .

can  be  quite  impressionable  ?  especially  bc  of  his  parents  .  he’s  a  little  lost  in  life  ,  but  won’t  let  anyone  know  he  has  to  be  Perfect  .

kinda  flighty  .  scared  of  committing  to  anything  besides  dance  as  it’s  been  his  whole  life  &  when  it’s  not  it’s  uncharted  territory  .

likes  to  observe  a  lot  ,  can  be  a  bit  of  an  ass  &  critique  ppl  but  he  means  well  .

most  people  think  he’s  an  asshole  because  of  his  stage  persona  and  that  he’s  quieter  ,  more  reserved  .  has  embodied  that  a  little  bit  .  be  what  you’re  told  to  be  .

is a bit of a pessimist .

doesn’t  believe  in  love  !  is  terrified  of  it  !  because  his  parents  never  taught  him  what  love  was  or  given  him  any  .  plus  he’s  scared  from  his  parents  relationship  .

just  give  him  love  &  support  &  affection  &  he  will  end  up  really  liking  u  .

he’s  definitely  very  supportive  when  he  wants  to  be  &  he  cares  abt  u  !

wanted  plots  .

dance  partner  ,  give  him  someone  who  he’s  been  training  with  for  years  ,  someone  that  helps  him  be  his  best  &  he  helps  them  be  their  best  .

an  ex-girlfriend  would  be  fun  !  some  juicy  ,  angsty  shit  ..  jiho’s  whole  life  is  dance  &  giving  it  up  for  love  ?  something  he  wouldn’t  have  done  .

maybe  ..  a  boy  he’s  sort  of  secretly  had  a  crush  on  ,  but  has  never  wanted  to  label  it  as  that  .  he’s  like  a  lil  puppy  ,  just  infatuated  with  them  .

while  jiho  isn’t  the  best  at  making  connections  ,  a  best  friend  for  him  would  be  nice  ?  someone  he’s  managed  to  actually  connect  w  &  get  to  know  on  a  deeper  level  .

knowing  each  other  in  their  childhood  is  possible  ?  if  they’re  a  dancer  ,  they  could  have  attended  jiho’s  parents’  studio  &  whatever  comes  from  that  ,  whether  they  liked  each  other  or  there  was  some  animosity  idk  ..  totally  up  for  whatever  !  

a  good  old  fashioned  rival  would  be  fun  ,  someone  that  just  grinds  his  gears  &  they’re  always  at  each  other’s  throats  .  lots  of  bickering  ,  lots  of  tension  .

someone  pls  have  a  little  crush  on  him  i’m  begging  ..

pls  .  give  him  an  older  sibling  figure  ..  or  someone  that  takes  care  of  him  &  he  does  his  best  to  do  the  same  .  has  probably  seen  him  at  his  worst  ..  just  smth  precious  &  sweet  .

honestly  !  anything  else  ,  i’m  open  tbh  .

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, ALEXANDRA! You’ve been accepted for the role of TEMPERANCE with the faceclaim of ZOE BARNARD. I was wholly unprepared for the straight-up laughter that your application would pull out of me, but Meraud is, like, perfect. She’s that even mixture of haughty and beautiful and hysterically arrogant that makes all of her blend together and form exactly what I was looking for in Temperance. The hints and touches of outright ridiculousness -- and the acknowledgment of that -- was icing on top of a delicious pastry. Still, there was an implied human quality to her that had me fully in-love by the end; you really showed to me how she could grow and change if given the chance. Just, completely enraptured -- you encapsulated both the gold filigree and the melting of that filigree as mentioned in the skeleton perfectly. I can’t wait to see what you both do! 

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OOC NAME: Alexandra PRONOUNS: she/her AGE: 22 TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: PST, fairly active? i have no job, and no university classes, and so my time is extremely free! ANYTHING ELSE?: Apologies in advance if i’ve spelled it ‘dishonoured’ at any point in the app, I’m a Canadian and sometimes the ‘u’ just pops out! Also - going through the worldbuilding tag and seeing ‘Brethren Lundqvist, Emissary Konecny’ made me wheeze irl Buzzfeed Unsolved style. TK as a religious emissary… the world trembles at the concept IN CHARACTER SKELETON: Temperance NAME: Meraud Cyrielle Azenari Meraud is a medieval Cornish name, with varying meanings depending on the source. Its connection to the sea within ‘mer’ is unquestionable, and it was that connection I enjoyed: the Azenari family draws their wealth through their connection to the sea, and while they are no longer seafaring, and instead profit off of other sailors, the family’s tradition of honouring that mercurial power. The fact that a different source I found says Meraud actually means ‘a profit from the sea’ is almost too perfect. Cyrielle, a French name, and the feminine variant on ‘Cyril’ — Meraud’s maternal grandfather’s name. Chosen not only to appease the man, a harsh fellow, who disapproved of his only daughter marrying a man whose family’s money was earned rather than inherited (her mother, you see, was from old money, since lost, but the name, and the pride, lingered). The selection of ‘Cyrielle’ appeased him, in part, and while he dotes on all his grandchildren, Meraud is a particular favourite as a result of her name. Azenari is a Basque surname, drawn from ‘azeri’ or ‘fox’. A rather good name for a family that makes their money through cleverness, isn’t it? FACECLAIM: Zoe Barnard (1) or Anya Chalotra (2)! AGE: 23 DETAILS: I found myself so, so torn between Temperance & the Lovers — I tend to go for the sapphic characters, and for Dishonored it was no different. I just adored Temperance when I read her skeleton, the way she was snobby and spoiled but still cultivating a friendship with the Hanged Man, the way she was spoiled and proud and too caught up in herself to appreciate or understand the pure love held by the World and the Lovers. She dreams of being a femme fatale, the protagonist, the heroine, but all she really is, is a spoiled little girl, with dreams and rages in turn, and no real understanding of the world around her beyond what she cares to see. There’s so much potential there, so much capacity for growing and changing, and, given the opportunity, my fingers itch to write it for her! BACKGROUND: What is this character’s history? Where do they come from? What makes them the way that they are? and little girl, who do you think you are? / you think you need it, you think you want love / you wouldn't want it if you knew what it was. The Azenari family was an old one, though not always a noble one. Dust off Tyrholm’s yellowing records and you will find them mentioned, a seafaring heritage, both in legal (merchant) and illegal (pirate) business. It was an easy profit, certainly, bringing luxuries and delights from across the world to bring tastes of warmth to the rocky city, and as they prospered, their power and influence grew. Gold and goods streamed into the city, and, newly ennobled — a gift from a long-past king, pleased at the benefits the port drew into his city, and seeking the influence he’d gain through their inclusion within his court — they flowered even as did the new exotic blooms in the castle’s greenhouse. Skip, then, ahead in the books by a century or two, to a more recent entry: a marriage, a joyful day, the union of Elazar Azenari and Nessa Enys. Scorned by a few in the bride’s family (no matter the hundreds of years which had passed since the Azenari family had been anything but noble, some clung to old prejudices, and a disdain for new money) but celebrated by most, the happy young couple set about their lives with futures light bright by Tyrholm’s most gifted candlemakers. Elazar was the oldest child, the heir to the docks and their wealth, raised to it all his life, and with the inevitable and long-expected passing of his mother provided him with all the responsibilities that came along with the family’s legacy, he shouldered them easily. Nessa was a sweet girl, enchanted by Elazar’s enthusiastic manner and the curious, whimsical gifts he brought her during their courtship, and any familial doubts about his heritage were more or less stifled by the economic reality: she was the youngest daughter of five, and her family could afford very little in the way of a dowry. And they did love each other, perhaps the most important detail of all, with a baby only eight months after, and another two years after, and a third, their only daughter and last child, a year after. Kenver & Ruan, born two years apart, and thick as thieves. Despite identifying quirks (the latter far prefers books and records, a born bookkeeper, the former in search of a knighthood even at a young age), many had trouble telling them apart, and the Azenari household was a rowdy thing before the birth of their youngest, their only girl, a long sought-after daughter: Meraud. She was spoiled, naturally, plied with treats, doted upon by her brothers, showered in delicacies from far-off lands, and grew to expect it all. Her mother taught her elegance, beauty, poise, things necessary for a lady of the Tyrholm nobility, and Meraud’s list of accomplishments and talents only grew as she grew older. She was an elegant thing, long legs, long eyelashes, a skilled dancer and successful flirt, the broken-hearted youth she left trailing after her as a teen only building her confidence, with nothing seeming to even approach shattering it. She had a place in the court, growing up alongside the World, never envying the other’s position or power, but simply glowing on the outskirts, a beautiful flower within the castle’s grey walls. She lacked nothing, and never really learned to distinguish between wants and needs — she received both, after all. Even a shattered engagement did little to impact her, at least not publicly, though inside she burned, hurt even though she refused to admit it to herself. After that, though, the world seemed a little less vibrant than it once had. Envy, loss (both of a friend who grew apart from her, a would-be engagement dissolved seemingly over nothing) hooked their claws in, and she grew spiteful, petulant. A girl who’d been raised to be good even to her lessers instead became disposed to throwing things at them, and many a servant quit rather than face one more morning of lighting a fire in her room only to face Meraud’s petulant rage at being awoken. Her parents refused to see the spoiled girl they’d raised, and continued only to dote upon her, and she grew consumed by herself. Whether the spell would break upon them, as her own refusal to see Tyrholm’s dark corners for anything beyond the home of velvet secrets, whispered confessions, has begun to fracture, remains to be seen. all the feeling was all or nothing / and i took everything I could Grew up very much spoiled by both & mom n dad who always wanted a girl both are awfully protective of her PLOT IDEAS: Regarding the Lovers & the World — I want Meraud to learn! To grow! It’s not as if she grew up without proper models of love in her life (her parents have a rather happy marriage, after all), but the rather superficial experiences she’s taken from the endless spoiling have rather overshadowed it all. Dependant on what the Lovers & the World’s writers want, and how those characters end up being written, I could see Meraud’s fascination with both going in a few directions. Temperance upright: peace, patience, harmony Meraud moves to a deeper comprehension of L&W’s relationship, learning to appreciate it rather than let it dig its claws deep with jealousy. The fire within her turns to soft, warming embers, rather than an inferno that threatens to consume her. Perhaps she learns to love the two platonically, appreciating their love for the beauty it holds, and embracing the importance of her own as different rather than lesser — maybe even finding a love of her own? (A little addition to this can be found in my headcanon regarding ‘Love’) Temperance reversed: discord, recklessness Meraud’s jealousy builds, spilling over, and she finds herself driven to hatred, rumours, gossip: she’s a rather experienced socialite, after all, and could very easily be pushed to attempts at driving a wedge between the two. I don’t see it working at all, really, rather a more tragic bitterness, perhaps that even leads her to work against the World in more political, less personal ways. Meraud! Getting! Woke! She’s closed her eyes to all that is wrong in Tyrholm for far too long, and though the process of opening her eyes has started, there’s a long path ahead for her. Though, frankly, the way she struggles with the dark side of the world may appear ridiculous to other characters, in light of all her privileges and a rather evident love of the luxurious, it’ll be rather overwhelming for her, and I foresee a great deal of gentle weeping on velvet couches with silken cloth dabbing gently at her eyes. I also do, eventually, imagine her pushing for the World as a leader. She does have a certain level of respect for them (fascination at them, longing for them?), and though I’d imaging depending how the above plot idea turns out, I can see her becoming a rather enthusiastic political supporter. Power She’s incredibly ineffectual, a spoiled young girl rather than the powerful figure she could be, if she wasn’t far too self-centered and petulant to achieve it. I’d like to see her grow into this potential, whether for good or ill in the end. She’s intelligent, witty, charming, if she tries, and if she gained a little more awareness of her own flaws, could certainly be a force to be reckoned with. CHARACTER DEATH: Strong yes! The ability to write a romantic, tragic ending for a character has so much potential, creativity-wise and can be incredibly satisfying, I’d love to write one for Meraud. WRITING SAMPLE Wide eyes veiled with dark lashes blink softly, brows furrowed. She’d been late in exiting her father’s office at the docks, summoned there for one reason or another, and had walked over with more than a little frown visible on her face. The gall he had! Meraud had things to do, and besides, the docks were the domain of Kenver and Ruan — she had little interest in the origins of the gilded jewelry upon her wrist, the satin gowns that draped delicately across her body. And then! Adding insult to injury, he father had forgotten their appointment. She’d waited, a dutiful daughter on occasion, but as an hour, then a second, passed, and his tousle-headed figure had remained absent, a fury had grown within her. She cared little for his rule about walking the docks alone. She’d not be here another minute, not wait around like one of her neglected dolls, but would return home herself. It was then, though, that the flaw appeared: far from the docks appearance on days she walked it with her brothers or her father, it was filled to the brim with loud, boorish men. She could smell the alcohol on their breath even from the office’s second-story window, and the things they said! Horrific, scandalous, disgusting, all of them. She shivered at the things they said, words about women that she’d never heard spoken before, ducking as one turned to face the open window. Their conversation turned to her father, and then, of course, to his family, filth in their words and in their intent shrinking her down upon the floor, silent sobs even as she drew her gown around her carefully. It was there her father found her, in the morning, a miscommunication evident in her day-early arrival. But the damage was done, then, in the vicious words of dockhands and pirates, merchants and sailors alike, even those she’d known as a child, her worldview shattered like a poorly-treated bit of porcelain. EXTRAS Anything you’d like can go here, whether that be a playlist, a pinterest board, some headcanons, or whatever you’d like to show us! pinterest board here: https://www.pinterest.ca/draconiform/01-meraud-azenari/ my occasionally serious occasionally not tag for meraud: https://draconicwrites.tumblr.com/tagged/ch%3A-meraud Also wow wow I listened to a lot of ‘Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812’ while writing this app and Natasha……. kindred spirit? So I’ve included some applicable lyrics below that I feel really apply to Meraud (or in many cases, apply to how she sees herself) From Natasha & Bolkonskys: And from the first glance I do not like Natasha / Too fashionably dressed / Frivolous and vain / Her beauty, youth, and happiness From the Opera: Pearls and silk / Glittering before our eyes / Feminine envy / A whole crowd of memories / Desires and emotions  &   They are looking at me / They are talking about me! / They all like me so much / The women envious / The men calming their jealousy Headcanons Pets — Meraud has two primary animals in her life. The first, a fluffy black longhaired cat, is named Parceval, and is more of a family pet. Not the typical mouser seen at the docks, he’s elegant, perhaps even a little snooty, despite his questionable origins. Meraud’s father brought him home as a kitten, even then filled with disdain, a stray discovered by a merchant among his wares. He had no interest in the childrens games, and instead grew, well, not fat, per say, but certainly a little plump, spending nights in front of the fire, well adored (as he should be). The second is Eme, a little songbird named for the emerald she so resembles. She’s a beautiful little creature, who adores Meraud, and is perhaps the creature she most loves (and loves unselfishly) outside members of her own family. Love — Were Tyrholm the modern day, we could call Meraud pansexual. She sees little difference between her capacity for infatuation for men or for any other gender (I hesitate to call it ‘love’, as she doesn’t quite understand the concept, but she could certainly be attracted romantically and sexually to anyone.) The problem, however, is that she’s picky. Meraud is rather self-centered, and the person she’d allow herself to care for must be similarly high-quality: wealthy, pleasing in appearance, fascinating in conversation… I’d rather like her to fall for someone that doesn’t meet these standards, because I think it’d be a good learning experience for her.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, JEN! You’ve been accepted for the role of JUSTICE with the faceclaim of MARTIN SENSMEIER. Poor Viktor -- poor willing and reluctant Viktor, who could be soft if he chose to but instead chooses the opposite. There is a steeliness to him that I feel is unmatched; his dedication to Septimus is as breathtaking as it is painful to see knowing what I know now about his story, his background, how he has always knelt before standing at full height. Your writing felt like the perfect fit for the environment of the group, and Viktor, too, seems to nudge himself right into the portrait behind his king, exactly where he belongs. You have given him a humanity he must crush down in the wake of his duty, and I am eager to see it rise up, whether it be of his own volition or not.

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

OOC

NAME: Jen

PRONOUNS: she/her

AGE: 21

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT+2 / I admit, I’m a bit slow with replies, but when I have a good grasp on them and aren’t overwhelmed with the amount of things I owe, I go through everything a lot faster. In that case, I usually post an average of 2-3 replies every couple of days and that’s the pace that I’ll be setting out to (hopefully) achieve here if I manage things well enough! Aside from that, I’m online quite often on discord and am always down to chat and plot.

ANYTHING ELSE?: Nope :’’)

IN CHARACTER

SKELETON: Justice

NAME: Viktor Daegal / he/him

FACECLAIM: Martin Sensmeier, Trevante Rhodes

AGE: 34

DETAILS: What drew me towards Justice was, first of all, how different they are from most characters that I’ve written over time. I usually tend to gravitate towards characters that are a lot more volatile in nature; prideful, quick to anger, and most importantly, active -- in the sense that they push their own narrative forward rather than stand idly and wait for their story to propel them. Justice as a concept completely goes against those qualities that often draw my eye. They’re calm and firm and sure-footed, but while it may appear upon first glance that they’re purposeful (rigid as they are in their devotion to a king who, in everyone else’s eyes, is false and unfit), the truth is that it’s not really devotion that drives them forward, it’s doubt.

They would die for their king, would hunch their back beneath a thousand blades for him. They bend and they falter; bear the weight of their own doubt and the scorn of others -- all for him. Yet do they stand beside him when it truly matters? When they watch innocents get cut down for opposing his whims and wrestle with the urge to shove them out of the shadow of the blade. When they watch as he gorges himself on delicacies and vices while his people suffer and starve, and feel undeserving of the meals he places on their table.  That’s as far as Justice is ever able to bend their devotion before it breaks, and that, right there, is what made me fall in love with them.

To get to sink my hands into that delicious internal conflict, to get to stretch it and see how far it can go before it consumes them... the thought of it leaves me buzzing with excitement! And it’s not just that, it’s also the opportunity to witness the journey that Justice can go on and all the different ways that it could change them. Because while I see them as a character who will need to be challenged by the narrative time and time again before they can break out of the false conviction that they’re currently imprisoned by, I don’t think they’re passive by any means. In order for them to move towards any change, they’ll have to pave the way for themselves and I’m absolutely convinced that they can. But first they need to become aware that they even have that power in the first place; that they can do more than stand vigilant and wait for the collapse to come -- and I absolutely cannot wait to see it all unfold!

And don’t even get me started on the concept of Justice as a tarot card and how it represents the character so perfectly while also completely failing to capture their muddled, grey-toned conflict and how far it expands beyond the black-and-white image that they project. I could go off about that shit for years to come, but I won’t because I’m quite aware of how much I’ve rambled so far. All in all, Justice is a beautiful concept in my eyes (both as an idea explored within the character and as the character concept itself), with so much to capture and so much to expand upon, and I’m so happy that I get to have this opportunity to explore it all!

BACKGROUND:

TW: general abuse, domestic abuse, violence

King Septimus was not just his liege, but the thread that tied his past and present together. Viktor’s allegiance was one that his father had shared long before him, as a member of the city guard, and it was something that marred Viktor’s childhood like a scorch mark, gaping wider and burning hotter as the years passed until there were days where he could barely see through the blackness and the stench of it. Because his father was no guard; he was an enforcer. Hailed as Vadim the Vicious by his fellow guardsmen, he was Septimus’ swinging fist in the slums of Lowtown. Where higher-ranking guards held the ornamented swords that swung in the king’s name; Viktor’s father and his band of mongrels held the filthy daggers that swiped in the name of the king’s greed. Whether it was for the purpose of tax collection or under the guise of exercising military authority, there was not a single soul in Lowtown that hadn’t been terrorized by Vadim and his men in one way or another. Even the man’s own home hadn’t gone untouched by his cruelty -- and such was the blood-speckled, sorrow-written beginning of Viktor’s tale. It forced him to grow into a quiet, inexpressive child; tucked into the corner to eat in solitude or sent out into the street to play every time his father stumbled into their dingy nest and demanded that it be transformed into a castle for his own perusal and indulgence. It was through his mother’s diligent, desperate efforts that Viktor was never around his father long enough to be a target of his temper. Yet she ended up paying the price for that by occupying the hazardous role all by herself. Every time his father grew bored of drinking and whoring and beating into the commonfolk, he came home and took it all out on his mother who bore the burden, covered the bruises, and worked to make sure that her son’s eyes were never hollowed by the sight of her suffering. But then came a time where she could no longer hide it -- not that she ever had. At least not as completely as she had hoped. Viktor was a child who had grown to learn when to speak his mind and when to keep quiet; how to pick his battles and what demands he could afford to make when he did. That, in addition to his keen sense of perception and the many times he had snuck back into the house when he wasn’t supposed to, had led to him coming to know his father for what he truly was long before he could even see him as what he wasn’t. And as his bones thickened and his instincts sharpened with age, he decided on the first fight that he was ever going to lead. No longer was his mother able to send him astray or hold him off his father’s path; and no longer was Viktor willing to idle by as an observer of injustice. His father was away on guardsman duties more often than not; when he burdened them with his presence, Viktor learned to harness his strength and harshen his voice. And when the burden was lifted, he learned to use his wit and commodify his youth; gathering odd jobs, helping his mother any way he could, and supporting their modest household in all the ways his father didn’t. He grew into a steady, street-smart young man with a distinct brand of stone-hard temper, known in the area for fending off bullies and rogues, and for throwing his father on the gravel doorstep every other week. It was how they were able to get on by when his father finally did them a favor and landed himself in an early,  well-deserved grave. Viktor was well-liked within their small, struggling community and it made anyone who had any semblance of work to offer eager to bring the young Daegal man on board. But then Viktor grew, and so did his and his mother’s needs; and the haphazard jobs and errands that he picked up around Lowtown no longer provided for them. He needed a steady occupation. He was no good at academics, and no jobs that he apprenticed for gave him the sense of purpose that he had had when he was standing up against the bastardly likes of his father. So he decided to continue with what he had been doing ever since he taught himself how to swing a punch -- he would become all that his father was supposed to be, and better. After all, what better vengeance could he have against his father’s dastardly memory than to steal the man’s legacy and make it his own? Not only would he erase his name from Tyrholm’s history, but he would also steal everything that had corrupted his father and warp it into something of value, all while making his mother and his community proud in the process. Or at least, that was what Viktor expected. When he expressed his desire to enroll in the royal ranks, his mother was horrified and as a result, was in absolute rejection of it. She feared that this prospect would ruin him the same way it ruined the man she had once loved; begged and pleaded for him not to indulge this devil-spawned whim -- nearly broke down from the sheer agony brought upon by the thought of losing her dear son to the same poison that had eaten away at his father. She began to coax him towards the worship she upheld in the hopes that the Undying God might steer him towards reason, dragging him to altars and speaking to him of death and faith every time there was an opportunity for it. And Viktor, reluctant yet unwilling to push his mother or prod at her wounds any more than he already had, obliged her time and time again. Yet he never quite believed in the cause she was aspiring for him to follow. It was murky and intangible; upheld by the lofty pillars of faith and blind devotion, and steadied by no clear-cut foundation that he could grasp or believe in. What was the purpose afforded to the followers of the Undying, after all? What sort of great, all-encompassing goal did they believe they were achieving by embracing quietude and breathing empty words into the hearts of their palms? The inaction of it all, the fickleness and ambiguity of what it stood for, especially when compared to the fervent, burning cause that he truly strived for; it eluded Viktor like nothing else. Yet he still afforded it the time and attention that his mother coaxed out of him; perhaps because his desire to please and appease her was simply that powerful, or perhaps because part of him truly wished to see through the veil that shrouded his mother’s sight. He never knew for certain what had pushed him to seek it out alongside her for as long as he had -- and at one point, it was already too late for him to try. It was on a pale, dreary Winter’s day that it happened. Viktor had offered to help a local barkeep by carrying a barrel of ale over from his storage shack to his tavern, and it was on the way that he stumbled upon one of the king’s men. City guard or foot soldier, he was unsure, yet whatever ranking it was seemed to imbue the man with enough arrogance that he felt entitled to strike a woman for rejecting him. Viktor had witnessed a lifetime’s worth of cruelty from the so-called protectors of the city, yet that particular sight was one that had eluded him for several, blissfully forgetful years -- until that morning. In a fit of blind, ravenous rage, Viktor launched himself at the man, shoving him down against the damp grime of the street and pummeling into him until the man was choking on his own blood. And that was when Viktor remembered; the ever-looming cause that had faded in the wake of his search for the unreachable, the unforgotten sorrow that still swam in his mother’s eyes. Then his decision was made. He enrolled in the royal ranks. When he set out to leave to begin his training across the city, his mother didn’t bid him farewell at the door, and instead, remained locked away in her bedroom, far out of his reach. She didn’t speak to him after he informed her of his decision, and she never would again. To this day, Viktor believed that he had left his heart on that splintered doorstep, and there it would always remain, shriveled and eaten up by rot -- though whether the sickness of it spawned from the loss of his mother or from the path he had set out to take, was ever-unclear to him. He relished the purpose he found within the king’s army; he found comrades to fight alongside, had vast room to refine his education, skills and swordsmanship alike, and was greatly successful in citing his own history over the scratched-out script of his father’s. As the years passed, however, glory proved to have a rather short, minuscule half-life. With every fight and every kill; with every fresh battlefield and every newly-chucked corpse, Viktor found himself at a loss once again. He was older now, wiser and wearier in every way that should have counted yet didn’t, having witnessed enough atrocities and hardships that the memory of his father’s cruelty grew to lose its heinous sharp edge -- and Viktor had absolutely no idea how to harness that daunting realization. He reeled, dizzy and torn-up as endless questions and limitless choices struck a roiling hurricane around him -- until King Septimus threw the longed-for anchor at his feet. He trailed across a long line of prospects, came to a halt, and then chose him. It was truly as simple as that. And as Viktor kneeled before the king and felt the tip of a sword brush both his shoulders in a whispered declaration of purpose, he could swear that he felt his heart stir amidst the ruins of his home.

PLOT IDEAS:

THE BLACKNESS IS NOT MY BLOOD, THOUGH IT FLOWS THROUGH MY VEINS ; Blind devotion is all that Viktor projects when it comes to his solid servitude of King Septimus, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that the image reflects the truth of things. I don’t believe that Viktor is in denial about Septimus’ aptitude as a ruler, or that he harbors any illusions when it comes to the kind of person that he is and how that, in turn, is reflected onto his dominion. Being at his side for as long as he has, occupying the position that he does, he knows Septimus better than most people he’s surrounded by. And so, when it comes to Viktor’s loyalty to him, it’s not a matter of him believing that Septimus is a worthy king -- because the reality is, he isn’t -- but a matter of his sense of purpose being irrevocably tied to the man. Viktor doesn’t like to leave himself open to whims and possibilities; instead, he prefers to have a specific outcome determined and kept in mind in order for him to work towards -- and so naturally, when weighed against all the different scenarios that could branch out and tug him along their winding paths if the throne was ever stolen, the notion of Septimus keeping his hold on it is infinitely more favorable. Down to its core, underneath his sworn oaths and his frail hopes for the future, Viktor’s devotion is a selfish one. But what if it comes to a point where that is no longer enough?

I imagine that his devotion has grown lighter and lighter when weighed against his guilt of co-signing the atrocities and injustices that have become the standard of the king’s rule. It’s getting more and more difficult for Viktor to find value in his support of Septimus, but I don’t think he’s in a place where he’s willing to take action just yet. He’ll need to be pushed a lot more and challenged in many, many ways before he begins to consider treachery as an actual choice that he could make. I can see it happening if he finds allegiance elsewhere, whether it be in a prospect for the throne, or another faction, or even simply in an individual (or a group of people) that he grows to love and care for. He’s a man of the people, so I also think it’s possible that he could be swayed towards that by a certain community if he ever comes to join one (It would be hella cool if that ended up being the society of the Undying God...... Judgement, I’m eyeing you). He’ll need to be pushed towards it, but considering that he’s already begun to waver and wrestle with a lot of doubt when considering his allegiance to the king, I feel like it’s inevitable that he’ll reach a crucial turning point when it comes to that.

I HEAR TIME FALL, DROP BY DROP ; The previous -- admittedly very long-winded, holy shit -- plot explores the culmination of Viktor’s doubt while it can run its course, but time waits for no one, and it’s all too possible that change might come to tackle Viktor before he’s even had a chance to anticipate its arrival. What if Septimus is assassinated before he could reach that stage in his development? What if he’s overthrown and replaced sooner than anyone expects? It would be very interesting to explore how Viktor would manage to recover from that -- because I expect that although his instinctive response will be to enforce order and work to stabilize the situation as much as his position allows, he’ll be very disillusioned once the dust settles. I can’t say for sure how things would play out from that point onward, since it would greatly depend on the connections he will have formed by the time that happens and whether or not he will have already come to terms with his wavering loyalty, along with the progression of the plot, of course. But regardless, I think it would be pretty interesting if the rug was ever pulled from under him like that, and I would, in fact, be very here for it.

THE SOIL IS RICHER AFTER THE BURNING ; This is somewhat of an extension of the previous two plots, and while I used those to explore the outcome of Viktor’s doubts simmering to the surface, this one will explore the build-up that will lead to that. Particularly when it comes to the actions Viktor could take if he chooses to act on his conflict rather than stand by and let it consume him. I see this as the potential first step that he would make as he moves towards all the different possibilities that I laid out above. And it would progress with Viktor taking advantage of his proximity to the king to attempt to make him see reason. I don’t think he and Septimus are close by any means, but I feel like as his personal bodyguard, Viktor has most likely seen him and stood by him in every single arena of his life. When he’s clashing with his advisors, when he’s rousing political complications with his drunken antics, and when he’s contemplating all of that in solitude. That might push Viktor to advise the king in all the humble ways that he can, and lend him an ear when everyone else is refusing to listen; perhaps even earn his trust if that is possible. And because Septimus is not a playable character, I see this taking effect when it comes to Viktor’s own development; as this would push him towards confronting his doubts and taking action in response to them -- and also when it comes to Viktor’s interactions with the characters who would have an interest in what’s at play. This could be what paves the way for someone at court to manipulate him as I’m going to mention in the following plot, or this could simply be something that brings him closer to (or draws him into conflict with) those who are also closely intertwined with Septimus.

WHERE THE HEAVENS ARE SHALLOW AS THE SEA ; Political shenanigans, because who doesn’t love that shit? Viktor doesn’t, of course, and if anything, does his best to avoid being embroiled in it, but in my eyes, this is one pit-trap that he has no hope of sidestepping. His close proximity to the king and his intimate knowledge of him is something that I think most revolters would find valuable. In that case, could they be successful? Could one of them truly offer Viktor something that he would desire strongly enough to sacrifice his honor for? On the opposite spectrum, if no one seeks to use his position, I imagine they’ll seek to use him, instead. If the right person managed to coax him towards entrusting them with his doubts, they would have all the room in the world to manipulate that to their advantage, and that is one potential plot that I’m honestly buzzing with excitement for. I feel like he puts distance between him and most people in the court precisely so he would guard against that, so it would be so heartbreakingly interesting if he ended up being betrayed in spite of that. I’d love to explore what sort of relationship could build up to that and how the aftermath would play out, and most importantly, I’d love to see how it impacts Viktor’s character and changes his perspective and future approach to relationships, whether it be political ones or all of them with no exception. All in all, I’m really looking forward to having Viktor stumble into the murky politics of the royal court, and I’d be absolutely thrilled to see the larger impact it would have, both on his development and on the plot as a whole!

CHARACTER DEATH: Yes, once he reaches a good enough stage in his development where his journey feels complete and his death could have a lot of impact, I’d be totally down to have him killed off!

WRITING SAMPLE

TW: murder, death

Tension simmered in the courtroom, stifling his breath and crowding into the collar of his armor in heated fumes. Yet even as the aura of oncoming calamity burned within him and all around him, Viktor remained anchored in its core; hand firmly planted on the hilt of his sword and gaze steady as it traced the crowd for any hint of threat.

King Septimus had wandered into the courtroom on a whim. As much as he disliked the area, he often took to roaming the castle in a drunken stupor whenever his boredom got the best of him, and in this case, he just so happened to have been passing by the courtroom while he stumbled around and conversed with Viktor’s shadow.

Viktor wasn’t sure if the noble had been tailing them efficiently enough that he hadn’t detected them, or if they had somehow anticipated that they would run into His Majesty here. Whatever instinct they followed, it had drawn them into a direct clash with the king; because the moment they ventured into the room, the noble had launched into a cutting tirade, reprimanding the king for his current state and eyeing him with brimming disgust -- all while shouting loudly enough to lure half the inhabitants of the castle into the room.

That was when Viktor caught the calculation in their act; they had to wait for the king to reach his throne before they could confront him with his unworthiness of it. It gave their words impact; ensured that anyone with any semblance of repute in this castle would be drawn to the conflict like fluttering moths to a fuming flame.

And indeed, it was clear that they had played their cards right. As Viktor surveyed the cluster of onlookers, he saw a tangle of wide eyes and parted lips, brows knotted in apprehension and mouths twisted with disdain. The reactions varied, yet no face remained bare, especially as time passed and the confrontation escalated.

Though towards what end, Viktor could only wonder.

He didn’t have to wait long to find the answer.

It came to him in a blur of crimson mingling with gold; a nauseating cyclone of color that dissipated as he swallowed and came to settle in a broken mound of dread deep in his gut.

Viktor’s gaze sharpened as it flicked over to King Septimus, taking in the enraged flush in his face and the forceful blanch of his fists.

The noble turned their nose up to the king, and then turned to address his subjects as they hovered behind them.

Viktor glanced down at the king’s hand once again, breath locking in his throat.

His index extended in a slow tremor, teeth gritting around a vicious, thoughtless order.

Kill them.

Before he could even raise his hand in a furious gesture, because he could even turn his glaring gaze towards Viktor and holler the words at him, Viktor was stepping forward and stabbing his dagger into the noble’s back.

Treacherous vermin aren’t worth the sword, King Septimus had sneered the first time he had ordered him to kill a rebel; he had been displeased with Viktor for decapitating them. Next time, they fall on your dagger.

And fall they did, with a choked-up gasp and a fierce clutch at their chest.

Viktor held them as they sank to the floor, with a gentleness that went unnoticed by all.

Everyone was too busy searing him and the king with the same brand of scorn to notice the way he inconspicuously held on to the noble’s hand, wordlessly sending a prayer to the Undying God in their name.

Force of habit, he would tell himself each time.

He wished that it ever made any difference.

EXTRAS

None.