itstheclaud · 2 years ago
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So like, my actual HC for Shade Lord is that they function analogously to Tarboy…
But my meme-headcanon for Shade Lord, which I am very fond of, is;
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Also no one else can hear this, only Ghost and the other shades can hear Chat.
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egelantier · 4 years ago
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Tian Guan Ci Fu
where is it and what is it
it’s a chinese webnovel by mxtx, the same author who did untamed; it exists as a webnovel, finished and kindly translated here, the manhwa, the donghua (animated adaptation) happening right now, and there’s a live action adaptation in plans, directed by the same guy who did untamed. the donghua is gorgeous, the adaptation i’m unsure about but prepared to be hopeful, the manhwa seems to be very pretty. but all the adaptations only cover the very beginning of the novel for now, so i went ahead and read the novel, and i have no regrets. it helps that the translation is very good - not without awkward translatorese, but it has consistent and engaging flow and style, and it’s also pretty good at conveying mxtx’s humor without awkwardness. it reads pretty well.
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what’s it about?
the world is split into two parts: mortals and various ghosts and demons and entities share the land, while ‘heaven officials’, aka gods, live in the heavenly kingdom in the sky. pretty much anybody can become a god if they do something really heroic or memorable and/or cultivate (meditation, training, virtuous behavior) really hard. when above, the gods rule their domains and fulfill their believers’ wishes; they work sort of like pratchettian gods, dependent on their followers’ beliefs and getting influenced by them. heavens are strictly hierarchical, with their own economy and pecking order, and the gods aren’t particularly sinless or benevolent; mostly it’s a question of scale.
our hero, xie lian, is a prince of a prosperous kingdom who’s been on a fast track to ascension for most of his very short life; he’s talented, he’s virtuous, he’s kind, he’s strong, and his only peculiar flaw is (somehow naive, but well-meaning) obsession with equality and value of human lives and so on. he becomes a god, unexpectedly, at seventeen, after slaying one especially dangerous god, and rises in heaven at the peak of his faith, influence and happiness.
…and then he finds out about drought and incipient trouble in his own kingdom, and, being a young and righteous god too close to his mortality, eschews heavens and returns to save everybody. it, to put it lightly, does not go well. at all. in fact, it goes catastrophically wrong, and, having lost everything, xie lian ascends again, only to get into a fight with the heavenly emperor, and get banished again, this time for good. he roams the mortal lands for next eight hundred of very lonely, luckless and hard years, technically immortal but not invincible, with his powers and his luck stripped away, and leans to make do, eking out a living as a scrap collector. his temples are desecrated, his name is forgotten, his kingdom is long gone, and - well. so it goes.
so it goes! until one day, to everybody’s great surprise, he ascends once again: a humble, gentle, immune to embarrassment, unflappable man, an embarrassment to heavens, a 'laughingstock of three realms’ who just wants to be left well enough alone. he’s Tired.
instead of rest, he gets sent to investigate a dangerous ghost stealing brides who pass through its mountain, and there, during the course of the interrogation, has his first (he thinks) meeting with a terrifying, old-powerful and vengeful ghost king named hua cheng, who likes to terrorize heavens from time to time. but said ghost king seems to be very benevolent and very interested in helping xie lian, and xie lian is pretty instantly smitten… with knowing what’s the cause of such interest.
…and meanwhile, in the beginning, there'was an unlucky boy, born under the worst stars, whom xie lian saved from falling once, while still mortal, and promptly lost track of. a lot of things happened to this boy, who wanted to be the most devoted worshipper to xie lian the god of the sword and the flower. as one does, you know.
that’s the beginning! from there on: investigations, heavenly secrets, old friends and enemies and acquaintances, thematic parallels, old tragedies, more pining than you can shake a stick at, grand acts of love.
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is it good?
it’s very, very good. it’s the first fantasy cnovel i read (aside from the hilarious one about a guy traveling back in his own timeline and becoming a sugar baby to a mafia boss, which was in a very different league), so i don’t know which things are baseline and which things are unique, but it had a very solid foundation: ambitious multilevel, multi-timeline plot coming together in the end both events- and emotions-wise, beautifully iddy main relationship, maybe multifaceted characters who change and grow and clash together in fun ways, a clear and heartfelt understanding of its own core themes.
it’s also, unexpectedly, very funny, in this visual, slapsticky, begs-to-be-adapted way - i found myself laughing out loud over it a lot of times, and it possesses this gift of swerve between understated but earnest emotions and all-out jokes that i associate with… a bit of prattchett and a bit of gintama, honestly. take it as you will.
(oh my god the mecha. i will laugh over this one until i die.)
it also made me cry several times; granted, it’s not like it’s this time, but those were very heartfelt tears.
and the main duo?
first let me say that xie lian was lifted out, wholesale, out of my deepest character preferences. he fell really, really far, and did some bad things, and some very horrible things were done to him, and by the time we meet him he went through everything and achieved this effortless kind of traumatized, humble, accepting, wryly self-deprecating, utterly competent chill that makes a character incredibly appealing to me. he’s kind, and he’s sweet, and he’s gotten any possible embarrassment at least a couple of centuries ago, and he kinda made peace with himself and kinda didn’t. i love him.
and, thankfully for me, hua cheng, the ghost king, loves him a whole damn lot, a ridiculous amount, an epic, over-the-lifetimes, life-shattering amount, and he’s a terrifying presence to everybody else and a shy, protective, sweet dork to xie lian, and every time they’re together on page my entire heart is just. it’s AMAZING. he’s a great combination of playing the obsessive protective yandere stalker-lover trope straight and putting it on its head, by making hua cheng not just revere but respect xie lian, in all his good and bad decisions.
they are just so - good for each other, holy shit. they get each other so well. they’re the best ever power team. i love them.
(the rest of canon is various character reenacting “really? in front of my salad?” meme at them. it’s hysterical, and it’s the best. everybody teams up to tell xie lian that his boyfriend is Problematic way, way before xie lian clues into the fact that he does have a boyfriend, and he’s having none of it. i love it.)
and the themes?
okay, so. roughly half of this novel is ridiculous iddy pining, and a fourth of it is various tropes (off the top of my head: soulbond, sex pollen, body switch, de-age, various shades of identity porn… crossdressing…) played very shamelessly. but it also really benefits from having an overarching set of ethical questions, and while it deals with them a bit shounen-style, it still deals with them, and it makes the whole text fresh, and sweet, and bold.
is it possible to save everybody? should you try to save everybody? if you lack the powers to back your convictions, does it make you complicit? when is it possible to stop the cycle of suffering, what can you do if you want to but can’t? if you tried and people you failed turned on you, whose fault it is, where does the blame stop?
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Detailed spoilers begin from here, and i would REALLY advise to stay unspoiled, because the domino reveals are very fun
i loved the various ways the novel sets all those pieces up and then overturns them and then returns to them. xie lian wanted to save everybody and it was arrogant naivete of an untried, untested, privileged young man who never had a real challenge before; his presence made things escalate quicker, and yet everybody around him pretended it was his attempt to make things better that ruined everything, and not a combination of factors outside of his control. and yet he accepts the blame, because it dovetails with his shame at not having enough powers to back his intent up; and yet his triumph over bai wuxian is that he doesn’t, after all, renege on his initial drive to help people.
my most favorite part of this novel is that its turning point, the lynchpin of the whole novel, the moment that keeps xie lian’s soul and safety intact, is not his personal purity and drive; it’s not even hua cheng’s devotion and sacrificial love. it’s just a moment of little, grudging, human kindness from a little, petty, rude man whom the history will sweep away soon. the bamboo hat in the rain. the rest of the plot keeps twisting and turning and coming back to itself, but this? this was unquestionably, beautifully clear, and i loved it. it’s never about the gods, it’s all down to - fallen human is human, ascended human is human, and human is not some state, virtuous or sinful, you get stuck with - it’s a multitude of choices, and there’s never a final one.
and incoherent spoilery screaming for people who read it already
oh my god i had SO MUCH FUN. i’ve been flailing on meme for days, because somebody just finished reading there too, and i’m still bursting with ALL THE FEELS. ruoye origins oh my god! that hat! jin wu’s backstory and ultimate end! e-ming’s praise kink! pei ming’s little shippery 'hoho’! hua cheng’s horribly handwritten stick and poke tattoo of xie lian’s name! the lanteeeeeeeeeeeeerns. feng xin and mu qing on the bridge, making up with each other and with xie lian! hua cheng trying to explain to xie lian that his habit of using himself as bait and pincushion at any given moment is deeply emotionally upsetting to him, and succeeding! banyue’s learning from xie lian to be a truly horrible cook! the entire deal with shi qingxuan and he xuan and the wind fan in the end. THE CAVE. THE GIANT MECHA. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa and i am beset, beset by feelings. come scream with me.
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tuhbanbuv · 3 years ago
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I went down another Mad Rat Dead lore-related rabbit hole again while I was poking fun at/trying to explain why Madrat always has blue shading on his character model and honestly I feel like this rn:
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I always thought that Madrat having a constant streak of blue shading on his model was weird, especially when he's in enviroments where that coloration isn't correct.
Then I realized...
Almost every character that is alive doesn't have blue shading, while characters that are dead do.
Just think about it.
Jack, Caroline, the Doctor, the little girl, and the Mob Rats do not have blue shading, and they're pretty much alive for the most part. Save for Jack having blue shading, but it's only in the night area where that is excusable. The Mob Rats don't have any blue in their color pallette at all until they turn into the zombie rats.
As for the characters that do, there's the zombie Mob Rats, Ghost Rat, Rat God, Heart, Mad Rat, and Mimolette. All characters have some, if not a lot, of blue used in their color pallette and shading, and all are dead in some regard.
Now, seeing as the game is based in Japan by looking at the town's design in the later chapters, I looked up the prominince of the color blue towards ghosts or spirits in Japan. This is an excerpt from a Wikipedia article for the Yūrei:
Hitodama: Yūrei are frequently depicted as being accompanied by a pair of floating flames or will o' the wisps (hitodama in Japanese) in eerie colors such as blue, green, or purple. These ghostly flames are separate parts of the ghost rather than independent spirits.
I looked over the Wikipedia page because this was very interesting, and I found something in the first section titled Japanese Afterlife that blew my mind:
According to traditional Japanese beliefs, all humans have a spirit or soul called a 霊魂 (reikon). When a person dies, the reikon leaves the body and enters a form of purgatory, where it waits for the proper funeral and post-funeral rites to be performed so that it may join its ancestors. If this is done correctly, the reikon is believed to be a protector of the living family and to return yearly in August during the Obon Festival to receive thanks.
If the person dies, however, in a sudden or violent manner such as murder or suicide, if the proper rites have not been performed, or if he is influenced by powerful emotions such as a desire for revenge, love, jealousy, hatred or sorrow, the reikon is believed to transform into a yūrei which can then bridge the gap back to the physical world. The emotion or thought need not be particularly strong or driven. Even innocuous thoughts can cause a death to become disturbed. Once a thought enters the mind of a dying person, their yūrei will come back to complete the action last thought of before returning to the cycle of reincarnation.
Well, where have we heard this before?
Mad Rat was subjected to a violent death (albiet not intentionally), and is pretty much driven by revenge the entire game. He has a constant shading of blue on his character model, and believes in reincarnation according to passing comments in the game.
Now, this probably isn't why Mad Rat has constant blue shading and they probably didn't want to use so many models, seeing as Nippon Ichi Software is a relatively smaller company. But the company was founded in Japan and they have used Yokai in their previous games such as the Yomawari series.
This was a very interesting find and I love doing deep dives of series like this.
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secretradiobrooklyn · 3 years ago
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Secret Radio | 7.24.21, 8.7.21 & etc.
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“Better, Better, Back” Secret Radio | 7.24.21, 8.7.21 & etc. | Hear it here.
- Mort Garson - “Plantasia”
1. Jean-Pierre Djeukam - “Africa Iyo” - “Cameroon Garage Funk”
The main musician I think of from Cameroon is Beti-Beti, and this is a whole different thing. Endless props to Analog Africa for providing fiery track after track. This is the sweat from their newest collection!
2. Eyedress - “Jealous”
Paige hears something in this and when I unfocus my eyes I do too. (Literal?) high school skate kids gettin in their shallow feels. I will admit that the chorus “time-time” is killer.
3. Nahid Akthar & Tafo - “Takra We Gutt Bhar Le” (I think)
Nahid Akthar’s voice is so completely bewitching that the amazing arrangements almost sneak by. Tafo is the producer of this track I believe, and the narrative structure of the music is just so confident and encompassing. But then also: man, that VOICE. She’s right up there with Ros Serey Sothea in expressiveness and character.
4. Oruã - “Escola das Roas” - “Sem Bênção / Sem Crença”
My thanks to you, Marc, for pointing this band to us. I have fallen in love with this particular recording, it just gets more thoroughly better with every listen. Calvin Johnson mentioned this band in a recent K newsletter — they’re a Brazilian band who corresponded with Doug Martsch as mutual fans until at some point Doug decided his own band needed replacing and he brought them out as Built to Spill and also as Oruã. This track also has shades of Sonic Youth’s “Master-Dik,” one of my all-time ultra faves. It really hits me in the ’90s, and I rilly want to see how some of this music is performed live.
5. Jacques Dutronc - “Le Responsable”
I’m so thankful to have Jacques Dutronc in my life. His rock songs knock me into gear like nothing else — and the whole band has its own very specific flavor. It kicks!
6. Sleepy Kitty - “Alceste in Silverlake”
At very long last, there is a new Sleepy Kitty album on the way! It’s in line at the record plant as I type this. And this is a song from the perspective of a musician-seeking drummer in LA, crossed with the most brutally honest man in all of France.
7. Sakuran Zensen - “錯乱前戦 ロッキンロール” (I Wanna Rock & Roll)
We only knew one song by this band (that we’ve played here) because the video was rad, but I looked to see what else was there and this song is just freakin great with me. The chords are really cool and his vocal delivery is just so over the top it’s impossible not to love. And the guitar solo is basically a full-on tonefest, which I appreciate more than a bunch of flying fingers. The video helps fill in the picture nicely too, I think, though I like the song while not looking at it even more.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YPCqT3e89SU
- Mort Garson - “Concerto for Philodendron & Pothos”
8. Clothilde - “Fallait pas ècraser la queue du chat”
All hail the French instinct for chamber music instruments as pop instruments, and then as a kind of technicolor weirdness. The orchestration of this song is a work of art in itself, and that doesn’t even account for her self-harmonizing melody. If you haven’t already, picture a brunette bob and deep mascara.
9. Public Service Broadcasting - “Spitfire”
I can’t remember now how I found this music, though I think it might’ve been from Josh’s playlist? This is from 2012, but they have a new album coming out almost exactly a month from now. In Bound Stems Tim and I got really into interlacing snatches of other people’s words into the music we were making, and this is very congruent with that interest. I feel like this song passes tests as it goes.
10. Shocking Blue - “Send Me a Postcard”
I first heard of this band when I was learning everything I could about Nirvana, and I’d heard both versions of “Love Buzz” and knew they were both great, but we only recently caught this track. It’s the bridge between “White Rabbit” and “Territorial Pissings.” 
11. Metak - “Tetrapak”
Our favorite Croatian band! Everything about this song is delightful. I feel like if this song was in English I’d probably cringe at the lyrics, but in this format I can only hear how much fun the song is to play. I am one-quarter Croatian, which means I can’t understand any of the lyrics either but I do see little ghosts of myself in the pictures of the band somehow. It’s weird.
12. Katerine - “Louxor J’adore”
-Anything I could say about this song is eclipsed by this excerpt:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uD7QuV6f_MA
The performance to the cemetery knocks me out
13. Erkin Koray - “Seni Her Gördügümde”
Whenever we’re listening to Anatolian psych, the songs with the most creative ideas and satisfying riffs and great vocal passages are always Erkin Koray. The four-piece arrangements are so good, and then he doesn’t hesitate to step up with his guitar to narrate a passage. Also, I really like how Turkish rock sounds so Indian and also Arabic and also French.
14. WITCH - “Chifundo”
Zambian prog rock! I haven’t heard anything like this track anywhere else in Africa yet. The thing is, this version of prog includes the exact flavor that Yes totally lacks, and thus I really love listening to this track in a way most prog rock doesn’t hit me. The time switches and the lead part over the top are just so smooth!
15. Ezra Furman - “Psalm 151”
We’ve been listening to a lot of Ezra Furman’s music lately, and it’s only getting better and more engrossing with every listen. We toured with Ezra Furman’s band about 5 years ago and every night was a pleasure. They’re finishing up a new album, which makes this a great time to listen to the others. This entire album, “Transangelic Exodus,” is a masterpiece as far as we’re concerned, and I find myself thinking the whole time too about Tim Sandusky’s production. Tim’s such a home town for us, and to hear his full attention on this album is just such a pleasure.
16. Ralph Stanley - “White Light, White Heat”
It was one of my favorite musical influence moments ever when my dad’s bluegrass band, The Prozac Mtn Boys, played VU’s “What Goes On.” Knowing that there is a recording of one of my dad’s true banjo heroes playing “White Light White Heat” is just an endless blessing. And actually hearing it is even better.
17. Kim Jung Mi - “Ganadaramabasa”
I know basically nothing about this track except that she’s Korean and this is from 1973. She’s got a real Diana Ross thing going on, and her band has a real Supremes vibe too… but it doesn’t sound like one of their songs.
18. Penny Penny - “Yogo Yogo”
We just got this record recently, and based on this track I wouldn’t’ve necessarily pictured the remarkable-looking guy who actually made this music. This is from the album “Shaka Bundu.” I’m sure it’s been cranked up and sent through some great house remixes — how could this not be? — but I like how this tempo operates at its own pace. It’s so truly and thoroughly ’80s, very 20th century. In the 21st century this tempo is practically cerebral.
19. Baris Manço - “Binboganin Kizi”
More Anatolian action. It’s really interesting to me how Turkish stuff was always associated with psych music but I didn’t really know how except for the opium thing, and I now understand that it’s in the chord relationships, well, and a lot of the vocal melody and delivery. In that way, Turkish rock pretty much defines what psych music sounds like. Wow. And check out that keyboard solo, so next level!
20. The Velvet Underground - “Countess from Hong Kong”
People are always asking Beatles or Stones and the answer is Velvet Underground. (And the Beatles, and the Stones.) They were just operating along a different balance beam than those other guys — performing different tricks for a different audience. While the Beatles were defining pop music, the VU were destroying it… but then later, they reveal their deep affinity for Western music, even as they never drop in to the blues-centric reading of it. It’s truly punk. I guess they are to punk what the Beatles are to pop — the definition of pop is whatever flows to or from the Beatles; punk is whatever flows to or from the Velvet Underground. Certainly more than any single band in 1976 or 7 or whatever.
21. Bella Bellow - “Denyigban”
The piano phrase that kicks this song off is surprisingly close to the opening of Bound Stems’ “Appreciation Night.” We got that phrase from the demo mode of Radz’s keyboard, and it’s surreal to hear a high-overlap version in a song from Togo. Her voice is so clean in tone and pitch, and what’s strangest to me is that I register the instrumentation in an almost Disney mode — but then realize that’s because Disney will draw on Caribbean and African elements at times as they establish characters and settings. Such an elegant song though!
22. Rail Band - “Mouodilo”
One of the first insights that got us into WBFF was the realization that James Brown had even more fundamental influence on the music of the world than the Beatles did — certainly in Africa. Hearing how his delivery interrelates with so many bands from all across Africa is such a revelation. This track just keeps winding around you til you can’t hardly live without it.
- Asha Bhosle - “Salma Jarir Jhalak”
All I know about this is that it’s in Bangla and it’s from a movie.
23. Unknown - “Chemirocha” - from “Love Is Love”
Several years ago, when African records looked interesting but we literally didn’t know anything about them, we bought a record called Love Is Love, in part because it was a beautiful cover and in part because the music seemed mysterious and full of possibility. Now, when I go to look for it online, I see no sign — I think it’s just a really small pressing from a… pirate group, I guess one could say? But really I think just hardcore music lovers. Anyway, it has this song “Chemirocha” on it, and there’s a story about this song that is really probably just best to link to because it’s so amazing. I guarantee you will find the information in this article worth your read:
https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/chemirocha-how-an-american-country-singer-became-a-kenyan-star
24. Sparks - “Do-Re-Mi”
We’ve known about Sparks, but we’re late to a close listen. We’ve been listening a lot in anticipation of — not the band bio pic but “Annette,” the new film by Carax, one of our favorite directors ever. For that matter: make sure to watch “Holy Motors” by Carax. It’s probably best if you watch “Lovers on a Bridge” before that, but if you have to go straight to “Holy Motors,” dive right in. It’s amazing.
Meanwhile: This take on the Mary Poppins classic is TOO MUCH — I can’t stop smiling at the end, when the bells start tolling over the crashing drums and crescendoing vocal waves as their third finale fades away. How can anyone make this song, the very definition of not-rock, rock so fully?
- Mort Garson - “Ode to an African Violet”
25. Bob Reuter’s Alley Ghost - “She Brought Me to the Wire”
I will forever be glad that we not only landed in a city where we could find out about the person and the works of Bob Reuter, but that we got to know and work with him. Bob Reuter was one of the definitions of St. Louis to us, and when he passed, so did some of that city. But also, he left music and photos and stories in Eleven and chapbooks that I truly hope last forever. He was the hard-living romantic that you hope lives in the heart of every hard-luck case… and in his one instance, it was true. Bless your soul, Bob Reuter.
photos by Bob Reuter from The Pageant and El Leñador
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kazeofthemagun · 3 years ago
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Kaze - Character Tropes
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[A thing I compiled for fun for my portrayal of Kaze and all my headcanons. There is so much stuff on TVTropes that I may keep adding as I go. He does have a page on it but it's lackluster for my taste XD but here it is.]
[Putting all this crap under a read more cuz that is long.]
Purpose-Driven Immortality / Regenerative Immortality - as long as the prophecy holds and Chaos still exists, Kaze cannot die. When his body is killed, he comes back through regeneration, centered on the Magun.
Soul Jar - the Magun, specifically, his heart that had been transplanted into it and bound him to the Gun Dragon sealed in the Demon Weapon. The vial is warded by very potent magic - supposedly, only another Unlimited has the power to break it.
Touched by Vorlons - granted immortality by Bahamut, the Gun Dragon, upon being accepted as Magun's prophecized perfect wielder - Unlimited.
Cybernetic Mythical Beast - the Gun Dragon and how he came to be - made from the slain Bahamut's corpse and infused with tech, animated by his still-living soul. As such, all Summon Spirits that come from the Gun Dragon and his Magun are also biomechanical in nature.
Dracolich - Gun Dragon is technically undead, while also reinforced with machinery to create a "perfect Weapon". He's forged from parts of his own corpse, bones showing through such as the arms, legs, exposed spine.
Draconic Abomination - Gun Dragon.
Dragons are Divine - Gun Dragon as the Windarian God of Destruction - the title gets passed on to Kaze as his chosen and vessel. Also War God.
BFG - Magun is fucking massive.
Bling-Bling-Bang! - Magun seems to be made of gold, but is really composed of an unidentified alien metal. Shiny tho.
He Who Hunts Monsters - fanatical levels of obsession with hunting everything Chaotic. (His title of choice being literally the Hunter of Chaos, Hunter for friends.) Definitely partially a personal vendetta - his whole world was devoured and his own mind was ripped nigh to shreds - but also a purpose felt strongly through the connection with Magun/Gun Dragon, a Demon Weapon forged specifically to combat Chaos that activates only at its scent, pre-repaired verse. Almost leads to a Van Helsing Hate Crime against Ai and Yu - luckily, Kaze is not that merciless and spares the kids for wanting to live as humans and not demons. All in all, Kaze/Gun Dragon are a cosmic force that opposes Chaos till the end of time. Also Married To The Job.
Collateral Damage - piss him off and you're gonna go. Alongside everything in approximately a 5 mile radius of where you're standing. (Thankfully he learns more restraint with time, attempting to minimize casualties where possible. Still, if ending Chaos requires sacrifices.. so be it.) Probably also Inferred Holo//caust in FFU. He had blown up huge chunks of land to end his foes. Likely killed people or at least animals :/
The Stoic - His personality archetype.
Weak to Magic - Blue Elenium, a special type of water magic that corrupts Soil. As an extension, Kaze is harmed more by water magic in general, seeing as the energy messes with Soil flow.
Trauma Button - having his hand held/touched suddenly. It brings painful memories of his sister, Aura, who died holding his hand. Under Chaos' influence, it was one of the only memories Kaze still had of her, rendering the trigger particularly intense and sending him into dissociative episodes. Furthermore, a fear of Gaudian flowers - the blue phantom flowers that herald the arrival of Chaos. Suffers from visions and nightmares of a very gory nature that involve said flowers.
Shell-Shocked Veteran - of the War with Chaos.
Loners are Freaks - he is an introvert born to a society that abhors weakness as disgraceful and sinful. Has trouble connecting with people - but he also (mostly) doesn't need to. Due to the nature of his quest, accepts his fate as the one who will never fit in anymore. "I am the monster who hunts monsters so that you may sleep at night human. It is a thankless job."
Beware the Quiet Ones - his silence precedes a storm. When he speaks, his words boom as thunder - be they a roar or a whisper. This man wastes no words.
Aloof Ally - self-explanatory.
Tranquil Fury - most of the time. Also, Rage Breaking Point applies when facing Kumo mid-show. Except Kumo promptly wrecks him, without much effort involved. It is only later (After-series) that Kaze recovers most of his power and sanity, and gains equal footing to his rival.
Firing One-Handed - can only do so this way. Only has one hand 99% of the time, the other is bound to the Magun and is reformed only to fire it.
Guns vs Swords - him and Kumo - Demon Gunman vs Demon Swordsman. Gun Dragon vs Sword Dragons.
Hand Cannon - Magun, to a lesser degree Orthrus.
I call it "Vera" - with Orthrus, named after the patron shepherd dog spirit of the sun's blood-haired children.
Improbable Aiming Skills - especially with the Gun Demon sight.
Overheating - the Magun when too many summonings are performed too quickly. As an extension of it, Kaze himself. May result in a death via Spontaneous Human Combustion.
Sawed-off Shotgun - Orthrus, double barreled.
Sniper Pistol - Orthrus.
Trigger Happy - self-explanatory.
Ancestral Weapon - the Magun, passed down the line of the Windarian summoner prodigies.
Made of Indestructium - the Magun, which cannot be broken by anyone short of another Unlimited.
Living Weapon - the Magun. Also, Legendary Weapon.
Shapeshifter Weapon - the Magun, a part of Kaze's body - gauntlet, windmill, gun. Replaces his right arm.
Only the Chosen May Wield - the Magun.
They Call Him "Sword" - except, gun. Kaze views himself as more of a weapon than a person at times. Makes sense, considering he is one - his true body is the Magun, which houses his heart, binds his soul and consciousness, and serves as the core from which his regenerative immortalitysets to work.
Nemesis Weapon - Kaze's Magun to Kumo's Maken. While forged for the same purpose, they govern conflicting energies. Also, Sword vs Gun.
Weapon Wields You - the Magun to Kaze with its funky laser-guided teleportation, always going after Chaos. Oh, Chaos' signature is underneath the ocean? Too bad.
Equippable Ally - Kaze, after reducing himself to the Magun and having Kumo and Lisa wield him to bring out the Gun Dragon.
Human Weapon - Kaze, literally.
Become Your Weapon - Kaze with the Magun.
This is a Drill - the Magun's Soil engine that activates Soil through spiral motion. Combined with a wholeass windmill.
Spectacular Spinning - the Magun's windmill. Plainly put, Spin to Deflect Stuff. Also, Blow You Away applies due to the Tornado Move.
Deadly Rotary Fan - the Magun's windmill used offensively.
Swirling Dust - Soil Spiral on the winds generated by the Magun.
Transformation Is A Free Action - seems to be the case in the series. May not be the case always.
Mechanical Lifeforms - Gun Dragon and all its summons.
Badass Cape - of course.
When Things Spin, Science Happens - the Magun's spinning shenanigans empower Soil.
Stock Footage - the summonings. He is become budget, Destroyer of Chaos. Also Transformation Sequence. Guy has a routine.
Running Gag - his spontaneous appearances, seemingly from nowhere.
Emergency Transformation - soul reforged into a Soil bullet, summoning himself as the Gun Dragon.
Elemental Powers - all the summon spirits.
Soul Power - Soil.
Soul-Powered Engine - the Magun/Gun Dragon.
Merger of Souls - Kaze with all of Magun's leftover Soil, as well as Bahamut's soul that animates Gun Dragon. Also Many Spirits Inside Of One - Endless White as the confluence of all the colors.
Emphatic Weapon - the Magun has a mind of its own, considering it is a vessel for the Gun Dragon.
Shoot the Hostage Taker - with Soljashy. Goddammit, Lisa.
Theme Music Power Up - Demon Gun Dissolve and Demon Gun Shot.
Black Blood - Kaze's blood, corrupted by the Magun's smoke. His earring, made of his own red blood mixed with tree sap, is a reminder of when he was still fully human. Technically also Machine Blood - it serves as a coolant for Magun and catalyst for Soil. Furthermore, My Blood Runs Hot - whenever Magun malfunctions. May be dangerous, as already mentioned.
Important Haircut - Kaze wears his hair long specifically as a "fuck you" to Windarian folk beliefs related to the blood hair curse.
Dark-Skinned Redhead - self-explanatory.
Death Glare - his usual go-to method of communication.
Icy Blue Eyes - a cold stare.
Eyes Do Not Belong There - Gun Dragon, with four eyes on the chest and one on the belly in addition to the four already on its head, also, many other summons, such as Phoenix or Raiden.
Glowing Eyes of Doom - Kaze's special Gun Demon crosshairs eyes, for when the time comes to be particularly scary.
True Sight - Kaze is capable of seeing through most basic illusions due to an extremely sharp spirit sense. Can see certain types of ghosts. Also Supernatural Sensitivity.
Cool Shades - wears a dark lens over his left eye to minimize distraction via Orthtus' muzzle flash. Also, Sunglasses At Night.
Megane - lol.
Lean And Mean - also lol.
Jerkass - he is. Sometimes Jerk With A Heart Of Gold.
Facial Markings - the wave on his nose and the solar marks under his eye.
Power Tattoo - the Embrace (Gun Dragon's claws upon the shoulders.)
Fingerless Gloves - wears an archery glove that covers the pointing finger and thumb only.
Eccentric Artist - also outside of battle. Primarily a poet, draws sometimes.
Being Tortured Makes You Evil - by Chaos, after being possessed. Returned to being good-aligned after some time.
Brainwashed And Crazy - by Chaos, to obsessively hunt Kumo. Now recovered. Also Mind Rape.
Laser-Guided Amnesia - his memory loss and subsequent insane pursuit of Kumo mid-show.
Curse - according to his people's folklore, the unusual color of his hair.
Stress-Induced Mental Voices - happens a lot, bothin hallucinations and the Soil speaking.
Heroic Willpower - to stand strong against Chaos.
Dark and Troubled Past - everything about him. Everything. Also Born Unlucky - cursed from the start.
Sole Survivor - of Windaria's fall.
Last of His Kind - last Windarian.
Meaningful Name - Black Wind.
Rite Of Passage Name Change - from the nickname "Wolf" to his current name, as granted by his clan.
Driven to Madness - first somewhat by his pursuit of power, then more so by Chaos.
No Medication For Me - good luck getting him to medicate for his issues. Chances are it would not work anyway due to his altered nature.
There Are No Therapists - on Windaria.
Good Thing You Can Heal - gets injured or killed multiple times during his quest. Good thing he's immortal, right?
I Can Still Fight! - frequently, especially when Kumo is somehow involved.
Organ Dodge - his heart is no longer in his chest.
Wound That Will Not Heal - still feels a type of phantom pain where his heart once was - the surgery scar is the only scar that refuses to heal.
An Arm And A Leg - the Magun essentially removed his right arm below the elbow.
Arm Cannon - the Magun.
Artificial Limbs - the Magun, replacing Kaze's right arm.
Handicapped Badass - despite possessing only one hand (when Magun not thawed).
Don't You Dare Pity Me! - Kaze and most of the Wind Warriors' culture in general.
All Are Equal In Death - as Soil.
Anti-Hero - also Pragmatic Hero.
The Cynic - self-explanatory.
Badass Creed - “From the Glory of Death, for the Glory of Life.”
Battle Cry - “Soil is my power!” Also Catchphrase and Calling Your Attacks.
Pre-Asskicking One-Liner - sometimes. "What is the matter with the Magun? Why won't you use it?"
Giving Someone the Pointer Finger - “The Soil Charge Triad to use on you has been decided!”
Big Brother Instinct - around Aura.
Parental Abandonment - never knew his parents, grew up on the streets as an orphan.
Summon Magic - Soil-Adherents train in Soil summonings - the Magun allows Kaze control over all summons, except ones of Mist.
Summoning Ritual - the Soil Charge Triad.
Offscreen Teleportation - played for comedic value. Is actually Soil Spiral teleportation, though.
Forced Sleep - induced by Kumo, causing Kaze to slumber for twelve years. Sleep, bitch!
Mage Marksman - self-explanatory.
Warrior Poet - "The gilding of a blood indomitable... True Sanguine."
Religion is Magic - the Soil poetry is sacred to Windarian summoners.
Dark Messiah - as the Dark Unlimited, Hunter of Chaos.
Duelling Messiahs - him and Kumo, who fits the light end of the spectrum. But will Makenshi's purity serve him? Hmm...
In Love With Your Carnage - You can kill efficiently and potentially kick his ass? Hot. Also Power is Sexy.
Magitek - the Magun and all its summons.
Human Alien - Windarians, Kaze's species. Also Proud Warrior Race.
Martyrdom Culture - the Missionary caste Soil-martyring for the Adherents.
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dragoler · 5 years ago
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Embrace the Void - An Optimistic Outlook
This is a theory post about Hollow Knight and contains spoilers, so if you haven’t completed the game you should probably not read this post. This was originally posted to Reddit but i’m putting a copy here too. It is my belief that the Embrace the Void ending does not spell doom for Hallownest as is often believed, and here I want to present the evidence as to why. Much of this information will be common knowledge, but I've included it to support my greater point.
Firstly I want to establish that the Shade Lord (or Bill if you're so inclined) is indeed the Knight and not a dormant god or amalgamation. The ancient civilization that predates Hallownest is said to have worshiped no god, instead worshiping the void itself, taken from Lemm's comments on the Void Idol:
Inspired or mad, those ancient bugs. They devoted their worship to no lord, or power, or strength, but to the very darkness itself.
Lemm is not the most reliable of source, but this is supported by the Abyss statue that holds the void bowl when the Knight dream nails it before acquiring the Void Heart:
...Void... Power... Without unity...
Void here is considered a power, but without unity void becomes nothing more than a writhing pool of liquid with some very interesting properties. Now, I have seen it argued that void has a mind of it's own due to some of these properties, but the game actively tells us that it does not. The original description for the Hall of Gods reward statue depicting the Embrace the Void form used to read ‘Void Given Mind’, but ‘Mind’ was quickly changed to ‘Focus’ in a patch. This makes it clear that Team Cherry wants to avoid the association of void having a mind, at least when it comes to an ‘untarnished’ entity. So what causes that weird mind-like behavior? Well, lets talk about what it naturally does first. Void is naturally adverse to light, this is evidenced by a lore tablet found in the king's void workshop:
VOID, yours is the power opposed.
The king is a being of light, so it makes sense for him to consider it opposed to him. It is also evidenced by the lighthouse in the Abyss being used to suppress the void sea, preventing it from lashing out. Void also consumes soul, evidenced by the apparent need for the lighthouse keeper to be kept supplied with the stuff (though most bugs cannot utilize it for spells, if a bug were to become low on soul this may be a way to top up without the use of a hot spring), but also naturally shown by the Knight's capabilities (this could also be attributed to their status as a higher being) and how the shade cloak consumes soul projectiles that pass through it. The soul totems built by the civilization who worshiped the void are another possible avenue of evidence, they were likely constructed from void in its solid form and are used to contain soul. As soul is said to be found in the air, it's possible these totems would be able to extract it as well. From the Deep Focus charm description:
Naturally formed within a crystal over a long period. Draws in SOUL from the surrounding air.
Going back to the Abyss lighthouse, the strongest piece of evidence for the void having its own mind comes from the lighthouse keeper's dream nail dialogue:
...Turn it off?... Cannot...
My King. I'm sorry... The sea calls...
It is apparent that the void had exerted its will over this bug, but here I get into the most important property of void: void is impressionable. Void starts empty but it does not necessarily stay this way, the king used molds to shape void to his will for the creation of the kingsmoulds and wingmoulds, but it can do this organically as well. The most obvious example of this is the Hollow Knight who was "tarnished by an idea instilled", which is strongly hinted to be the bond formed between it and the king. A more extreme example of this exists in the Collector, a seemingly rogue, armourless kingsmould who for whatever reason spent a lot of time around another bug who imprinted upon it. Evidence for this comes from the dream nail dialogue of the husk you find the Love Key on:
Too long... spent together. We become as one...
This is all evidence for void being shaped by others, so what of the lighthouse keeper? Well, this bug was in the unfortunate situation of being right next to an ocean of the stuff. Husks found in proximity to void have void in their eyes, giving evidence that the void manages to get inside of them. Although usually it's just a small amount it is enough to kill them, and in this case, also influence them. Void is opposed to light - void vapor infiltrates the mind - void tells bug to turn the light off.
Okay that was a bit of a tangent but back on topic. After the Knight acquires the Void heart it gains control over the void. Shades no longer attack, tendrils no longer lash out and the Abyss statue changes its dream nail dialogue:
...Lord of Shades...
Furthermore, Bardoon has this to say:
Ohhhmmmm... Tiny thing... It evolves beyond that Wyrm. Such union in a single being. A strength before unseen. Would it too challenge nature? It could perhaps defeat it.
Pretty much everyone agrees that the Wyrm is a god, so if the Knight has truly evolved beyond the Wyrm, that should make it a god at this point as well. Gods in Hollow Knight are not very clear-cut from other bugs, they tend to be more powerful and longer lived, but still remain mortal and vulnerable to the ravages of time (at least when in the physical realm) and physical harm. The Godseekers in particular muddy the water on what can be considered a "god", but even without them there is a contrast in power between the higher beings. Despite not gaining any additional physical prowess, the Knight attaining godhood at this point, particularly as it was already the offspring of higher beings, would not be a far-fetched concept.
So if it is already a god, why did the Godseekers not notice? Because they weren't looking for it. The Godseekers attune through the dream realm by connecting to the minds of bugs, but the Knight is mindless. The Godseekers were only able to find the Hollow Knight because of the Radiance within:
O Gods of Hallownest, graciously thee open the way to this greatest of Pantheons! Thy voices grow closer and thy resonance draws Us ever higher!
Pray will We, Attune will We, until that spark of divine light shines from the deepest darkness!
And still they fear it for its silence:
O bound one, thy silence nearly deafens Us. Foolishly we feared thee, yet only by thine providence shall We find the one We seek. The God sleeping within...
Which is their deepest fear of all, taken from the tuner memory dream nail dialogue:
What gods, to save Us of Our silent mind?
So where am I going with this? Well if the Knight was already a god, then why should its behavior change so dramatically just because it gained a bigger, scarier form? I want to bring attention now to the Dream No More ending. The start of the cutscene that plays during this ending is very similar to the void breaking out of the Godseeker during the Embrace the Void ending, but here it comes from the Black Egg instead. If the scene had cut before showing the void dripping down from the lanterns then anyone would be forgiven for fearing the worst, but it doesn't. After the Black Egg dissolves into void, we see a pool of void disappear from around Hornet, then Hornet wakes up alive and unscathed. Why doesn't it consume her? Because the Knight is in control of it. Later, we see the siblings in the Abyss peacefully returning to their rest, giving us a bitter-sweet ending.
Now to add onto this i'm going to start analyzing the Knight's character. Not much direct characterization is given besides ‘it is empty’, and obviously everyone's Knight is going to act differently depending on how it is played, but there is characterization that can be inferred. Firstly, from what the Knight does regardless of what we want it to do. The Knight always slows to a walk when around Dirtmouth, NPCs and certain sites of significance, I interpret this as it being respectful (interestingly it also slows down around the Radiance statue at the top of Hallownest's Crown, so it seems to understand the religious significance of the site even though it is opposed to the deity). Also in this category are the endings, one of which I've already gone into and i'll get to Embrace the Void and Delicate Flower later. Next would be actions the player can chose to perform, and most players will for gameplay reasons. These include saving Sly, saving Bretta, freeing the grubs and placing the Grey Mourner's delicate flower on her dead lover's grave site. Lastly are choices you get that you don't have to follow and there is no benefit to doing so, these would include giving flowers to other NPCs and sitting beside Quirrel at the Blue Lake, and Marissa at the Pleasure House. The Knight is also a rather aggressive character, but with a few exceptions it only attacks creatures who are infected or insane. The exceptions to this would be if it is attacked first (Hornet, Dung Defender) if it challenges a boss to combat (Mantis Lords), is requested to attack (Nailsmith), it enters a non-lethal dream fight, or the one being attacked really deserved it (Millibelle).
The Knight is not incapable of performing bad actions however. It can leave Zote to die to the Vengefly King (though it cannot kill Zote actively), it can cause Hornet to be trapped with it inside the Black Egg, it can dream nail away passive ghosts and the worst crime of all - it can murder Menderbug! On balance however, the Knight is a generally benevolent character.
I think it's time to address the Vessels in the room, literally - the cutscene you see after completing the Pantheon of the Knight for the first time. This one is strange, it depicts the siblings as though they are alive alongside the Knight and young Hollow Knight before an exchange occurs - the Radiance roars, her light is revealed above, and then the void rises up to meet her. What is odd about this scene is that the Knight can see it without having the Void Heart, but I think I have an explanation for it. When the Knight defeats the Pure Vessel for the first time it becomes attuned with it, by proxy of relation this attunes it with the minds of its other siblings as well. in Godhome, characters attuned within the dream are represented in living form unless they become "gods" while dead, such as the dream warriors and various animated husk bosses. The Knight seeing the siblings together, followed by the void rising up to pursue the Radiance is an indication that they all share a common desire to snuff her out, even when the Knight doesn't have control over them. This can be taken as evidence that the shades are a part of the Shade Lord but I do not think this is the case. As mentioned above, characters attuned to the Godhome enter in best form and none of these siblings are attuned as shades, so they show up in Vessel form (The Hollow Knight presumably shows up in this second form only due to the Knight's attunement with it). Furthermore, no shades show up to assist the Knight in defeating the Radiance at the peak of the Pantheon of Hallownest, meaning the Shade Lord could only be composed of the Knight and the raw void you see rising up during the fight.
So now for the Embrace the Void ending itself. Upon defeating the Radiance we see the Shade Lord descend from above and wrap the Godseeker up in void tendrils, then the scene cuts to her physical body leaking void before the void bursts out of her violently. We cannot know exactly what the entity was doing here, but it's likely that embracing the Godseeker was a means for it to escape into the physical world. The Godseeker does not seem to be afraid of the Shade Lord but rather in awe of it, and there is evidence that despite how devastating its emergence appears, like with Hornet, she survived the ordeal:
Punish this shell, o God of Gods! Blast Our frail, worthless form to ash. We welcome thine fury! Desire beyond desire!
This dialogue is taken from the Godseeker game mode which is set after the Embrace the Void ending, she also thinks this in dream nail dialogue:
We bequeath our all. Our shell. Our mind. We are naught but vassal before thee, o glorious God of Gods!
The Godseekers are a collective hive-mind contained within the body of a single individual. The Godseeker you interact with in Godhome is the lead Godseeker and her shell is her own, so when she refers to ‘Our’ shell she is almost certainly referring to the physical shell they all share. Unless the Godseekers have lost all touch with reality and now only exist within the dream, this indicates that they still have a living body. Although their attitude towards the Knight has shifted... dramatically, they still appear to be perfectly aware of everything that is happening.
After the above mentioned scene we see Hornet watching the infection wither from the Black Egg temple, and then she is startled by the emergence of the Hollow Knight, now free from it's restraints. The Hollow Knight being alive as its own entity serves as further evidence that the Shade Lord is not composed of the siblings shown in the Pantheon of the Knight cutscene, as the young Hollow Knight was a part of that. At the end of this scene, the player gains the Embrace the Void achievement which has the description ‘Ascend the Pantheon of Hallownest and take your place at its peak’. Your place, it is the Knight specifically who is at the peak.
Possible counter points:
You cannot leave Godhome in Godseeker mode, which could be taken as evidence that Hallownest was destroyed. The Knight's physical form has been irreversibly altered, however just like Godseeker their dream form can be different, so they can only exist as the Knight within the dream world now.
Why did the Embrace the Void ending cut away from Godseeker when it did if not to imply something terrible happening? Dramatic effect, uncertainty, possibly you are meant to draw parallels with the Dream No More ending yourself. I'm only here to shed doubt on the Shade Lord being a malevolent entity, not to definitely state that nothing bad will happen.
Why can the Knight bring the Godseeker a delicate flower if not to protect Hallownest from what would emerge? The Knight doesn't know anything about the delicate flowers, as mentioned in dialogue from the White Lady:
There is rare power hidden in those frail petals.
To hold it so close, one must surely be unaware of its nature...
It is my belief that up until this point the Knight had been protected from the flower's power by its ‘holy shell’ born from the White Lady and Pale King. Upon shedding this shell and becoming one with the void, the flower reacts by banishing the Shade Lord along with the Godseeker who still harbors it.
What about the roar of the Shade Lord we hear in the scene after the Pantheon of the Knight? If it hadn't been pointed out to me that this was a roar and not just the noise of the void rising up I wouldn't have even noticed honestly. You have to take information found in the game files with a grain of salt, this can be foreshadowing or the ‘voice’ of void even when not united, though void having a ‘voice’ at all is a rather contradictory idea...
So in conclusion, given what we can extrapolate about the Shade Lord and the nature of the player character, I don't think there is good enough evidence for it to become a malevolent entity within Hallownest. Thank you for reading and please tell me if I've missed anything!
Tl;DR: Bill is the Knight, Bill is a cool guy, please don't be scared of Bill.
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weswritescomics · 4 years ago
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Character descriptions:
Bruce Wayne: Italian-American 30 years old. 6’3, slick black hair, darker blue eyes, usual darkened lining around eyelids, fit build. Not as stocky, more slender psychic, but still muscular. Five o’clock shadow, always.
The Batman: Dark blue shading to his costume, stitched leather cape, shorter ears on the cowl, cowl a darker blue than the cape. Doesn’t look like armor, more fabric, woven with kevlar. Lenses are white as snow, reflect light and shine in the dark, not animatic however, still and shaped.
Alfred Pennyworth: 63 years old, balding head, full beard of grey and white, 5’9. Stocky build, English, war veteran.
Detective James Gordon: 40 years old. African American, 6’2. Firm build, rougher mustache, balding hair, new hire at GCPD, transfer from Metropolis.
Detective Harvey Bullock: 37 years old. Caucasian, 5’9, heavy set, longer orange tinted beard, always wearing a classic hat. Thinks of himself as a real hot shot.
J𝗨𝗦𝗧𝖨𝗖𝗘 𝗟𝗘𝗔𝗚𝗨𝗘.
𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗛 - 60.
Chapter One.
The Night Cometh.
Gotham City, August, 1962.
Rain is the constant in Gotham. Pelting rays of ice cold water that hit window shields at a rapid pace. Across the open yard of Wayne Manor, through long strands of untamed grass, and leafless trees, sit two grave stones. Each of them a mark of the past that holds him. Each of them carved with the singular word.
𝗪𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲.
“Master Bruce?” The butlers tinted voice breaks his train of thought, standing at the window, with hands clasped behind his back — is Bruce Wayne. The last heir of the Wayne fortune, and The Prince of Gotham, “Alfred, in here.” His voice is lower, rougher than that of the past. A child, who was once full of life and optimism, was now a man heavy with dread.
“Sir.” Alfred stands in the doorway of the room they both share, the old master bed room of Martha and Thomas Wayne. He holds in his hands, a silver tray, accompanied with a small cup of coffee, fresh with the trail of heated steam — and next to it, a blueberry muffin, “You don’t usually come in here, I wasn’t sure where you were. Large house and all.” Alfred moves across the open space, placing said tray of assorted goods on the edge of the bed, “I thought it was time.” Wayne responds, however, his eyes keep outward, looking towards the gravestones that stare right back at him, “I owe them that much.” Pennyworth let’s out a sigh, his white gloved hands find themselves intertwining. He rocks on the back of his heals, with a small clearing of his throat.
“Master Bruce, I think it’s time you let go of the ghost in the backyard, and comeback to the land of the living.” Bruce doesn’t answer. “You’ve been back in Gotham for a whole year now, and you’ve barley seen the city for what it is now.” “I have.” Wayne turns finally, his eyes rage with pain, with lack of sleep — and vengeance. “Running around at night does 𝗻𝗼𝘁 count. Allowing yourself to feel the pain, to move on, and to run your fathers company 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀.”
Bruce takes small steps toward Alfred, the space between the two closes, “Alfred.” He starts, “We’ve seen this city for what it truly is, it showed us long ago the violence it can produce. The only way to fix that, is to bring it down, from its core. Gotham can’t rebuild, until the infestation — the 𝘃𝗶𝗿𝘂𝘀 — that crime is, is ridden of.” The two lock eyes now, a father made of grief, an arrogant son full of pain, their words aren’t spoken here — how much they truly need one another. Instead, it is met with another sigh, as Alfred takes the tray from the bed, turning and heading for the door, “We’ll then, a late dinner it is.”
GCPD Precinct, August, 1962.
The precinct buzzes with the usual morning crew of Gotham’s finest. Each of them in their own world of steady cases and rising efforts for the fight against crime. Or so, this is what James Gordon would’ve like to think they were doing. In reality it was 15% working against crime, and 85% working 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 crime. But he knew this before he even moved his family here, before he and his pregnant wife Barbara, took the plunge into the crime capital of the world. He, saw it as a way to do right by his father. Metropolis was dangerous, sure, but compared to Gotham, it was a shiny utopia. His father, then officer Gordon, always told him one thing — you do right not by the actions you 𝗱𝗼, but by the people you 𝗵𝗲𝗹𝗽.
And those words stuck with him ever since, which is what brought him here. The GCPD was failing, the criminal underground was boiling over into the ordinary world, dirty cops helped push that quota into reality, hate crimes continued to soar, even within the GCPD — and yet he still felt like there was good in this city. An ability, if it were to try, if it were to be given even an ounce of a chance, to shine — if not 𝗯𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 — than Metropolis. Barbara didn’t think so, she didn’t like the move, but how could she. The only silver lining she saw in this city was the chance of real and meaningful social work. Something that Metropolis barely offered. Again, a utopia to Gotham.
“Gordon!” Bullocks voice comes across the room, a gentle motion for Gordon to come closer, a waiting look on Harvey’s face, behind him in the meeting office was current Commissioner Harlen. James fixed his tie as he walked forth, bumping shoulders with busy bodies, and gaining 𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀 from those who’d wish for his downfall. Since his arrival, Gordon had done nothing but make enemies, other then Harvey — most of The GCPD had already told their assorted crime bosses about Gotham’s new hotshot. And how he was 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 to save the city from its internal bleeding.
“You’re late.” Bullock snorts, he combs out the side collar of Gordon’s coat, “I had —“ marriage troubles, “—to take the trash out. Got in a fight with a raccoon before I could claim my territory.” Both men let out a gentle laugh, before Harvey motions inside with his head, “C’mon.”
The room sits idle with one singular table, three chairs — two on one side, one lone on the other. The white board behind the single chair is covered with photo evidence, four separate crime scenes, each of them murders of four wealthy Gotham elites. All of them, with two common factors, the fact that each man used his wealth — his power — to influence The GCPD, the political world of Gotham, and to fund The Falcone mob family. The second thing they had in common; the large lipstick like star marked across the face. And the burning white eyes, void of emotion.
“Gordon..” Harlen begins, “Sorry.” James responds, he takes a seat, as does Harvey. “Four new cases boys, each of them on the same path you’ve been following —“ “Christ.” Harvey lets out under his breath, “—each of them as proper as the first three. Our perp, whoever it is, is one for the thematic and the dramatic.” Gordon digs into his coat pocket, pulling out a small notepad, “I was able to get in touch with forensics on the last hit, sent them a sample of whatever that green shit was — turns out it’s the same chemicals produced at ACE.” Harvey learns forward, “As in ACE chemicals?” James nods. “You too go there yet?” The commissioner leans forward, hands placing on the top of the table, a shift in the weight he holds, “No. No not yet.” Harvey responds, he takes his hat off for a second, running his hands through curly uncut hair.
“Then you go there next.” Harlen sits up now, hands resting on his belt buckle, “We’re on it.” Gordon responds, Harvey shoots him a look. They were friends, yes, too an extent. Gordon knew of Harvey’s deals, the backwater jobs he took in his earlier days of GCPD, he knew he was out — but he knew he still had ties. It was the only reason he never turned Harvey in, he was out, and trying to stay out. Trying to be clean, trying to be a better cop. That’s all any of them could do, try.
ACE Chemicals, August, 1962.
The old squad car rolls alongside echoing gravel, Gotham had just been covered in rain, verified by the shine left on the rocks and stone buildings that await them. A warrant for a search hides away in the glovebox, the car itself comes to a stop, just outside the gates — the lights turn off — as well as the engine. Out steps the two detectives, each of them in long coats. One, Gordon, with a freshly lit cigarette hanging from his lips, the other — Harvey — with a small flask held in his hands.
“Hate this place.” Bullock states, closing the squad car door behind him, “Scared?” Gordon muses, mouth slightly muffled by the stick, “Of radiation? Yea, sure. Also — the fact that only low life pieces of garbage hang at these parts. Talkin the worst of the worst out here Jim.” “James.” “What?” “Don’t call me Jim, man. That’s my dads name. I’m James Gordon, he’s Jim.” Harvey waves him off, taking one last swig, “When you pay my bills, I’ll call you whatever you want me to. Hell, maybe even president Gordon someday.” James shakes his head, placing the remaining cigarette on the ground, and stomping it out, it sizzles as it’s smushed between heel and wet gravel. The two set forth, walking through the now opened metal gate, the chain links rattle and ache as they push past. Each of them holding a flashlight in hand, “What did forensics say exactly?”
“They told me —“ Gordon takes out another cigarette, lighting it, the red end illuminates the inner palms of his hands. And then, a gentle puff of smoke. “That this chemical was created here, it was initially a military grade weapon — meant to be used in Germany. But, it was deemed too violent — er — powerful as they put it. Was scrapped, at least it was suppose to be.” “So how the hell is it on Gotham streets?” “That’s why we’re here. Aren’t we?” ACE chemicals spirals into a kingdom of cone like buildings, each of them painted with the same three letter word — ACE, ACE, ACE. And each cone, a spewing mountain of smoke. As each man continues their walk, they stride in silence, each of them in their own thought — focused on the task at hand. Gordon, thought back to Barbara, the conversation they had before he left this morning. It wasn’t pretty.
In the first year, they were better — they were still whole. That was until 𝗵𝗲 came along. A figure of the night, a myth that soon became reality — a man built of darkness and mystery. The Batman. He came to Gordon, he didn’t know why then, or at least he thought he didn’t. But he understood now, a year later, why Batman came to him. They were honest, mask and all, they knew one another — what this city meant, and how to save it. But this, this devotion that came with this relationship — ruined his real one. Days, weeks, months, spending late nights at GCPD. Working alongside The Batman, taking down the man they now call The Riddler. He laughs, an audible one, one that catches Harvey’s attention.
The Riddler. How funny it was, it use to be gangsters, both street and professional level men. Then, it became all about costumes. The red blur in Central City, who took down the man who called himself Captain Cold. The Amazon in Washington, fought a living tiger like woman. It was all, truly? Insane. And somehow, someway, they — these normal men — were soon intertwined in it all. 𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗔𝗛! A scream breaks him, cigarette dropping from parted lips. “Shit — was that?” “Go!” Their guns are removed from their holsters, their feet dig into the ground, pushing them into a run, “Go! Go! Go!” James repeats — one step ahead of the larger Bullock.
They almost slide taking a corner, the damp gravel giving way to their fastening pace. Until, they come into clear view of the scene ahead, hanging from the roof of a taller, shackle like building, is a lone man. His foot, wrapped in a thin line of wiring — one that can only be seen when it catches the small light of the moon, “Awe hell.” Harvey lets out, his gun lowering, his feet stopping. Out of the corner of his eye, Gordon sees it. The small shimmer of white, that pierces through the dark of Gotham — that lets him know their not alone here. The Batman, “Harvey, go get him down, cuff him. I think I see something...” Detective Gordon moves off to the side, as Detective Bullock goes forward.
Gordon shuts off his flashlight, waiting for a minute, as the space between him and Harvey is at a good distance.
“Jim.” The Batman begins, voice at almost a whisper, “Batman.” Gordon responds, his gun now being placed back in its holster, “What happened here.” The Batman sits on a rail, a few feet off the ground, not even James athletic background could get him up there. The wind pulls gently at the edge of his cape, it flutters in noticeable flaps, his short ears make out the remainder of his cowl — the white eyes peer back down on Gordon. Never looking away, “Those cases you’re on now — I’ve already been working them.” “Of course.” “I tracked the chemical to here, as did you. They call it chemical - x. That man —“ The head of the bat shifts, in a pointing direction, “Was here to get more.” “Why?” “You know why.” “To do more.” “Yes.”
Gordon rubs at his neck, “I don’t know, this is all, well this feels like Riddler — again. This feels like someone is playing games, trying to stir up Gotham.” “Not someone, Jim. Something.” “What?” “The man, his tattoos tell a story. On the back of his neck, look there. His friends will have the same signal — this is something, Jim. Bigger than Riddler.” Gordon looks back to Harvey, who had just gotten the man down, his eyes look back to — nothing. The Bat was gone, leaving nothing but the gust of wind.
The two men walk silently back, guiding the arrested man to the back of the squad car. Gordon opens the back door, almost stuffing the suspect in the back, as he does, he reaches forward, pulling back the hoodie over his head — moving long locks of hair from his neck. What he sees is a symbol, or rather a character — a creature. Shaped like a starfish, with a human eye at its middle, colored purple — the eye red as fire. As violence.
Bigger than Riddler. He thought. Sitting back into the driver seat.
What the hell did that mean?
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god-shops-at-thot-topic · 5 years ago
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Okay so I had a real wack idea and that is: Jekyll and Hyde but in Danny Phantom AU. Basically it would be like an episode where Dr. Henry Jekyll becomes a new teacher at Casper High and right after he arrives a new ghostly menace (Hyde) shows up to terrorize Amity Park. I’ll put more info under this if you’re interested in my ramblings. 
Okay so basically, when Henry Jekyll was in college he got in an accident that  involved a homemade/really shitty ghost portal that he and (Hastie? Robert? Maybe something else?) Lanyon built. Lanyon and him had a fight over it and after Lanyon leaves the room to calm down Jekyll says “fuck it yolo” and decides to start up the machine himself. It blows up in his face giving him a scar on his right cheek and turns him into a half ghost. His halfa form appears younger than Henry and seems to have a bit of a mind of its own (due to the shoddy construction of the ghost portal). He calls himself Hyde because his first instinct was “HIDE” when security, medical personnel, and other assorted people on campus run to the wrecked lab. The name Edward comes later mostly as a personal “Ooo I like that name” kinda thing (if anyone has a better idea for this please share because im a dummy and can’t think of anything). Jekyll comes back and since he has the scar on his face Lanyon thinks he caused the explosion on purpose and whoop there goes their friendship. They end up both getting the blame but it’s less of a “you tried to blow up the school” thing and more of a “you really fucked up on your experiment and must have really miscalculated” thing. The school has their families pay for most of the damages (which is a-okay because they both come from wealthy families) and it just ends up becoming sort of an on campus joke. 
Years go by and Hyde ends up getting more and more of his own personality. At first he was almost completely influenced by Jekyll but now it’s become more like Hyde is a separate ghost possessing Jekyll. This becomes a problem when, as Jekyll is working in his lab, Hyde decides he’s bored and takes over. Jekyll ends up developing a chemical to control the transformations (HJ7) and put him back in charge of the situation. It works for a while but then Henry starts seeming black out for times, and what he hears about his actions as he’s blacked out makes him realize that Hyde is taking control/possessing his human form (basically green eyed Jekyll type scenario). This freaks Henry out, so he decides he’s going to find professional help. Low and behold, Amity Park, the town where some of the most famous ghost hunters live in, has a job opening for a new chemistry teacher at the local high school. Jekyll easily gets the job and starts working immediately. 
Henry soon becomes the teacher everyone either totally loves or totally hates. He’s very passionate about chemistry but knows a lot about other scientific fields and will talk to students about their favorite studies. Because of his passion for chemistry though, he grades very harshly and does not tolerate disruptions such as talking during lectures and arriving tardy (without a good excuse). This is what causes the great divide on the students opinions of him. Everyone stands on one side or the other. Everyone except Danny Fenton. Danny is the child of scientists, the local ghost hunters Jack and Maddie Fenton, and is very passionate about astronomy and wants to work for NASA when he grows up. The problem is he’s always either missing, tardy to, or sleeping in class. He also doesn’t really seem to grasp the material. Dr. Jekyll is torn because he can tell that Danny loves science and he has had really great conversations with him about astronomy but he’s just upset at how Danny is in his class. He ends up deciding that he will take the boy under his wing and tutor him to help him pass. This will also get him closer to Danny’s parents who he thinks can help him with his Hyde problem. 
Danny goes after school for tutoring (surprisingly there were no rogue ghosts attacking today) and waits for Dr. Jekyll to show up. And waits. And waits. Then his ghost sense goes off and he just can’t wait anymore. Danny grabs his bag and runs into down the hall to the boys room where, with a quick “I’m going ghost!” he’s off to fight the ghostly menace of the day. When he spots the spirit, he sees this is one that he’s never fought before. He’s tall and quite lean with bluish skin, venomous green eyes, green hair pulled into a flaming ponytail, and a nasty scar across the right side of his face. The ghost takes notice that Danny’s there and a fight ensues. And then it ends when Danny gets yeeted through a wall and the ghost disappears. At least Danny was able to pick up that the new ghost’s name is Edward Hyde during the fight. He goes home to work on his homework go to sleep. He just crashes right into bed and sleeps till the next day. 
When he gets to school, Dr. Jekyll comes up to him and apologizes that he couldn’t make it to the tutoring session and that an emergency had come up that he had to attend to. Danny was like no biggie and continued on with the day. He talked with Sam and Tucker about this new ghost. They go over where he may have come from, if he’s working for Vlad, and all the other possibilities including that it could be that Dr. Jekyll may be a halfa like Danny and Vlad, but that got brushed off as wrong (”That ghost did not seem like the kind of guy who’d have a PHD. He’s a MR. Hyde at best, not a Dr. like Jekyll”). The school day ends and Danny’s off to learn the ways of chemistry. This time Dr. Jekyll is there and the lesson goes according to plan. At least right up until Danny’s lesson is about over. When the topic of talking to Danny’s parents about his tutoring (and the possibility of them helping out with Jekyll’s halfa problem) is brought up, all of a sudden a change comes over the good doctor. He starts saying nasty things and acting like real bitch. That’s when Danny notices that Dr. Jekyll’s eyes are a vibrant shade of green. Seeing this as a sign that Jekyll has been possessed (hopefully by that Edward Hyde ghost from yesterday, Danny wants a round two with him) Danny goes ghost (because it’s not like Dr. Jekyll will remember anyway he’s possessed. 
This freaks the shit out of Hyde because a. he thought he was the only halfa there was b. holy shit this little scrawny kid is that ghost that nearly kicked his ass yesterday c. he thinks he’s been found out and d. holy shit this little scrawny kid is that ghost that nearly kicked his ass yesterday. Since he’s so freaked out, he slips a little and Jekyll comes to for just long enough to be punched in the face by the kid he thought would be his favorite student. This “little” punch shakes up Jekyll but acts as a snap back to reality for Hyde who makes them go ghost. When Danny sees the rings go around Dr. Jekyll turning him into Edward Hyde, he realizes he fucked up. A fight ensues which ends with an agreement between the two (three???). Basically Danny will leave them alone and not tell his parents as long as a. Hyde doesn’t forcibly take over Jekyll and when he’s out he doesn’t cause problems and b. Jekyll doesn’t try to destroy Hyde.
(when Danny tells Sam and Tucker about all this Tucker yells “HAH! I told you!”)
I think Hyde still gets up to mischief but he’s not a real villain just more of a pest. The real villain is Jekyll who goes to Vlad Masters for a side job (cause teaching don’t pay nearly enough as it should) where he ends up helping to develop ghost weapons. I’d actually see him being able to get close enough to Vlad that he learns a lot of his little secrets, just not the one about Vlad being a halfa. (I think Jekyll might be brought in to help with cloning Danny.)
And that’s pretty much all I got. I might make a fic if anyone wants it but there’s no real guarantee on the quality since I haven’t taken a creative writing class in over 4 years.
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therebelresistance · 4 years ago
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Star Wars: The Clone Wars Episode Opening Quotes
01×01 – Ambush: Great leaders inspire greatness in others.
01×02 – Rising Malevolence: Belief is not a matter of choice, but of conviction.
01×03 – Shadow of Malevolence: Easy is the path to wisdom for those not blinded by ego.
01×04 – Destroy Malevolence: A plan is only as good as those who see it through.
01×05 – Rookies: The best confidence builder is experience.
01×06 – Downfall of a Droid: Trust in your friends, and they’ll have reason to trust in you.
01×07 – Duel of the Droids: You hold onto friends by keeping your heart a little softer than your head.
01×08 – Bombad Jedi: Heroes are made by the times.
01×09 – Cloak of Darkness: Ignore your instincts at your peril.
01×10 – Lair of Grievous: Most powerful is he who controls his own power.
01×11 – Dooku Captured: The winding path to peace is always a worthy one, regardless of how many turns it takes.
01×12 – The Gungan General: Fail with honor rather than succeed by fraud.
01×13 – Jedi Crash: Greed and fear of loss are the roots that lead to the tree of evil.
01×14 – Defenders of Peace: When surrounded by war, one must eventually choose a side.
01×15 – Trespass: Arrogance diminishes wisdom.
01×16 – The Hidden Enemy: Truth enlightens the mind, but won’t always bring happiness to your heart.
01×17 – Blue Shadow Virus: Fear is a disease; hope is its only cure.
01×18 – Mystery of the Thousand Moons: A single chance is a galaxy of hope.
01×19 – Storm over Ryloth: It is a rough road that leads to the heights of greatness.
01×20 – Innocents of Ryloth: The costs of war can never be truly accounted for.
01×21 – Liberty on Ryloth: Compromise is a virtue to be cultivated, not a weakness to be despised.
01×22 – Hostage Crisis: A secret shared is a trust formed.
02×01 – Holocron Heist: A lesson learned is a lesson earned.
02×02 – Cargo of Doom: Overconfidence is the most dangerous form of carelessness.
02×03 – Children of the Force: The first step to correcting a mistake is patience.
02×04 – Senate Spy: A true heart should never be doubted.
02×05 – Landing at Point Rain: Believe in yourself or no one else will.
02×06 – Weapons Factory: No gift is more precious than trust.
02×07 – Legacy of Terror: Sometimes, accepting help is harder than offering it.
02×08 – Brain Invaders: Attachment is not compassion.
02×09 – Grievous Intrigue: For everything you gain, you lose something else.
02×10 – The Deserter: It is the quest for honor that makes one honorable.
02×11 – Lightsaber Lost: Easy isn’t always simple.
02×12 – The Mandalore Plot: If you ignore the past, you jeopardize the future.
02×13 – Voyage of Temptation: Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.
02×14 – Duchess of Mandalore: In war, truth is the first casualty.
02×15 – Senate Murders: Searching for the truth is easy. Accepting the truth is hard.
02×16 – Cat and Mouse: A wise leader knows when to follow.
02×17 – Bounty Hunters: Courage makes heroes, but trust builds friendships.
02×18 – The Zillo Beast: Choose what is right, not what is easy.
02×19 – The Zillo Beast Strikes Back: The most dangerous beast is the beast within.
02×20 – Death Trap: Who my father was matters less than my memory of him.
02×21 – R2 Come Home: Adversity is a friendship’s truest test.
02×22 – Lethal Trackdown: Revenge is a confession of pain.
03×01 – Clone Cadets: Brothers in arms are brothers for life.
03×02 – ARC Troopers: Fighting a war tests a soldier’s skills, defending his home tests a soldier’s heart.
03×03 – Supply Lines: Where there’s a will, there’s a way.
03×04 – Sphere of Influence: A child stolen is a hope lost.
03×05 – Corruption: The challenge of hope is to overcome corruption.
03×06 – The Academy: Those who enforce the law must obey the law.
03×07 – Assassin: The future has many paths – choose wisely.
03×08 – Evil Plans: A failure in planning is a plan for failure.
03×09 – Hunt for Ziro: Love comes in all shapes and sizes.
03×10 – Heroes on Both Sides: Fear is a great motivator.
03×11 – Pursuit of Peace: Truth can strike down the spectre of fear.
03×12 – Nightsisters: The swiftest path to destruction is through vengeance.
03×13 – Monster: Evil is not born, it is taught.
03×14 – Witches of the Mist: The path to evil may bring great power, but not loyalty.
03×15 – Overlords: Balance is found in the one who faces his guilt.
03×16 – Altar of Mortis: He who surrenders hope, surrenders life.
03×17 – Ghosts of Mortis: He who seeks to control fate shall never find peace.
03×18 – The Citadel: Adaptation is the key to survival.
03×19 – Counterattack: Anything that can go wrong will.
03×20 – Citadel Rescue: Without honor, victory is hollow.
03×21 – Padawan Lost: Without humility, courage is a dangerous game.
03×22 – Wookie Hunt: A great student is what the teacher hopes to be.
04×01 – Water War: When destiny calls, the chosen have no choice.
04×02 – Gungan Attack: Only through fire is a strong sword forged.
04×03 – Prisoners: Crowns are inherited, kingdoms are earned.
04×04 – Shadow Warrior: Who a person truly is cannot be seen with the eye.
04×05 – Mercy Mission: Understanding is honoring the truth beneath the surface.
04×06 – Nomad Droids: Who’s the more foolish, the fool or the fool who follows him?
04×07 – Darkness on Umbara: The first step towards loyalty is trust.
04×08 – The General: The path of ignorance is guided by fear.
04×09 – Plan of Dissent: The wise man leads, the strong man follows.
04×10 – Carnage of Krell: Our actions define our legacy.
04×11 – Kidnapped: Where we are going always reflects where we came from.
04×12 – Slaves of the Republic: Those who enslave others, inevitably become slaves themselves.
04×13 – Escape from Kadavo: Great hope can come from small sacrifices.
04×14 – A Friend in Need: Friendship shows us who we really are.
04×15 – Deception: All warfare is based on deception.
04×16 – Friends and Enemies: Keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.
04×17 – The Box: The strong survive, the noble overcome.
04×18 – Crisis on Naboo: Trust is the greatest of gifts, but it must be earned.
04×19 – Massacre: One must let go of the past to hold on to the future.
04×20 – Bounty: Who we are never changes, who we think we are does.
04×21 – Brothers: A fallen enemy may rise again, but the reconciled one is truly vanquished.
04×22 – Revenge: The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
05×01 – Revival: Strength of character can defeat strength in numbers.
05×02 – A War on Two Fronts: Fear is a malleable weapon.
05×03 – Front Runners: To seek something is to believe in its possibility.
05×04 – The Soft War: Struggles often begin and end with the truth.
05×05 – Tipping Points: Disobedience is a demand for change.
05×06 – The Gathering: He who faces himself, finds himself.
05×07 – A Test of Strength: The young are often underestimated.
05×08 – Bound for Rescue: When we rescue others, we rescue ourselves.
05×09 – A Necessary Bond: Choose your enemies wisely, as they may be your last hope.
05×10 – Secret Weapons: Humility is the only defense against humiliation.
05×11 – A Sunny Day in the Void: When all seems hopeless, a true hero gives hope.
05×12 – Missing in Action: A soldier’s most powerful weapon is courage.
05×13 – Point of No Return: You must trust in others or success is impossible.
05×14 – Eminence: One vision can have many interpretations.
05×15 – Shades of Reason: Alliances can stall true intentions.
05×16 – The Lawless: Morality separates heroes from villains.
05×17 – Sabotage: Sometimes even the smallest doubt can shake the greatest belief.
05×18 – The Jedi Who Knew Too Much: Courage begins by trusting oneself.
05×19 – To Catch a Jedi: Never become desperate enough to trust the untrustworthy.
05×20 – The Wrong Jedi: Never give up hope, no matter how dark things seem.
06×01 – The Unknown: The truth about yourself is always the hardest to accept.
06×02 – Conspiracy: The wise benefit from a second opinion.
06×03 – Fugitive: When in doubt, go to the source.
06×04 – Orders: The popular belief isn’t always the correct one.
06×05 – An Old Friend: To love, is to trust. To trust is to believe.
06×06 – The Rise of Clovis: Jealousy is the path to chaos.
06×07 – Crisis at the Heart: Deceit is the weapon of greed.
06×08 – The Disappeared Pt. 1: Without darkness there cannot be light.
06×09 – The Disappeared Pt. 2: Wisdom is born in fools as well as wise men.
06×10 – The Lost One: What is lost is often found.
06×11 – Voices: Madness can sometimes be the path to truth.
06×12 – Destiny: Death is just the beginning.
06×13 – Sacrifice: Facing all that you fear will free you from yourself.
07×01 – The Bad Batch: Embrace others for their differences, for that makes you whole.
07×02 – A Distant Echo: The search for truth begins with belief.
07×03 – On the Wings of Keeradaks: Survival is one step on the path to living.
07×04 – Unfinished Business: Trust placed in another is trust earned.
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trulycertain · 5 years ago
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I’ve just finished Hearts of Stone for the first time (I got the expansion packs last birthday, thanks Ma), and cor, I’m... still a bit dazed. That was one of the best experiences I’ve had with a game for a long time. Heck, in some games that would’ve been the main campaign. It truly feels like a work of passion.
The negative, to get it over with
I had some issues with the portrayal of the Ofieri. The people we see are monsters, mages, mystics and enemy guards. The first Ofieri person you meet is... a toad monster you kill. And then the next ones are your jailers. 
And you might say that Temeria and Redania are full of yokel stereotypes - I mean, the “How often should I beat my wife?” NPC line is a clear nod to that kinda thing - and plays on Slavic mythology, folk tales, and fairy tales, and Ofier is the nod to the Arabian Nights... but we don’t get many Ofieri characters, nor clear examinations of those tales. Instead we’re quietly directed back to Robin Hood and Beauty and the Beast homages (which I adore, but). And one of the first introductions you get to their pseudo-Arabic language (which doesn’t feel as researched as Sapkowksi’s cod-Welsh Elven, but I don’t know about Nilfgaard’s language) is a Redanian guy calling it “gargling.” *wince* After the interesting, often nuanced takes on pseudo-Slavic culture and the fantasy non-human racism, I found that a bit frustrating. 
And yet... In some ways, it feels like CDPR were aware of this. Because you don’t actually have to kill the rest of the Ofieri guards, and then the next people you meet from Ofier are scholars and thoroughly nice dudes. (And... merchants, which is another stereotype on its own, but maybe I’m reading too much into that and reading British biases into it.) And gosh, I find it interesting what little we see of Ofieri scholarship and spirituality, and runeworking/smithing as prayer. It’s like a mix of Islamic Golden Age mathematics - but with languages instead - and humanism, maybe with some Pagan influences. It’s really, really beautiful, and it’s clearly had some thought put into it. Also interesting is the interlinked duchies/city-states sort of system that the merchant nods at, which I’d love to know more about.
OK, so... maybe this is easy for me to say as an English lass who looks like a flour explosion in a snowstorm, but it feels wonky (to say the least), but... not ill-intentioned. If anything, the portrayal of the Ofieri is rather less biting than portrayals of other countries, though those portrayals also feel less.. loaded. I’m not sure what to think, to be honest. I had some issues with how strongly the pack tries to force you into romance with Shani and makes it a bit all-or-nothing. I wish I’d been able to buy her a drink or give her a nice rowan garland (actually, seriously, I need to draw her in that flower crown, it’s lovely and she was adorable) even as a friend, as a way to say goodbye, rather than just... buggering off and leaving her there sad, and failing a side quest to boot. Framing the romance that way made it very clear that “oi, you’ve made the wrong choice,” even if you had your reasons. And when you talk to her later, it’ll still treat things like you romanced her.
The Order of the Flaming Rose didn’t do much. Yay, fancy bandits. But... thanks for the armour, guys? Made a fair bit of cash off that, nice of you.
The positive (my favourite bit)
Shani! I haven’t played the first game or the second (I’ll... get there), so I hadn’t met her before. She’s wonderful. And much as I love Yen - and stayed faithful to her, though I was sitting there thinking, “Would books Geralt do this? I’m really not sure” - I liked how in contrast, Shani often gets into the thick of it with you. I also love a) doctor characters b) characters who put their calling above all else and have such strong purpose. She’s kind and wry and I was seriously tempted to romance her. I also like her admitting that it was a “make the most of the time we have” thing, and that it probably wouldn’t work long-term. I appreciate that honesty and again, that sense of purpose. Much like Triss, she’s not dropping everything for Geralt, who has his own crazy timetable and travels to deal with. That straightforwardness is lovely. 
And also... god, I really like her friendship with Geralt. Even if you don’t romance her, they’re so comfortable with each other, and it’s so clear how happy he is to see her. They relax around each other and she knows how to gently poke fun. Seriously, I can see why people liked her and wanted her back.
“And now I have nowt.” Bloody hell, is Olgierd von Everec actually written with Northern dialect as well as voiced with the accent? Is the dashing rogue... Yorkshire-accented? God, they must be Polish, Northerners almost never get to be upper-class or smooth in British media. (Even Sean Bean had to go posher for GoldenEye.) Nice to hear the language spoken properly.  I always admire the localisation when I’m playing Wild Hunt; it’s beautifully thought-out and detailed. And yes, Von Everec was an absolute jerk in a lot of ways even before the wish, but... a well-written, nuanced one. Also, considering some of the lasses we see in Skellige: sometime, I’d really like to have seen a female character along similar lines somewhere (one Geralt couldn’t bonk), though I know that won’t happen. (No more Geralt games. ;_; )
“A man must have some moments of madness from time to time. Tells him he’s alive.”
Iris! Goodness, I hesitated for nearly ten minutes over That Decision, and I still feel sad for her typing this post up on my couch, having finished the expansion an hour ago. I think it adds even more that I’d purchased “Starry Night Over the Pontar River” by Van Rogh (I can’t believe they even did that). I played Geralt as genuinely loving her paintings. (And seriously, speaking of assets, that Iris/Olgierd marriage portrait is lovely.) She was as complicated as her husband, though she got less screentime - and some part of me would have gladly trapped Olgierd in a painting and brought her back into the world, but I also know that necromancy in The Witcher doesn’t work like that. A very romantic-fairy-tale take on the tortured artist trope.
I even found Vlodimir interesting. I was glad that Shani called him on what was basically fancy sexual harassment and told him to keep his hands to himself, and he was clearly a real shite in life, but... yeah, even I felt rather sad for him after the dressing-down he got from O’Dimm. And to be honest, he does have some bloody hilarious lines. This series excels in “likeable bastard” characters.
I get shades! And I’ve been going round with the Mastercrafted Wolven Armour and those, doing the look I fondly call Douchebag Geralt, ever since. CDPR’s nerdery. It wasn’t particularly immersion-breaking, and it made me cackle. “Merchant With A Pearl Earring”? “Witness me”? “Geralt: The Professional”? “The Professor’s Glasses”?
All the optional NPC dialogue. You can doom yourself by not researching enough. You can never find the runewright. You can miss half the wedding party dialogue. You can miss things like the Van Rogh painting and the sad, rather interesting story of Vesemir and his lover (and the Viper Armour!). The game always rewards you for being interested in the story, and thorough (you are playing a detective, after all), but because it was smaller, they’ve also made HoS so dense and all that’s here in abundance.
“Delight in the world and all its glorious creations.”
The furious pace. It’s a rollicking, rip-roaring adventure. A frog prince! An old friend/lover! A political plot! A storm! A deal with... something not-good that may or may not be The Devil! A shirtless tied-up action-movie fight with five dudes! Dueling a reluctant immortal! Characters from distant shores! A horse race through the streets of a village! A Guy Ritchie-esque heist movie nod to Robin Hood! Getting possessed by a ghost and sitcom/rom-com hijinks while fishing for boots, herding swine, and retrieving fire-eaters! Haunted mansions and tortured artists and interesting grief and depression metaphors! A Seventh Seal-esque game of wits with something very old and very unkind! O’Dimm promised a big adventure... he wasn’t wrong. And it probably sounds like they’re throwing shit at the wall to see what sticks... and yet, it all makes sense and ties in beautifully. It’s really well-written and thought-out, and balances a touching story with CDPR clearly wanting to give you your money’s worth and take you on the best journey they can.
Gaunter O’Dimm. The one thing I did think was that they’d be more vague about who/what he actually was. I was surprised at the more overt things like the crossroads deal, and the Oxenfurt scholar. But I immensely enjoyed his character, and that trippy finale was fantastic, even if I spent everything after the first second or so muttering, “It’s a REFLECTION, oh my god Gaunter you have commitment to your theme, please let there be a mirror in the house.” (And it’s also kind of perfect that one of the main spectres who attacks you in his realm is a Hym. Punishment for misdeeds, the guilty conscience... I’m seeing a theme here.)
Treasure hunts and new armour.
“Like your new gear, Roach?” We got to see a bit more of Geralt's fondness for this Roach (not sure what number she is, to be honest) and that he treats her well.
Lots of quiet but intense, lovely Geralt moments. The kindness with which he treats Shani, and his quiet, wry joking around with her in comparison to Vlodimir’s crudeness; the fondness and understated grief with which he speaks of Vesemir, and finally getting to hear a bit more of what he thinks about his mentor; the guilt he feels over being pulled here, there and everywhere on adventures and how many people he’s left behind; more stuff on “Witchers are heartless bastards because mutations” and how untrue that actually is; his steadfastness about trying to avoid bloodshed in the heist; how he doesn’t like to see Vlodimir tortured, even if he is... Vlodimir. Course, I play Geralt as a (pragmatic, blunt) goody-two-shoes, so it might be different if you play him bloodthirstier, but there were some lovely not-blank-slate-protag moments. CDPR get that the characters are why people come to the games; I adore playing a game where “go to a wedding reception” and “have a snowball fight with your daughter to cheer her up” are missions.
I’d be interested to see anyone’s takes on this pack, because I was so busy trying to avoid spoilers when it came out (and I think I might have been knee-deep in Fallout 4? Not sure) that I missed most of the stuff on it. But it was full of fascinating characters, wonderful performances, some really sad, achey complex themes, and pulpy adventure. I spent... too many moments trying not to cackle in joy. And much as I tried to be a completionist and do base-game sidequests remaining after the main story and drag it out over several days, I spent enough time on this expansion that Geralt’s beard grew back and my backside went numb. So. Even with its imperfections, probably one of my favourite gaming experiences of all time. So.
...God, and there’s another, slightly bigger expansion to go. I’m not sure I’ll survive.
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greecllings · 5 years ago
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escape
t+
the magnus archives
summary: melanie was willing to do anything to get out of the institute. if this was the only wat out, then she'd gladly take her eyes.
fic # three of my @badthingshappenbingo​ card! this one is melanie king with ‘eye screams’! as an extra note, the beginning of this fic is inspired by @/stc019-eh’s comic that i love very much!!
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read on ao3
“I don’t want to forget how beautiful your smile is.”
Georgie’s eyebrows furrowed, her mouth turning downwards suddenly in concern, “Melanie, what do you mean?”
Melanie shook her head. “You’ll see soon enough. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
“But-”
“I’m sorry, but I have something I need to do. I love you, Georgie.”
“I-I love you too.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
Melanie hung up. She brought the phone to her chest, almost as if hugging the screen. She found herself shutting her eyes tight; typically that meant she’d be holding back tears, but her eyes were dry. She knew what she had to do, and she wasn’t going to let anything get in her way.
She had to hurry, though, considering Jon should have called the ambulance by now. Quickly, she moved her arm to the table beside her, placing her phone beside the awl she had snagged from the library.
Her hand hovered above the awl for a moment. There was hesitation in her movements, a hesitation that she knew damn well wasn’t regarding the thought of quitting her job. The means were absurd, though, and if she hadn’t wanted out of the damned institute more than anything else in the world she would have never considered doing what she was about to do. But if she had to gouge her eyes to quit, to get out of this place ruled by fear and manipulation and the paranormal, so be it.
But the ambulance would be here soon. She couldn’t afford to hesitate any longer.
She wrapped her hands around the handle of the awl, its smoothly polished surface feeling uncomfortably slippery in Melanie’s clammy palm. Melanie had to force her arm upwards, had to force her hand to angle the pointed tip of the awl towards her open eye.
Staring down the awl was the worst part yet; the thin metal shaft caught the light from the dull fluorescent bulbs above, and if Melanie was slightly less sane, she might have said that that stupid awl seemed to be anticipating gouging into her eye.
It wasn’t, though. It was just a trick of the light playing along the polished surface of the awl, or maybe the remnants of the slaughter’s influence on Melanie’s mind. But either way, Melanie wouldn’t let her head stop her from quitting. Not when she’s already gone this far.
So, in one swift motion, she thrust the awl into her right eye.
She let out a sharp whimper, refusing to cry as her vision turned a brilliant and, ironically, blinding white before fading, leaving only one half of the room barely visible through the sudden tears that welled up in her unharmed eye. White hot pain shot through not only Melanie’s right eye but her entire body, and she couldn’t stop the twitchy shudder that ran through her limbs. The sudden motion in her hands moved the awl, and Melanie had to fight the bile that rose in her throat as she felt the pointed end of the awl scrape against the inside of her eye. Her senses were all but gone now, dulled--or, perhaps, simply completely overwhelmed--by the rippling pain that shot through her nerves like bullets.
Melanie thought that getting stabbed with ghostly scalpels and shot by angry ghosts had been bad, but she knew now that that pain, that those scars, were nothing compared to this.
But it wasn’t enough yet. Melanie had to be sure.
Slowly, Melanie forced the awl further through her eye, as far as she felt it safe to go--she didn’t want to kill herself, only seriously maim, and she knew damn well that one wrong move would send the awl straight into her brain. So, with slow and deliberate motions, Melanie moved the awl back and forth as it ran her eye through, hoping to damage as much of the eye as possible.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
The pain was caught in her throat now, and it was so, so hard to breathe. Every breath Melanie managed to take was shaky and soft, as if breathing any heavier would make the pain worse. And yet she knew that she had to breathe, lest she let pressure build up behind her eyes and increase the already sickening pain.
Her right eye had to be good enough at this point, though, half because Melanie wasn’t sure if she could go any further into her eye, or do any damage that, at this point, would simply be overkill, and half because distant sounds of sirens approaching the institute echoed through the lonely streets of London, and she still had another eye to mutilate.
Melanie took a breath, steeling herself, before pulling the awl out in one swift but still careful motion. She was surprised, though, to find that pulling the shaft of the awl out of her eye caused little pain.
What she was surprised about was the blood; she couldn’t see much through her one eye, especially through the pain and the tears, but Melanie could still see the blood that oozed from her face and onto the floor at her feet. She had been expecting blood, but it fell from her eye like water from a tap. Now that they were sharpening again, Melanie’s senses were filled with the blood that seeped from her eye; it was on her lips and in her nose, and she could even hear the gentle but steady drip, drip, drip as it hit the floor. The copper-tinged smell filled the entire room, and Melanie was sure that if there wasn’t already blood in her mouth, the metallic taste would find her tongue from the lingering scent alone.
At least I was smart enough to avoid wearing white today, Melanie thought as she gazed at the steadily growing pool of red at her feet. She was surprised at the chuckle that escaped her lips as she watched it drip off of her face, sending small ripples through the crimson puddle.
But she had a job to finish; sooner rather than later, especially since the sirens now seemed to be less of an echo and more of a steadily growing wail.
There was less hesitation in the motion that plunged the awl into Melanie’s left eye, and before long the world around Melanie faded from that same sickening brightness into a deep shade of black. Still, she persisted, her hatred of her cursed job--or, at this point, ex-job--far surpassed her fear of the dark.
She repeated what she had done to her right eye to her left. As the initial pain of contact seemed to fade, the pain retreated into a throbbing pain, allowing Melanie’s senses--or, most of Melanie’s senses--experience the second mutilation. As she moved the awl side to side over and over again, that awful repetitive motion filled the air with the faintest sound that seemed the mixture of the wet sloshing of water and the grisly tearing of flesh. The copper lingered on her tongue, dry and bitter; it filled every crevice and ridge of her mouth, and even left the feeling of metal down Melanie’s throat.
Finally, as the sirens, now loudly whining and very close, reached a halt, Melanie pulled the awl from her eye. She fumbled for a moment, trying to place the awl on the table and find her phone.
It was in that moment that Melanie noticed something; for the first time in so, so long, that awful, ever-present feeling of being watched, of being picked apart action by action, thought by thought by the awful gaze of the ceaseless watcher was finally gone. She let her shoulders relax. Melanie could tell now that she was crying, heavy sobs forcing their way out of the metallic dryness of her throat and into that awful empty room. The tears that fell were indistinguishable from the blood that now dripped down her cheeks, but she couldn’t care less in that moment.
She was finally free.
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juleswolverton-hyde · 6 years ago
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A Valediction: Forbidden Mourning | 04
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Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst, Stepbrother AU
Pairing: Stepbrother!Namjoon x English student!Reader
Warning: Possessive/Toxic behaviour & relationships, self-harm
Summary: Love comes in many shapes, but does not always have a prosperous fate. However, whereas parents might have found it, all the children can do is live in kalopsia.
Forbidden yet denying the mourning of the path chosen for them by Fate.
Previous part / Masterlist / Next part
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Remorse is at times an unrighteous sentiment begotten from a crime that is inherently not the accomplice’s but for which blame is felt regardless of knowing the true culprit, the factor that moved the hands of an innocent bystander who tried to fight against temptation. Notwithstanding, even when it is deserved, it will be tried to be avoided with assumed white lies which cover up the impact of the evoked disillusioning chaos. Just to maintain a sense of clarity, of logic.
Of Sense.
Right now, it is endeavoured to be found in the steps of onyx lacquered shoes and equally dark worn sneakers stained with Scottish mud over mustard and brick tiles leading towards the historic city centre pierced by canals and where it is more likely to get run over by a bicycle than a car. Yet, it is not enough for there are no explanations for why it cannot return when they cross the bridge and walk towards the plaza of the Holy Virgin.
Halfway through the street with furniture stores, cafés and individual shops, however, a worrying distraction - but one, nonetheless - appears in the form of the accidentally revealed novel pinkish scar by an unconsciously pushed up dusk-shaded sleeve, the friction of which also moves the scarlet shirt underneath. The rigid misplaced colour palette on caramel makes feet stop immediately, the sudden action making the silver wolf whose hand is held also halt to look backwards at the frozen ashen Red Riding Hood.
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This is something that should have been put in the past a long time ago.
Had been, for the canvas of white scars did not seem to be altered for a long time. Then again, when had it last been looked at in recent times, carefully inspected on a regular basis during any period in the past two years?
Face almost as pale as a ghost, a mirror of the ghastly expression in frightened eyes which are near tears with grave concern, the wound is meticulously investigated now that it is broadly on display. Old habits have been abandoned in favour of pleasing a koala ignorant of the mutual feelings of the protector, but it would, unfortunately, seem not all are left behind.
‘When did this happen?’ Speech has been reduced to a frightened whisper, rapidly closing the unintentionally established distance to trace fingers over the fresh cut. ‘When did you do this?’
‘Do what?’ With a firm tug, the wrist is attempted to be freed from the unsuspectingly suddenly firm hold yet fails in doing so. Instead of another try, there is faked dismissing bewilderment in espresso irises despite knowing full well the signs shown by Reality cannot be denied. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Joon, there’s no use in playing pretend. Especially not now.’ The palm covers the hideousness from the sight of the world, silent pleads enforcing the repeated inquiry with a gradually breaking voice, reduced further and further into the rubble the heart has become at the bodily discovery. ‘When? Please, I need to know.’
Already once it had been too close to a disastrous ending and ever since there has been an unspoken oath to the grey-haired poet and the wordy girl living under the same roof.
It was on the night shortly - six months or so ago - after commemorating moving in as step-siblings a year earlier when, in hindsight only realized, forbidden feelings towards an unworthy student of English Language and Culture had begun to develop in earnest. The far from hushed arguments about missed Skype calls or very vague answers making the Korean Fox suspicious of adultery that had become more frequent resonate anew in the ears now, that night vivid once more as the shapes on the cave wall change to portray past shadows instead of their contemporary counterparts.
Sleep did not come easy as the bladder was continuously complaining about the grand amount of two cups of coffee it had to endure, one right after dinner before going to the gym with Namjoon - the usual sport buddy - and later the second while comfortably reading the short stories for the next seminar until lids began to feel heavy. Annoyed by the incapability of the Body to ignore the need until dawn, the bed was reluctantly abandoned as the first October breath blew through the open window, padding slowly down the attic stairs only to speed up to a run when low sobs disturbed the noisy creaking of the steps. Jeonja and Da were still downstairs, the television so loud it could be clearly heard upstairs, seeing as the latter seems to be annoyingly hard-hearing, and thus the soft crying was easily tuned out for those sitting in happy comfort in the living room.
The scared red-rimmed puffy eyes holding the horrifying resignation of the broad-shouldered bear clad in a simple raven-toned hoodie and monotone alabaster T-shirt looked up at the intruder, a panicked figure outfitted in a shirt stolen from the one on the tiled floor which held a sliver of the scent of smoke and coffee - the elements of late summer nights together - and who was turned to stone like during the recent event on the plaza of the Separated Church while staring at the trembling horrific boxcutter and flow of dark crimson.
Punishment. That one simple word formed the answer after the cursing outcry and the vulgar language that followed in its wake but was stopped as soon as the faucet provided the water to wash away the blood. Attention turned then to cleaning the wound precariously close to the pulse, ignoring to the best of personal ability the absurd excuses that it was well deserved. That this care was not necessary.
That I needed to stop.
But all of the begging was in vain, commanding to keep the wrist under the running jet of a million white healing drops as bare feet rushed out to the parental bedroom. A fist smashed the light switch to turn it on and shaking hasty digits searched for the first-aid kit in the lowest drawer of the wardrobe by the window providing a view of the small backyard, finding it to a small curt elevation to a sense of relief after noisily turning the whole thing upside-down.
Fearful of every second being potentially the last one, a sprint was pulled in the return to the bathroom and knees fallen to on the ground with a low thud that made Namjoon reach out toward the naked thigh, carefully, as if it were made of china, caressing the skin with ironic concern. ‘Are you hurt?’
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‘This isn’t the time to worry about me, Joon.’ The most nearby towel was pulled from the radiator on the wall after ending the limitless stream of rushing water, the big tanned hand remaining in place on a much smaller body and occasionally tightening the hold with the need to hang on to anything real when the surface beneath the touch moved. The conflicting corrupted sentiments about Love were oppressed entirely by the overwhelming panic speeding up the beat of a heart that normally could reach a similar pace just by being together, thus nullifying the ability to take notice of the intimacy and let it add to futile Fancy. ‘It’s you whose important now.’
As if having been a nurse in a former life, the right wrist was taken into the lap and properly taken care of, bandaging it up while applying pressure to stop the scarlet flow damaging both present parties. Afterwards, when gazes met once more and the one of the then ashy brown bear was noticed to be watery, a small palm automatically placed itself on the warm salt-streaked cheek, a thumb lovingly wiping away the tears. Ever since, the gesture has had the same calming effect on the poet, be it in when sorrowfully sitting by the bathtub with a shining sharp boxcutter in hand to cut open flesh to end the influence of Life or when raging with jealous menace at seeing the chances with one who should never be threatened on academic grounds.
Though not really affectionate in general, sometimes exceptions are made for a koala and thus the guardian let the one he protects till this very day crawl into the lap and run digits through hair after removing the dark twilight hood, arms sprinkled with the traces of past wounds, revealed by pushed up sleeves, strongly embracing a hapless girl who buried her nose in comforting smoky skin with the wish to never have it taken away. The boxcutter, however, was dearly wished to be erased. Vanished to never return.
Just once the renewed flight to cigarettes was excused.
Because Love is not trivial.
But it is filled with compromise.
Yet, protecting one another is not one. It is a lasting promise.
Forevermore.
Reality returns as shadows figure themselves again to their earlier shapes, a grey wolf mockingly and hesitantly attempting to avoid having to reply to the inquiry when the latest scar was added to the hideous canvas. ‘Let’s just go for solely coffee instead. I’m not that hungry.’ A step forward cannot happen, merely advancing half a meter due to being held back by deceivingly powerful determined hands. ‘Y/N, let’s just go. It’s nothing. Come on, bear.’
‘Answer me.’ Speech begins to crumble, slightly distorted by bordering on the edge of annoyed anger because of not getting any reply that could let a secret protector of a five-years-older man execute the duties accompanying the oath.
An indignant huff both causes a shot of hurt that clearly shows up in attitude and evokes another reason to stand tall, push through. ‘Why is it so important? It’s a one-time happening, a stupid slip-up. Besides, it happened a while ago.’
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‘A while ago? It looks brand new to me.’ More recently healed wounds are remarked upon, not all of them faded into bleak alabaster. All of them punishments for different reasons or maybe the same. ‘Stop beating around the bush and just answer the fucking question!’
I should have checked more often. Looked for a knife or box cutter or just fucking anything that you could use to do this to yourself.
‘You’re making a scene.’ The roles are reversed, the pull on the hand more powerful this time to the extent it cannot be resisted, thus having to give in and stumble along until the Bagels and Beans on the corner of Mary’s plaza is reached, too concentrated to not fall flat on the face as earlier had been the risk.
‘Oh, as if you didn’t at the Dom. We’re not going anywhere before this issue is resolved.’ Composure is recomposed, revolting against unwavering leadership anew by putting a firm foot down, much to the annoyance of the neatly dressed debtor manager.
There is nothing human about the half-made comment being snarled in response to the resistance. ‘There is no-’
‘Obviously, there-’ But the vocal reaction to the cut-off one, going paired with a roll of the eyes, is also disregarded halfway through being formulated by the same speaker who was prematurely stopped too.
‘Last night!’ Panting like having run a marathon, Namjoon caves at last. Jeering confidence transforms into fragile remorseful uncertainty quickly at noticing the flinch frightened at the idea of potential harm for Namjoon has proven himself unpredictable, the softness of a baritone breaking voice repeating the same two words heart-wrenching. ‘Last night.’
‘Why?’
‘The breakup, it- I don’t know. My mind just turned off and all is a black hazy mess. It was- how to describe it? It was like waking up. Suddenly, I was just there, boxcutter in hand and blood was flowing. Oddly tranquil. Some idiotic side of me blamed me for giving up and pursue you, instead.’ A self-deprecating head shake goes paired with a dangerous smile displaying stark white teeth. ‘This part, it loved Heungji despite not recognizing you were there, the better alternative. That she was meaningless, a hopeless pursuit. But not you, you’re definitely worth it.’
A suffocating sense of doom tightens the throat, the next inquiry almost too horrifying due to the flashing images of more unseen wounds tainted with liquid life force. ‘It? Can you... elaborate?’
’The scars, the nights staying up trying to compose, be a better man. Be yours.’
‘You don’t need to harm yourself to be mine.’ The rapidly spoken assurance is met by no reaction, merely an absent glance sideways that signifies not getting any further information about the subject. Nonetheless, if not talking about the specifics of the topic, the broader aspects remain to be discussed. ‘And the others?’
The creepy glint lighting up espresso irises does not bode well, increasing the unease and confirming it upon speaking. ‘Recent fights between us, being there too little for you, failed music. A lot of variety in the reasons, so take your pick.’
‘I’d rather you take up smoking again than doing this.’ The established distance, just a step or two, is bridged as the formerly tightly held wrist is let go of. The face is buried in the musky scent of the scarlet shirt as quivering arms hug the beloved stepbrother turned lover, murmuring words into the fabric. ‘I thought therapy helped, that this was in the past.’
You’ve changed, but not entirely it seems. Stay with me, Namjoon.
For a moment, the gesture is not registered nor answered, but soon it is with gratefulness when warm arms quickly wrap themselves around narrow shoulders. ‘It’s needed for discipline, to remind myself you won’t miss me even if I were to disappear.’
‘Then what about what you said? You want to be there for me, provide for me but you can’t if you aren’t there. I couldn’t even for myself if you weren’t here. Remember what you said earlier?’ Eyes look up into those which have to stay, have become such a beloved sight despite the original distrust. Heavy heaves begin with the killing vision of a prospect without the bear who is occasionally a wolf, the morning coffees, the book dates, the help with studying. There will be nothing. Nothing but an emptiness which cannot be filled. ‘You need me and I need you. I don’t want yo- your company in the fo- form of a-’
Grave.
‘I’m still here, baby. I’m here so don’t think about that. On the good days, I can and do take care of you but there will be days when I can’t. Yet, please, don’t think about them even if they are a real risk. Because, after all, I want, no, need you to be happy. Either with or without me.’ Hands lovingly caress the semi-long grey-toned locks pressed against the stomach once more, the manner of which is to the contrary of how they were treated in the monastery gardens. And when looking up with mascara-streaked cheeks again after a moment of merely enjoying the intimacy, it is the old Namjoon gazing back, the sweet encouraging poet who was met two years ago. ‘Let’s not talk about this anymore, okay, bear?’
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Foreheads briefly rest against each other, a firm palm on the right forearm maintaining a bit of distance as the left thumb removes the watery ugliness with a rare affection, before lips find each other in a chaste kiss reserved for innocent lovers. Something that will never be anything more but a kalopsia in our case, but for now it is a sweet white lie to believe.
Cold is replaced by warmth, stiff muscles losing their tenseness as the mind relaxes and settles into the current Reality.
Of us.
Together.
Alive.
There is no chance to get lost in the contact, push the boundaries a bit to end the innocence just enough to be imprinted with a rougher touch out of fear of never feeling that kind of love, his, again in the shadows of the end. Unfortunately, the silver poet retreats with a last peck on the forehead though a hand on the hip maintains the closeness. ‘I think you’ve also lost your appetite, so shall we just get a coffee at the station and go home?’
A meek nod confirms the agreement to the proposal, although day to day obligations have priority over spending longer amounts of time together during the week. Hence, to endeavour to measure this brief shared repose, hoping it can for once be stretched beyond the usual half hour, they are inquired after. ‘Don’t you have to return to work?’
‘It’s pretty quiet at the office so I don’t think I’ll be missed much.’ A playful shrug dismisses the topic, nothing left to be said, but that same hurtful sadness sneaks back into the only temporarily lit up dark brown irises of the tall guy, the smile on full lips fading into a straight line. ‘Finally some time for just us again.’
‘Joon?’ The hazy veil over the staring blind gaze lifts at the nickname, blinking in confusion before realizing what has happened. ‘We should make more time in our schedules to do this.’
‘Yeah, we should.’ Absent-minded fingers glide over arms clad in the camouflage winter jacket lined with brown wolf fur to entwine with ones they actually should not hold with the same sentiments that form the foundation of the gesture yet do. ‘We see so little of each other. We’re barely home and if we are, our parents are as well. I wish... I wish we had a place just for the two of us. There wouldn’t be a need to hide and we can live however we want. Be whoever we want to be, choose our own persona. Just you and me, living under one roof as a young couple.’
The concept sounds incredibly tempting and Sense hates it, which makes it even more so. It is an ideal situation that can only be truly accomplished if both parties involved put in the necessary effort because, thinking it through in rational terms, the sole way to acquiring a home with the current estate market is by sharing the financial burden. Especially if the plan is to buy instead of renting and all the more so in this part of the country where great important cities connect by means of a great multidimensional network. Furthermore, there is the conflict with morals. ‘I’d like that, but don’t you think we’re going a bit fast?’
‘We’ve been together for two years almost. I don’t think it’s such a drastic idea to play with at this point in time.’ As before, the way is guided by a compelling hand that is too gladly taken every time, exactly like Charles Dickens who took every opportunity there was to share a fact.
‘Two years as siblings, not as a couple. There is a difference.’ Fact.
‘I’ll make it happen. I promised you I’d provide and I shall.’ But the truth is dreamily though blatantly disregarded in favour of remaining under the influence of Fancy. ‘I promised...’
And both floating in surreal imaginations in a Reality painted on the unstable rocky walls by fire, a koala and bear continue the path to caffeinated rest.
Ignorant of facts.
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On the top floor of the grand station is a small coffee shop where they serve exclusively the coffee by the great entrepreneur who took over the established general grocery shop in a town nobody has likely heard of by a slightly more known father and made it into a specialty store dealing in coffee, tea and tobacco. Till this very day, it is one of the most beloved brands of caffeine addicts just like the stylish and cosy cafes serving the various types of the same beverage are, even more so in the big urban areas.
None of the other customers seated behind the dogwood counter or on the lush green faux leather sofa nor at the grand table overlooking the mass of people below looks up or only shortly with disinterest before reverting focus to a newspaper or laptop, resuming the work or study. Nevertheless, as is expected of the individual fulfilling the function, the eyes of the female barista dart to the glass door of the cube in which the coffee shop is grounded and gain an awed lustre as soon as Namjoon sets one foot inside.
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It is silly how unjust jealousy can evoke uncharacteristic behaviour, seething, boiling under the gaze of unwanted attention towards a beloved from a stranger. Henceforth, arms wrap around a well-formed one, holding onto it as a show of dominance to a denied peer with whom there should be no competition in the first place. After all, if women start to fight each other then all power they have gained through fairness and hardship will fall into the hands of corrupt men again. And if that happens, all the hard work put in place by ancestors walking in footsteps similar to Wollstonecraft will be in vain. Withal, the default sentiment towards cat fights does not even begin to nullify the envy hardly endeavoured to be suppressed, instead giving off a silent warning shot with multi-coloured irises.
He is taken.
He is mine.
The anchor clearly notices the unusually possessive clinging, raising an eyebrow in wondering amusement when being halfway to the counter. ‘Y/N, what are you doing?’
Not getting an answer aside from an ashamed huff and sideways glance, the answer is found regardless with a look at the counter and the person behind it. The flirtatious barista futilely tries to appear occupied with polishing a very clean cup but obviously has furiously blushing cheeks when accidentally locking gazes with Namjoon. The puzzle pieces form a complete laughable image, the corners of full lips curving upwards. ‘I see. My God, you are a paradox, bear. First claiming you’re not into me, slapping me in a public place only to have you,’ the smugly grinning stunning silver wolf leans in, a finger tracing the shape of the mouth not daring to speak after compelling the face to turn by the chin, whispering, ‘on your knees, happily sucking my cock.’
The blunt comment now renders the ability to form a response entirely nullified, tongue numb with the sinful memory of what happened in the monastery gardens and the salty aftermath. Within the small space, there are now two crimson faces.
A low chuckle is followed up by a quick yet slightly lingering coy kiss. ‘I’ve always been and will be yours. Go find a spot for us, babe. I’ll get you your reward.’
At first a tad reluctant to let go but trusting the tanned comforting man without restriction, a two-person seat is sought in the tiny café. Fortunately, the last one on the end of the fake dark green long couch can be snatched at the last second under the watchful gaze of the poet who is a few steps away, the hint of a scowl on a handsome face when noticing the eyes of some male customers wander to a recently claimed woman in forbidden love.
However, when sitting down and dividing the ordered drinks, the experienced discomfort at being apart from each other and left bare to the influence of strangers, however briefly, ebbs away. Like an innocent couple, lovers regard one another while sipping at the edge of the cups containing caffeinated liquid heaven. The only thing that gives away true sentiments is when occasionally foamed milk is licked away from the edges of the mouth as Joon watches silently with dark intentions, sometimes biting down on a plush bottom lip with a low barely audible groan, the gesture and sound of which drives the mind across the table reeling all over again.
Eventually, though, the hush is broken off in favour of inquiring shyly about the nagging sensations regarding what was said in the throes of pleasure. ‘Joon... what you said back there... in the cloister.’
Interest is evidently piqued, the espresso put down before fingers weave together and a listening demeanour is taken on. ‘What about it?’
‘Did- Did you mean it? Were you really pla- planning on doing that?’ The cappuccino is put down as well as a similar attitude is taken on, a finger gliding over the edge of the half-filled cup. ‘Bree- Breeding me?’
There is no hesitation upon answering, no sign of genuine lies in attitude while speaking. ‘Yes.’
‘Do you still... I mean-’ Lips purse in a temporary moment of contemplating jumbled words to form a coherent sentence which is formulated shortly afterwards, ‘Are y- you still planning on it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh.’ The tips of fingers tap nervously together, waging one emotional conflict after another due to Sense endeavouring to press in on Fancy to gain terrain as in a great epic but finding a powerful enemy in them who is not so easily defeated. ‘You do.’
It is a meagre reply, this being emphasized by the sarcastic tone in a baritone voice remarking upon the comment. ‘That’s all you have to say? Just ‘oh’?’
‘It’s just that... that it feels like we’re moving so fast. I’m nineteen, barely an adult. I get your clock is ticking differently at twenty-four, but I don’t think I’m ready to have kids, if ever.’
‘I understand, baby. But,’ big hands reach out to envelop heavily hesitating ones which should have pulled away in disgust immediately at being enveloped yet remain stuck in the limbo-inducing warmth they emit, stranded in the hypnotizing heat after the cold breeze outside in the hardly alive world, ‘I think you’d make a great mother. And if you’re scared about raising a child alone without the security of a husband, then, of course, I’ll marry you. In fact, I want to start a life together as soon as possible.’
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‘Joon...’
The softest whisper contains the proposal that should have every woman squealing with joy but does not trigger such a reaction now, for once agreeing with Reason it is too far a leap to make regardless of Time. ‘Marry me.’
‘No.’ A shake of the head closes the topic, determined in the refusal of what causes a joyous spark despite the need to hold on to the denial of being tied down while being in the prime of youth. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t want to in the near future. Someday. On a good day in a far future we could, but, right at this point in my life, I can’t for various reasons.’
‘Such as what?’ The sharpness of the inquiry in combination with the fierce unforgiving look makes the hold on fingers that much scarier when it slightly painfully tightens, only refraining from retreating due to knowing for a fact the silver wolf would never actually hurt a harmless koala bear past an actually damaging boundary. ‘Give me one good reason why it isn’t possible.’
‘University, living at home, financial instability, wanting to see more of the world before being tied down. Do you need me to go on?’ Despite the awful snarl which continues to show on full lips, sympathy and empathy manage to surface without letting the anxious sentiments about having crossed the limits preventing real hurt shine through. All the while, the powerful grip on digits is endeavoured to be ignored, the grimace tried to be suppressed as a convincing stream of speech is conjured. ‘Please, try to understand I’m in a different period of my life than you. That’s not to say I don’t want you with me, because I do, but there are factors that make me think it’s perhaps for the better if we keep our relationship as it is now.’
‘I could search an apartment for the two of us, simply say to your father there is room for an extra person to move in. I can pay for the rent or mortgage until you start to earn a bit more, after your studies. I think it’d be good for you, for us to move out and find a home of our own. And you can still travel across the globe, either with or without me.’ A melancholic grin comes forth from the hideous earlier expression, the light squeeze weakening the force with which hands are held greatly to a comfortable level. ‘Though, I’d rather have us together when you do, of course. Just to make sure nobody can harm you. That there is somebody to care for you if you get sick or anything else happens.’
‘Namjoon, as much as I like the idea, I also need space of my own every now and then. It just so happens I can find it when journeying by myself or locking myself away in my room for a while.’ Lips pout in trembling hesitance at seeing desperate begging mix with wishful longing, instilling a chastising sense urging to rapidly make this right before the wrong message is conveyed. ‘For me, those are the best methods to calm my mind aside from being with you.’
A slight brightening in attitude, some of the wantonness flowing over in purposeful determination, seeing an opportunity to put in a decision-making argument. ‘But if being with me also-’
‘It doesn’t always work, Joon. And it won’t always now that we’re in a relationship. Sometimes safe havens can’t provide the rest we need. I simply need time alone every now and again, you know that.’ A bright smile closes the topic, or at least hopes to do so with a final statement. ‘I’m nineteen bordering on twenty, perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m a big girl.’
A hand frees itself to cover the snigger at the determined utterance before trusted eyes gain the dark shadow that also had befallen them in the cloister. A signal the wrong answer has been given and the subject is not done with. ‘You’re adorable, Y/N, but you’re my baby girl. And there is at least certainly one thing only I can take care of when you’re acting all cutesy like that, almost forcing me to give it to you before anyone else can right in this very spot.’
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‘And what might that be?’ An eyebrow raises in defiant challenge, but thighs clench together underneath the table and cheeks colour a bright crimson with the knowledge presented in mental images.
To keep the perverse conversation from being heard by outside ears, the bear turned wolf again lowers the baritone voice to a hypnotizing yet dangerous purring, amused by the apparent effect dominance has over inherently subjective prey. ‘You know exactly what I mean. You gagged on it earlier, wishing I forced it in somewhere else and pumped it full, bred you until you’re nothing more than a whining leaking mess.’ A teasing lip bite evokes an awkward wobble, suddenly needy with the craving for what, indeed, only the merciless poet can and is allowed to provide. ‘I can smell you from here, baby, creaming your panties. Finish your coffee. We’re going home.’
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willidleaway · 5 years ago
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Doctor Who, series 12, episodes 1 and 2
In short: I love two-parters and I’m glad Spyfall was a two-parter. The conclusion wasn’t entirely satisfying, parts of this felt like a retread of old favourite story elements (including from The Curse of Fatal Death—seriously!), and I think there was a bit of disjointness between the two parts, but this is still a very good start to series 12, and I’m 90% sure I’m not saying that just because he’s back.
In slightly less short, still without spoilers:
—Positives: good tension throughout part 1, including the cliffhanger (hangar?); loved seeing historical characters tag along and interact in part 2, in one of the better attempts of Chibnall!Who at being educational; strong performances all around from heroes and villains.
—Negatives: part 2 has me fearing for a regression from some of the positive aspects of series 11; the villains weren't really fleshed out enough, especially in their motivation.
Verdict: Go watch Doctor Who and the Curse of Fatal Death. It’s quite funny.
Oh, you mean about this two-parter? It’s good. Could have been great, though—almost should have been with its set pieces—and it didn’t strike me as great.
In less short, with spoilers:
OK, so I don’t even have much to say about part 1 because it really is all setup. We’ve got weird higher-dimensional ghosty things, they’re attacking spies all around the world and swapping their DNA out with something else, except they either won’t or can’t attack Yas and send her instead to some weird alternate dimension. Yas and Ryan go off to find out that Google are involved [0] in some sinister fashion because their CEO is totally in league with the aliens and is himself 7% alien, but it turns out the real mastermind is ... the Master! Dun dun dun. Very much the Dark Water reveal, right down to the gender swap.
So at the end of part 1, the situation is that the Doctor is in the same realm that Yas had ended up in, and her companions are in a crashing plane. So how is this all resolved?
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Well, the second one is easy. It’s a time travel show. Do the Blink gambit! [1] Just go back in time after everything’s done, plant some signs and a recording on the plane, and they can land completely unscathed! In Essex! (I’d say ‘unscathed/Essex: pick one’, but obviously Graham feels differently.)
This is fine, but ultimately the companions don’t ... do much from there? It’s the series 3 finale thing again where they’ve got to go off-grid, except in series 3 where Martha is planting the seeds for, well, that conclusion. But she’s at least got some kind of agency in the story. Here, Graham and Yas and Ryan are ... chased? I mean, it did give us Graham laser-tap-dancing his way out of those situations, and I will be forever happy that that was a thing that happened, but overall they had so little to do other than have villainous speeches and antics spouted at them. Frankly, from a purely logistical point of view, it would have made very little difference if the Doctor had just picked them up on the plane before it crashed, because of course the Doctor had sorted everything out about the Silver Lady and the Kasaavins and all.
So I found that fairly unfortunate, especially given Yas and Ryan’s crucial actions (and their rather excellent performances) in part 1.
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Resolving the Doctor’s cliffhanger seems a little trickier, and it leads to some of the disjointness I was talking about at the start between parts 1 and 2. In part 1 we’re led to believe that these pointy-hat white ghosts [2] are alien spies spying on Earth’s spies today. Here it turns out that, no, actually, they’re also spying on the Who’s Who of Earth computing and telecommunications.
This includes Ada Lovelace [3]—why she was also known as Ada Gordon is baffling to me given she was Lord Byron’s legitimate daughter and it’s not like Gordon was Byron’s surname (not blaming the show, just baffled at the apparent historical fact)—and later Noor Inayat Khan, the pacifist SOE hero with expertise in wireless telegraphy. It was really good to learn about them and their contributions, however briefly (although I have mixed feelings about the episode avoiding discussing Noor’s ultimate fate).
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Thankfully they also get more to do than the companions—Ada hijacks a gun and fights off the Master while he’s distracted, while Noor hides Ada and the Doctor from Nazis and later feeds information to the Nazis to trap the Master. They then both go out and track down the Master’s TARDIS (although given his hubris it turns out to be not so difficult). That’s way more than laser-tap-dancing and being rather ineffectual otherwise!
My main gripe is how the Doctor wipes both their memories at the end—it’s not like the Doctor’s wiped the memories of Dickens or Shakespeare or even Queen Elizabeth! Anti-STEM discrimination, this is.
But overall I very much liked the Doctor in this power trio of women, although I think Ada got the short end of the stick out of the three of them. I suppose it may have been difficult because her abilities are relatively abstract—computer science is a bit more difficult to get across on screen compared to telegraphy and disinformation, so she has to make do with a gun instead.
So: strong companions in part 1 (although not so much in part 2), strong Doctor and historical figures in part 2. All fine and dandy. But let’s talk about the villains, because of course that’s the meat of the story.
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OK, first off: that’s Lenny Henry?! God he’s unrecognisable. Goatee suits him, though. He looks sharp.
Daniel Barton, though, seems not so sharp, and not terribly interesting either. First off, he has all the information in the world yet can’t seem to be bothered to run a face recognition routine on Yas and Ryan when they’re undercover in his office as journalists. (Maybe he’s wilfully ignoring it. Maybe he just wants attention.) Then it turns out he’s 7% non-human, which is intriguing at the start but gets rather casually dismissed towards the end of part 2 as just him test-driving the DNA replacement idea.
But the real trouble was that I never found it terribly clear why Barton would have been interested in joining forces with the aliens to wipe out humanity. Did he just find the idea of using seven billion humans as data centres really appealing? Maybe, but what’s the use of all that data? Barton is most powerful as the head of basically Google, and all his data becomes utterly useless without the civilisation that actually needs it, surely.
Oh, then there are the Kasaavins themselves.
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At first, their basic plan seems like it’s to wipe out Earth’s intelligence network, which makes sense as a step in an invasion. But then it turns out the ultimate point of their invasion is all about ... computers? And disk space, basically???
Why did they attach themselves to people like Ada Lovelace and Alan Turing and Steve Jobs? Was it to influence the evolution of computing in ways that made today’s computer architectures more vulnerable to ... whatever it is the Kasaavins later do through the Silver Lady and all of our modern devices? Sure, Ada Lovelace’s notes on computing engines were prescient and unquestionably influenced her spiritual successors like Turing, but I would personally have said more in the abstract. You'd definitely want to go after people like Woz, doing design on microcomputers much closer to our modern laptops and phones. I guess they figured it couldn’t hurt, anyway.
What exactly were they going to do with all that disk space? Why don’t they have their own massive storage devices? Why do they need to overwrite human DNA? Can’t they just build more DNA?
I dunno, maybe I’m overthinking it. I thought they were building towards a Matrix-style thing where all of human civilisation was going to just be someone’s cloud computing instance—but no, it’s hard drive space. It seemed a bit weak.
I think the Kasaavins suffered mostly for being in the same story as the newest incarnation of the Master.
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The good thing about the Master, at least, is that he needs little motivation. He’s just mad. If he wants to wipe out all of humanity and the Kasaavins needing storage space happens to mean there may be a common interest there, the Master can just do that. That’s how the Master works.
He cuts an imposing figure at the start, I suppose—maniacal slick sort of fellow, shades of Simm’s incarnation in series 3 but still his own thing. But the way he works in this episode is just ... goofy. I mean, really? He just keeps tracking the Doctor through time? Can’t be bothered to keep tabs on whether someone’s trying to sabotage his master plan?
And then there’s the way the whole situation with the Nazis gets resolved.
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I really thought he was going to go ‘seventy-seven years ... in a sodding twentieth century ...’, à la Jonathan Pryce’s excellent Master from Steven Moffat’s Comic Relief special. You know, the one from all the way back in 1999 where for the first half-ish, the Doctor and Master basically try to outwit each other through increasingly ridiculous time-travel hijinks, ending up with the Master having to crawl out a sewer for over nine hundred years.
Totally unlike this story, where the second half-ish involves the Doctor and Master trying to outwit each other through time-travel hijinks, and the Master ends up having to crawl out of his predicament for almost eight decades.
I’m not sure that’s a complaint, myself, frankly. For one thing, of course, when a show has gone on for over half a century, it’s difficult to avoid new stories running into old ones. But for another thing, saying something feels right out of a Comic Relief special isn’t necessarily a, erm, fatal flaw for Doctor Who. I prefer it when Doctor Who isn’t taking itself too seriously, just seriously enough.
Still, when you look at the big picture and look at all the retreads, I can’t help but think we’re heading back into the worst excesses of past new!Who.
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For all its faults, I really enjoyed series 11 for how the narrative focus returned to the companions after much of the Moffat era’s obsession with ridiculously overpowered characters—Clara as the impossible girl, the Doctor as the Hybrid, the Doctor as literally where we get the word ‘doctor’, and so forth.
Well, now we’ve got the Master back and he’s gone and destroyed Gallifrey (negating the big winning moment of the 50th anniversary special, to boot) and it’s all because of some mysterious lie and it involves the Timeless Child that was mentioned for a hot five seconds last series??? It smacks of past new!Who arcs, especially under Moffat—and at least in my eyes those arcs have never gone terribly well. Those arcs have come at the expense of good companion characterisation as well, so overall it has me a bit concerned about series 12.
Sure, all these aspects of pre-series 11 Who returning to the show—the Daleks last year, and now the Master—maybe makes the show feel more like itself, much like how having a functional rebel force that’s not just confined to a single light freighter makes a Star Wars film feel more like Star Wars. I just worry that it’s a instinctive reaction against some of the mixed reactions to series 11, and that ultimately it’ll be an overreaction.
Good start, though, this two-parter. I just hope it doesn’t turn out to be the best story that series 12 gets.
Footnotes:
[0: Sure, they’re called Vor in the episodes, but first off they’re clearly meant to be Google, and second off it’s very awkward talking about ‘Vor’ being everywhere on the Internet and on everyone’s devices ... so for the purposes of this write-up I’m going to call them Google.]
[1: I know that in Blink, the Doctor and Martha are trapped in the past and have to plant the message in DVDs to get someone to get them out of trouble. But you know what I mean. Timey-wimey out-of-order rescue plan.
Maybe I ought to call it the Arrival gambit, after the excellent film from a few years back.]
[2: Makes them sound like alien Klansmen, doesn’t it?]
[3: What’s the opposite of née for the purposes of distinguishing maiden and married names in time travel stories? I guess mariée is as good as any ...]
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beteoriginale-a · 6 years ago
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1925
         Seven years prior to this day the Quarter felt the wrath of the demons it harbored. The devil came, he saw, and decimated the foundation the pillars of the city built upon. The underworld was dealt a great blow in the ordeal, for their leaders either ran or were cut down in the aftermath. Organized crime broke off into splinter cells of thieves and two-bit gangsters starving for the greater power their fallen leaders had attained and peace between uneasy alliances became a husk of its former self. New and refurbished local businesses refused association with the supernatural gangs and those that were criminally inclined. NOPD were able to easily find and thwart the uprisings, in addition to petty crime in the wake of the 1919 Opera house massacre. The fall of the Mikaelsons Family was both a blessing and a curse in disguise.
          And none knew this better than the two leaders of the respective vampire and werewolf factions that were cordially eating dinner with each other in the old Mikaelson courtyard. In a town that were renowned for its legendary crime syndicates the Guerrera and Gerard crime families ranked near the top of the most ruthless regimes that has taken root in recent years. Under the venomous guide of Marlo Guerrera, the werewolves sunk their fangs titanic-deep into the soil of political ranks and pockets of the law enforcement. Gaining tributes from a plethora of local businessmen through sheer force was first nature to the apex predators. Oppositions and those that refused to lend their services in their journey to the position of power became maggot food, their bones play things for the omegas.
          The Original Family left a great gap in their premature fall, but thanks to the Prohibition Era, like Capone, Luciano, and other prospering gangsters around the States the Guerrera pack took advantage of the new law's good intent and thrived. Speakeasies, prostitution, gambling, and bootlegging ensured the Guerrera mob a consistent flow of income. But they owed a great debt to the moon, albeit the bane of their existence, it is what fiercely solidified their hold over their territories. Their use of intimidation and bloodthirsty tactics saw to it that their tenure as kings of the New Orleans underworld would be a term of werewolf supremacy.
           But that is what also earned them a pesky, but great enemy in the outlaw Marcel Gerard. The Guerrera mob had their private connections to local authorities, their assassins, poisoners, honorable hunters armed with dreadful technology the times permitted. In that area they exceeded the might of their ragtag rivals; that was why Marcel had systematically secured a place in the hearts of the people and attacked the fearsome organization in the art of guerrilla warfare. He ruled his own kind and his supporters by the power of his charisma and intelligence.
         Invitation; a well known weakness of the vampires was made into their greatest advantage. When necessary, their native allies would provide asylum for a modicum of Marcel's band, whilst their greater opposition's patrols searched religiously for them. That tidbit of influence made the nocturnal bandits practically ghosts in the streets. This frustrated the Guerrera mob immensely to the point they started flexing their muscle through their 'friends.' If they couldn't eat, then their allies couldn't eat. So, their pocket police harassed, sometimes aggressively, the residents for the whereabouts on the lead vampire and anyone that associates with them. Gangs of hoodlums under the Guerrera pay were sent to terrorize business owners for information. The Guerrera themselves would often hold public executions and threaten that nobody is immune to their wrath.
          At first, the plan was to disrupt the cash flow by persuading Guerrera partner's to do business with the vampires and or setting loyal rackets on fire, but it became personal. Some of his close human friends and their families found themselves slain, and as a war hero Marcel understood the concept of casualties of war, but he well in tuned with the craft of revenge more. Marcel response in painting the streets red in Guerrera blood engineered a dangerous vortex of one of the most bloodiest supernatural vendettas. Classic vampire versus werewolf.
          With all of the carnage that has taken place, neither side profited. thus bringing about the demand for the meeting. Pastor Joel, head of the Human Faction, arranged for the two warring factions to maintain a healthy truce for the evening. Two neutral emissaries were sent out to the two parties and instructed them to bring only four delegates from their armies to meet at the old Mikaelson compound. Considering it once housed a famous family of crime lords, it seemed like a appropriate spot for the city's latest ones. The Gerard and Guerrera crime families were reluctant about it, but ultimately agreed for the betterment of business.
         "Pastor, you gathered us here on the day of my nephew birthday. Must I remind you that I'm only here off of the respect I have for you and Mr. Gerard's late predecessors. But even that had its limitations. Our patience wear staggeringly thin. Say what you must now, otherwise this little meeting is concluded and we'll start back up where we left off." Don Guerrera sighed tempestuously, dipped a morsel of lobster tail in the butter dish and downed it without reserve.
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         "My dear Don Guerrera," Gerard smiled sheepishly, "with all due respect to you and your nephew, lest we teeter-totter with the issue at hand, let's lay out our real grievances on the table and discuss solutions and not use faux reasoning to us being here today." the lead Vampire bandit sliced into a bakery fresh cheesecake and and delicately held it in front of a young Creole courtesan that saddled his lap. The vampiress gaily took a bite and flashed her sire a look. His pinky mopped the blood crumb daintily off the side of her cherry-washed lips and whispered something inaudibly in her ear. She giggled like a school girl and popped her big bum up off his lap, and sauntered her well-proportioned figure through the compound's courtyard. As she disappeared from plain sight, she left Marcel and the three other vampires, fresh recruits, alone with the five Guerrera brothers.
           "Firstly, I find it awfully funny that you want the broach the subject on respect with me when this is suppose to be a congregation of bosses, but I'm here I am—in the company of a joker. While I haven't the pleasure of personally seeing the man, I see his grace has a taste for tricks. You don't think I know who you really are, Carmine Orejuela?" Marcel seethed, his jaws bound tighter than that of a Nile crocodile's. Surprised by this revelation, or rather the young vampire's keenness the Pastor was about to open his lips to say something, but Marcel interjected and said, "Joel, don't be rude now. I haven't finish making a statement. Our body double here, senor Orejuela needs to understand that contrary to popular belief of the simpleminded, this negro can read and he does his homework. Also, lest it's not obvious, he's sitting in the humble abode of a Gerard, not a Mikaelson. Or at least it will be, once I run out all the mangy bitches littering about around here." A small grin pulled across his face, much to his enemies chagrin. 
         "But I'll forgive his many slights for two reasons and two reason only: the first is that I wouldn't want to ruin what could be a good family photo on the day of his nephew's "birthday" and the second is to send a message back to your true don, since seeing little ol' me wasn't fixed on his schedule. My message is a simple one, one you should be able to relay without difficulties." He took a deep sigh as he mouthed the next words slowly, as if the gentlemen before him were hard at hearing. "Marlo Guerrera is not a god. He can be touched. He is facing a major lost he has with the vampires, if he continues going about his business like the way he is now. I like to say I'm a civil guy, so I can honestly say that I find it to be in his best interest to step down now while he can, lest he can still run with wolves under the full moon, let alone still have the heart to turn than. . . With all due respect of course," Marcel said, with a promise that sounded severely threatening to his opponents.
           The four Guerrera brothers rose from their respective seats, palms punching into the insides of their two-piece smokey grey wool suit jackets, at the ready to riddle the bandits with wood, but their cousin, their fake Guerrera don had rose his hand to halt them in their actions. Marcel's three newest recruits, apprehensive as they were, remained seated in silence. If they wanted to, the five werewolves would find themselves without the luxury of a head in the blink of a eye.
         "You guys hear the balls rolling of this putero de mierda tongue?" Pudgy fingers lifted the dark shades off of his face and folded them over the collar of his grey button up, ensuring that the grimness on his face wasn't missed. Crows feet peaked predominately around his cold coal grey eyes, as his paper-thin lips wedges a crack of a half grin across his aged toasted brown features. "Kid, you barely managed to assert yourself on the booster seat to this little thing of ours. You don't have the privilege, no real rights to sit down with real power players and if you continue on with the belief that leading a bunch of witless hoodlums and causing mischief will pit you anywhere near that circle, then you have a long way to go son. You're well on your way to falling on your sword."
           "Gentleman, please. The purpose of this get together. " Pastor Joel started to say, trepidation discernibly in his tone but was broken off by Orejuela's slamming his hand on the table.
           "Was lost the damn moment this darkie struck up the audacity to throw his weight around our city, steal the food from our table and spit on our laws!" Orejuela voice boomed, his piercing glare burning holes in the pastor. "The problem as I see it is like all young upstarts, you're too willful and sure of the crumb of power you managed to scrape up out of the gutters for yourself. The Faction treated the vampires with too much deference. Diplomacy is a concept suited for those of a greater standing in our society, characters with a magnitude of influence and I'm afraid Mr. Gerard, as troubling as he has been for us, just doesn't meet our scales. Once he learns respect and tact, then maybe the guy got a shot at shining our shoes. He should be grateful enough that the Guerrera Family are even entertaining this Roberitco Capucha wanna-be and that his carcass isn't floating out in bayou somewhere, waiting to be devoured and become gator shit."
           You could cut the tension in the air with a butter knife. It took a great ounce of willpower for Marcel not to break character and throw diplomacy out the window. To be spoken to as a underling is the formula that compelled his thinking into the relentless desire to want more for himself. There were plenty of men like the fake don and his family; individuals whose egos rivaled Rome itself, so Orejuela's attitude came as to no surprise, but it still got drove his nerves wild. Turning his attention to the pastor, Marcel shot him a wicked grin then reverted a dark glare back to match Orejuela. "And here I thought the Guerrera Family were a pack of sophisticated and reasonable people. I blame my naivety on that." Marcel chucked a low chuckle and snort, whilst leaning with interlocked digits coming down on the table. 
          "Old friend, your passion speaks out to me. I can see now that I undoubtedly overstepped my bounds with your family. And for that, I deeply apologize for not realizing sooner," the vampire head released a soft grin and spoke his next choice of words in a sterner tone, "we're not meant to co-exist. We can't. You are right about the vampires not being able to work out in a system that our predecessors laid out for the later generations to continue to follow. But, I've been walking this earth long enough for you to be many of my great-grandsons. Rome wasn't built in a day, but neither did it take a day for its fall. And my people have taken our place in society from the moment we got off that boat and damn sure from the moment we started building Louisiana. We're magic-made, sweetheart, anything can happen. You fellas have a good day." Marcel removed himself from the table and started walking towards the compound's entrance, with his men in tow.
            As they stepped out into the cool night sky, Pastor Joel caught up with them and opened his mouth, perhaps to offer apologies but Marcel spoke before he did. "Pastor, it's been a pleasure. I'm sorry this couldn't have worked out as you'd like, but when it comes to the lay of our land there can be no pacts between a pride of lions and a pack of wolves That much was made clear here this evening. Next we meet, I'll be in my best suit for the funeral. You're not the only one that can look nice in black, Pastor." Marcel winked at him, and with that he and his crew left the Pastor standing there alone.
             Later on, Marcel and his small army would make an inconspicuous appearance at one of their favorite jazz club spots to see King Oliver and his Creole Jazz Band perform. Marcel needed something to swell his soul, purify it, for what he had planned for his adversaries would surely taint it.
@accursedmaneater
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eddycurrents · 6 years ago
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For the week of 20 August 2018
Quick Bits:
Aphrodite V #2 is pretty damn great. Jeff Spokes’ artwork is instantly compelling, drawing in the reader with darkness and interesting angles into this increasingly enthralling story of a machine cult from the future by him and Bryan Hill.
| Published by Image / Top Cow
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Avengers #6 concludes the first arc in widescreen fashion. Lots of action and big ideas from Jason Aaron with gorgeous art from Ed McGuinness, Paco Medina, Mark Morales, Juan Velasco, and David Curiel. Again I’m reminded of those early issue of JLA from Grant Morrison and Howard Porter. This has been fun so far and I’m intrigued by what else they have in store.
| Published by Marvel
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Beasts of Burden: Wise Dogs & Eldritch Men #1 is a very welcome return, even without Jill Thompson for this go around. The artwork from Benjamin Dewey is beautiful as he reminds us that he’s one of the best nature artists in comics, and possible beyond. His animals are just stunning. The story from him and Evan Dorkin is also interesting, suggesting some arcane traps luring in the paranormal. Great stuff for all ages.
| Published by Dark Horse
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Big Trouble in Little China: Old Man Jack #12 concludes the series with an epic battle between the forces of heaven and hell as it teaches us the true meaning of friendship. It’s funnier when you actually read it. This has been an entertaining series from John Carpenter, Anthony Burch, Jorge Corona, Gabriel Cassata, and Ed Dukeshire, with this final chapter also delivering a nice farewell to the movie as well.
| Published by BOOM! Studios
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Black Hammer: Age of Doom #4 has some very interesting revelations that ultimately only lead to more questions than answers. What’s going on isn’t nearly as cut and dried as we were led to believe last issue and the mystery has just deepened. Jeff Lemire, Dean Ormston, Dave Stewart, and Todd Klein have managed to elevate this story higher again.
| Published by Dark Horse
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Black Panther #3 finally parcels out a tidbit of what might actually be going on with the series and the Intergalactic Empire of Wakanda, just in time for a surprise attack and more action. Thankfully, the art from Daniel Acuña is still overwhelmingly gorgeous.
| Published by Marvel
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Britannia: Lost Eagles of Rome #2 is even better than the first issue. The mystery deepens as Antonius and Achillia reach Egypt and find incongruities they don’t expect within this province of the Roman Empire. The artwork from Robert Gill (with colours from José Villarrubia) is probably among the best I’ve seen from him, really bringing some very strong work here with backgrounds, vehicles, and character designs that are particularly impressive.
| Published by Valiant
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Cold Spots #1 is the start to another horror series from Cullen Bunn, this time accompanied by Mark Torres with the artwork, and as per many of Bunn’s previous tales, this is a great start. There’s a genuinely creepy atmosphere from Torres’ art and the plot of a missing daughter and her child, amidst the spooky maybe-ghosts, is a good one.
| Published by Image
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Daredevil #607 gets into how there can possibly be a Mike Murdock running around New York and it’s an interesting and possibly hazardous diversion. Gorgeous art from Phil Noto.
| Published by Marvel
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Die!Die!Die! #2 is more entertaining over-the-top humorous action that feels like it’s channelling Garth Ennis. Great art from Chris Burnham and Nathan Fairbairn.
| Published by Image / Skybound
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Hunt for Wolverine: Mystery in Madripoor #4 is probably the most succinct in sticking to its plot without real deviation of all of these minis. Basically sticking to the thread of these X-women tackling the Femme Fatales. It’s been a relatively decent story from Jim Zub, Thony Silas, and Felipe Sobreiro, even if the art’s been a little uneven. There’s a really nice sequence of Psylocke finding herself again in this issue, though, from Leonard Kirk and Andrew Crossley that has interesting implications going forward.
| Published by Marvel
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Jughead: The Hunger #8 is a great jumping-on point for new readers, offering a bit of a history lesson and summary reinterpretation of the events of the overarching plot of the series to date. Great work from Frank Tieri, Pat & Tim Kennedy, Joe Eisma, Bob Smith, Ryan Jampole, Matt Herms, Andre Szymanowicz, and Jack Morelli.
| Published by Archie Comics / Archie’s Madhouse Presents
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The Life of Captain Marvel #2 continues what is shaping up to be possibly one of the defining and quintessential Carol Danvers stories. I love what Margaret Stohl is doing in bringing out the backstory and interpersonal dynamics of Carol’s family. The art from Carlos Pacheco, Rafael Fonteriz, and Marcio Menyz in the present day and Marguerite Sauvage’s flashbacks is wonderful.
| Published by Marvel
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Mr. & Mrs. X #2 continues this fun ride, tossing in Deadpool and more of the lesser used intergalactic X-characters. The dialogue from Kelly Thompson is hilarious and the art from Oscar Bazaldua and Frank D’Armata is great.
| Published by Marvel
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Old Man Logan #46 begins another arc tying up loose ends before the endgame of Dead Man Logan kicks off. Wrapping reconnecting with Alpha Flight around a horror story evoking shades of The Thing and Slither results in a wonderful story perfectly fitting Damian Couciero’s artwork.
| Published by Marvel
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The Punisher #1 is both a continuation of Matthew Rosenberg’s stories and ideas from the last volume of the series and a kind of back-to-basics approach to Frank Castle. Basically, he’s lost the War Machine suit, but he’s still taking on the world-spanning super-villains. It’s pretty epic and this is great jumping-on point. The dark humour is perfect, reminding me of Garth Ennis’ work with Castle, and seriously this is probably the best art that Szymon Kudranski has ever done. Along with Antonio Fabela’s colours, it’s like he was born to draw The Punisher.
| Published by Marvel
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Royal City #14 is an introspective end of saying farewell to the past and accepting change to move forward. This has been an interesting series from Jeff Lemire, focusing on his most often used theme of family, and it’s been a good exploration of their different dynamics.
| Published by Image
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The Sentry #3 is pretty dark, telling the flipside of the first two issues from Billy Turner’s perspective as he goes about stealing Sentry’s identity. This is almost at Kid Miracleman levels of demented. Jeff Lemire is playing with some interesting ideas here, beautifully brought to life by Kim Jacinto, Joshua Cassara, and Rain Beredo.
| Published by Marvel
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Shadowman #6 has some truly beautiful artwork from Renato Guedes, as this arc of Jack falling through time visiting the different holders of the shadow loa takes an interesting turn in ancient history.
| Published by Valiant
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Shanghai Red #3 is probably the best issue to date, as Molly reunites with Katie, recriminations are hashed out, and we get a bit of a tour of Portland. Christopher Sebela, Joshua Hixson, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou have tapped into something unique here, and this tale of revenge and some of the lesser told side of American history is incredibly compelling.
| Published by Image
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TMNT #85 brings Leatherhead back into the fold, with very interesting and potentially dangerous ramifications following the war between the Utroms and Triceratons. Brahm Revel’s clothes-peg take on the Turtles is an interesting visual choice.
| Published by IDW
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The Thrilling Adventure Hour #2 I find better than the first issue. The humour hits home a bit more for me and the leads of Sadie and Frank don’t seem nearly as insufferable as the first issue. The art, though, from MJ Erickson and Brittany Peer is just as good as the first. Entertaining stuff.
| Published by BOOM! Studios
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Venom #5 is another great issue. The mythology-building in this series is just incredible, growing Venom and his world into so much more. Donny Cates, Ryan Stegman, JP Mayer, Frank Martin, and Clayton Cowles are creating magic.
| Published by Marvel
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West Coast Avengers #1 is a great debut, filled with action and humour, as this highly dysfunctional team comes together. It’s nice to see Kelly Thompson doing more Hawkeye and Hawkguy, and the collection of characters coming together to make up the team are bizarre and fitting, carrying on a few of the themes and plot developments of the previous Hawkeye and America series. Though you needn’t have read any of that before you pick this up. Making it nigh unmissable is the gorgeous art from Stefano Caselli and Triona Farrell. This is fun.
| Published by Marvel
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Witchblade #7 returns for its second arc, continuing the extremely high level of quality that Caitlin Kittredge, Roberta Ingranata, Bryan Valenza, and Troy Peteri set for themselves.
| Published by Image / Top Cow
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X-Men Red #7 advances us a bit further as the X-Men attempt to uncover evidence of Cassandra Nova’s influence on the world and thwart her attack on Atlantis. Tom Taylor has definitely been taking a slow approach to unfurling this story, but it has allowed for the beautiful art from originally Mahmud Asrar and now Carmen Carnero & Rain Beredo time to breathe.
| Published by Marvel
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Other Highlights: Amazing Spider-Man #4, Avengers: Wakanda Forever #1, Barbarella #9, Bedtime Games #3, Betty & Veronica: Vixens #9, Curse Words Summer Swimsuit Special #1, Days of Hate #7, DuckTales #11, Gasolina #11, Hack/Slash: Resurrection #10, Hit-Girl #7, Jim Henson’s Labyrinth: Coronation #6, Lumberjanes #53, Mammon, Mickey Spillane’s Mike #3, Night’s Dominion - Season Three #2, Old Man Hawkeye #8, Quantum & Woody! #9, Red Sonja/Tarzan #4, Redneck #14, Stairway - Volume 1, Star Wars: Darth Vader #20, Star Wars: Doctor Aphra #23, Sullivan’s Sluggers, TMNT: Bebop & Rocksteady Hit the Road #4, Wasted Space #4
Recommended Collections: Avengers: Back to Basics, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Cloak & Dagger: Predator & Pray, Deadly Class - Volume 7: Love Like Blood, Giant Days - Volume 8, Jimmy’s Bastards - Volume 2, Li’l Donnie - Volume 1: Executive Privilege, Lockjaw: Who’s a Good Boy, Postal - Volume 7, Sex Criminals - Volume 5: Five-fingered Discount
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d. emerson eddy too wonders where all the cowboys have gone. Is it a nefarious plot from some shadowy organization? Or are they all just at the Calgary Stampede?
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thehuggamugcafe · 6 years ago
Text
Wammy’s ABCs: B
Aristotle once said: “All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsions, habit, reason, passion, and desire.” All of us could relate to the most obvious of these selections: chance. It was chance that brought us to Wammy’s. Another of these apparent choices are compulsions, habit, and reason–for we all have habitual motions, and compulsions that drive us to act and react, positively and negatively. Reason became our second nature, bit by gradual bit. Logical reasoning, persuasive reasoning, argumentative reasoning, and other such ways to influence others.
I’m sure I needn’t tell you that this isn’t always the case for everyone. Whether they’re charismatic or outgoing, or if they prefer solitude and the quiet melody of their own thoughts, it’s not the same. Everyone is different. It’s just one of the few things that are known and rarely questioned amongst humans nowadays.
For B, his main causes were nature, habit, passion, and desire. His nature was that of... something that I am still uncertain of even to this day. He was very unnerving to new arrivals, but the disdain and distrust commonly stemmed from the teachers, staff members, and the other students. He would sit and stare at you for ten minutes straight, unblinking.
Just to see if you’d turn albino and run. Most of us did just that, especially the girls and younger orphans. This didn’t help matters, of course. Roger acted especially cold towards him from the very day he came to Wammy’s, probably due to B’s red eyes that stared at him with nothing more than callous amusement, a note of sneering contempt hanging onto his speech whenever he spoke to the old man.
Habit was also an obvious thing to notice around B. He saw no reason to get to know me, no desire to want to know me either, but he didn’t seem to mind if I sat near him. Not next to him; only R, M, and N were the ones who were granted his silent consent to be near him, speak to him. As I’ve already said: B didn’t mind my silent observations, the occasional  skritch of my pen as I took quick notes. 
The first of B’s habits that I took immediate notice of was his own quiet surveillance. He could sit and immerse himself, emotionally, into what others were saying, how they spoke to friends, how they carried themselves around rivals and acquaintances. Thirty minutes later he would recite everything, and I do mean everything, ten people said perfectly to himself as he trotted down the halls.
Another habit of B’s was how he always seemed to copy R to a certain degree. Nibbling on his thumb. Slipping his feet out of beaten sneakers, and rubbing the bare soles together in thought. Putting unhealthy amounts of sugar in his coffee or tea. Crouching in an awkward-looking sitting posture in class, outside, on furniture. I rarely saw him go an hour without eating candy or chocolate; I even caught him putting strawberry jam on his ice cream one warm August day.
Suffice it to say: B had many habits, as we all do. I don’t have the luxury of writing them all down, for I never witnessed all of them.
B’s final quirks were his passion and desire—about the three orphans he was on friendly terms with: M, N, and R. The desire to ensure that his friends were happy and safe. The affection that drove him to react negatively, violently, when their safety and well-being was threatened.
I always had the sneaking suspicion that he was passionate about love and perhaps something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on. Maybe he, like many males, was also driven to have children someday. His own flesh and blood that loved him as he would love them.
B stood for before. He came here a day before R did, and thus his alias stuck almost automatically; B was the one who suggested it to begin with, or so I’ve been told by rumourmongers. Roger didn’t bother arguing.
B stood for brilliance. He was brilliant often without trying. Other times he had to work hard, very hard, to achieve satisfactory results. Sometimes that alone wasn’t good enough.
Unlike R who was a natural genius. R, who could walk into an exam and score 100%. R, who only had to take in whatever information that lay before him once, and he’d know it by heart. B strove to remain behind R, always a rank below him. Always one or two marks shy of tying R with first rank, if not becoming the new number one.
It’s possible he held an unvoiced envy of his friend for that. What R achieved so flawlessly, B sometimes worked diligently to get. I think he disliked himself for that–for allowing R to snag first so easily, and that B handed R such an easy victory. This was easily accomplished by intentionally getting a question or two wrong on House Tests. That was another of B’s quirks: he lived for a good challenge.
Reiteration is a terrible habit, but here it is: B’s eyes, his dark red eyes that scorched whenever he dared to look your way, varying in degrees of cold and warmth depending on his mood, and whether or not he knew you. Toleration or intolerance was also a big factor for B. He would usually just stare for a long time—always with those red eyes that seemed to linger on some point above our heads, and he would neither smirk nor smile. Just take note of whatever it was that he could see, but we could not, and walk away.
I once cornered him alone, and dared to ask him what it was that he could see. He told me the name I didn’t remember having. He also mentioned that it wasn’t until his mother died that he knew something else, but what it was, he didn’t say. Not to me, but perhaps he confided in R or M.
He was number two out of everyone, destined for greatness long before he came to Wammy’s. He was not incapable of human emotions, but he possessed an abundant quality of basic ones long before his first birthday. Simple and regular qualifications for an extraordinarily gifted orphan.
B stood for the second-best, second-brightest, the back-up of a back-up plan. Something which I’m sure he absolutely detested. B had no intentions of going into law enforcement. He showed more interest in art-related subjects than complex Physics formulas.
As I mentioned before, there were those among us who felt we were entitled to the greatest mind, the most protected, of a world-renowned investigator. The one who taunted the criminals he hunted from the shadows. The one who we all strove to surpass, to step on, to step over.
Or so we believed.
B began to show acute signs of disinterest in the institution after he and R finished with their graduation ceremony, just a few months shy of turning eighteen; his unvoiced boredom only increased by tenfold after his other two friends graduated. Being number two, this wasn’t a grave concern; for someone who constantly craved a challenge, B became bored quickly and quite often. 
However, after three days passed, and he missed a grand total of eight days worth of college aptitude tests and entrance exams, the matter was brought to Mr. Wammy. The stupid, well-wishing adults never did much—if anything at all—before it was too late. Mr. Wammy meant well more than any of our mentors did.
His intervention came too late, however. B had already left the institution long before anyone had even thought to check up on him—and it wasn’t just him that had pulled a disappearing act worthy of Houdini himself; M, N, and R had also vanished. There was never a maximum age to leave Wammy’s House. You either left or you stayed behind. Those that remained at the orphanage became part of the staff, watching over and nurturing the young geniuses that walked or were carried through its doors.
Those who left generally became a part of the criminal system. The ones who commandeered over Wammy’s House kept tabs on all of its graduates and runaways, to see what they were up to, whether for reputable or deficient intentions. B, M, N, and R all left without informing anyone where they were going, and what they would be doing. A thorough search of their rooms yielded no clues, either.
I suppose that was enough to sound the alarm to whoever it was that needed to know, enough for Mr. Wammy to call an official global search for the missing orphans.
The B who snuck out of his room at night to visit his three friends. The B who lashed out violently when he deemed it necessary, especially when it concerned his three friends. The B who ate sweets on a constant basis. He was gone. Vanished without a trace.
I was told six years after he and the other three left that he took up residence somewhere in Canada, going to an esteemed art college and, eventually, he landed a largely successful career as an artist. He was married to N, and asked R to lodge with them in a fairly large house; M was situated in an equally-spacious condo somewhere not too far away from him. A regular orphan’s dream, but not a Wammy kid’s dream.
B was never your run-of-the-mill orphan, certainly not a normal Wammy orphan either. Sometimes visitors to his house say that they can see two little boys, one black-haired and one blond, playing in the yard. Occasionally they’ll rest on the grassy hill that makes up their backyard, staring up at the crisp blue sky. If they’re lucky they’ll see the black-haired clone of B take his little brother’s hand, and guide him into the art room, admiring their father’s work and him praising them on their own handiwork.
And maybe, just maybe, B’s guests will get to see the ghost of a smile crease his lips.
B once told his friends of the exact hour that he finally got the shade of his mother’s eyes right. It was all he could talk about for the entire day, too.
Of course none of us ever saw him when he disappeared, filtering like a forgotten mist through our minds. It was probably a lie, meant to be fabricated so we’d leave him alone. But if he wanted us to leave him be, why did he leave a portrait of him and his friends behind before leaving?
Some say that if you’ve looked into the eyes of the devil, it’s the last thing you see. Fire burning into your eyes like white-hot coal. Cold hatred. Apathy at its finest.
Me, I know better.
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