#Thread: Relentless (MAIN)

[scorching-passion]

@ghostofnibelheim Continued from here

It all happened so fast, a blinding flash, the single flutter of the eye. And yet so slowly, agonisingly so, as if time itself saw fit to gift him the pleasure of witnessing the sheer magnificence of carnage itself, the devastation wrought by the glittering steel nestled deep in the grip of the First Class SOLDIER’s palm. 

Death incarnate.  Atrocious and barbaric. A vision of awe-inspiring blistering beauty if he ever did see it. A spectacle of which froze the air in his lungs and brought his blood to the boil.

Even the mark carved into the ground, only inches from his very being, was simply another fantastical thing to see. The deep ice cold ache in his chest, swelling from deeper still to know in that moment that he had been a mere single breath from utter annihilation... There was something exhilarating about this moment; a moment which had woken something up inside the young infantryman, something hot and wild, fluttering in the belly. 

Breath-taking… was possibly putting it mildly. Trapped in his dreamlike state, all he was able to do was stare. Roche had never known anything in his relatively short life as gorgeous as this; the splendour of a warrior with the power to take down the gods themselves. Such grace and finery, such little effort to triumph over mountainous creatures that seemed to rattle even the cohort who pulled him back. 

There was no fear here, no cause to feel it, only the white-hot admiration for this SOLDIER First Class and the power he wielded in which Roche found he so desperately needed.

Shiva, have mercy, for his soul was surely on fire. Fate had brought these people to him today, for this moment, this memory of which Roche was certain he was not likely to ever forget. 

Purpose stood before him now, cloaked so perfectly in his gown of polished silver and midnight black. A legend amongst men, the greatest of all SOLDIER. 

Difficult to fathom, impossible in fact merely remembering the moment the hulking creature set before them simply… fell apart. A writhing grisly spectacle of death itself, and Roche would gaze upon the sight before him in a state of unadulterated, horrified wonderment. There was no sense of feeling right then, even the light shove to garner his attention was reciprocated with a slow turn of his head and a wide doe eyed expression. And senses did not truly begin to come screaming back to him until the moment the taller cohort to their rear began to bellow his orders. 

The clarity of the world around him, the immense gravity of that one, singular, life changing moment, so intense it was nauseating, and yet it felt for the very first time since setting foot on the hard soils here in Wutai that the fog had finally lifted.  For the first time in his life, he could finally see. Hear. Feel.

His birthright had finally been realised. 

He wanted that power, the strength to cut down his enemies with a single swing- To lift the bodies of the fallen unto his shoulders and carry them home. 

‘I’m not strong enough to lift him anyway…’ SOLDIER called for him, the sweetest siren song, one he was unable to resist. A need so unbelievably strong already invading and rooting into the very marrow of his bones. 

A quick glance over the second cohort’s shoulder, the glint of that brassy pommel resting at his back before bright eyes would shift back to the dull sheen of his helm, and followed closely by a single - albeit confident - nod of his head. 

“Loud and clear, sir.” was all he said. Sans the snark, without pomp and sarcasm. A basic submission and promise of future obedience in the wake of this latest display of glorious brutality. 

And with a strong upward tug of his pack they trudged onward, Roche’s sights squared firmly then on the man in black and his legendary pulchritudinous blade in hand. He would keep his distance... for now.

[joelalorian]

Fall Into Me - Chapter Eight: We'll Dance in the Street like Nobody's Watching

dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel is hanging on by a thread as a single father to a tenacious 10-year-old Sarah. Feeling like he's drowning, like the world is about to spit him out, he needs some help before he breaks in half. At your dad's insistence, you show up in his life and change everything.

Story is inspired by the song Fall Into Me by Forest Blakk. Chapter titles will be lyrics from the song.

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapter Warnings: Explicit, under 18 take a hike. No outbreak AU. Lots of feelings, unprotected p in v, flirting, dads being dads. Two idiots falling in love and finally fucking admitting it. Joel is his own warning. Age gap of about 9 years (Reader 24/25, Joel 33/34). No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname used only by her dad and Joel uses various terms of endearment (darlin', sweetheart, etc.).

This chapter includes the scene that sparked the entire story idea. I've been patiently waiting for it to see the light of day. hope you enjoy!

Thank you so much to everyone who reads this self-indulgent story and extra thanks to those who comment and/or reblog - you all make me feel like a rock star!

Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Chapter Seven | Main Masterlist

“So, how was it?” Grilling you for the past twenty minutes, Emily was relentless in her pursuit to find out just how good Joel was in bed, after congratulating you on the new job, of course. “Come on! I need to know!”

“Alright, alright! I had no idea you were such a needy bitch. Is your hubby not dicking you down enough or what?” you laughed before regaling her with tales of Joel’s prowess.

“I fuckin’ knew he’d be big and know how to use it! He just gives off that BDE, ya know what I mean? Just how big are we talkin’, anyway?”

Rolling your eyes, you laughed again. “Well, I didn’t fucking measure it, but it’s a definite handful. Besides, you’ve never even met him, Em! How could you possibly get that vibe?”

“I’ve seen photos and heard stories, that’s more than enough to pick up on that sorta thing,” Emily replied with the confidence of someone who damn well knows what she’s talking about. “I need to know more. Gimme all the details!”

“Yeah, yeah. Speaking of BDE, I gotta finish getting ready. Joel said he had something special planned for tonight to celebrate me getting the teaching job.”

“I bet he does. You’re gonna get another deep dicking from that huge—”

“Bye Em!” you cut her off and hit end call before she could carry on anymore.

Tossing the phone on your bed, you finished putting a light layer of makeup on, putting in a little more effort to look good tonight. Ten minutes later, dressed in a pair of dark, fitted jeans and a dark blue, long-sleeve, vee neck shirt that showed just a touch of cleavage, you wandered out to the living room.

“Alright Dad, I’m off. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” Leaning over the back of his recliner, you press a kiss to his balding head.

“Have fun on your date and be careful, Spud. Call me if you need a ride home or anything,” he replied, patting your hand. You turned to leave, grabbing a light jacket from the hook by the door just in case, when your dad’s voice carried from the living room. “It’s funny, Joel told me he has a date tonight, too.”

Freezing for a moment, you squeak, “Oh, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Quite a coincidence me thinks.” He paused again, but you were at a loss for words and grateful that he couldn’t see your expression. “Enjoy your night, kiddo.”

Knowing a dismissal when you heard one, you take off through the door. Your mind raced on the short drive to Joel’s. He knows. Your dad so knows. You start to panic for a moment wondering if he’s upset before the realization hits that he didn’t seem remotely mad about it. More like he got a kick out of the idea and enjoyed teasing you. You and Joel had to fess up very soon, but that was a tomorrow problem. Tonight was meant to be all about you and Joel.

Walking through the front door, you expected to find Joel in the living room or kitchen, but the downstairs was empty. Lugging your overnight bag up the stairs, you thought maybe he’d be in his room or the bathroom still getting ready, but again, no sign of him. Where the hell was he?

Making your way down the stairs, you peeked out the window to make sure you didn’t imagine his truck in the driveway when you parked – it was there, right next to your car. He had to be around here somewhere. The sound of soft music hit your ears suddenly. Following the sound, you slipped out the back door and gasped.

A soft glow spread across the yard from lights strung from tree to tree, a plaid tablecloth covered the patio table on which sat a vase of brightly colored tulips, an open bottle of pinot noir, two stemless wine glasses, and two covered plates. Just beyond the patio, a hammock hung between two large live oaks with another set of string lights dangling above it. As your eyes took it all in, Joel stood off to the side watching you with a warm smile.

“Joel,” you whispered, afraid to disturb the dream-like quality of the moment, his name a drawn-out breath in the air when you finally turned to him. His dark eyes glinted from the string lights as he stepped forward out of the shadows, one hand stretched out towards you. There was no hesitation in reaching for him and you clung to each other for a few minutes before he stepped back to pull out a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, settling into the seat. When Joel took his place across the table from you, you added, “This is so lovely, Joel.”

A bashful smile graced his lips as he removed the covers from the plates and filled the wine glasses. Your gaze soaked in every little movement he made, in awe of the gorgeous man before you and all he’d done to make this evening special. Holding his glass up, he toasted to you. “Here’s to your new job and the start of a very rewarding career. Congrats darlin’.”

Clinking your glass against his lightly, you beamed at him. He looked so handsome, thick curls pushed back away from his face, tanned skin glowing in the soft lighting. “Thank you, Joel.” Already buzzing from the way he made you feel, you sipped lightly at the wine before digging into the meal before you.

Bursts of flavor hit your palette at the first bite, the chicken cooked to perfection and the sun-dried tomatoes adding just the right tang to the red pesto coating the rigatoni. A soft moan escaped before you caught it, cheeks heating up with the way Joel looked at you with hooded eyes.

“I reckon you like it?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his gravelly voice.

“This may be the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, Joel. Did you make this?” You took another bite, savoring the flavors that exploded in your mouth.

“Mmhmm. It’s my mama’s recipe, she made it a lot when we were younger, and it’s always been my favorite. I’m glad you like it.” He watched you enjoy another forkful, obviously proud.

“I don’t just like it, Joel. This is fuckin’ delicious. I didn’t know you could cook like this!”

His cheeks turned pink as he cleared his throat. “I can’t, usually. I practiced a lot with this one.” That melted your heart further.

You ate your fill, making small conversation between bites, until your wine glass was empty, and your belly satisfied. Joel poured you another glass, which you sipped leisurely as he cleared the table and placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher for later. He wouldn’t let you lift a finger.

“Dance with me?” he said upon his return outside, voice deep and gravelly as he plucked the glass from your hand and placed it on the table.

“I’d love to,” you replied softly, lips tilted upwards in a sweet smile. Holding his left hand out, Joel helped you to your feet and let you off the patio.

A new song began, volume a little louder now, and you stepped closer to him. A warm buzz spread through your veins when Joel pulled you against his broad chest, one arm wrapping around your waist and the other bent to hold your hand over his heart. You could feel the thump of his heartbeat beneath the green flannel he wore as he swayed you slowly around the grassy yard, careful to not stray too close to the pool.

Nothing ever felt as right as being there in Joel’s arms, dancing in the yard like the world beyond the fence didn’t exist. Your feelings for this man were overwhelming, growing deeper each and every day – hell, each and every second was more like it – and that four-letter word bubbled in your throat. You swallowed it down, settling your head against Joel’s shoulder, eyes closed and focused on the moment.

Joel’s chin tilted downward, nudging against the side of your face, his lips near your ear, and his breath sent delightful chills down your spine when he began to sing softly.

“Fall into me and I’ll catch you, darlin’. We’ll dance in the street like nobody’s watching. It’s just you and me and the song on repeat in my head, playing over and over…”

My god, how could you not fall in love with this incredible man?

The intimacy of it all brought tears to your eyes as your fingers threaded through the hair at the back of his head. Stomach alight with the flutter of too many butterflies, the urge to speak from your heart became too much, you could hold back no longer.

“I love you, Joel.”

You loved him.

What did he ever do to deserve something like that?

Heart clenching deep in his chest, Joel guided you to the hammock, music still carrying softly through the air. With amazing finesse, he settled you both on the hanging fabric, bodies snuggled together until you nearly became one.

He ached to say the words back to you, but they kept getting stuck in his throat. Instead, he settled for showing you how he felt, just like he did with dancing and singing in your ear – he could have written that song for how relatable it was to the feelings you brought out in him. Dark eyes stared into yours as his hands moved over your body, pulling you impossibly closer.

I love you, his lips said as they pressed heatedly against yours.

I love you, his tongue said as it licked softly into your mouth to tangle delicously with yours.

I love you, his hands said as they touched you with utter reverence.

I love you, his body said as he pressed it tightly against yours, trying in vain to crawl beneath your skin.

Joel kissed you with singular focus until you were both breathless and overwrought with need.

“Take me to bed, Joel,” you whispered when he finally tore his lips from yours. “I need to feel every bit of you.”

Your angelic voice music to his ears, he scrambled from the hammock, scooping you up in his muscled arms to carry you inside and up to his bedroom. His mind occupied by one thing and one thing only – making love to you until you knew every part of him and he knew every part of you – the string lights and last bit of wine were left forgotten in the yard.

Loving the way you clung to him, Joel swept through the house and up the stairs with an urgency he’d not felt before.

His lips moved to brush down your neck, nipping at the tender skin as he went. Once in his room, he closed the door even though you were the only two there. Joel kissed each new patch of skin bared as he removed your clothes until you were completely naked. Easing you back onto his unmade bed, a low growl rumbled from deep in his chest when your fingers slid along his scalp and tugged on his hair. Fucking lord did he love how you touched him.

“Fuck, I need to taste you, pretty girl.”

He’d never seen anyone or anything more beautiful in his life as your naked body writhed on his bed, eager and yearning for his touch, and Joel knelt to worship at the altar of you.

Starting at your delicate feet, Joel’s fingertips traced every inch of you until he reached the apex of your thighs. Leaning forward, he let the scruff of his facial hair tickle along the flesh of your inner thighs, pressing open-mouth kisses along the soft skin as he went. Grinning as you trembled, he met your wide gaze as he leant forward, tongue exploring your folds.

The first taste of you set his soul on fire. Sweet like honey yet more addicting and thrice as satisfying, Joel licked at your clit, tongue occasionally dipping down into you, slurping greedily at the very essence of you.

He couldn’t have thought of a more delicious dessert.

His movements elicited sensuous moans that shot straight to his cock, his jeans quickly becoming too tight and uncomfortable. Seeking a little relief, his hips began grinding against the mattress as he brought you closer and closer to the edge, fingers soon assisting his tongue in driving you mad. Just when he thought he might blow his load in his jeans, again, you came, crying his name out, the syllables drawing out in a beautiful, lyrical drawl. Working you through it, Joel drank down every bit of your release like a thirsty man in the desert.

“Fuck, darlin’. You taste fuckin’ delicious. I could live here, between your legs, for the rest of my life, surviving on just you.” Joel stood as he spoke, gazing down at your blissed out form on his bed as he tore off his clothes, one large hand palming his cock before he practically dove into bed with you.

“You’re too good at that, Joel Miller,” you said, the words falling lazily from your lips as you recovered from the singularly intense orgasm. Swooping down, Joel kissed you passionately, offering you a taste of yourself lingering on his tongue.

Letting his body continue to do the communicating for him, Joel shifted his hips, grinding gently against you while his mouth devoured yours. Groaning as your nails scratched down his back, he reached a hand down to guide his cock toward its home in your pussy. Dark eyes opened wide, Joel watched your face as he entered you, delighting in the scrunch of your nose and the way your eyes squeezed shut before popping open again at the sensation of him splitting you open.

With long, slow, oh so deep, strokes, Joel made love to you, telegraphing the depth of his feelings in the only way he knew how, until you were writhing in pleasure beneath him. Afterwards, he cleaned the mess between your thighs and held you close until you fell asleep with your head resting on his chest. Only then, did he finally whisper the words he longed to say all night. “I love you, too.”

Joel stayed awake for a while, listening to your gentle snores and the soft sighs you made in your sleep. He loved that you let your guard down with him, that he was the man who got to hold you while you slept. In the darkness of night, Joel made himself a promise that he would not fuck this up before falling into a deep sleep of his own.

His dreams were particularly vivid, the sensation of your mouth around his cock so strong he’d swear it was real. He’d never experienced your mouth around him like that before, though, so it couldn’t be real. Joel let his dream-self enjoy every moment, your lips around his shaft and tongue teasing the throbbing vein along the underside of his cock a divinity he’d never known before. At one point you took him so deep that a loud, guttural moan escaped his lips, hands clenching in your hair.

Eyes popping open, the moan carried on, rumbling from deep within Joel’s chest as he glanced down to find you feasting on his hardened length. It wasn’t a dream after all.

“Fuuuccckkk,” his voice, still rough with sleep, drew out the word as he watched you go down on him. Your mouth a form of heaven he suffered too long without, the cheeky, mischievous look in your eye making the pleasure more intense. You clearly enjoyed the act nearly as much as he did.

It didn’t take long before your wanton rhythm and sinful mouth had him coming down your throat, your name a prayer recited over and over in that gravelly voice. “Jesus fucking Christ, darlin’. Where’d you learn to suck cock like that, hmm? Your mouth is like God damn heaven.”

Joel’s chest heaved as you gulped down every drop of his spend, tongue darting out to lick the last bit from the little slit on his cockhead before sliding over your lips. You visibly swallowed, savoring the taste of him; his eyes glued to your mouth the whole time. His hand came up, caressing your face with the love he couldn’t yet voice shining brightly in his eyes, and his thumb traced along your plump bottom lip.

“My little gummy worm,” he murmured, delirious from coming so hard. “Felt so good wrapped around my fat cock.”

Crawling up his body, you settled your weight atop him and pressed your lips to his, letting him taste a hint of himself on your tongue as licked into his mouth, returning the favor from the night before. The kiss was languid and sloppy, perfect for a lazy morning waking up together.

“You tasted good, all salty and musky,” you said once you broke away, voice raspy from having his dick halfway down your throat.

“You can wake me up like that any time you’d like, darlin’.”

The two of you cuddled for a while, neither of you too eager to start the day knowing you didn’t have anything pressing to do. Those unspoken words bubbled in Joel’s chest the whole time, begging to come to the surface, to be spoken aloud and given credence. Still, he hesitated without quite knowing why. Finally rolling out of bed around 10, you jumped into the shower while Joel threw on some clothes and ran out to grab some breakfast.

He just pulled back into his driveway, a bag with a few bagel breakfast sandwiches in one hand – he got an extra in case you wanted pork roll instead of bacon – a coffee and orange juice clutched in the other, when JB’s truck pulled up in front of his house.

Settled on the couch after your refreshing shower, legs tucked under you while scrolling through your phone, you heard Joel’s truck pull up. Waiting for him to come in with breakfast for you both, you were caught off guard by the deep voices rumbling in the front yard. You sat up, peeking through the blinds to find your dad out front, hands on his hips as he spoke to Joel.

Oh shit.

You couldn’t discern their facial expressions from that angle and moved to the front door, quietly easing the heavy wood open to peek out and eavesdrop. They had to be talking about you, right? There was no hiding or pretending you weren’t here, especially with your car parked in the driveway right next to Joel’s. After your dad’s comments last night, you wondered if he planned this ambush then.

“I knew she’d be here,” you heard your dad say, but you couldn’t read his body language clearly. His hands were on his hips still, but there was a smile on his face. “You sweet on my baby girl, Joel?”

You couldn’t hear Joel’s response, his gravelly voice pitched too low for your ears to catch across the distance, but you could see him smile hesitantly even as his broad shoulders hunched slightly. Whatever it was caused your dad to chuckle and punch Joel playfully.

“I knew it!” your dad exclaimed, the sudden loudness startling you. “I knew you two would hit it off, I just wasn’t sure how long it’d take.”

You caught Joel’s response this time, his surprised voice pitching upwards. “You’re not upset?”

Walking toward the house without invitation, your dad paused. “Why the hell would I be upset? You’re a good man, Joel, and I know you’ll treat her well. And she’ll be good for you, too, I have no doubt. Now, you got enough in that there bag for breakfast for three?”

Your shoulders sagged with relief as you eased the door open. “I thought I heard voices! Hi Dad,” you greeted. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey Spud. I could ask you the same thing, but I knew I’d find you here.” Pulling you in for a hug, he ushered you inside. “I got tired of waiting for you two to come clean and thought I’d put you both on the spot.”

Eyebrows shooting up, you glanced at Joel before meeting your dad’s gaze again. “How did you know?”

Giving you a shrug, he said, “You two weren’t exactly subtle and a father always knows.” Nudging your shoulder, JB turned to Joel. “You’ll find that out soon enough, my friend. I can’t wait for the trouble that Sarah will give you.”

The three of you sat at the small dining table, digging into the breakfast sandwiches, your dad insisting you tell him how long you and Joel had been seeing each other and how it all started. Relieved to finally have the truth out there, you told him the story and JB chuckled.

“That about tracks. That’s right around when I started to notice something different between the two of you. And it sure explains why you hardly gave Annica the time of day on your date.” JB gave Joel grief about that failed date for weeks knowing that there was something – or someone – else drawing the man’s attention. JB had the feeling back then that it was you, his baby girl, his grown-up Spud, who captured the single father’s attention.

“You sure you’re okay with this, Dad? I mean…” your words fell off, not really knowing what to say. You’d be heartbroken if your dad wasn’t okay with a relationship between you and Joel, especially now that you verbally admitted to being in love with him.

“Are you kidding? I’m happy as a pig in shit that the two people I care about most like each other.” Your dad was all smiles, beady eyes sparkling with mischief. “In fact, I was planning on setting the two of you up if you didn’t figure things out for yourselves first. Tommy was in on the plan, too, and was the one who suggested we give it a little time. Little shit never told me it became official, though.”

Sitting back in your seat, you giggled with relief. All that time spent fretting over what your dad might think, feeling guilty for dating his best friend and hiding it from him for so long. It was all for naught. You should have known he’d love the idea of you two together.

“So, when’s the wedding?” JB asked, a shit-eating grin spread across his lips as you and Joel froze, eyes darting to each other in wide-eyed panic. Your dad practically guffawed at his own humor while you two were practically having a panic attack. “I’m just kidding – there’s no rush. Just make sure you treat her right, Joel.”

Recovering from the initial panic – not that he didn’t want to marry you, eventually, just not quite this soon – Joel laughed a little nervously. “Of course, JB. I’ll always treat her right. I, uh… I love her.” His gaze shifted to you, heart showing firmly in those dark chocolate orbs. “I love you, darlin'.”

tbc

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[danmeiconfession]

Anyone is free to respond to this post how they like. Again, this is an opinion not a fact so please don't get butthurt over a stranger opinion on how they view these characters.

.....

I couldn't care less or give much fucks about Luo Binghe's past and dilemma, considering the monstrous path he ultimately chose. It's repulsive how a male lead can wreak havoc in both realms, driven by an incessant obsession with their shizun. To witness him inflict widespread destruction due to rejection and then be rewarded for it is simply sickening. Shen Jiu's disdain for him is understandable, despite the abuse he endured the amount of death and destruction is uncalled for Binghe deserves death. Does Luo Binghe exhibit the response of a victim towards their abuser? He crosses so many ethical boundaries, yet some argue that Shen Jiu should have treated him well from the start, even if Shen Jiu was reprehensible he doesn't deserve the torture that is unthinkable.

He should have been treated better what makes Binghe so special is it cause he's a protagonist? Shen Qingqiu, as the shizun leading his peak, should have prioritized improving the attitude, judgment, and addressing bullying among all disciples. He was abused I'm not denying that but he never blackend then he was blackened even before he met Shizun lol.

Comparisons with characters like Wei Wuxian highlight a significant difference. Wei Wuxian remained a good person despite the cultivation world turning against him and Madam Yu abuse on him in his younger years. In contrast, Luo Binghe operates on a whole different level, willingly engaging in fucked up heinous acts in "Proud Immortal Demon Way." It's challenging for me, as a reader, to sympathize with someone who deliberately made destructive choices. Bingmei isn't much better, and Bing-ge's approach to grievances is extreme, seeking to repay a thousand-fold.

He wasn't coerced; Shen Qingqiu can't be held responsible for the way he turned out because, at some point, one has to take control of their own life. Luo Binghe's mindset operates within a black-and-white framework, and while his life may have tragic elements, the current state he finds himself in is essentially the outcome of his own actions. I don't particularly care much after that. Despite having wives, immense power, and genuine love from his partners, he remains fixated on one specific person. His past may have been harrowing, but his present is a self-made hell, marked by unfulfillment stemming from his obsession. And it hit me then, how many lives had he destroyed how many women had he forced and then put them in his harem as just a statistic. If Luo binghe wasn't the main focal point and male lead or was an ugly character we wouldn't give a rat's arse about him because it fucking ridiculous his shizun was under no obligation to love the man who killed the person he dearly held most and rendered him limbless and destroyed everything. No one sane would. If you were in the same situation, would you choose to be with this man? Except for Shen Yuan, who shares an equal obsession with his idol, it's doubtful that anyone would pursue such a relationship.

Luo Binghe's tragedy lies in his psychological imbalance, fixating on a particular person, and the responsibility for this fixation rests squarely on him. It's clear that he wouldn't bother if it were solely about the abuse; he could have just killed Shen Jiu and moved on, a typical move for a protagonist with a vendetta. Consider what he did to the Palace Master – subjected him to pickling, yet he tormented Shen Jiu for years without end how is that fair. Such actions aren't solely driven by hatred; there must be an underlying thread of resentment. After all, the boundary between love and hate is often thin. Binghe's emotional baggage is more complex. His relentless pursuit of Shen Jiu is rooted in the latter's complete lack of care or concern for him. Binghe's focus transcends mere revenge for abuse; it revolves around a deep-seated yearning for care and attention that was never reciprocated.

What truly irks me is the fact that some people become upset just because the male lead in the story is canonically depicted as having been abused/mistreated as a child. It's essential to detach oneself and recognize that not every narrative revolves around personal experiences. Yes, I'm talking to you reader. Having a villain be a child abuser is more personal than being a mass serial killer. Child abusers are depicted to always be plain 100 percent evil what I appreciate from this character is how real he is and how much the cycle of abuse repeats itself. Unfortunately...

Luo Binghe's fate was designed to involve adversity; after all, protagonists are meant to face challenges. Comparing the ethical standards of the 21st century child abuse to the ancient setting of svsss is irrelevant, considering the weak moral framework and how much evil is batted away in that context. Shen Jiu, while flawed, is unfairly singled out when others are wickeder than him. It's important to acknowledge that he could have been worse we know his story. He could butter them up, gain their trust, manipulate Binghe if he were to find out earlier in the story his demon heritage, hell he could have even weaponized how much abuse he stayed as a slave against the Sect Leader but he didn't. The Peaklords, demons, airplane bro, and Mobei Jun, the women all have their disgusting faults too, and it's essential to view the characters within the broader context of the story.

Nobody is entirely virtuous. What perplexes me the most is that Shen Jiu's transgression involves a single instance of child abuse—just one reported case. The strong opposition despite acknowledging his potentially kinder traits raises questions still horrific and how dare we want good things for him. Anytime someone wants to post or want to think positively it's like there is a fixed way everyone must cater to how they see him and I find that boring really. If someone has a certain way they see a character than go for it life to short to cater to a mob. It's a fucking novel on the internet at the end of the day. People shouldn't bully or hurt real people over a novel or for any medium for how they interpret a character because that when the issues start.

While some may view this as "woobiefying," I don't it's essential to recognize the complexity of Shen Jiu's character. Canonically, Shen Jiu can't perform outwardly benevolent deeds because the world setting he is in as the villain seems to discourage it. People aren't simply black and white, and Shen Jiu's nuances go beyond a single act. Can a person with a dark past and abused a disciple also contribute positively to the world as scum? Yes. Human beings are multifaceted, and Shen Jiu's character reflects this complexity. If writers wish to explore positive alternative character traits or divergent life trajectories, especially in a fandom like svsss where creativity is expected, they should feel free to do so. After all, fanfiction is a space for imaginative storytelling, even if it deviates significantly from the original content.

If readers are troubled or have dissatisfactions with the character development and writing for Shen Jiu, or any other character for that matter, consider revisiting the novel. That's the only version you can experience with the original author, after all! LOL.

.

[magmas-stuff]

Metal Sonic: Imperfect Self (character overview)

Hello again! Last time I did an overview of Eggman Nega, so this time I chose a character even closer to Dr. Eggman himself: Metal Sonic. This post aims to be a short analysis of the character, his motivations and what makes him so interesting as a foil to Sonic's free spirit.

Purpose. Identity. Sonic.

Introduced in Sonic CD, Metal Sonic was built by Dr. Eggman and given one sole purpose: destroying Sonic. Operating under the twisted belief that he is the real, true Sonic, Metal constantly tries to prove his superiority to his "imperfect self" in contests of speed, coming back stronger each time.

Metal Sonic continues to analyze the situation as he runs after him. He has been unable to beat Sonic since the first match. He has the best performance and a tireless body of steel. There are plenty of factors that make him unbeatable. And yet, he can’t win. Why? Why can’t he beat a hedgehog that just runs fast… And then… A rustle of electrons rippled through this sea of AI cognitive threads. …Isn’t that because he’s “just fast”? (Translation by @browniestash!)

Metal Sonic occasionally shows some doubt or insecurity in his sole mission, but ultimately never gives up, analyzing gathered data to rethink his strategy and come back as more of a threat than ever. And Sonic is more than happy to take the challenge.

He’s already sent out a distress signal. Help will be arriving soon and he will be recovered at Eggman’s base. If he can connect to the base’s main computer and analyze today’s data, he should be able to win the next round. There will be room to rethink his inhibitory behavior and attack patterns, as well as to sharpen his focus on speed. He can still reach a higher dimension. There is someone with whom he must determine who is better in that dimension… (Translation by @browniestash!)

Stripped of free will

While Sonic is, most of the time, the only thing in Metal Sonic's mind, he does have another relationship of great importance to his character: the one with his master and creator, Dr. Eggman.

Regularly filling the role of Eggman's silent enforcer, Metal Sonic holds a much higher status than most Badniks in the Eggman Empire, being among his favorite creations. He is a tool, sure, but he's undoubtedly one of his best tools.

Though, of course, this has little effect on his treatment of the metal doppelganger. As a general trait of Eggman's, while he is very much capable of praising his robots in the event they succeed...

...The doctor will offer them less than humane treatment when met with failure.

Seeing fault in his boss' leadership, Metal Sonic would reach his breaking point in Sonic Heroes, modifying himself into Neo Metal Sonic and taking charge of the Eggman Empire. Perhaps he thought that, with him in charge, the empire would finally be able to wipe out its opposition. More specifically, to wipe out Sonic the Hedgehog. Curiously, Metal Sonic here also aims to take over the world, though this may be a consequence of his will being "attuned" to Dr. Eggman's.

This attempt at overtaking his creator's empire fails, and Eggman takes this opportunity to strip Metal Sonic of his free will and turn him into an obedient robot once more. Despite his attempts, it would seem Metal still has some remaining autonomy, seeing as he'd double-cross Eggman once more in the future.

Conclusion

And that's Metal Sonic. A relentless robot with a single objective and a lot of hatred, who aims to prove his superiority and destroy his rival but is, as he sees it, held back by the lead of his creator. I've been meaning to write about this for a while, seeing as there's been a lot of interpretations of his motives floating around and it’s a character I find fascinating.

[jumbled-messy-confused]

Threads of Fate

Summary:

In the quiet halls of the Little Palace, each Kefta tells a tale. Each thread weaves a story of resilience, unspoken bonds, and battles fought in silence. As the night unfolds, secrets of the heart come to light, love and duty intertwine, every stitch becomes a silent prayer, and fate hangs by a thread.

Notes:

This story is an AU, based on the first episodes of “Shadow and Bone”, when Alina is relatively new to the palace. As in each of my stories, Kirigan is a leader, not the villain from the series. Please note that English is not my first language, but I did my best to find most mistakes. (Feel free to point them out to me!). I took certain creative liberties, particularly with respect to magic, medical details and the characterization of the main characters but I hope, you will just roll with it. And now have fun! And thank you for reading.

The twilight hour had cast a serene glow over the Little Palace, its corridors echoing with the soft laughter of Alina Starkov and Genya Safin. They had spent the day away from the palace’s suffocating politics, a brief respite that allowed them to breathe, to relax, to share moments of levity—Alina from her rigorous training and Genya as a close aide to the Tsar. The day had been a rare gift of leisure, a precious pause in their relentless schedules. However, upon entering Genya’s quarters, the remnants of their mirth were abruptly displaced by the sight before them. A chaotic array of Keftas lay in a dishevelled heap, each silently recounting the day’s fierce clashes. “Not this again,” Genya whispered, her voice heavy. Her heart clenched with a mixture of sorrow and dread. The pile of Keftas represented more than just fabric; it bore witness to the suffering endured by countless Grisha.

Alina’s smile waned, her eyes clouded with bewilderment as she surveyed the heap of damaged garments. “What… what are these?” she inquired, her voice barely audible in the dense atmosphere of the room. Genya paused as she neared the pile, her fingers hesitating before grazing the fabric. “These are the Keftas of the injured,” she clarified, her tone resolute amidst the deep sorrow. “Repairing them is my responsibility.” “I’ll keep you company,” Alina offered sombrely, and together, they knelt beside the pile. With a resigned sigh, Genya began to sort through the garments, her skilled hands assessing the damage with a tailor’s precision. Alina, kneeling beside her, watched intently, her despair palpable with each torn seam and bloodstain that Genya revealed.

Suddenly Alina’s hand darted into the pile, her actions quick and decisive. She drew out a Kefta, its condition so ravaged it seemed beyond repair. The severity of the destruction sent a wave of dread through Genya. The garment was heavily saturated with blood, still damp to the touch. Its fabric was torn asunder, its once intricate embroidery now a chaotic web of threads and despair, the front and sides brutally slashed in what could only be the aftermath of a ferocious encounter with the Volcra. And it was black.

Alina’s breath hitched, her eyes wide with terror as she clutched the Kefta to her chest, her knuckles turning white under her desperate grip. She looked to Genya, her expression pleading for it not to be true. Yet Genya could do nothing to alleviate Alina’s worst fears. “I must see him!” Alina’s exclamation shattered the silence, as she sprang to her feet. Without a look back, she bolted towards the infirmary, propelled by a wave of dread and urgency. With a heart laden with concern, Genya pursued quickly, her own fears for Kirigan fuelling her steps.

The infirmary stood in stark contrast to the bustling halls of the Little Palace, a sanctuary of quietude where time seemed to stand still. The air, thick with the scent of medicinal herbs, was undisturbed save for the bustle around the sole occupant. The beds stood empty, the other Grisha having been treated and released, leaving only General Kirigan in the centre of the room. Relief washed over Genya at the sight of Kirigan under the healers’ attentive care, but it was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of his condition. The normally commanding figure, usually the personification of strength and control, lay deeply unconscious on the cot. His body was drenched in sweat, clad only in simple black pants, his skin shone with the glow of a high temperature. His torso was swathed in thick white bandages, the purity of the cloth marred by the dark, oily stains of Volcra-inflicted damage and the crimson of his blood. Despite the bandages, the severity of the lacerations was evident - his torso was literally ripped open, slashes so deep and dangerous, they made her feel nauseous. It was the kind of wounds that had cost many Grisha their lives; and if one survived them, they left scars no magic could conceal. The dire discolorations sapping through the thick compresses painted a vivid picture of claw marks that traversed his entire chest, wrapped around his sides and trailed down to his lower abdomen, vanishing beneath the low-slung waistband of his trousers - evidence of the healers’ struggle to mend injuries that were not just physical but wrought by dark magic. His tall and slender build, deprived of its typical layers of imposing attire, appeared almost frail, the stillness of his form was so profound that it bordered on the inanimate. The only sign he clung to life was the faint, irregular rise and fall of his chest.

However, what sent a shiver down Genya’s spine was the unexpected sight of a Heartrender standing nearby. With a sense of unease, she recognized the subtle movements of the quiet man’s hands—he was manipulating Kirigan’s pulse. Trying to calm her nerves, Genya reasoned that he was surely there to regulate Kirigan’s fever-induced rapid palpitations, yet a nagging suspicion lingered. Her heart began to pound in her chest, a dreadful rhythm echoing the severity of Kirigan’s condition. It led her to observe him more closely, studying the uneven tempo of his breathing. There were pauses, each varying in length, creating a pattern of unpredictable stillness between the shallow, weak inhales. During one particularly long gap, she caught sudden hectic movements from the corner of her eye. The Heartrender had tensed, and his hands began to sign with a sense of urgency that hadn’t been there before. A few seconds later, Kirigan’s body convulsed faintly, his back arching as he drew a strained, almost imperceptible breath - clearly in response to the Heartrender’s actions. Genya’s hands flew to her mouth in shock and a wave of fear washed over her as she realized the gravity of what she was witnessing. These were not just irregular gasps but critical junctures where Kirigan, obviously drained of all strength, was on the verge of succumbing to his injuries. It was a stark revelation, an immediate understanding that the Heartrender’s presence was not at all for the sake of controlling Kirigan’s feverish pulse; he was the silent guardian keeping Kirigan’s battered body that lay too weak to fight from slipping away. Mirroring her own fears, the healers were a picture of focused intensity. Their quick yet careful movements spoke volumes of the vital nature of their task. They radiated a strong tension - the sharp, immediate fear of losing a life, as well as the dull, lingering worry of what might come next. Each healer seemed to carry the weight of the moment, their expressions reflecting the toll it took on them. It was a sobering sight, and Genya felt a new wave of apprehension wash over her. Alina, with a look of shock and despair etched on her face, had come to an abrupt halt a short distance from Kirigan’s bedside.  While she obviously grasped the seriousness of his condition, the critical role of the Heartrender in sustaining Kirigan’s life fortunately seemed beyond her comprehension. To her, his presence was probably simply part of the infirmary’s landscape—an unquestioned element in the backdrop of her focused concern for Kirigan. She seemed unaware of the delicate balance between life and death that was being maintained by the Heartrender’s skilled hands, the full extent of the danger Kirigan was in. A pang of relief washed over Genya as she observed Alina’s innocent perception, grateful that she was spared the tormenting knowledge of Kirigan’s life-threatening peril. At the same time, her heart ached for the young woman who was so clearly out of her depth, her eyes filled with fear and despair. As Alina neared the bed, still clutching the black coat tightly against her chest, the healers made no move to stop her. She stared at Kirigan’s pallid face, his features still and lifeless, his skin ablaze with fever from the Volcra’s poison. Carefully, she placed the Kefta at the foot of his cot and clasped Kirigan’s hand, while the healers continued to place cold, wet cloths on his forehead and pressed ice packs, wrapped in fabric, to his sides, struggling to subdue the infection that raged within him—a heat Genya knew all too well, for it was not Kirigan’s first dance with the venom of these dreadful creatures.

A weight settled in Genya’s chest as she watched Alina’s shoulders shake with silent sobs. She thought of how new this all was for the young Sun Summoner, who had not been long in the palace and, as a cartographer, had never experienced war like the Grisha. She was unaccustomed to such a sight, unaccustomed to fearing for those close to her—repeatedly. Constantly. A subtle change in the air, a collective pause drew Genya’s eyes away from her distraught friend. The healers, moments before a whirlwind of relentless activity in their fight against Kirigan’s temperature, had come to a standstill. One by one, their attention shifted to Alina. Genya, noticing this, felt a flutter of unease. Why were they all staring at her? She subtly gestured, silently asking if she should remove her from Kirigan's side. But the healers shook their heads, their eyes softening as they returned their gaze to their leader and the woman who held his hand. It became clear to Genya then, that Alina's presence was not a disturbance, but a balm, a source of comfort that Kirigan, even in his unconscious state, seemed to respond to. Alina's touch, her very presence, appeared to be a lifeline for Kirigan in his critical state. Feeling a sense of relief wash over her at the healers’ silent approval, Genya moved with newfound resolve. She quietly fetched a chair for Alina first, and with a gentle touch on her shoulder, she guided her into the seat. Next, she brought a chair for herself and set it down nearby, a silent promise that she was not alone in this. Then, Genya’s gaze fell upon the Kefta at the foot of the bed. With careful hands, she lifted the black cloth, its weight heavy with Kirigan’s blood. She sat down and took a deep breath, bracing herself for the challenge of restoring the Kefta to its original state. Using her Grisha abilities, she began the first step - cleansing it. But with each pass of her hand over the saturated fabric, she found herself overwhelmed by the thought of the agony Kirigan must have felt, having been rended open by the claws of the Volcra; overwhelmed by the thought of the desperation Kirigan’s companions must have felt while transporting him to the Little Palace in such a dire state. She had to force herself to think of something else, to steady her trembling hands. It was a struggle, but gradually, she managed to calm herself, to regain control over her emotions.

Once the Kefta was finally free of his blood, she moved with purpose as she began the meticulous process of mending the torn garment.

Throughout the night, the infirmary bore witness to their vigil. Alina, with her tears that fell like silent rain, still held onto Kirigan’s hand as if she could anchor him to life. Unbeknownst to her, her presence was indeed anchoring him, stabilizing him in a way that Genya could see reflected in the gradually calming demeanor of the healers and the Heartrender.

But initially, there had been moments - heart-stopping instances, when instead of the rhythm of his faint breaths, there had been nothing but a disturbing, deafening stillness. They had lost Kirigan, more than once, his injuries too severe for his weakened body to overcome.

Yet again and again, because of the Heartrender forcing the life back into his battered form, Kirigan’s chest would rise and fall again in a weak, faltering imitation of its usual rhythm. It had been a cycle of death and resurrection, a terrifying dance played out in the span of agonizing heartbeats. Genya, a silent witness to these harrowing episodes, felt a visceral terror clawing at her insides each time Kirigan had succumbed. And on each occasion, Genya had feared it was too late, that the Heartrender could not save him this time, that the General had no more strength left to fight. Alina, thankfully, had still been oblivious to these silent dramas, these battles waged between life and death, unfolding before Genya’s eyes. Her innocence was a small mercy in the face of such overwhelming dread.

Fortunately, as the hours had passed, Kirigan’s condition had begun to gradually stabilize. The Heartrender’s interventions had become less frequent, till they practically ceased. He had eventually taken a seat, and though his watchful eyes never left Kirigan, there was a quiet reassurance in his demeanor, a sign that the worst was over. However, this stability came at a cost. Having left the eerie calm of near death behind, Kirigan now writhed in severe pain, a torment that the healers could do little to alleviate. They continued their fight against the Volcra’s venom that was still ravaging him, still combating the relentless fever with ice and cold compresses. Alina, with tender care, dabbed at the sweat that pooled on his face and in the hollows of his neck, a ceaseless effort against the infection that refused to break.

Genyas hands moved with a grace that belied the despair in her heart, as she meticulously repaired the tattered remnants of Kirigan’s Kefta. Each thread she wove was not just a part of the fabric, but a ward of protection, a silent plea for his safety. With every spell she cast, she fortified the garment with more than just physical resilience; infusing it with her hopes and respect for the man who carried the weight of their world upon his shoulders. The battles ahead would be as relentless as the ones in the past, Kirigan would all to soon again face the same threats that had brought him to this fragile state. So she poured all her forte into the cloth, strengthening it against the trials to come. It pained her that she could only mend his coat but not shield him from the inevitable. Yet, this was their reality, a constant cycle of conflict and recovery, each playing their role in the grand design of their fates.   As the night progressed and Kirigan’s fever spiked, his restlessness grew. His movements became more frantic and he began to utter delirious confessions of perceived failures and lost comrades, a haunting echo of the wars that raged within him. Feeling helpless as she could do nothing to ease Kirigan’s suffering, Genya focused on the one thing she could do for him. She persevered in her work on the Kefta. Her fingers moved with precision, mending the torn sides of the garment, even as her heart ached for Kirigan’s pain. His voice, raw and broken, painted a chilling picture of the tragedies he had witnessed, the lives he couldn’t save, the friends he had buried. But it was not just names that he whispered into the stillness of the night. His fevered mind was like a relentless tide, washing ashore fragments of terrible fights, desperate laments for soldiers he couldn’t reach in time, warnings washed away in the chaos of war. His words, breathless and barely discernible hoarse whispers, laid bare his struggles, and more importantly, the guilt he felt over the losses he blamed himself for. The healers, weary themselves, attended to him again and again, yet their magic was only a temporary salve to his suffering, The potent Volcra venom coursing through his veins was still a too formidable adversary for the weakened man, although, fortunately, it was no longer life-threatening. Genya watched, her heart heavy with the unterstanding of the burdens Kirigan bore. Even in sleep, he fought silent battles, the weight of leadership, the countless decisions had left scars deeper than any blade or Volcra could inflict. An exhaustion seeped from the very marrow of his bones, a fatigue born from the relentless toll of war, a weariness he would never show when awake. This realization struck Genya with a chilling clarity - this was not just because he was so ill now, but a constant state of being for Kirigan. Seeing him in such torment was a painful revelation, opening her eyes to the depth of his silent endurance. As she repaired the front of the garment, she couldn’t help but think of the parallels between the torn fabric and the wounds on Kirigan’s soul. Each tear in the Kefta mirrored a scar on his spirit, each bloodstain speaking volumes about his sacrifice.

Time stretched on, and thankfully, with the first light of dawn beginning to seep through the windows, a gradual transformation came over Kirigan. The fever showed finally signs of yielding. The sheen of sweat that had coated his skin throughout the night had begun to dissipate, leaving behind a cooler touch to his pallor. His breathing ever so slowly fell into a calmer, even rhythm, eventually signalling a deep, restorative sleep that had finally claimed him. As his condition improved, so did the state of the Kefta under Genya’s diligent care. The sides were now mended, the front restored. All that remained was the intricate embroidery, a task Genya was determined to complete. Meanwhile the healers moved with quiet efficiency, obviously relieved about the shifts in their patient’s condition. They first discarded the remnants of ice that had been used to cool his raging temperature. Then they gently dried his skin, careful not to disturb the fragile peace his body had found. After that, they began to replace the sodden dressings. Genya watched as Alina stepped in to assist, her expression a mix of concern and determination, as they carefully unwound the old dressings. The wounds were still gaping, the healing process hindered by the lingering Volcra venom. Alina, though not squeamish, was visibly horrified by the extent of the violence Kirigan had endured. Yet, she soldiered on, her touch light but sure as she joined the healers, working in unison to carefully tend to Kirigan’s limp body. As they tenderly raised him to rewrap his torso, Kirigan’s head lolled to rest against Alina’s shoulder. Her gaze, filled with a mix of fear and a soft, unspoken affection, never left his face, as if willing him to feel the comfort of her presence. In that moment, her eyes spoke volumes—reflecting the turmoil within her, yet shining with an unspoken vow to remain steadfast by his side. Together, they smoothed fresh linens over the mattress, creating a dry surface for their unconscious charge.  Last, lightweight blankets were draped around his slender form, cocooning him in their soft embrace. Hours passed, and the room remained hushed, the only sounds the gentle rustle of the Kefta’s fabric and the occasional murmur of the healers. Then, unexpectedly, there was a slight movement. Kirigan stirred, his breath deepening, and gradually, his eyes fluttered open. It was earlier than anyone had anticipated, but such was the resilience of this man. His gaze, initially clouded from the aftermath of his ordeal, slowly cleared, revealing a flicker of the formidable will that had carried him through countless trials. As his vision focused, he seemed to become aware of the hand holding his. With a great effort, he turned his head slightly and found Alina’s tear-streaked face. Despite his exhaustion, a weak smile graced his lips as he recognized her. His gaze, though weary, was warm, soft, filled with affection and gratitude. As he looked at her and acknowledged her presence, Alina’s face lit up with a radiant smile, her joy at seeing him awake was as bright as a sunrise. Genya, witnessing this, saw confirmation of what she had known for a long time: it was love. The way they looked at each other spoke volumes, more than any words could express. Though neither had yet voiced it, the emotion was clear, and Genya had long seen what they were only now beginning to admit. Next, Kirigan’s eyes, already half-closed again from the strain, found Genya standing behind Alina. Struggling to stay conscious, she saw a silent thank you in his gaze, not for himself, but for her care and companionship to Alina. She could see he was fighting to stay awake, but after his brushes with death, he was too exhausted. His eyes closed once more, and with a final, weary sigh, he succumbed to the much-needed rest his body was demanding.

As the morning advanced, Genya and Alina remained by his side, their shared vigil proof of the bonds that held them together—the bonds of friendship, of love, and of a shared determination to protect the man who was the heart of their world. At the foot of his bed, the once tattered Kefta now lay whole and restored. It was no longer a grim reminder of the battle Kirigan had faced, but a symbol of hope amidst the despair. Genya’s work was done. For now.

[aaal-iz-well]

Guyssss...

Okay, babe, deep breath.

Done?

Good.

Let's roll

WTF is happening? I swear to god a month ago I was checking this hashtag for updates like my life depended on it, and I had great plans for my wip's and everyone was making predictions about what the vault might contain.

Then I tell myself to start making some headway with my studies because exams are breathing down my neck and I (somehow) manage to keep away from this fandom that has been my life and blood for so long. AND ALL HELL BREAKS LOSE!!

Now we know that there are THREE books related to this fandom coming out this year and we might get Toby and Hannah and I'm so excited!

But there are two characters who have my undivided attention atm and I want to talk about them!

So now we have all the main characters, I'm so thrilled that Rohan is one of them because his story is so intriguing to me and it also adds to some much needed Indian or Pakistani (though most prob Indian) representation.

Just think about the kind of background he must have come from, let that blow your mind!

I know that he is going to have a real tragic backstory. Think something involving childhood abandonment or abuse or (most probably) separation from his loving family, coming to London, being faced with the HUGE cultural shock and the nail biting cold and relentless rain. Add to this: making sense of the weird accent. Being picked off the street to do some odd work for the Devil's Mercy. Slowly getting to know it's secrets and rising among its ranks till he reached Factotum. Falling for Zella (first love, maybe?), having his heart broken.

AND THEN HAVING HIS TITLE STRIPPED AT THE END!

CAN YOU FEEL THE BAD BLOOD ENERGY RISING?

'cause baby now we got bad blood...

I also believe that often things are not so one dimensional and that Zella is nothing short of deserving the position. She has undeniably had her struggles with gaining the power she now holds and being a woman of colour in a royal household. But I'm focusing of Rohan here, maybe I'll make a detailed post about Zella sometime later?

These are all only theories, but I can't help thinking that it's going to be something along these lines.

And then there's the fact that Jameson is not going to be a main character (*crying emoji cause I cant seem to insert one of the proper size*) Like he has so many unfinished threads and so much family drama to sort out.

We never got to see an independent confrontation of Ian over how he used Jameson to get what he wanted, or anything about the Prague mystery!!

And I know this might be a bit controversial with some of you, but I really want to see him and Avery fight. Because ofc they are a power couple and express their love to each other in such creative ways. BUT, but you get to know so much about a character when you see their world shifting, when the one thing that they believed to be an anchor is uprooted. How they act when the other is out of orbit. AND WE SIMPLY HAVEN'T SEEN THAT FOR JAMESON. I also might be holding out for a very hot romantic make up later on, but my point stands.

So there's my little (rather late) bit, but still.

Also to those who have read my work and have been so kind to shower me with kudos and comments, I want to apologise profusely. There is a lot to come, but just not at this moment when exams are leeching the life out of me, and trust me when I say I have the most elaborate plans for the future!

Like always, can't wait to hear all your brilliant thoughts. Have a good day/night (depending on whatever time zone you guys are in)

Also please check out Lockwood and Co if you have the time because it's something that I can't stop thinking about and would love to talk about. As an added bonus, one of the mc is kinda like Jameson (and that's how you know I have a type)

[lostxtosunlight]

Mizuki Haeshi Character Sheet

Please note that this is a MAIN CHARACTER in Yuki's story, alongside Isen Reiou and Raito Yokoshima, and will be mentioned/referenced in threads.

Name: Mizuki Haeshi (映雄水木) Gender: Cis Male Sexual/Romantic Orientation: Demisexual/Demiromantic Age: 25 Date of Birth: November 20 (Scorpio) Height: 5’11” Ethnicity: Japanese American Role in the Narrative: Character Foil of Protagonist, Yuki Hashikawa Physical Description: Short/messy black hair, brown eyes (noticeable dark ring around iris, indication of ability), tall, average build (more muscular/less skinny than Yuki) Ability: Erase Memories Ability Evolution: Erase & Replace Memories

Backstory:

Mizuki Haeshi went through life surrounded by people constantly forgetting their keys or wallets, dates, birthdays. He went to school with kids who always forgot their homework, who would raise their hands to answer a question only to lose their train of thought. Though strange, Mizuki never gave it a second thought. He was a happy boy with loving parents, their only child, even-keeled and rarely angry. His mother had been relieved to have such an easy baby, his father excited to pass on the family legacy.

All it took was an eight year old’s moment of rage to rob him of everything.

Suddenly, Mizuki’s parents stood looking down at him, their memories of their only son completely wiped, believing him to be a stranger.

No matter how he tried, he couldn’t bring their memory back, and Mizuki was thrown out onto the street without even the chance to grab his belongings. Hungry and tired, filled with a soul-crushing guilt and hatred for who he was, soon Mizuki began to think he would die here.

One day, as rain splashed on the unforgiving concrete, periodically soaking him each time a car drove past, Mizuki was in search of shelter when exhaustion and starvation brought him to his knees on the sidewalk, directly in front of a well-dressed man holding an umbrella. Even the act of someone extending their umbrella to shield him from the rain, after so much cruelty, brought tears to Mizuki’s eyes.

The man looked down at him with an intense gaze, and Mizuki found himself unable to look away. Seeming to decide something, the man nodded to himself, and extended a hand. Mizuki eagerly took it.

“What’s your name, boy?”

“Mizuki,” he answered, wiping his face. “Mizuki Haeshi.”

“Mizuki,” the man repeated. “My name is Isen.”

Isen, the first person to offer him kindness since the accident with his parents, told Mizuki he was gifted. That he could be strong, with some training. The pain that training caused was often unbearable, leaving him sobbing and weak. He saw the disappointment and frustration on Isen’s face and he hated it. The least he could do was help the man who had saved him. And when Isen extended that same kindness, offering him water and food or even words of comfort, Mizuki felt that guilt worsen. Why can’t I do this?

Around the day Isen told him he was seventeen, Mizuki heard the name Yuki Hashikawa for the first time.

Isen called him gifted. And Mizuki felt it like a knife to his heart.

As the years passed, Isen grew more intense, more impatient. Mizuki craved that kindness, and sometimes it was given. But more often than not, their sessions ended with Isen storming out of the room. Yuki Hashikawa was single handedly destroying what was good in his life.

Finally, Isen granted his long-awaited wish; he was allowed outside. First with supervision, but as Mizuki quickly picked up the art of intelligence gathering, Isen took a step back. Mizuki was thrilled. Once again he got to see that subtle smile come to Isen’s face, feel that compassion that Yuki had nearly taken from him.

The day he turned 25 was the worst day of his life.

Isen was relentless, bordering on sadistic. The pain wasn’t just unbearable, it was unimaginable. Mizuki hadn’t been curled up and sobbing like this since he was a child. Isen offered no comfort, storming out and unknowingly leaving the door slightly open. Mizuki heard every word of a sentence that terrified him.

I want Yuki here. Now.

Devastated and confused, he was soon assigned to watch Yuki, after the intentions of Raito Yokoshima were exposed. Mizuki was told to bring Yuki in when given the chance.

Though he wasn’t sure he could say Yuki would remain unharmed.

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 128 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: putting up a new fence.

BASIRA: "Jon. Don’t turn on the light. Go get Melanie, quickly." Get Melanie? For what? She’s not Buffy the Vampire Slayer anymore.

BREEKON: "That’s right. Just wanted to – to drop off a package." That pause after “Just wanted to”. He's so unsure of what he's doing...

JON: (with compulsion) "Why are you here?" BREEKON: "Dunno." (pause) "‘S not right, on my own. Not right. No point in doing it on my own." Breekon & Hope... Still a better love story than Twilight... (I like how TMA makes us feel for people and monsters who did terrible things. But in the end I guess we're all just human?)

BREEKON: "Make me." [AND ALL AT ONCE THERE’S A STRANGE SOUND, MUSICAL YET HOLLOW, AND IT SEEMS TO BE BUILDING TO –] JON: "Stop." Seriously this "strange sound, musical yet hollow" and then Jon putting a stop to it is actually really badass. How's that for recording enemies into submission!

BREEKON: "What are you – stop it. Stop it!" [WHEN THE ARCHIVIST SPEAKS, IT HAS AN ECHO TO IT, REMINISCENT OF THE HOLLOWNESS FROM EARLIER:] JON: "No." Yes Jon, show 'em you're not everyone’s punching bag anymore!

I btw also always thought Breekon just couldn't stand the gaze of Jon anymore and fled the Archives, perhaps tossing over a table or a chair in his way and slamming some doors (Does this count as door motif? Oh, when we're on the subject of slamming doors! There is a video of Sam Sam the music man breaking down the TMA main theme and he said those smashing sounds at the end of the theme are supposed to be slamming a door! Just because it's such a stereotypical thing for the horror genre - see MAG 85 Upon the Stair "And please don't slam the door". Such a fitting coincidence! But I already said in one of those Relisten posts, coincidences like this happened a lot more often than people probably think, it's a blessing for artists!) Ok, lost the thread a bit there. I think the image of the telekinesis comes from the fact, that we don't really hear any footsteps? (And I think, people wanted to give Jon a bit more badassary probably? He's demonstrating it so well already in this scene, why not go a bit further xD I generally like it, but I think it doesn't really fit into canon, he'd be too op.) Thing about footsteps in TMA is it's a bit inconsistent until S5? This has bothered me in a few instances before, like the end of MAG 21, when Martin storms into Jon's office. We only hear the door and the squelching of the worms. No out of breath sound aaand no footsteps. There was another one when I thought it's really missing footsteps, god I can't remember what it was... What I'm saying is, I wouldn't really get hung up on (the lack of) footsteps here.

"We started in a plague." / "It wasn’t the plague they feared; it wasn’t the death that waited in our wagon. It was us. Two strangers rolling towards them, unstoppable and uncertain, wearing faces they would only half-remember, bringing a fate they would beg their god to forget." Hm, wearing faces they would only half-remember... Strangers at the time of the plague I’d think more of those masks plague doctors wore - being literally unable to see their faces.

"Poor wretches who emerged from Millbank, with tales of Australia and its cruelties on their lips, bundled into the cramped and creaking ship that would drag them away from everything they loved. And towards everything they feared. That was the first time we saw what would become this place: The Eye’s Pedestal." Hold on, wait! Is that another reference that Millbank Prison was a place of power for the Eye? The Robert Small was a convict ship and (Western) Australia was a penal colony of the British Empire..

"We were conductors on a train, prim suits and scowls, a relentless beast of iron and steam that never seemed to get you exactly where you wanted to be unless there was something dreadful waiting for you. We punched tickets, ignored questions, and threw off those who looked like they were having too fine a time of it." Lol, is that a dig at public transports? xD

"We carried and lifted and helped the circus move towards its next destination, the next doomed town." Makes me think that they probably would have made superb roadies!

"Sometimes we joined the show, lifting weights and things that looked like animals. Sometimes we lifted members of the audience. Sometimes we even put them down again." First of all, lol, that last sentence. Second, throwback to MAG 24 - the two strong-men!

"And so we took the casket, a hungry thing of the earth, a crushing, choking tomb that will not let you die because it is too much what it is for death to find you there" “Too much what it is for death to find you there”... Saying the End has no grasp within the coffin. And not just the End because Daisy also lost her connection to the Hunt in the coffin. Eye + Web being the only ones with a chance to make it out.

"It was one like us that found it, a thing of shifting names and deja-vu. A fool, that believed because it found the coffin in chains, it would be an easy thing to control, to bargain with." Confirmation that MAG 2's "John" was a capital-S Stranger.

"She took him from me, made us a me." Still a better love story than Twilight!!!

"And she doesn’t get to die for that. She gets to live, trapped and helpless, and entombed forever." There are fates worse than death-trope.

"I have never known hate before. I have never known loss. But now they are with me always, and I desire nothing but to share them with you." Still a better-

JON: (voice shaky) "Statement.. ends." [HE COLLAPSES.] Since Melanie makes fun of Jon in MAG 189 about him collapsing again I have the headcanon that Melanie came across collapsed Jon, was like "Alright then" and just left again. (Maybe she went to tell Basira.)

BASIRA: (inhale, set) "Right. Keep it safe; I’ll be gone a few days. I have some leads I need to follow up." Oh, that (whatever that was exactly) was what Elias was proposing to Basira at the end of the previous episode, not his actual plans about the coffin. Alright, gotcha, I'm on track again!

@a-mag-a-day

[nospacesapparently]

Each couple in Tsurezure children rated (spoilers)

(sidenote: these rates don't (necessarily) reflect if a couple would be good together but rather if their comic strips are fun to read)

Saki Kanda/ Haruhiko Takase - 2/10

They are kind of the main couple of the series but the only thing they have going on for themselves are the constant misunderstandings that define their comic strips. Oh and not being able to talk about their feelings. Aside from a couple creative misunderstandings, their drama gets stale and old *really* fast.

Haruhiko Takase / Alice Himemiya - 8/10

Alice's whole dark humor yandere act was a little- much at the beginning, but later on found it's curve rather nicely. Takase rejecting Alice at the end of their arc was both believable and realistic ending to them, and his rejection was nicely written. I admit to getting just a tiny bit emotional. Also Alice ending up helping Kanda because she grows to wish for Takase to be happy even if it's with someone else is beautiful.

Alice Himemiya / Akimasa Noro - 4/10

Noro's main stitch of thinking Alice is into him when she is very clearly not isn't badly written but the constant misunderstandings does grow old - which is why I'm glad that particular plot thread wasn't that long. When Noro comes to comfort Alice after she gets rejected, the scene was nice and the emotions good. I just wish they didn't end up together (sorta-kinda) afterwards since that required for Alice to get over her god knows how long infatuation with Takase in like three seconds flat and reeks of pair the spares. Them becoming just close friends would have been awesome.

Yuki Minagawa / Jun Furuya - 7/10

Full disclosure, I didn't really like Minagawa's character at first. I found her constant teasing kind of annoying. It got especially annoying when Furuya did start liking her back but couldn't tell if she was being sincere with her feelings because of her relentless teasing. Like maybe it's just my own issues talking but toying with someone's feelings ain't cool. That said, their relationship progresses nicely, and they have some really cute moments together. And the later part of their arcs focusing more on Minagawa bonding with Furuya's little sister Hotaru instead of their now pretty stable relationship is both fresh and cute. Near the end of the story when Minagawa and Hotaru (said little sister) get their own platonic get together moment, I admit to being moved. Like, Minagawa / Hotaru platonic relationship was 9/10, I loved it.

Hotaru Furuya / that random guy at the end - 6/10

Now this relationship is just a book end for how Minagawa and Furuya's first comic strip played out in the manga. The book end is nice, but there is no relationship to get invested in since it's just one comic strip. Which leads it to being just, okay.

Chiyo Kurihara / Takao Yamane 8/10

Takao's low self esteem is played for both drama and comedy, but affects things pretty realistically. The early dynamic with Takao's struggle to connect with Chiyo added to his wonderfully written friendship with Tomomichi is fun. I especially love when early on, Tomomichi is fast to assure Takao that their friendship isn't so fragile that they have to hang out all the time, which is later mirrored with Chiyo assuring Takao that their relationship isn't fragile like that either. Both the romantic and platonic relationships are shown as important. Oh and Chiyo going out of her way to show interest in Takao's hobbies is amazing.

Yukari Nashimoto / Kazuya Sonobe - 7/10

Their growing emotions are portrayed rather realistically, and Nashimoto's struggle with her body image is relatable (even if it's comically overblown at times). I like how the manga showed that her struggles with her self image did affect her relationships and actions big time, even leading her to rejecting Sonobe the first time he asks her out. Like, even when the manga was being light and comical, her anxieties did have real consequences - and realistic ones at that. Cute couple, good character arcs.

Fuyumi Toda / Yoshiharu Sunagawa 7/10

They aren't featured enough for their stoic joke to get old which is good. And they put a spin on it often enough to be fun. That said, Toda is a bit hard to get invested in since Sunagawa is the one doing the actual heavy lifting in their relationship.

Kimihito Onizuka / Sawa Yamada 3/10

Okay so they have pretty much only one joke and that is Onizuka's rapping thing. I does get kind of boring. But they have almost no misunderstandings, and are just nice to each other even from the beginning which is- nice. Now on the other hand Onizuka's friendship journey was 10/10, easily one of the best parts of the manga.

Ayane Matsuura / Urara Takahashi 9/10

Okay so this is a platonic relationship but GOD I wish they had gotten together. Their relationship is one of a drama club vice-president/newbie, and the struggles they face along the way are very real and handled well. It's like the dynamic most people seek from teacher/student relationships but without the inherent issues with such a dynamic. Urara is a bit of a hit or miss with her jokes tho (I mean I liked her well enough but yeah).

Kazuko Hosokawa / Shinichi Katori ???/10

So the comical value comes from Katori being- Katori. Which is fun. And when Kazuko gets in on the act, that is fun too - especially since Ayane is there to throw shade about it. And I did like that they didn't get together in the end. But ??? their interactions sometimes feel like a crack smoking AI wrote them. Like the kind of dialogue you write at three AM feeling real profound but when you read it in the morning it just sounds? Like, so much? Except they play the dialogue and actions completely straight which makes it work somehow? Idk

Chizuru Takano / Takuro Sugawara 7/10

Okay, so their relationship (especially early on) is also marred with increasingly stupid misunderstandings. But (especially Takano's) growing crush is really cute, and their relationship does have that puppy love feel to it which is adorable. Even while being relatively drama free couple, their relationships is just nice to read about - maybe because they are relatively drama free later on. Though I must admit the whole drama free thing works mostly because there are so many drama couples around they become a breath of fresh air instead of boring.

Noriko Yoshinaga / Takuro Sunawara 4/10

Okay so this isn't really a relationship that happens but since I included Hotaru/random guy, I decided to mention this too. So, Noriko confesses and gets rejected, and later supports Takano. It's just nice, I guess, that it just happened. No overblown drama, no misunderstandings (between these two, that is)- just, Noriko confessed and Sunawara rejected her. That's it. And then later Noriko supports Takano with her relationship with her ex-crush no problem.

Kana Ijima / Chiaki Uchimura 9/10

Their story starts with a misunderstanding but improves massively later on. While they have their comical struggles and moments, they also face some realistic problems that are often handled with maturity. Some of their fights are especially resolved with a level of maturity I didn't expect. When they "break up" and then get back together, that was a clear moment of growth for both of them (especially Chiaki) and their relationship. Tsurezure Children is a story (stories?) about high school children so statistics are sadly against all of them, making it likely some if not most of them won't make the distance. But I can really see these do making it.

Patricia Caulfield / Keisuke Tsuji 6/10

The sushi joke is cute enough, and I love when it spreads to affect other couples. But their main drama about moving forward in their relationship feels overblown. Like, a real issue and real conflicting emotions but the way it's written makes it seem like it's far more serious of a problem than it is. On the other hand tho they are high school kids and god knows at that age something like a first kiss with your date-mate can be The Thing. Their other main drama, however, about Patricia moving back to America is realistic while still maintaining the manga's easy atmosphere for the most part.

Ayaka Kamine / Takeru Gouda 8/10

They get together pretty much from the very beginning, which is really nice. That means their drama can be focused on developing their relationship instead of (like almost every other couple) trying to get together in the first place. Now most of their struggles are more, lowkey? Like, their big drama isn't about "oh, will we get married" but instead about "oh, I have to learn to communicate with my SO". It gives that first relationship feel which is cute. Also, Goda is pretty stoic but communicates well which I love. Kamine's drama about not wanting to be too clingy isn't the best tho. At times it actually feels kind of uncomfortable (most notably when she thinks she wishes he wouldn't talk to other girls).

Tomomichi Motoyama / Iori Enomoto 7/10

The mirroring between Tomomichi supporting Takao's relationship with Chiyo versus Takao supporting Tomomichi's relationship with Enomoto is precious. And Tomomichi is good character and deserved the added focus he got. Tomomichi has all these ideas about his place and what he can/cannot aim for, which is fun enough to read about. Him slowly gaining confidence to finally confess is a good character arc. That said, the story blunders greatly IMO by giving him both the confession and rejection. Like, Enomoto telling she already has someone she's into was a good enough twist - not all feelings are returned. But then the story cheats by having these two get together anyway. The first one is in itself a nice twist, while the latter makes Tomomichi finally act on all the advice he himself gave Takao early on, which is also nice. JUST NOT RIGHT AFTER ONE ANOTHER.

Takao Yamane / Tomomichi Motoyama 100000/10

Their friendship is perfect.

Sayaka Chiba / Yoichi Kirihara 7/10

Like most, I too had my teacher/student romance phase. But it is over and that's why their relationship scared the crap out of me as it developed. But then, in the end, he rejects her. It was amazing. Now, Chiba's interest in her teacher is written well and easy to understand. And Kirihara's growing in interest in her isn't written in a gross way, but rather in a way where it's easy to see how it could happen even if it should, under no circumstances, happen (I must repeat - no high school teacher should have romantic attraction towards their student). So for all that buildup to result in Kirihara still rejecting Chiba because them getting together would be grossly wrong was wonderful to me. Also, I liked their reconciliation afterwards since it was focused in them restoring their good teacher/student dynamic without romantic undertones.

Mai Tojo / Taichi Ogiue 6/10

Tojo's main stitch about being too shy to confess / not being ready to confess does get old, especially with all the bad communication added on. BUT them developing a friendship before getting together is WONDERFUL, and Tojo's confession at the end is super cute. And I loved how it subverted the whole "unheard confession" trope with Ogiue hearing her love confession she meant to whisper out loud just for herself. And then they just get together. Cute and fun.

Yuuki Kaga / Satsuki Sasahara 9/10

Kaga's emotional journey is one of the best written in the manga. It's relatable and feels real, even when he finds out that Sasahara is already in relationship with someone else. I especially loved how it was never a question of "winning her over" once he finds out and instead in the end he confessed simply to move on. And the rejection was just so well written; him bracing himself for the rejection he knew was coming, her being surprised and flattered but still firmly rejecting him, and then- just, even when Kaga knew Sasahara was already in love with someone else, the way he starts crying even while trying to stay strong when she run towards Yukawa with the biggest smile on her face- that scene always makes me cry.

Satsuki Sasahara / Hideki Yukawa 6/10

Their relationship is kind of out of focus since the love triangle between Sasahara, Kaga and Nanase is in the focus most of the time but it was still pretty lovely. They have very little drama, they are cute together and when they are in the focus, they are fun enough to read about. That said since Yukawa is really EXTRA out of focus he's almost no more than a satellite love interest.

Yuuki Kaga / Kaoru Nanase 6/10

Given that they have known one another for a long time, it helped give their relationship depth especially with *how* and *why* they got to the point where they are. I also like that their animosity wasn't born of some simple misunderstanding but rather something a little more grounded. That said, Kaga does move on too fast from his feelings towards Sasahara (a fact he lampshades himself) and Nanase does near bully him most of the time which I hate. So. It's a mixed bag. And THAT said, I did like Nanase's conflict between jealousy and wanting to actually be there for Kaga with his feelings towards Sasahara.

Chihiro Soma / Haruka Saejima 5/10

Their initial misunderstanding where Saejima thinks they are dating and Soma thinks they are training is- different enough to be fun but goes on for far too long. That said the fall out from the misunderstanding was good, and later on Soma's struggle to grow into being equals is also different from the other story lines. Too much drama that could be solved if Saejima wasn't about to pass out from how cute Soma is every five seconds, but I liked them.

Ryoko Kaji / Masfumi Akagi 9/10

I admit outright that I'm biased with this since Ryoko was, without doubt, my favorite character. Her character arc was amazing and she is amazing. But their relationship is fun to read since most of the drama in it is, in the end, external and them just reacting to it (the drama coming from her attempt to become a better student). Their (and especially hers) struggles with it feels real and authentic. I also like how Ryoko's character growth isn't centered around her romantic relationship (even if it is the main catalyst for it) but rather she forms connections with some friends and her mother too. Now this results in Akagi feeling a bit flat most of the time, but with him steadily supporting Ryoko and having his own thoughts and ideas it didn't bother me. Also him crying after hearing Ryoko got accepted into college was very moving. And I did like how he pushed her into forming those other meaningful relationships instead of wanting her to focus just on him. Only his borderline sexual harassment keeps me from actually liking him.

Erika Shibasaki / Shinji Ubukata 8/10

Erika's main character arc has NOTHING to do with romance which is good and stands out among the mostly romance based character arcs. Also their crushes develop believably. Now that said Erika is a bit- a lot annoying sometimes. As is Shinji. So really, it's a match made in Heaven. Their friends also supporting and teasing them is fun.

Erika Shibasaki / Ryoko Kaji 8/10

Not a romantic relationship but lowkey my favorite arc is Ryoko trying to retrieve Erika's Miss Wasibasi mask. Also, friendship.

[scorching-passion]

Starter for @ghostofnibelheim​

The rough terrain of Wutai; hard and unforgiving. A craggy mountainous region of Gaia, relentless and unkind --- many had died here already since the beginning of the war, and many more would become memories upon the hillsides with little to show for their bravery other than a name on a plaque… if they were lucky, an unmarked grave if they were not. This was not what Roche had expected when flying over the scenic geography of this exotic place. 

This was not the life he would have chosen for himself. 

The sound of the chopper coupled with the vast greenery down below, a finery of nature if he’d ever seen it first hand, exhilarating to say the very least. Compared to the squalor of the slums verses the industrial edge of Midgar heights this was certainly a paradise in of itself, the need to see it all was strong  – the story of war had been so heavily romanticised in the fifteen year old infantryman’s head; the opportunity to visit far out lands, to be the hero in his own story, and he was eager to get to the front lines and fight alongside his fellow man, alongside the hero’s the SOLDIER’s sent here to quell an Intolerable evil. 

But upon the ground, he was loaded up, pack after pack, after pack of supplies for a nearby trench on the western coast of the archipelago’s mainland. And flanked by four others, heavily armed to protect this precious cargo at the very centre, the group would make their way through the steep valleys carved through the mountains rising like titans of aged lore, reaching so far as to black out the sun. There was nothing but darkness down here, damp, muddy floors causing one to slip and slide underfoot and a miserable sense of impending dread. 

The enemy was all around them, so they had been told, and this route - too narrow, too uneven for a vehicle, it had to be done on foot - would lead them right through the very centre of the main battle field - a no man’s land unclaimed by either side - the echo of gunfire, the screams of the injured and dying bounced in overhead from the vast stony walls. But they trudged onward, each step becoming more arduous, the straps of Roche’s load weighing heavy on armoured shoulders, an armour which was beginning to dig into his flesh, rubbing it inexplicably raw. 

The heat trapped there with them in that space, insufferable, difficult to breathe. Roche would think he would surely develop gills for how thick and wet it was down here. There was no release from this level of hell, no light at the end of this tunnel for as far as his own eyes could see. And the journey was slow, the greenish experiences of new recruits here in the far western continent hindering any definitive progress. All were fearful, all were struggling to come to terms with the fact that they may never step foot on home turf again. 

That they would possibly die here.  This was not the life he would have chosen. This was not what war had been painted to be. A momentous pedestal for the strong and mighty, a prideful trial in the life of any man. Thus far Roche was yet to experience any of that. He came here to fight the good fight, not carry things over the country like some pack donkey. 

This wasn’t the picture of war painted for these men, and with every eruption of artillery beyond the cusp of the valley, they would flinch and cower, half expecting the battle waging there to crash through these very walls, but still they would press on. 

Because what else was there? Fight or die.      Fight or die.           Fight or die. 

Forever and a day did it feel like they had been travelling, whatever light could break through the opening of the valley beginning to dwindle, as the weight of the load upon the young infantryman's back would become almost unbearable, but they were closer than they were before, at least. That was until disaster struck. 

A gunshot, too close to be a mere echo, ricocheted across the valley floor, the infantryman to Roche’s left lurched forward, falling to the hard stone floor with a sickening thump eliciting only gasps of shock and horror from the others. And as the men stood around that body - a bullet wound to the throat as the man began to die, choking on his own blood and they too blindsided to even contemplate any basic first aid in the moment - desperately attempting to absorb what had just transpired… the time to truly react to enemy fire was long lost. 

The valley exploded around them, fissures cracking through the rock like bolts of lightning shooting skyward as the sheer force of the detonation sent Roche and his caretakers deeper into the trench. He lands, cargo and all, on his side, a sharp, piercing agony through the knee wrenching a cry from his throat. He cannot hear his own screams as instinct overrides all other senses and the basic training for this excursion finally begins to kick in while he starts to drag his heavy body forwards; reaching for the firearm he can barely see before him then. He hasn’t the time to consider his injury, not with men to protect, not with the cargo on his back, not with his eyes filled and stinging with dust, an insufferable ringing in his ears. 

The only sounds available to him right in that moment being the desperate drag of air into his own lungs and the thundering pulse throbbing in his head. 

Fight or die. 

                     ‘I can’t… I can’t die here… not here. Shiva I beg you, please no. NO!’ 

Fight or DIE.

Finally reaching the gun, still strapped to the body of one of his comrades laying dormant - dead or dying - in the debris, Roche, with whatever strength he had left, and sensing the rapid approach of Wutai soldiers to his rear, tore the rifle free, screaming his throat raw with this smallest of victories. 

Rolling onto his back, he would aim blindly into the fog, cocking the rifle and preparing to fire at anything which came too close; if this was how he would perish, barely fifteen years old and fresh out of basic training, hardly a life lived at all, then he would take at least one of the bastards down into the depths of hell with him!

But as he spied the shadows drawing near, the unmistakable whoosh of a blade could be heard, a new sound to accompany the remnants of the blast still assaulting his eardrums. 

Hands a quiver around the trigger of that gun, another strike in the settling dust, the distinctive sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh. Only the splatter of hot fresh blood on his face forced Roche to realise his helmet was missing, and instinctively he touches his cheek gingerly to spy the red fluid sticking to the leather of his gloves. Eyes wide, horrified until that shadow looms closer and the young blond’s focus returns to aiming his firearm at this newest threat. 

But he doesn’t offer a warning, only waiting for this thing to reveal itself from the dust. But with his hands shaking so terribly as they were right then… he would no doubt miss anyway.

[m0srael]

A series in which I ask my mutuals for fanwork recs, and then come back and tell you why I loved them. Any chance you have something to rec (the criteria are virtually non-existent)? Please, please send it on. Here is my original ask with more info.

I was recced:

Open Fire by @slytherco [Drarry | E | 38k]

Once upon a time, in a Death Eater-occupied Britain... A story about the Second Wizarding War, still going on ten years after the Battle of Hogwarts. While the Light Side struggles to keep evil at bay, those who wish to rid the world of Mixed-Blood Wix roam free, growing in power and persistent in their cruelty. In the meantime, in an undisclosed location, a group of rogue partisans works tirelessly, doing one thing, and one thing only: killing Death Eaters. Things complicate when during one of their raids, the Pack captures an old acquaintance who turns out to be a double agent. He can help them change the course of the War but change isn't something their leader takes in stride, both on the front and in his heart. An AU based on the movie "Inglourious Basterds" Song Prompt: Lion by Saint Mesa

One Sentence Recap: Open Fire is a fast-paced, no-holds-barred wartime AU full of expertly choreographed fight scenes, memorable characters, the kind of smut that will leave you blushing long after you finish reading, and a hopeful ending. This fic was written for the 2022 @hd-wireless fest, but it could have easily been submitted as part of @lcdrarry! The plot is inspired by the Quentin Tarantino film, Inglorious Basterds, which just so happens to be one of my all time favorites. Ola brings all the intensity and brutality you might expect from a fic based on a Tarantino film, so do mind the tags and read the endnotes if that fact gives you pause! There are three things that I think absolutely SHINE in this story--the action, the characterizations, and (of course) the smut 🔥.

🏃🏻‍♂️ The Action I think the real main character of this story is Violence itself. It organizes the characters lives, serves as their primary motivation, and forces the characters to confront their closely-held beliefs. This story has everything from cleverly-orchestrated ambushes to (not so) friendly sparring, and each encounter is orchestrated beautifully. If you're the kind of person who struggles to read smut or action when you can't figure out where everyone's limbs are, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with how skillfully Ola has written these bits. But as over the top as it may seem, the brutality isn't gratuitous. Just like a Tarantino film, Open Fire takes conflict to its most extreme as a way to tell the reader something important and to hold a mirror up to to the latent violence of the every-day. I was on the edge of my seat from the very opening scene!

🤠 The Characters Because this story is inspired by Inglorious Basterds, some of the characters will feel familiar to you if you've seen the film. Harry Potter as Lieutenant Aldo Raine just makes...all the sense in the world?! He's relentless, in control, extremely powerful, and deeply committed to his cause (and hot...did I mention HOT?). Spy!Draco, too, is nuanced, compelling, and unavoidably loveable. He's calculating and ruthless at times, and uncertain and scared at others. Despite any similarities, though, each of the characters feels unique and deeply developed. I don't know if I've ever read a story with Werewolf!Hermione, and I absolutely loved her. But the stand out character in this story to me is Ronald B. Weasley. Without giving anything away (because I want you to experience the joy of meeting this character like I did), I have never read another Ron like this and I am so deeply smitten with him. More beautiful than the individual characterizations, though, are the relationships that Ola crafted throughout this story. The deep, familial connections among The Pack help to temper some of the violence and inject a necessary thread of humanity back into a harsh, unforgiving world.

🔥 The Smut Listen. Ola writes my favorite smut. I knew that before I read this story and the fact remains. Alabaster and Slick are two of my favorite fics ever written. Open Fire absolutely delivers on the tender, spicy front. Again, I don't want to give too much away because I want you to READ THIS, but the shaving scene?? THE SHAVING SCENE. You will think about it for...a long time. On top of that, the Drarry burn is slow but not too slow, builds deliciously and consistently, and pays off in the most satisfying, explosive ways! The enemies-to-lovers journey is handled so well, and I really love the introspection we get from both Harry and Draco that feels relatable, genuine, and so believable.

If you read this (or have read it), let me know what you think!!

*

Open Fire was recced to me by:

@caroll-in!

I am not an artist, and I don't know technical art terms, but what I DO know is that Karol's art puts a giant smile on my face whenever I see it. I can recognize a piece by Karol instantly--her style is so unique and unmistakable. There's so much energy in her linework and so much life in her colors. Her characters feel alive and relatable, and she's capable of packing whole epics in just one frame. Beyond that, Karol is such a lovely, kind, generous person and I'm so glad to know her.

Here are some of my absolute favorite works by Karol!! Not Again [Drarry | M | Comic] made for @hdsudsfest 2022 Not allowed a wand and being on house arrest in Malfoy Manor which magic is acting up and won't provide any tap water is a challenge but Draco makes it work. He takes advantage of the summer weather and resorts to bathing in the small stream running through the estate.

Everything would be peachy if only his parole Auror would stop timing his monthly probation visits while Draco is en déshabillé.

Trust Me [Neville/Draco | G | Comic] made for @chubbynevillefest 2022 Back at Hogwarts for his Eight Year, Draco finds himself in need of a quiet place where he could hide when everything feels too much. He finds a perfect nook not far from the castle but it turns out it's already taken...

The Matchmaker(s) [Drarry | T | Comic] made for @hderised 2019 It all started with an empty bottle of wine.

Thanks for sending me a recommendation!

[schraubd]

Never Have I Ever .... Banned Affirmative Action

Yesterday, the Supreme Court functionally banned race-based affirmative action.

The day before that, I finished the series finale of the Netflix series Never Have I Ever. The first season of that show I continue to think is one of the greatest in television history. The remaining three couldn't keep to that unsustainable height, but were also very good.

Two of the main through arcs of Never Have I Ever were Devi (the main character, a California teenager whose parents immigrated from India to America) working through the grief at the sudden death of her father, and Devi's relentless, all-consuming obsession with attending Princeton  For most of the show, these were mostly treated as unrelated. In the first season, a character rather callously suggests that the circumstances of Devi's father's death would make for a standout college essay; Devi recoils on the ground that it would be exploitative. In the final season, however, the two threads are drawn closer together. We get a flashback where a first grade Devi announces to her dad that she wants to attend "Princess University", and when informed that there isn't such a place but there is a "Princeton University", she confidently declares that will be her dream instead. The ferocity with which Devi clings on to this passion is, in many ways, part of the ferocity through which she clings to her father's memory. And in the final season, Devi changes her mind about the collegiate essay -- writing about her father and his death because "you can't understand me without understanding him."

There is nothing crass or exploitative about Devi's decision. She wrote honestly and sincerely about an important piece of who she was. And yet, Devi's initial instinct is entirely reasonable as well. She shouldn't have to bare this element of her life to the judgment of strangers if she does not want to. She shouldn't have to be defined by it if she doesn't want to be. There is something terrible about the way that college admissions encourages, even demands, of teenagers to produce trauma porn. Nobody is immune to this -- even as we speak, Cornelius Buckingham IV is composing (possibly with the help of ChatGPT) an essay about the time his yacht got caught in a storm but he and his Phillips Academy buddies pulled through, showing the importance of overcoming adversity and proving that nobody goes it alone -- but it's fair to say that this demand falls heavier on minority students. Every admissions officer loves a comeback story, and the deeper one can present oneself as having fallen into the dirt, the more glorious it is to rise out of it.

At the conclusion of the majority opinion, Chief Justice Roberts lays a booby trap for admissions directors:

[N]othing in this opinion should be construed as prohibiting universities from considering an applicant’s discussion of how race affected his or her life, be it through discrimination, inspiration, or otherwise. But, despite the dissent’s assertion to the contrary, universities may not simply establish through application essays or other means the regime we hold unlawful today.... A benefit to a student who overcame racial discrimination, for example, must be tied to that student’s courage and determination. Or a benefit to a student whose heritage or culture motivated him or her to assume a leadership role or attain a particular goal must be tied to that student’s unique ability to contribute to the university. In other words, the student must be treated based on his or her experiences as an individual—not on the basis of race.

It is hard to know how the first sentence is supposed to relate to the second. When does giving favorable treatment to students who document "how race affected his or her life" become simply a closet way of reestablishing unlawful affirmative action? Indeed, there's a basic incoherency in the entire formulation: the majority has always viewed racial discrimination as solely consisting of the formal use of a racial classification, and not a matter of results that replicate a particular racial pattern. This is why the Court believes that de jure school segregation is unconstitutional, but "de facto" school segregation that yields schools with nearly identical racial compositions (all-White or all-Black) are constitutionally permissible. Once a university abandons the racial classification, the constitutional violation is over. So it's barely possible, even in concept, for a university to stop using racial classifications yet "establish" a unconstitutional racial classification (save, perhaps, if we adopt the more radical call for explicit judicial resegregration I articulated in my recent article).

Be that as it may, most observers think that the manner most schools will respond to the Supreme Court decision is to accord more weight to "diversity statement" essays where a student can explain "how race affected his or her life" (that the Court tacitly endorses these statements at the precise moment they're under fire by the same political coalition that sought to terminate affirmative action should not be lost on anyone, nor should it remotely reassure that such statements will not be the next target). Instead of generalizing the notion that race affects applicants' lives, opportunities, outlooks, and so on, these essays individualize the endeavor -- each applicant must explain how they are affected by race, racism, and identity.

An inevitable upshot of this shift will be inordinate pressure on students to frontload this aspect of their identity, giving it pride of place so that admissions officers -- thirsty for anything that can substitute for the tools taken away by the Supreme Court -- can find a "race-neutral" way of ensuring a racially diverse class. The irony, of course, is that this practice will make race more important and essential, not less. Until now, a Black applicant could frame their application around their love of robotics or their interest in comedic storytelling or their passion for ancient Chinese art, or -- if they so chose -- on the importance of their racialized experience as they moved through the American educational system. They could make one of the former choices secure in the knowledge that their application reviewer would not assume that such a frame meant that their racial identity didn't matter to them or hadn't mediated their life or development -- it just wasn't what they would choose to accentuate. After this week's decision, the last choice becomes nigh irresistible for any applicant who thinks their racial identity matters at all to who they are. It's all or nothing -- a terrible choice to put students in even if the boiling temperatures of the college admissions hothouse didn't exert tremendous pressure on students to go the former route knowing that these are the stories admissions readers are forced to look for when seeking a "diverse" class.

In his initial thoughts on the affirmative action decisions, Ilya Somin articulates what I think is one of the more common misapprehensions about the "diversity" rationale for affirmative action. 

As Chief Justice Roberts explains, this kind of lumping also inevitably leads to crude stereotyping, based on the assumption that all members of these broad categories have relatively similar views and backgrounds, different from those of all the other broad aggregates. That is pretty obviously false in many cases.... [T]he exchange between  Clarence Thomas' concurring opinion in today's cases and Ketanji Brown Jackson's dissent powerfully demonstrates how two native-born African-Americans from southern states can have vastly different perspectives on the black American experience, its history, and what that history implies for today.

The idea behind this critique is that the diversity rationale seeks to elevate the presence of particular opinions, opinions that are assumed to be shared in common by members of specific racial groups. That assumption would indeed be a foolish one, but it is not the basis for the diversity rationale. If Harvard wants students who hold particular views on specific policy questions, it hardly needs affirmative action to do it -- have students write essays on why Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard is a terrible ruling, and then pick your favorites.

But of course, a dream of ideological uniformity is not Harvard's desire. Indeed, the impetus behind the diversity rationale is the opposite. Michigan's defense of the "critical mass" concept in Grutter was precisely to avoid the presumption that all Black students think alike, such that if one is admitted it can be assumed he or she speaks for all. A critical mass of Black students, far from amplifying an echo chamber, demonstrates the breadth and range of ideas, passions, interests, opinions, and desires that all can emerge from the fertile soil of the Black lived experience. This is why Iris Marion Young makes the crucial distinction between "opinion" and "perspective". Opinions -- "steel tariffs are good", "affirmative action is racist", "taxes should be higher" -- do not have any claim to particular representation in democratic or social spaces. But perspective -- the way in which "differently positioned people have different experience, history, and social knowledge derived from that positioning" -- does have such a claim, again, precisely because it doesn't reduce to uniformity in opinion or interest. Far from falsifying the point, the disagreement between Justices Thomas and Jackson underscores it (and, on a similar note, it also explains why I dedicate a unit of my anti-discrimination to Justice Thomas' jurisprudence -- as much as I disagree with it, it is an important permutation of ideas that clearly germinate from Justice Thomas' perspective as a Black man).

People young and old relate to their racial (or ethnic, or religious, or national) identity in different ways. For some, it's not something they think about at all. For others, "you cannot know me without it." For many, it's somewhere in between -- a feature of their life that permeates but does not dominate their choices and decisions; part of the soil that grew them and nourishes them but not something they have much interest in giving top-line billing on the marquee of their life. Under the old regime, they didn't have to. They could tell any story they wished about themselves without stopping to think "am I spelling out in excruciating detail how this relates to my being a member of this or that racial group?" Under the new regime, it's all or nothing. Of all the stories an applicant could tell about themselves, they'll be inexorably pushed towards the one where race, racism, and racial identity are the most salient. 

The problem isn't that the stories would be a lie. We can assume in many cases they're perfectly sincere, just as Devi would not be lying in writing an essay about her father's death. But it was not, at that time, the story she wanted to tell, the one that was most true to her in the moment. To insist that she write it anyway is a demand for more trauma porn. And, for all the pomp and rhetoric about hoping to transcend race once and for all, I am convinced that the Court's decision will have the opposite effect -- forcing students to speak of their experiences vis-a-vis race in the loudest and most extravagant voice possible, no matter how they themselves would prefer to present themselves.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/5VRYj3c

[shukuchiisms]

Still not perfect, but here goes a draft of Luna's updated lore for her main verse, Moons of Ionia [former bloodmoon], Based both on Snow Moon Ahri's lore and Bloodmoon Talon's...

In the ancient lands of Ionia, nestled amidst the towering peaks of the mountains, a legend spread like wildfire, whispered in hushed tones. It was the tale of a once-accomplished war general, Seo Shin-ae, who had fought countless battles and bore the weight of countless scars.

Seo had sworn unwavering loyalty to her kingdom and its king, earning the reverence of her soldiers who saw her as a symbol of hope and strength. Her valor and strategic brilliance knew no bounds, and she seemed invincible as she led her troops to victory after victory.

Yet, the tapestry of fate wove a cruel thread for Seo. In a treacherous twist of destiny, the king betrayed the very loyalty Seo had dedicated her life to, casting her aside to perish on a distant battlefield. Abandoned and forsaken, Seo's heart shattered. As her life slipped away, Seo's soul burned with a consuming hatred for the ones who had betrayed her. With her last breath, she cursed her fate, vowing to seek revenge even if it meant sacrificing her very soul.

In the depths of her despair, an ancient and enigmatic Demonic fox spirit materialized before the dying general, offering a sinister bargain. It promised Seo the power she craved, the means to exact her vengeance, but at the cost of eternal servitude. Driven by desperation and fueled by her thirst for retribution, Seo accepted the wicked pact without hesitation.

Under the eerie glow of the blood moon, a profane and esoteric ritual took place. The boundaries between human and spirit blurred, Banished from death and embodied by the mysterious marble fox spirit. Emerging from the unholy communion, Seo was no longer human, and yet, she was more than a mere spirit. The merging granted her supernatural abilities beyond mortal comprehension, and her physical form underwent a profound transformation.

Now known as Luna, the blood moon's will, she was an embodiment of the power and the spectral light of the crimson moon. With her newfound abilities, Luna unleashed her fury upon the kingdom that had once revered her. The lands trembled beneath her wrath, and her enemies fell like leaves in autumn. The kingdom she had sworn to protect was reduced to smoldering ruins, a stark reminder of the depth of her betrayal.

But as Luna's thirst for vengeance was satiated, another hunger awakened within her. The bond with the fox spirit brought an insatiable craving for memories and knowledge. She roamed the world, a relentless predator, hunting down demons, spirits, and humans alike to feast upon their experiences. Memories became her sustenance, the essence that fueled her insatiable hunger.

With each memory consumed, Luna grew stronger, her powers expanding beyond comprehension. But with every soul she devoured, she lost a piece of her former self. Seo Shin-ae was fading away, replaced by the all-consuming entity of Luna. She became an eternal shadow, a blood moon wraith, wandering the land with a haunting presence.

In the darkest hours of the crimson night, the legends whispered of Luna's haunting presence among the mountains of Ionia. Her story was passed from generation to generation, a chilling tale of vengeance and power, of sacrifice and loss. Luna, the blood moon's will, would roam the world for eternity, her hunger never sated, and her true identity lost in the mists of time.

[lynniceberg]

I love Marvel’s Micronauts! I’m talking about the comic written by Bill Mantlo with art by Michael Golden that started in 1979. I had one of the toys (Pharoid) and I followed the comic for all of its original run, but it’s really issues 1-12, drawn by Golden, that remain dear to my nostalgic heart. I recently picked up a few of those old issues – some of the last of Golden’s run on the series - and a couple after he left. I was reminded how much I love his artwork. And how disappointed I was with the artwork on the series after he left.

I’m one of those comic collectors who lost his old presumably now valuable comic collection under unfortunate/careless circumstances. Every once in a while I find a random old issue of Micronauts at a comic shop for a reasonable price and pick it up hoping to relive the excitement of my first collection. I recently bought issues 10, 12, 13, and 14 - specifically because they all feature Michael Golden covers.

Golden co-created the Micronauts world with writer Bill Mantlo, who came up with many of the ideas when his son got some of the Mego Micronauts toys as Christmas presents. I think Mantlo’s writing on Micronauts is top-notch for its time in comic history. Mantlo was always creative and weird in a particularly Mavel way and I was an appreciator of some of his other oddball creations and writing while ignorant they were created by the same guy. I’m talking about Rom: Space Knight which I also collected in its entirety, and Rocket Raccoon, who eventually became part of that little movie series Guardians of the Galaxy.

It was the art of Micronauts that excited me the most, though, and after picking up this series I would always remember Golden’s style and name. I’d seek him out believing his work always elevated the stories. He designed the Micronauts world with Mantlo and while it’s clearly influenced by Star Wars, as are the toys, Golden’s art is so gorgeous, detailed, and dynamic that it really pulls one into the story. And so when I saw these Golden covers a couple of weeks ago I held them fondly in my hands excited to relive the thrill of Golden’s art.

I share these covers and some of the pages to show that the art really holds up! Issue 10 is part one of the climax of the big conflict between the Micronauts and the evil Baron Karza. Golden and Mantlo pack the issue with several plot threads that tie the main story together. Look at how Mantlo and Golden switch threads sometimes from one panel to the next (pages 22-23), building the tension to its bloody conclusion. The action is relentless and they don’t romanticize or shy away from the brutality of revolution and war (pages 11 and 22 -27). An exciting precursor to Golden’s work on The Nam, a great war comic.

The issues I picked up were in sealed bags so I didn’t know they included issues Golden didn’t draw. When I opened issue 13 I was reminded of my long ago aesthetic disappointment discovering it wasn’t Golden’s art inside. Golden drew many of the covers even after he stopped being the artist for the series. I include the first pages of issues 13 and 14 to show the contrast with Golden’s artwork. The art becomes simple, cursory, and, frankly, unexciting. It’s surprising to me that the lay outs are actually done by Howard Chaykin who is still another of my favorite comic artists. The art became so stylistically bland after Golden left and Chaykin’s lay-outs don’t hint at his own greatness.

If you enjoy looking at this art as much as me you will be happy to know Marvel is putting out a reprint collection of the series in 2024. You may also be interested in the Comic Kayfabe podcast about the Micronauts issue #1 and Micronauts Artist Edition. Ed Piskor and Jim Rugg and guest Tom Scioli really appreciate the Golden’s art but Piskor and Rugg often scoff at the Micronauts concept and story. Scioli defends the story as well as I could, though.

A story about the upcoming reprint is at this link:

The ComicsKayfabe Micronauts #1 episode is at this link:

And the Comics Kayfabe of the Micronauts Artist Edition at this link:

[tiredgamergirl]

After the successful Crimes and Punishments and with the Sherlock Holmes IP back in the mainstream media forefront thanks to the Robert Downey Jr movies, Frogwares had the perfect storm for one more title of their long running series. It would be an easy win: to improve the existing framework, assess to the criticisms from the previous game and make some cosmetic changes in order to make it more enticing for the newcomers with bombastic set pieces to break some of the slower paced moments.

The game starts strong, with a glimpse of a future event of the opening case in a classic case of “how did we get here?” moment. A simple case of a missing parent in the behest of a young child soon evolves into a horrifying conspiracy and the first of the many action and time-based segments sprinkled in with quick time events throughout. This opening case is relentless, quickly introducing the new mechanics yet somewhat expecting that the player have already experienced Crimes and Punishments to catch up with the older mechanics. Old favorites like Sherlock’s deduction and imagination are intact and the chemical table is still as varied and engaging as before until a story event puts it out of the commission for the remainder of the game, and the picklock system had a complete overhaul that can be said to be more realistic and require a little less of suspension of disbelief. The new balancing minigame is far less frustrating, thankfully, and the eavesdrop mechanic would be further refined in Sherlock Holmes Chapter One.

The true meat of the changes are the action scenes, seemed to have been implemented to  please those who say that adventure games are too slow or too boring. In the previous game Holmes was no stranger in going into a fistfight with a suspect, but now every case needs to have a movie-like action moment or something eye-catching to punctuate and it sometimes can fit the narrative or be completely out-of-place like the “Indiana Jones”-esque puzzle that takes place entirely in Sherlock’s mind, as opposed the interesting writing in the Blood Bath case. The stealth sequences can also be frustrating and some of the action “puzzles” are a matter of repeating it and memorizing the right sequence until getting it right and surviving or to be annoyed enough to hit the “skip” button and miss the achievement. Crimes and Punishments also had clunky action, however they were far shorter and sparse. Neither games had the option of creating save slots and only in this one it was a feature that I wished it was present.

The overall narrative arc is incredible strong this time with a character from the ending of The Testament of Sherlock Holmes shows up and is an important role until the end: Sherlock’s daughter. The tension about this thread keeps on building up every passing case until a bombastic crescendo that culminates in a final case without any excess, sometimes even bordering on the surreal to reflect Holmes’ state of mind. Sadly, this time Watson is out of the picture most of the time and seldom partaking in the story. It can be rather jarring how he is present in the main promo materials and is hardly seen during the investigations or have anything to contribute except in the two last cases. Perhaps it was deliberate so Sherlock can have more screen time with his daughter and in the past the “teleporting Watson” was a joke known even to those who haven’t played the game so it would be easier on the technical side to save John for specific moments in the plot.

Another obvious improvement was in the graphics: at first it may be strange how Holmes and Watson look younger and this isn’t a prequel, in fact the ending of Crimes we are hinted about the new mysterious neighbor that will cause some strife between Holmes and his daughter. How the redesign might affect the enjoyment of the title might depend on how attached to the older version or how it affects the feeling of continuity, and it also has an entirely different voice cast with Alex Jordan becoming the current voice for Sherlock. Other existing characters like Lestrade and Wiggins are the same design-wise, except for improved textures and models, and some previously existing environments have some slight graphical updates or were even expanded, like in the case of Baker Street. Still, it doesn’t feel like cutting corners, merely part of the continuity. The game is simply gorgeous to look at, some of the uncanniness of the human models have been ironed out for the most part and the lighting glitch is gone. The locations are far more detailed and have strong atmosphere and composition, really inspiring the feeling of places lived-in or decadent.

It can be hard to recommend this game. A mid-tier adventure game bereft with quick time events to build up more excitement but that ends up building up frustration instead. It is clear how much Frogwares care for the series and their attempts to make it always fresh and engaging can be felt in every detail. Unfortunately there were a few more misses than hits in this one but still a solid title that deserves to be played at least once.

[lorelodge]

Indie multi-muse RP blog written by Ace- mainly featuring supernatural and horror muses from media such as WWDITS, The Addams Family, and Stranger Things.

This blog is a pretty chill private corner on permanent semi-hiatus. While highly selective I am open to new interactions. This blog is primarily iconless and plot-heavy. That said, I’m more than happy to do improvised threads if we have a rapport. 

>> EXPLORING THEMES OF: generational trauma // survivors guilt // found family // soulmates // eternal life // power as an addiction // not all demons come from hell // made monsters

>> AFFILIATES: @harringtontm ( Steve Harrington ) // @hargrovetm ( Billy Hargrove ) // @munsontm ( Eddie Munson ) // @thagantm ( Tommy Hagan ) // @trickstercaptain ( Jack Sparrow ) // @musecraft ( Nadja of Antipaxos, Carlisle Cullen, Morticia Addams), @008tm ( Kali Prasad ), @therelentless ( Nandor the Relentless ).

>> LINKS: carrd. || memes || promo

>> CREDITS: frcknbats (promo, pinned, & header); jayneedits (graphics psd); musecraft (ask banners)

RULES

This blog is multi-verse with each verse having a semi-fixed timeline. This means that there is continuity within threads. If something happens to your muse in one thread it may impact later interactions and plots.

In this a similar vein, I prefer exclusivity. However, I don't expect it to be mutual and will always approach my partner before adding you. I simply prefer not to interact with more than one of each muse. On rare occasions, at my own discretion, I'll break away from this and have two mains.

This blog has two main verses. One is a supernatural universe that combines mixed media (spn, wwdits, twilight, etc) and original lore. The other is a historical fiction pirate verse which pulls from PoTC, OFMD, and BS. I don't currently have a comprehensive pages on my lore for either, however, everyone is encouraged to ask questions.

Shipping tends to depend on the muse. Some muses are in open relationships, unattached, or engage in polyamory while others are single ship. Any ships that do happen are based off chemistry. Whether or not a ship is canon means very little to me.

If you bring drama onto my I will smite you. I don't care who was mean to who. I don't care if you think they were toxic or rude. I'm here to be chill, not see people frothing at the mouth all over my dash.

Minor godmodding is allowed/encouraged to progress threads. Otherwise, please keep to typical tumblr etiquette.

There will be potentially triggering content on this blog. Be aware that, for the most part, I DO NOT tag triggers. Anything with excessive gore, sexual content, etc will be tagged with nsft.

Hi! I'm Ace, 25+, and use whatever pronouns fit your fancy. I've been roleplaying since 2010 and have primarily been active in the PoTC fandom. When not here you may find me on thecodekeeper.

MUSE DIRECTORY

Our Flag Means Death

Edward Teach / by request / selective shipping / page

Frenchie / by request / selective shipping / page

Jim Jimenez / by request / multi-ship / page

Pirates of the Caribbean

Adam Brannigan, nee Teague (oc) / by request / single ship / page

Edward Teague / primary / page

Supernatural

Dean Winchester / primary / multi-ship / page

Rowena MacLeod / primary / multi-ship / page

Stranger Things

Axel Gustavson / secondary / multi-ship / page

Jeremy Russek (oc) / secondary / multi-ship / page

What We Do In The Shadows

Laszlo Cravensworth / primary / single ship ( open relationship ) / page

Baron Afanas / primary / multi-ship / page

Interview With the Vampire

Lestat de Lioncourt / tertiary / single-ship / page