#the entire vault scene was a mess

[willow-wispwolf]

Anyone else look back at some of the stuff Hermits have done to each other and think “that’s actually pretty messed up”?

Like there are just some of the pranks or shenanigans that honestly just didn’t feel entirely in good fun.

The main ones I think of are Grian’s chicken prank on Doc during S9 and Cub’s demise kill on Scar during S10.

Grian made Doc’s game unplayable by producing about 3000 or so chickens in his base. It took him about 3 hours to clean it up maybe more. And Grian did this just in response to being tricked into blowing up Mumbo’s vault door. The door was easily repaired. Grian was also the one who started the war and kept it going. Personally as entertaining as the war was I feel bad for Doc during it.

And Cub when killing Scar used an overly excessive amount of TNT near Scar’s chests. The explosion destroyed some of his chest and obliterated anything he had on him. He didn’t even actually say sorry (at least in the video) or offer to help him get the materials back. (Now there may be behind the scenes of this but nothing mentioned in the videos)

Now don’t get me wrong, I know it’s mostly for entertainment purposes and it is also just a game, but spending hours fixing something that someone else cause just sounds awful and watching creators I love have to just rubs me the wrong way. I don’t hate the creators for it or hold it against and I also know there very well could be stuff that happened outside of the video to make up for it too. Again it just annoys me especially when it sounds like the creator it was done to is actually upset or angry.

[no-phrogs-in-hats]

I didn’t mean for this to be so long, there’s enough for like a prologue too 😅😂 Can I please request a Regina Mills x Daughter!Reader (who’s 7ish yrs older than Henry, and has magic) set during 4x08 (when Marian is frozen and Robin sleeps with Regina)?

Her mom hadn’t come home that night, and Reader’s worried cause she rarely does that, so in morning she uses her mirror to check the vault to see if Regina is there. She sees the whole scene that morning from Robin getting up to when he starts kissing Regina again (she has the sense to stop watching). She uses the mirror again to check what happened last night and she sees how Regina asked him to stay away so she can start to emotionally heal but he came onto her anyway - knowing she needed space but giving her a taste of something she can’t have instead. Reader’s absolutely furious at Robin for messing with Regina’s head yet again. Her anger is simmering all morning, then Henry comes to her and says he thinks something happened with Robin cause mom’s sad, and she can’t tell him what actually happened, so she just says yeah something did but don’t worry cause she’ll handle it.

Later when Reader, Regina, Henry and Emma are in the library, Robin comes in w Roland. She and Henry see Robin show her mom the alternative page and are absolutely fuming. Henry says unsubtly for Roland to come look at the kids books with him, giving reader a ‘handle this’ look, and she magic’s herself and Robin outside. Emma and Regina run outside in time to see her punch him hard in the face, and are in total shock. They watch as she rips into him about how their ‘mom deserves far better than a man who pretends to have honour when it suits him and then fucks her in an underground crypt with his frozen wife 10ft away’. How they’ve watched for weeks as he says one thing then does another; how her mom asked him to stay away so she could begin to heal and instead he poured salt in the wound for his own selfish gratification; how when you pick and choose a code it’s not a code; how even in a weird situation like this with a frozen-undead-wife, he could choose to not repeatedly mess with her mom’s head but he hasn’t. And finally that they’ll help Marian and they’ll always love Roland, but to stay away from her family or he’ll find out what the daughter of an evil queen is truly capable of.

Robin looks shocked and embarrassed at being called out; Emma looks proud of how protective she is and especially proud of the punch she taught reader; and Regina is mostly confused how she knew and bc she thought her kids liked Hood. Emma gets Henry and Roland, and after Robin/Roland leave, tells Regina and Reader she and Henry will meet them at granny’s after they’ve talked. Henry subtly (but Regina still sees) high-fives reader on the way out when he finds out she punched Hood.

Regina finds out why reader knew about the vault, that Henry worries she’s sad after Hood is around, that both kids are genuinely upset at Robin for saying one thing then doing another (and that thankfully Henry didn’t know the details about what happened this time). She’s worried what her daughter thinks of her after the vault. But reader explains that she isn’t judging her, they’re all adults here and sometimes sex is just sex, but what’s upset her is this time it wasn’t, it was him giving her a small glimpse of what she can’t have. And that Regina deserves to be genuinely happy, not just fighting for scraps of happiness decided by an asshole, and Regina is sorry she didn’t see how this was hurting her kids and reader tells her she’s not allowed to apologise bc it’s not her fault. They agree from then on they’ll always make their own fate and hold each other to the promise to believe they deserve to be happy.

They join Emma and Henry at Granny’s and get take out for a family night, and reader and Regina cuddle up together on the sofa the entire evening.

(And for how her being Regina’s child yet still magic could all work, the reader could have been adopted by Regina 7 years before Henry - she was also pre-written in rumples curse like Henry was, bc rumple set in motion for an orphan baby from the EF to arrive 11 years into the curse (his purpose was to make Regina love being a mom so she’d definitely take Henry and his curse would break). The Pan curse she only had to give up one child and since Henry is Emma’s biologically but Reader’s an orphan and from the EF, they decided between the four of them that Emma and Henry would stay together in Boston and Regina and reader would go back to the EF together, but they (sounding horrifyingly like the charmings) promised they’d find each other again one day, since the siblings were distraught at being separated) ❤️✨

How to Throw a Proper Punch

Regina Mills x Daughter!Reader

A/N: Hi! Don't apologize at all! I love getting as much detail as possible! I don't usually write anything other than a romantic relationship so I was really excited to do this request! I really hope you enjoy it. I think it's the longest oneshot I've written.

Warnings: Very light violence, some major angst, and really bad mommy issues

Word count: 2207

Storybrooke

Time of the Dark Curse

“Henry told me you got in trouble for punching a kid at school today.”

You were sitting in a booth at the diner when Emma sat down in front of you, eyeing the bruises on your knuckles. You sighed, closing your book and looking guilty. “Yeah…what about it? Are you gonna lecture me like my mom did?”

Emma scoffed. “No. I’m gonna teach you how to throw a punch properly. Come on.”

You sat in the passenger seat of her car, watching the town go by quietly. Halfway to Henry’s castle, you heard Emma speak up.

“So, why’d you do it?”

“He grabbed my ass,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

You huffed. “He grabbed my ass! And that’s not just it. He’s been harassing me since freshman year. Mom lectured me about it…but in the end she said she was proud of me.”

“Well, I think that’s the first time Regina and I have ever agreed on something,” Emma said.

“I broke his nose,” you grinned. “In front of the whole class.”

Emma glanced at you. “That’s badass, kid. Good job.”

__________

“Alright, if you’re gonna have to punch someone again, it’ll probably be a straight punch,” Emma said. “You’ll wanna lift your back heel, but not the ball of your foot, okay? When you do this, at the same time, you’re gonna turn your back foot and knee in the direction of the target.”

You stood beside her and mimicked her actions. “Like this?”

“Yeah, good! After you twist your legs toward them,” she continued, “rotate your torso to face them directly. By now, you should already have a fist made. Remember, keep your thumb over your four fingers. Otherwise, you’ll break it.” She brought her curled fist up. “When you bring the fist up, make sure you punch with your palm facing down. Then–this is the important part–you wanna follow through with the punch. You want your arm to be completely extended after you’ve finished.”

You nodded, paying attention to everything she said. You prayed this wouldn’t come in handy, but still, you’d rather be prepared than helpless.

__________

Storybrooke

Four years later

While throwing a proper punch is a good thing to know, the second you showed signs of magic three years later, just days after your twentieth birthday, you knew that would be your first instinct to defend yourself. Your mother couldn’t have been happier, rushing to her vault with you to get her beginner spell books and every piece of knowledge you could ever need.

She demonstrated the first spells she learned, adding on, “If Gold asks you if you want to train with him, don’t.”

“I figured,” you said.

And that was that. She took you to her vault every evening after work. You progressed quickly with a full fireball in your hand within a week.You had never seen her happier than in that moment, that was, until him, yet at the same time, she had never seen such sorrow.

__________

You opened the door to Henry’s bedroom, finding him reading a Wolverine comic book. “Do you know where Mom is?” “No clue,” he responded, not looking up from the pages.

This wasn’t like her. She’d be home for dinner at six o’clock sharp every night. Why was tonight any different?

“Oh, um…okay,” you said. “I’m going to Granny’s to pick up some dinner, do you want me to bring anything home for you?”

It was then that he finally looked up. “Oh, I’m going to Grandma and Grandpa’s tonight.”

After Henry left for the night, you continued to sit in the living room, putting on a random show for background noise as you made yourself a cup of tea. 

How many enemies does this woman have? Every possible scenario ran through your head. She could be dead–two children left behind in a cruel world, one of them left to help raise her brother.

Nine o’clock turned into ten, and ten turned into eleven before you decided to go to bed. You constantly checked your phone for any messages from your mother, finally falling asleep around one. 

You were up at nine, trying to call your mother and making breakfast for yourself when you had an idea. Her mirror. The mirror that she kept in the foyer by the front door. Rushing over, you stand before it and lift your arms, closing your eyes and thinking of what you want to see.

You were in shock. There they were–Robin in his white undershirt and your mother on the steps inside her vault putting her heels back on. But what hurt more was seeing her get a call on her phone, looking at it, and declining it immediately.

The healing. What happened to the healing? The emotional grief she suffered for decades, and was so desperate to heal from. 

You watch her pull away, here her distorted voice saying it wasn’t right. Just a shred of hope you had for her came back–until he pursued her again.

“Are you really that much of a pessimist?” he asked.

It continued. Him backing her into a corner before kissing her once again. You were sick to stomach and quickly backed away from the mirror before giving into the impulse of seeing the night before. 

She told him to stay away. She told him to leave her alone, to let her heal. He didn’t listen. 

You were furious–more than furious. Rage, white hot rage, coursed through your veins, taking over every bit of your sanity. You hated him. You hated him for everything he had done. He messed with her head, messed with her emotions, he messed with her. Everything that she worked for, every bit of herself that she wanted to heal was going down the drain because of him. 

__________

You sat with David and Mary Margaret at the table, flipping through a magazine when Elsa came down from the loft. The second you heard from David about Henry, you rushed over, not even stopping for your morning conversation with Archie.

“How is he?” Mary Margaret asked.

“Well,” Elsa said, “I gave him enough ice for the whole week.”

Mary Margaret looked at her seriously now. “No, I mean, how is he?”

“Upset,” Elsa responded. “I just wanted him to understand that Emma’s magic is tied to her emotions like mine. The reason she hurt him is because she was trying so hard not to hurt him. It sounds very convoluted when I try to explain it, bu–”

You looked up from the magazine. “No,” you said, interrupting her. “It makes perfect sense. I was really angry once before I had control of my powers and I ended up breaking a window by accident.”

Before anyone got a chance to respond, the door flew open. 

“Where’s Henry? Is he okay?” 

Your mood dampened when you saw your mother barge in.

“He’s fine. He’s upstairs,” David said. “We;ve been trying to call you all night.”

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t respond to your every summons!” Regina snapped. “Though I did bring that locator potion you wanted.” She slammed it down on the table. “Maybe next time, try leading with, “thank you”. Now, may I see my son please?”

“You might wanna finish buttoning your shirt first,” you chided as you continued skimming through the magazine and earning yourself a shocked look from your mother.

She opened her mouth before closing it again and buttoning up her blouse.

__________

The library was dead silent as you, Emma, Regina, and Henry walked around, searching for a book that could give you any clues as to how to stop Ingrid. The door opened suddenly, hearing the plastic blinds hitting the glass.

“Robin?”

You heard your mother and left the section you were in, seeing Emma and Henry do the same. Beside Robin, Roland held onto his pant leg.

“Robin, what are you doing here?” Regina asked, glancing around at the three of you.

Robin ignored you, Henry, and Emma, taking a familiar piece of paper out from his back pocket. He unfolded it and handed it to Regina.

“What is this?” she gawked

He paused before thinking of the right words to say. “I…borrowed the book. I was looking for anything that could hint to the author, and I found this. It’s an alternative page.”

You, Henry, and Emma saw the page and Henry looked at Roland, saying, “How about we go check out some books in the kids section?” before giving you a look as to say, ‘Handle this’.

The anger you felt in the previous days bubbled up to the surface once again. You could hardly contain yourself before giving into the rage and twisting your hand, teleporting you and Robin to the middle of the Main Street intersection outside the library.

Without a second thought, you remembered all those years ago when Emma taught you how to punch properly. You curled your fist, turned your leg, and socked him right in his nose, putting your entire weight behind the punch.

Emma, Regina, and Henry all made it out just in time to see the entire thing go down.

Robin doubled over, clutching his nose and smearing blood over the lower half of his face. All the while, you were berating him. 

“She deserves so much better than you!” you shouted. “You claim to have honor when it suits you, but then you turn around and fuck her in her crypt where your own wife is ten feet away, frozen!” You took a deep breath, trying to keep tears of anger and frustration at bay, but ultimately failing. “I have watched you say one thing and then do the complete opposite! She told you to stay away! She told you to leave her alone so she could heal! But you still pursued her! You rubbed salt into her wounds! You can’t just pick and choose when to have a code of honor!”

You moved closer to him. “Now, we will continue to help Marian, and continue to love Roland, but–” you pulled him in by the collar of his shirt and lowered your voice “–if you don’t leave her alone, you will find out what the daughter of the once Evil Queen is truly capable of.”

Among your heavy breathing, everyone stood quiet. Robin’s face was red with embarrassment as Emma stood behind you, clearly hiding the fact that she was proud of you, whereas Regina looked confused with Henry trying to hold back a smile.

“Right,” Emma finally said amidst the awkward silence. “Um…Henry, get Roland and I’ll drop him and Robin off at the hospital, and then we can head to Granny’s. I think your sister and Regina need to talk.” She turned to the pair of you. “We’ll meet you there.”

As Henry walks past you, you grin, receiving a subtle high five from him before turning to follow your mother–who quite obviously saw the high five happen judging by the shocked look on her face–home. 

__________

“What was that?” Regina asked as she shut the front door.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said.

Your mother rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. You’ve been in a terrible mood for the past few days, and now you had this outburst? There’s something clearly wrong!”

“It’s him!” you snap, turning around with your lip trembling. “Robin! He–Ugh! You’re always home at six o’clock sharp! For as long as I can remember, you’ve always been home on time! Until the other night! I asked Henry and he had no clue where you were! I barely slept and your phone kept going to voicemail! I thought you were dead! In the morning I decided to look at the mirror and you were with him. You were with Robin! Even after all the times he’s caused you pain! I get it, we’re adults, we all have that need, and I'm not judging you. But Robin?? Sex can be ‘just sex’, but this wasn’t! He was giving you a small glimpse of what you can’t have. Of what you can’t have until you’ve learned to love yourself despite all of your mistakes! And he’s preventing that from happening.”

You felt relieved to get it off your chest, only slightly guilty, but knowing that your mother needed to hear it.

She sighed. “Does Henry know?”

“That you were with him the other night?” you asked. “No. He was at the Charmings’ the morning I saw. But he’s noticed you’ve been acting differently. Mom, after all that’s happened to you, you deserve genuine happiness and love. But if you don’t heal, and you don’t learn to love yourself, that won’t happen. And because you won’t let that happen, it’s not just hurting you, but also me and Henry.”

“Oh.” She was quiet, almost meek in this moment. “I’m–I am so sorry. I had no idea that this was affecting you both so much.”

You wiped tears from your eyes. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault, Mom.”

“Thank you for telling me.” She reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before pulling you into an embrace. Kissing you on your head, she said, “Come on, let’s go to Granny’s.”

[dreamylyfe-x]

Hi, I am pretty new to the Shameless/gallavich Fandom but first I LOVE YOUR FICS

Second, I've read some of your meta and I don't know about soaps but novelas and kdramas under my belt, I agree the come and go of Noel probably saved them from drama in later seasons, they probably have had them broke at one point also, they refused to make Mickey a principal, but one of my fav parts of s4 is that he finally gets his own arc (pimp and all that apart) and I'd have loved to see him explored outside his relationship with Ian

Hey! What an amazing surprise this is!

First of all, thank you.

Second: Novelas, kdramas (I have watched my share of t-dramas -- Devil Besides Me and Meteor Garden forever), Shondaland -- they will all give you the gist of that soap experience. My feeling is that we'd get a season six where both Mickey and Ian sort of struggle to figure out their adult lives -- and that's probably a decent enough story. They likely marry them in season seven. And then they spent seasons 8-11 (or however many seasons they get to keep them) messing them up. Not because Shameless burns plot the way soaps and novelas do, but because 11 seasons is a lot. And at some point they will decide they need conflict for Gallavich and that conflict will be in the era of Gay Jesus-type writing and I'm confident we'd have been very upset by it.

I will say I don't think they so much refused to make Mickey a principle as they didn't know for sure what they wanted to do with American Mickey or where he fit into their pretty full roster. Like, there was always a chance for him, since I believe his British counterpart sticks around, but he's not filling the same role that US Shameless Mickey does. Also, shows has a budget and I can completely see how they might not have had the money for him until season three.

In season five, Cam and Noel did an interview with Buzzfeed where the EP, Etan Frankel, talks about how Mickey turned into the character he'd become at that stage, and it's clear that they don't quite know where they're going with him, and then once they shoot 1x7 they know they've got something interesting to pursue. There are a lot of moving factors in making use of that, though, including Cam's age and how ian's character balances out with his siblings in terms of storyline. Gallavich get one of the most dramatic moments of the entire series in season three and I think that's really when they shift into being primaries on the show. More and more, they start to drive fan engagement online and that sets up season four where, absolutely, Mickey vaults ahead in terms of how much the show is paying to his inner life.

Part of that is because Cam is off filming The Giver, so he's not around for half the season, but I think the other part is what Etan is talking about in the Buzzfeed article -- they just know Noel can deliver. I particularly always think about this quote, in regards to both Noel and Cam as individual performers, but also when I think about their creative partnership:

As a writer, you feel secure writing a scene knowing they're going to knock it out of the park and they'll find things you didn't necessarily intend, so you find beautiful moments. It's exciting to see those dailies come back and saying, Oh wow, that wasn't even a moment in the script, but they've made it become a moment.

I know this is why we get so much Mickey in the first half of season 4. Not just that he needs to carry the torch for Gallavich by himself but because the writer's room knows they can give him that scene with the picture in the bathroom and the performance will convey how much Mickey misses Ian. This is also clearly when he essentially becomes a point-of-view character -- and he continues to be until he leaves the show in season six. So many key moments in those two seasons, particularly around Ian's illness, rely on the audience seeing Mickey's reactions and moments of realization. His confusion in 4x12. His reaction to the suitcases. His meltdown after Ian is hospitalized, where virtually his entire reaction is silent across two episodes. It's really great that they trusted him to do that. It's one of the reasons I think the story works so well.

Anyway. I find it a little jarring, when Mickey comes back, that he isn't quite the POV character he was. It improves in season 11 and we get more Mickey-centred storylines. But I feel consistently (particularly in the late seasons when I'm really not that invested in the rest of the story) that there was a lot more room to use Mickey the way they used to. But by then, it's a different kind of show.

[teecupangel]

I've been playing AC Revelations lately, and remembered about your Ratatouille AU.

I think Desmond would be very confused, because all suspicious sounding voices should be silent in the like core of animus or whatever this place is. But he anyway hears those strange complaints about how he looked much cuter in previous parts and now he is like weathered or smth. And those simpings on old Ezio. And this comparison of Sofia and Leonardo. And intense swearing when there's no 100 percent synchronization because of THIS STUPID TEMPLAR WHO SOMEHOW MANAGED TO HIT MEE, LIKE WHAT, HE SHOULD BE LYING DEAD, BUT NOW I GOTTA RESTART THE WHOLE MISSION AGAIN WTFF (russian slurs following). Ahem. Also I feel like he would imagine that it's like his descendants or smth, so he would start to believe that he'll get out of animus very soon

The original Ratatouille AU idea

Its little brother, the “Desmond can hear us” idea

And the “I don’t know you can do that” sidestory that got sidelined by people learning that Altaïr can vault in AC1

So the idea would be the voices would suddenly be silent once Desmond wakes up in the Animus Island and he’d be confused and absolutely worried because he’s used to hearing them (especially after a lot of them suddenly showed up because [The Founder By Accident] apparently posted it or something and got a lot more people ‘playing the games’ again) so the silence was…

… worrying, to say the least.

Especially after Clay tells him where he was and what was happening to him.

And then…

Desmond started reliving Ezio’s memories…

And the moment Ezio’s voice echoed in his head “Dear Claudia…”

There’s just a cacophony of [DEAR CLAUDIA!!!!], [Best opening cinematic in the franchise <3], [Goddamn, I still get goosebumps watching this…], someone is able to actually recite the lines in Ezio’s accent as Ezio continues, and many, many more. There’s definitely a lot of them.

And Desmond could feel himself relax as he let both Ezio’s memories and their voices watch over him.

And then…

“Even if they messed up Altaïr’s actual outfit in this scene, it’s still freaking awesome.”

Ah.

[The Founder By Accident] is back.

.

Desmond immediately got used to a lot of them ‘simping’ over Ezio and the mini-debate that happened when Ezio met Sofia…

As well as the mini-debate about Suleiman being either good or opportunistic or both (and Desmond laughed at the “I can’t say anything because he has the same voice as Malik and that’s an automatic ‘yeah, he’s okay’ from me” comment from one of them).

The complaints about the ‘gameplay’ or the bugs or the synchronization requirements or… Desmond found himself being comforted even by these as these were already part of the voices’ personalities anyway.

And then…

He was back in the Animus Island and he couldn’t even focus on Clay because he’s being bombarded with voices all talking about “oh you poor boy what did they do to your face?” and “you still look good, Desmond, don’t listen to them!”.

And then…

[Play DA Everyone] goes “I know what to do!”

Clay’s eyes widened when a box suddenly appeared in front of Desmond’s feet and Desmond crouched. He opened the box and a lot of the voices went “Ooohhh” as Desmond sees it’s a vial with a message that says “Mod to Change Desmond’s Model To Be Closer To Francisco Randez” and there’s a lot of chanting of ‘drink it!’ and ‘chug chug chug’.

Desmond turned towards Clay and asked, “Do I look like I’m weathered?”

“What?” Clay looked confused by his question and Desmond simply shrugged, being used to it already.

He uncapped the vial and drank the entire thing, trusting the voices in his head as usual.

Cheers erupted all over as Desmond didn’t feel anything different.

Well…

He felt more rested than he ever had though…

And Clay could only gape as Desmond’s face changed right in front of him.

What.

The.

Fuck.

[team-118]

58 for the prompt game? -💙

hiiii @igarbagecannoteven ily

58. You don't have to say anything.

935 words • pre-relationship, buddie • s3e12 missing scene

Eddie is about to ring the doorbell when his phone buzzes.

Buck (118): doors open for you! let urself in when u get here :)

Buck (118): BUT DONT LEAVE THE KITCHEN

Buck (118): EDDIE IM SERIOUS WIAT AT THE RABLE TPPLSPLSPSLSPLSPLS

He laughs as he twists the door open, walking into Buck's loft. "Do I need to close my eyes, too?" Eddie teases.

There's a pause while Buck deliberates. "I mean..."

"Buck, Jesus -"

"Okay! Just wait two seconds," Buck huffs from the living room.

Eddie makes himself at home on one of Buck's barstools, fiddling with his keys. Buck's loft is becoming more and more familiar to him. He sees its vaulting windows and Buck's pristine tabletops as often as Pepa's, maybe even his own, at this point. The box of pizza he, Buck, and Chris had demolished just two nights ago rests against the recycling can. If he walked over to the fridge, he's sure he'd find the half-empty bottle of Pepsi Chris had left behind, because Buck has a weird superiority complex about Cola.

Eddie's about to risk Buck's wrath by knocking on the wall next to the living room when Buck emerges, covered in sweat and grime, red in the face from exertion.

"Hey, thanks for coming!" Buck greets him brightly, oblivious to his own appearance. With his sunny smile and sparkling eyes, any anxiety Eddie might've felt about Buck's secrecy today washes away. Eddie can't help but smile back.

"Of course. Wait, don't -" he gestures, but Buck's already wiping tire grease off his palms and onto his jeans.

"Whoops," Buck grins.

"You're actually twelve," Eddie tells him.

"What's that make you, old man?" Buck retorts, and before Eddie can tell him how little sense that makes, Buck's grabbing his hand and dragging him to the living room.

Buck crosses his arms in front of the doorway, blocking the view with his wide, wide shoulders. Eddie really resents the two inches Buck has on him, in moments like these.

"Okay, before you see it, you need to know I wanted to do this," Buck starts.

"Uh, okay," Eddie says, trying to peek. Buck blocks him easily.

"And I don't expect anything, okay? You don't even have to, like..." Buck trails off, choosing his words carefully. "Follow through. Totally up to you, yeah? But I promise it's safe. I'd swear it on my life."

"I trust you," Eddie reassures, automatic. As he says it, he realizes he really does mean it. He would be confused or even worried if it was anyone else, but with Buck, he's just...not.

Buck exhales. "Yeah, okay. Alright." He sidesteps, finally letting Eddie into his living room.

Inside, Buck's entire toolbox is in shambles across the hardwood. Rags covered in black grease are pushed into the corners, clearing a path to the centre of the room. Buck's laptop is open on a side table, whirring with the hundreds of tabs it has open. The light filters through the windows and lands on...something. A contraption in the middle of the room, tall and metal like some kind of barebones Eiffel tower. There are handholds on the sides and a net of ropes at the base.

Buck steps gingerly around it, so Eddie follows.

"What exactly...am I looking at here?" Eddie can feel his eyebrows twisting in confusion.

"Oh, I forgot," Buck says, grinning wickedly like he definitely didn't, "the secret ingredient." He reaches behind the mess of the toolbox and pulls out a skateboard. It's bright red and decked out in colourful stickers. On the top, Buck has pasted the letters "CHRISTOPHER DIAZ". 

Eddie's speechless.

"I just didn't want him to miss out," Buck says, rushed. "You know, when I was little, I taught myself how to skateboard without my parents around. Banged myself up good. I don't want Chris to think he has to do it on his own, or that he can't do it, because he can, and-" he trips on his breath, stumbling. Eddie still can't make his stupid mouth move, and he can tell it's stressing Buck out.

"You don't have to say anything," Buck tells him, nervous.

"I don't - know what to say," Eddie breathes around a laugh. "Buck, you - I can't believe you did this for him. No one's ever - how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, man, come on," Buck brushes him off. "You owe me nothing. I told you, I wanted to do this."

"Yeah, but," Eddie exhales. "Nobody's ever really...wanted to."

"Well," Buck says, tone intentionally light. "I did."

"Buck."

"No, I'm serious, Eddie. He's a good kid. I wanted - just let me do this for him, please."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Buck, I can't thank you enough," Eddie stresses.

Buck gives him a small smile. "You don't have to thank me. Just let me be there when you show it to him?"

"Of course."

They stand in silence for a while, Eddie watching the sun light up the accessible skateboard like some kind of treasure chest in a video game. He can feel Buck's eyes on him, but he doesn't turn to meet his gaze. He just lets Buck look while he sinks into this feeling. Eddie can't quite believe it, but maybe he and Chris could have this. Maybe.

He clears his throat. "Let me help you clean up your living room, at least."

Buck laughs easily. "Yeah, okay."

It takes until sunset to scrub the grease off the hardwood, and maybe they're not as efficient together as they could be, but Eddie doesn't mind. He could do this for something like a lifetime.

[warmsol]

hey isa! Do you have some advice for a beginner who wants to start a story? I know it's a lot of work, finding the right cc, buildings everything, create sims etc. Do you have a favourite blog to browse for such cc for storytelling? Also I could use some advice what's important for taking pictures - what's the best crop solution for tumblr? What font and font size is the best to use? And hoooow do I write dialogue without adding too much and still keep it interesting? Sorry if this is a lot, but I really admire your work and loved to start a storytelling simblr again!

hii! i think it’s awesome you want to dive into storytelling. i’ll answer your questions under the cut 🫶🏼

1. as for finding cc, i’ve just accumulated a ton over the last few years, no specific blogs but rather just browsing on tumblr. you can always check if your favorite blogs have a cc finds account, many do! mine is @warmfinds which could be useful. but yeah when it comes to cc, i suggest really thinking about what you’ll need! like, say you have a scene coming up in the kitchen, gather some kitchen pieces that you can use for that scene. it might be more helpful to break up the search according to scene rather than trying to find things all at once for your story. (also suggest downloading telegram and joining dollhouse mafia.. or keeping up with the vault… cough)

2. for taking screenshots there are some guidelines you can loosely follow (highly suggest watching this video for a quick breakdown) here you’ll find the different types of shots you can include in your posts! considering this is sims, there are some limitations so just allow yourself to get creative with it.

for most of my story posts, i’ve stuck with 1280x720 resolution. but recently i’ve been playing around with sizing, so unless you’re focused on consistency don’t be afraid to try out different crop styles.

3. font! the font i use is arial. it’s straight forward, and easy to read. i’ve used this my entire storytelling journey and haven’t had a complaint. at the end of the day just remember that the font is probably the most important part! pick something easy and clear to read. also, switching colors when a character is talking is highly encouraged. if that’s not your style, at least add a name tag for easy following along.

4. sooo, when it comes to dialogue, it’s really something you learn as you go. i had a tendency to write very lengthy in the beginning, i wasn’t a seasoned story writer so i sucked at knowing what to cut and trim. my biggest advice is to write out everything. ramble. let it be a mess. get out everything you want your characters to say. it’ll be rough, and that’s fine. once you’ve sat on it, go back and edit it. keep what’s important, what moves the story! i spend a good amount of time editing scene dialogue until it feels right. one huuge thing that helps is reading out loud! if it flows well spoken it’ll feel more like a natural conversation. just don’t be too hard on yourself, we all start somewhere. it’s a muscle that needs to be exercised and you’ll find your rhythm as you practice. (like seriously compare my first posts to now and it’s night and day, and i still have room to improve)

lastly i just want to say pleeease have fun. don’t pressure and compare yourself. i’ve fallen down that trap many times and it literally stopped me from posting. but as long as you remember this is all a fun hobby, i think you’ll be okay.

i hope this was somewhat helpful ♥️ also once you start posting lmk! i wanna follow along heh

[j0kers-light]

I have a oneshot request/idea (only if you want to and think it’s a good idea). The the oneshot idea is that Y/n is bored and hesitantly asks joker what life is like in Arkham asylum, what it’s like being on the run, what’s it like to come face to face with Batman. And how he came across her book. Joker eyes her first and make her nervous but answers anyway.

Then she tries to ask about his personal life, before he became who he is but joker shuts it down immediately.

While she thinks this information could be good in her new project but joker doesn’t know that. Kinda like a small dedication/remembrance after he leaves in the future.

His Lighthouse: Probing Questions (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Probing Questions - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Author’s note:  

Hey hi anon!! 🖤✨

I read this email last night and immediately stopped working on the chapter update to fill this request! I know know, counterproductive BUT! I couldn't help myself!!

Naturally I didn't add any spoilers- meaning I didn't fill the request fully in the way you asked. (I already have the dedication page scene written out for J beloved 😝) I edited this while waiting in my doctor's office so if there's any errors, I'm blaming them. 👀Enjoy!!

taglist:

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angel @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @dollster @cheetahspy @kaidennnnn @urdariingdoll @motivation-idontknowher

Wanna be included in the His Lighthouse journey? Join the taglist!

It always rained in Gotham City but tonight it was a terrifying downpour. Thunder shook the Earth and lightning filled the night sky.

Lower parts of Gotham City had active flash flood warnings and your neighborhood in Old Gotham was put on a power outage alert for the next few hours.

The apartment building's backup generators kicked on forty minutes ago with limited power on the top levels. Your penthouse was a dark eerie place and looked near haunted with the vaulted ceilings and windows casting gnarly shapes of the gloomy mess from outside.

It was as if Solomon Grundy's fateful night was happening all over again. The weather outside was that horrid.

Joker wasn't bothered by it and prepared himself for bed but you insisted he join you in the living room under your blanket fort. You couldn't sleep in these conditions and got carried away with the assembly.

He eyed the monstrosity that took up a good portion of the room and approached the 'door.'

He couldn't knock on a sheet but he saw your shadow on the other side and decided to play along.

"Knock knock. May I uh.. come... in?" He shook the bag of food in his hands. "I brought snacksssss."

You peeled back the polka dot sheet for J to enter, smiling wide. He had to bend at the waist to crawl inside but he quickly grew comfortable amongst the nest of pillows and blankets you created. It took you an hour and a half to build the fort and he had to admit, not bad at all. You even strung up some fairy lights that gave the fort a soft cozy vibe that he liked.

You smiled in thanks as Joker passed your favorite snack to you.

"So, you used to errr make blanket forts when the uhh power wentT out as a kid? You're such a dork, Bunny." He teased.

You fixed the 'door' closed before scrambling back inside to nuzzle into Joker's lap. "I don't see you complaining. In fact, someone made themselves right at home."

Alright, you had him there.

This fort of yours was well insulated since the central heat was off and he looked every bit a crowned prince reclined on the ottoman you dragged into the intimate area. You were gonna tease him further when the power went out completely; plunging the entire apartment into darkness.

You squeezed J tight and tried to calm your beating heart when a roll of thunder rattled your bones.

"Awww, my Light is scared of the dark."

You glanced up into Joker's eyes. They were the only source of light left. It was unnatural how they glowed but for once you didn't question it.

So what if you were a little spooked, everyone is scared of something right? "Y-You're not scared?"

Joker scoffed and automatically pulled you closer when another clap of lightning streaked across the sky. His instincts were screaming at him to protect you.

"Nah. What's a uhhh, guy.. like me to be scared of, hmm?"

Good point. But still. Everyone had their fears. Joker was no exception.

You rested your head on Joker's chest to let the soothing sound of his heartbeat calm yours. He was The Joker. People feared him and he survived the toughest prisons and mental institutions the world had to offer. What was a little thunder and lightning to him?

You hated how quiet it was. Surely Joker wouldn't mind talking to pass the time? The severe thunderstorm warning was expected to end around midnight..

"J-J... um. What was Arkham Asylum like?" You knew you hit a nerve when he flickered his gaze down at you and stared for the longest.

He didn't blink and you were unable to look away from the venomous green bewitching your soul. His silence was making you nervous.

You felt J's arms tense around you and knew he wasn't going to answer. Joker was a naturally guarded person and here you were asking personal questions, expecting him to share.

His laughter scared you witless. "Mmmm, my little bunny is very curious tonight. Whaddya want to knooooow?"

You bit your lip. What did you want to know? You weren't expecting an answer but since Joker was open to do so, you would use this opportunity to get some intel out of Joker for your current wip.

It was rare that Joker talked about himself so you would take this little miracle and run with it.

"Like... everyone knows about the asylum but w-what's it like as a patient? How were you treated?" You asked.

Joker exhaled and unknowingly drummed his fingers on your back. It was the same beat to a song you sang yesterday during lunch. And he said he didn't like it. Liar.

How could he answer without giving away too much information? He couldn't think of one.

So he told the truth.

"It's like hell, Bunny. You know it exists— ya don't wanna go, but once you get there... you do everything you can to survive until.." Another loud boom outside made his story ever more haunting, "...you just can't take iT anymore and escape."

Joker held you close, gently rocking you to comfort not just you, but also himself. He didn't know what came over him to talk about his past experiences; the words just tumbled out of his mouth.

"They treated us lower than dirt. You are the scum of society and these walls separate you from the good, upstanding citizens of Gotham, blah blah blah. Garbage is all it is. They drilled that spiel into our brains as they shocked the rest with electricity."

"W-What?" You paled.

"Mhm. Shock therapy Bunny. I got ahh used to it after the first weekly rounds but sometimes.. I-I can feel it. Lit-le tingles every now and then as if they're poking around for somethin' they'll never understand. Y/n, you're shivering. Hmm, should I stoP?"

Of course you were shivering, his account was inhumane! You couldn't imagine the pain Joker went through on a daily basis for years to talk about it so casually. 

No wonder he always escaped...

You didn't realize you said that last sentence out loud until J chuckled. He kissed the crown of your head and hummed. "Yep. That's why."

You twisted in Joker's arms so you sat sideways in his lap. This way you could look up into his neon green orbs and still be held.

"That's awful! So, what's it like being on the run and coming face to face with Batman?" Joker growled and smacked your thigh in anger.

You forgot he didn't like you saying his name in the apartment. Such a jealous man you love. He didn't have to be so heavy handed though.

"Bats and I have a errr, love/hate relationship doll. I love proving his opinion about the world wrong and he hates me in general. It's always... fun running into my bestie. It's addicting since we both know Bat is obsesssssed with me and, heh.. the feeling is mutual. Oh don't pout, baby doll. I only have the hots for you. C'mere."

Joker suddenly attacked you with kisses.

You were caught off guard and screamed as Joker tickled your sides in hopes of distracting you from your inquiry. He didn't mind answering your questions but he knew with your inquisitive mind, there would be no end to them once you began.

J didn't let up his assault and you landed on your back with him kissing and biting down your neck. You knew where this was going, however you had more questions to ask!

"Ah! I-I'm still curious how I have a r-role in all of this.. You seemed to tolerate me from the start, as if you already, ah yess.. l-liked me or something. How did you become a f-fan of my work again, J?"

You really couldn't talk straight when he kissed your body like that.

Just then a flash of lightning struck, illuminating Joker straddling you from above.

His hair was a bird's nest (courtesy of your hands tugging it) and that gorgeous face you grew to love was shining down at you with a level of love that had accumulated much longer than the four months you knew Joker.

You always had the feeling Joker loved you much longer than what he led you on to believe but without proper evidence, what could you do?

Perhaps today you would get some more insight.

J flashed one of his canines at you. God, his handsome smile was to die for. "You had me hooked with Welding the Sun my dear Light. I uhhh, killed someone searchin' for a copy.."

You pushed at his shoulders. "You did WHAT? J, are you serious?"

"I'm always serious bunny. That... That poem of yours... it.. messed.. me uP. I was soo lost back then, it was a uhh sparK that got me thinking differently about my life. It.. your words touched me. What kind of creature in this broken cruel world penned this powerful message? I had to know."

"So! I did a lit-le digging and found you. Perfect, beautiful, sweet little you and I couldn't. Get. Enough! I read every wo~rd ya printed. Watched every interview, consumed every last biT of media with your name attached to it. If it was related to you, I knew about it. You filled a void in me that was empty for soo long.. Imagine my surprise when I bumped into ya in Chinatown all those months ago. A uhh dream come true for mee."

Okay.... so what if Joker fell into the creepy fan category? You reciprocated his feelings so no harm no foul. It was kinda hot being desired with such an intensity.

But what did he mean by lost? Did he mean back when he was still.. normal? Did.. did you inspire J to become The Joker? Your thoughts were a plenty, trying to create a rough timeline of events here.

When did you finish your poetry project in school? When was the first spotting of The Joker recorded?

PAUSE. Was there an age gap between you and Joker?!

This conversation opened up too many doors for you to address at once. For now, you dialed it back and set about prioritizing the most important thing.

You reached a hand up to caress Joker's cheek.

It was soft to the touch thanks to all of the skin products you had him using at night. A shame it would never heal his scars but you loved them and the man they marred. It was another mysterious piece to the puzzle of who Joker was.

Would you ever truly know Joker? You wanted to try.

"I won't even ask how you heard about my poetry project. My part wasn't even published." J kissed your palm and scoffed.

His stare carried the message, I have my ways, and you didn't want to know the details.

"I'd love to read it if ya have the uhh original manuscript."

You rolled your eyes and moved yourself to sit in front of Joker. He was dodging the trauma being shared by changing the subject.

Joker watched as you began to fiddle with his hands in your lap.

They were so large and calloused compared to your dainty, smaller ones. One pair murdered and destroyed whereas the other created and inspired, yet they both found themselves in the other's company.

Such a small, interesting world indeed.

"I do. It's in a composition book in storage. J.. can I ask you another question?"

"Ya just did." You ignored his joke and inhaled a shaky breath.

Something told you he wouldn't like this next question but you knew your intended audience.

Welding the Sun wasn't a light and carefree read. You penned it when you were upset and confused with the world.

"You said my poem touched you.. back then. That was at least ten years ago. (*Longer depending on your age) W-what were you like b-before.. you before you came to be the Joker? I.. I can't help but wonder..."

You leaned forward to cup Joker's face in your shaking hands. His countenance was like stone, eyeing you down.

"Who hurt you so badly to make you change?" You cried.

You watched Joker's eyes swiftly freeze over. Whatever moment the two of you were sharing in this blanket fort was gone.

The severe thunderstorm outside was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Joker's dark jade eyes. Every wall that he originally tore down, was shutting you out once again.

Months of hard work coaxing Joker to open up and let you in was ruined with one sentence.

He stood up, taking the structural integrity of your fort with him as he escaped its comfort. It caved in on itself and trapped you inside.

"Joker! Wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to–" You cried out as you scrambled under the layers of bedding, desperately trying to stop Joker from leaving.

By the time you breached the top of the pile, Joker was already out the front door and headed into the howling storm outside.

[stardewnoodles]

Writer Redundancies (Nega Scott x Neil Nordegraf) - 1/?

It's not every day that the way to fix your writer's block surely descends not from the sky, but ascends from hell.

As usual, link above, I'd appreciate if you say if you like it or not, but if you prefer the tumblr format, here it is:

Until the 1950’s, film rolls mass produced and shown over the globe had a major risk of starting a fire big enough to burn down an entire theater. They had a dirty little chemical attached to it that helped make the film, called nitrate. At the time (Neil assumes), it probably wasn’t common knowledge how flammable nitrate was. Movies kept rolling and films kept burning. July 9, 1937 marks the day that 20th Century Fox’s vault of film rolls in New Jersey caught on fire from the nitrate from decay and higher than expected temperatures. This wasn’t the first, or the last, time something similar to this tragedy happened. However, Neil admits, there’s an awesome spectacle to a film shriveling in the heat. The picture’s color distorts first, followed by rapid deterioration. The picture turns to ash after numerous holes chew through a horrified director’s pride and joy. Then the whole roll combusts. This scene is distinctly familiar to Neil, who’s watched it happen every night since the day he turned 18 two years, three months, 1 day, and 7 hours ago. He hates remembering his birth date. The nightmare is predictable, because it always starts the same way, but it doesn’t make it any less gut-wrenching. A projector on a plastic table with one leg supported by a cut open tennis ball cuts to memories of times he could’ve earned the success and recognition he so desperately sought out, but fails to hit the mark and is instead seen as a lazy idiot. The youngest was his child prodigy days in middle school. The oldest, only two months ago. His script was a fake, his writing skills were fake, and his “prodigal talent” is in the gutter. Neil puts his head in his hands and rocks back and forth. Very rarely is the footage soothing. This sucks. 300 movies, 300 rolls of film Neil knows by heart. He wonders whether “Rushmore” or “Bottle Rocket” will blow up first; they’ve been the most dormant over the last 293 days. 

The floor is tiled the same way the psychiatry ward was, preferring the sloppy, bland white design with dots of random colors over something cool like the rugs of an arcade. The walls are orange for now, before they turn gray and black from the burn damage. Neil clutches his side. Neil hasn’t seen either of his parents since college started, and he intends to keep it that way after winter break. A locked black door he’s never been able to open sits behind him. It’s the only means of escape, despite it never opening. Freddy Krueger couldn’t make something this messed up in his own head. Neil tugs at his hospital gown and sighs. The Burning Room. It’s a fitting name Neil gave the endless nightmare for its atonement by fire. If he’s gotten this far in life while still being, as Scott says, “totally retarded and a bit of a bum”, then the next 20, 30, 40 years will be no different. No future awaits a person but the one they make for themselves? That’s terrifying. A single mistake or terrible argument burns the bridges that had been built for years. Neil can’t accept this. The door stays locked. The projector catches on fire first, an unexpected plot twist. A fond memory of his childhood–watching his father beat The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time –disintegrates. 

Being burnt alive doesn’t get old, like the stunning CGI of The Matrix . Neil scrambles back from the projector, wiping the sweat from his brows. One of the more eccentric patients took everyone by surprise when he raided the kitchen during Fried Chicken Friday and caught it on fire before he was restrained. The projector and the mountain high piles of film rolls explode at the same time into a wall of flames. The walls are marked black and thick smoke covers the room. Neil covers his mouth with the gown. Sweat drips down his neck. He squeezes his eyes shut and starts slamming his fist against the door. He doesn’t want to be here, he shouldn’t be here, but he did this to himself. The fire doesn’t haunt Neil because it was an over the top, insane experience that permanently scarred him. It haunts him because, in this dark, back alley of his mind, he wishes the on-site firefighters (who happened to be inspecting something completely different) hadn’t pulled him out of the fire. Ten months and nine days until he was released after that day, including the days in surgery. It launches Neil into a panic whenever he sees 109 across the street on a mailbox, on a baseball player’s back, anywhere where it could be lurking. Neil wonders if he ever truly left the flames calling to him in sonorous voices. He questions, as the flames rise and grab at his feet, if the Burning Room is meant to be his real home. 

Neil jumps at the banging coming from the other side of the black door. Unsure of what to do, Neil braces himself, falling back to the flames, the only familiarity now present, licking at his large burn mark underneath the gown. His right side is hot to the touch while he coughs uncontrollably from the amount of smoke building up in the room. The door’s sturdy hinges loosen with each loud thump. Neil ducks out of the way when the door is sent flying into the fire once the lock is broken. A darkness with no end lies beyond the open frame, along with a set of red eyes boring into his poor excuse of a soul. The shadows come alive. A figure walks into the Burning Room, dusting off his parka. The hair, the shirt, the look on his face, it’s unmistakable. 

"Scott?” Neil asks. The figure shakes his head. On second thought, it would make sense. When he grins at Neil, fangs protrude from his teeth. His gray shirt has the same heart and “SP” Scott had on his green one, but backwards. The parka hangs down to his thighs, with black jeans covering up the rest of his body. On his ears, two circular loops are pinched to the top of his ear, while a small button is lodged into the earlobe. A black collar with silver spikes is snug on his neck. His skin looks as if it has walked through smoke and ash hundreds of times over. The eyes scare Neil the most. There's evil lying behind them, a downward spiral of anger and hate. “Weird. You still look just like him.” Neil looks down to see that his hospital gown has caught on fire. “Oh. That sucks.” The supposedly-not-Scott rips the gown with a swipe of his claws and lets it fall, leaving Neil completely nude and at the mercy of the flames. He’s so confused by the presence of another person in his dreams that it doesn’t seem to bother him. Before Neil could say anything else, the imposter grabs his arm and leads him out of the Burning Room to the darkness. They walk for some time until Neil can’t smell the smoke. The place he was trapped in is now a mere speck of flickering light on the horizon, just like himself. Even though there’s no light, Neil can see the imposter without any problem. “Who are you?” Neil tries again. Still he gets no response. The shadow Scott crouches down and runs a finger against Neil’s burn mark. His skin, still hot, gets goosebumps from the ice-cold touch tracing up his right ankle, then his thigh, and then to his waist. It ends right above his waist with the poorly drawn “picture” of a mountain range. The weed he smokes every day helps block out the shame thrashing and burning in Neil’s head whenever the burn mark flares up. Meanwhile, the imposter’s touch numbs the pain, perhaps even soothing it.

“Does this mean we can make out?” “I don’t think your pillow gave its consent for that, Neil. Hey, Fruit Loops or Lucky Charms with a banana for breakfast? I’m going to the store today so we don’t have to sink as low as Scott did with his meals.” Stephen Stills is at the door to Neil’s room, doing his routine morning stretches. Thank god they don’t have to share a bed like Wallace and Scott; Neil is always thankful to Stephen for allowing him to crash at his lovely abode when he’s not at college. 

“Oh. I’m awake.” Neil stares at the ceiling, debating whether to hit a joint or not for the rest of the morning. “Lucky Charms.” “You got it, Neil.” Once Stephen knocks on the door and leaves, Neil closes the door to use the mirror attached to it. He lifts his shirt, examining the burn mark under it. When he touches it, it feels like snow has been rubbed against it. The cold touch is still there. Neil shivers. He rubs his burnt side. 

“Who are you?” Neil can’t decide whether the question is aimed at the Scott that is everything Scott isn’t or himself. 

[bafflement]

Deaged Oz AU - Finding Oz

Felt like that very first scene needed expanding, so here it is.

Qrow flew… literally… through the devastation that Cinder had wrought on Beacon, heading for the vault. He wasn’t too late, he couldn’t be… he couldn’t lose Oz. Not like this, not when everybody had already lost so much. Yang was injured, Pyrrha Nikos was dead, and yet he’d only just be informed that Oz was… missing.

Missing, dammit. Not dead, he wasn’t allowed to be dead. The man he loved was meant to be bomb proof, indestructible. The thought that he’d fall so easily to someone like Cinder, of all people? One of Salem’s pawns?

And yet… and yet that would be exactly the damn fool decision Oz would make, wouldn’t it? His life for his students, he’d always told Qrow that was the way he wanted to go out. Protecting the youth, protecting the future. Yes, he’d come back… but it wouldn’t be Oz anymore, would it? He’d be filtered through whoever the next version was. There’d be no more quiet nights spent in Oz’s ridiculous sitting room, sipping whiskey and watching Oz consume those sugary beverages he adored so much. No more evenings spent under the stars while his lover told him all the names they’d had however many thousands of years ago Ozma had lived… or during the vast  gulf between then and now. One taloned foot clenched at the thought of just how lonely Oz must have been, however long this stupid war had consumed him already. The talons bit into his leg slightly, but Qrow was far too panicked to feel it. If he’d died, alone… if Qrow hadn’t been there to save him, to help? How could he claim that he loved him, if he hadn’t even been there for him as he died. From the scorched walls he was flying past, the rubble… it would have been many things, but never an easy death.

He wasn’t going to think about that. Not yet, not while there was still a chance that Oz was still alive. Magic could do a lot, after all. Maybe there really was time for one last miracle? For Oz, of course… not for Qrow. He hated his semblance, had tried to keep away as much as possible but what if it hadn’t been enough? What if his mere background presence had… had… no. No, Qrow had NOT killed Oz. That wasn’t the way things worked. If he was dead at all. Oz was a competent Huntsman, one of the very best, after all. This was hardly his first fight, he would be okay.

But then… Huntsmen fought Grimm, not each other. Human targets were rare enough to need entirely separate fighting styles. Oz was very old, or a part of him was, he had to have killed before. But. But Cinder Fall had been masquerading as a student and if his ridiculously perfect lover had one major flaw, it was his protective streak. She had been a student, had posed as a student… could Oz have bought himself to fight her at his full strength? He would have seen her as a child, she’d fought in the Vytal festival, for the Brother’s sake. Oz… could he hurt a child, or would he just have let her kill him?

The vault, by the time he made it there was a mess. The air stunk of burned hair and blood and some of the walls were collapsing into heaps of masonry. He glanced at the ceiling and swore as it bowed. Whatever… whoever… was down here might not have much time.

He started the search, hoping against every fibre of himself that he’d find Oz. Every instinct in him was screaming that it was hopeless, that this was a tomb, but he had to try at least. If nothing else, the next version of… him… would need his cane. Finally he spotted it, the scrollwork seemingly untouched by the devastation around it. He scooped it up, eyes still scanning and froze. There was a figure, curled up in a heap and surrounded by rubble, but as he watched, astounded, their chest moved with a breath. Then a second, could Oz somehow still be alive? He felt his heart race for an instant before it sank like a misaimed stone skipping on a river. Whoever this was, they were far too small to be Oz. His lover was six foot six and big with it, this figure was, well… tiny. Diminutive and child like, and… what was a child doing here, how could they have found their way into a situation like this? Oz would never have let… but no, there was no time to wonder.

Qrow snatched the child up, cradling them protectively in arms that were shaking from adrenaline. Most of the smell seemed to be coming from the kid, but he’d know more once they were both out in the light and he could take a good look at them. If Oz was still here… he’d run out of time to find the body. At least he had the cane, and this unexpected burden… blessing? From such a tragedy. As Oz would have implored him, ‘save the child.’ He just hoped that, somehow, the lift was still functional, there was no way he could carry the kid out of here as a bird.

Miracle on miracle, the lift seemed untouched. As it made its slow rise towards the surface, he glanced down at the child. The kid hadn’t stirred, a dead weight in his arms. At least they were breathing, which was something, but… were their arms meant to be that skinny? He wasn’t at all certain how old the kid was, but surely Yang and Ruby had had more muscles at however old this poor brat was? If so, if they were truly a civilian… had Salem bought them there, had that been why Oz had let her kill him. And he really would have had to have let her kill him, there was no other way she should ever have got the drop on him. But threatening a child, one she’d bought there for that very purpose? That seemed very Cinder like, from the little he’d seen of her. He clenched his teeth, gripping the kid harder as he did so. They still didn’t stir, whatever had been done to them seemed to have knocked them out pretty good. That was worrying, for more reasons than one. Hopefully someone could help once they got to the surface?

Dammit Oz, how long was this lift going to take? There was making an entrance, then there was overkill. This lift fell in the latter category at this point. He concentrated on the kid. Boy, girl? He wasn’t sure at this point, just glad that they were still breathing. As long as he was concentrating on that, he wouldn’t break down. He couldn’t, he couldn’t afford to. Not yet, not with what was looking like a child’s life on the line. They were so young though, far too young for Beacon. Where were their parents, had Cinder or… worse… Salem killed them when they snatched the poor kid up? It would certainly track, but…

One tiny hand seemed to shift slightly, reaching for something. With a pang, Qrow realised that they seemed to be reaching for the cane, but… surely he was imagining things? Oz had told him about the reincarnation process, what was likely to happen when he died. This wasn’t it, not in the least. Yet the child smelled of ashes and blood and he had found him very close to that cane. He’d been the only sign of life Qrow had spied down there, though his eyesight wasn’t as good in the dark. Was it possible? He spent a second, daring to hope, before dismissing the thought.

Qrow could never, ever hope to be that lucky. After all, it wasn’t in the cards for someone like him.

He squinted at the sudden glare as that damn lift finally came to a halt. At least they were out of the vault, the probably-a-tomb. Wherever Oz was, whoever he was now, he’d find him again. At least the child was safe.

He glanced down at the kid, only to blink in shock. They seemed to be dressed in clothing that was far too large for them, torn, bloodstained and badly burned. But what little was visible under the burn marks was a worryingly familiar shade of emerald. The child’s skin and hair were dirty and soot smeared, but just as pale as Oz’s were now he could see them in the light of day. Too pale, actually, though at least they were still breathing. If this was Oz, if they hadn’t just snatched a kid that looked similar and decided to torment the adult Ozpin with this kid who could have easily been their child, then what had happened? What could have gone so badly wrong that this could occur? What would happen, now, anyway? As it was, the boy was far too young to return any feelings that Qrow still felt for him. Oh, he loved Oz, he always would. But this child? No, he needed his protection but… what if they woke and their mind was as young as their body? What if he truly had lost Oz? Forever… what if his initial thought down in the vault was right and this wasn’t Oz at all. He scanned the surroundings, but although there was frantic activity in the distance, nobody seemed to have noticed him or his burden just yet. Could he risk handing maybe-Oz over to the medics, though? There didn’t seem to be anything too wrong with him that he could see, and as the surge of adrenaline left him, he could feel the kid’s aura tickling against his own.

It was strong, too strong to be coincidence. Familiar, too, though it was a painful thing to realise. This had to be Oz, it couldn’t be anyone else. But he hadn’t stirred, hadn’t woken. Was entirely vulnerable. Qrow ached to go and see to his nieces, but Oz needed him right now. He couldn’t leave the boy alone, if Salem found out that he was trapped like this… there was no telling what she’d do with the unconscious, too thin child Oz currently was.

Well, there was. He knew exactly what she’d do if she got her hands on the little boy. She’d torture him, make an example of him. Swallowing back sudden bile, he gripped the kid harder. Just hard enough for the clothing to shift slightly, revealing a half melted pin in the vague shape of a cross. Qrow let out a sob at the state of it, at the state Oz was in. How could they keep going, like this? What if he never woke up? What if he died, would Qrow be forced to watch as his heart shattered even further than it was already? What if this was actually a ten year old Oz, devoid of any memories, no longer the wizard? If he died, it might be possible after all. There was too much he didn’t know and for all the warnings, Oz had never mentioned anything even remotely similar to this.

Blinking down at the weakly twitching fingers, the only sign of life beyond the rise and fall of Oz’s chest, he placed the cane in the outstretched hand. Oz gripped it tightly enough that his knuckles went white, but some of the tension seemed to drain out of him. As his face relaxed, Qrow readjusted his guess as to age downwards. If he was eight, that might explain the size a bit better. But then, Oz had always been small until he suddenly wasn’t. There were very good reasons it was referred to as the growth spurt from hell, after all. He shook his head, glancing over at the medics again. They still hadn’t noticed, or if they had then they were choosing not to get too close to him. But then Qrow had rather a reputation, they had to know that even if he was injured he was unlikely to go to them willingly. Besides, they had far more important people to treat.

He couldn’t see Glynda, or any of the others from Beacon. That was good, to an extent. It meant that he’d have a chance to get Oz to safety, somewhere he could heal from whatever had happened down in the vault. Time to think of a plan of sorts, to get things sorted… to learn what had happened, if Oz even knew that, either. To prepare, if the worst should happen and he really was just a little boy now. Although, had he been, Qrow rather doubted the cane would have calmed him as much as he did. Where was the easiest safe house, though? Who could he trust to have Oz’s best interests in mind when he could not be there, and he would have to check in with Tai and the girls soon enough. Oh. Oh, yes, she was rather the obvious choice, wasn’t she? Besides, Mistral was the closest kingdom anyway, Salem’s probable next target. Hopefully she’d think Oz was dead, he was pretty certain Cinder would have thought that or she wouldn’t have left the body long enough for whatever had happened to happen. She would have just killed him again, or worse, presented him as an offering to Salem. Qrow shivered at that, Oz’s still form shifting slightly but not waking, not stirring.

Rise and fall, rise and fall. Watching him breathe seemed to take up most of Qrow’s attention at the moment, but he needed to get moving. He could wrap Oz in a blanket once they were far enough away from Beacon so as they wouldn’t be stopped. Hopefully anyone that saw him would assume Oz was an actual kid and Qrow his caregiver. In a twisted way, he was right now. And to think, the day had started off so well.

He managed to make it away from the aftermath of the fall of Beacon without being stopped of questioned. That was odd, considering the lack of luck that Qrow always carried with him like a miasma, but maybe something somewhere knew just how important this was? They might not be looking out for Qrow, but maybe they were looking out for Oz?

He glanced down at the kid again, taking in the familiar features in rather unfamiliar sizes. Maybe his first guess was right and he really was nearer ten, but either way he wasn’t anywhere near old enough to fight yet. He would still be at least three years too young for even one of the primary Huntsman’s academies, after all. Maybe they could stop him from fighting if and when it came to it? Probably a bad bet though, knowing Oz, but it was an amusing one none the less. Oz had always been the protector, but now? It was rather likely that he’d be the one being protected. Qrow couldn’t help the snort at the image that bought up, but as he lay him down to wrap him in a blanket, his eyes were very sad. What would happen, really, if Oz never woke up? He was breathing, true, but there was no telling what sort of damage could have been caused by whatever it was that had turned him into a kid. It was probably magic, [Qrow was one of the few people who had been privy to Oz’s semblance and this certainly wasn’t it] but that just raised more questions. If it was magic, was it even something that they could reverse? Should they? From the state of Oz’s suit, it was more than likely that he’d be gravely injured as an adult if not… worse than injured. Ah well, it was only a decade and Qrow could wait. He just hoped Oz would still love him, when the time came. If it was Oz, and, well, that remained to be seen.

At least the person he was counting on knew he was coming. If it turned out Oz really was just a kid now, then that would be as safe a place as any for him to be raised, it wasn’t that likely Salem would really go looking as long as she thought he was dead after all. Qrow felt like the weight of Remnant was crushing him at the thought, though. If they’d lost the wizard, if Oz woke as a child and nothing more and the wizard never reincarnated… then they’d lost. Salem would run unchecked with nobody to counter her. So few people even knew about her to start with, how would they ever get them to believe that she was real? And without Oz, they’d have to. Without Oz, it was hopeless. They weren’t even certain where all the maidens were, and one of them was Cinder of all people… and Cinder was on Salem’s side.

Maybe their powers would vanish if the wizard died? Qrow was trying not to think about it, but the worst possible situations usually happened around him. After all, what was his semblance if not a curse to himself and those around him? Dooming Remnant, though? That would be a new low, even for him. Maybe Oz really should never have trusted him, never kept him around. If the worst happened, then the Tribe was right.

He swiped away the tears, angrily, watching Oz as he slept. It was getting dark, Qrow really needed rest himself, but Oz was too vulnerable to leave. Oh, Qrow could deal with any Grimm that popped up, he could really do with something to hit right now, but that wasn’t the point. Oz was never still when he slept, not really. That this sleep was too deep even for his normal nightmares… was that a good thing, or a bad thing? Could anything about this particular situation be viewed as anything bar a disaster? But no, Oz was still alive, even if he was a kid right now. He’d wake up, he’d be Oz, everything would be as okay as they could make it. Or at least as okay as anything really could be under the circumstances, weird though they very much were.

Qrow pulled a face, even as he got out his bedroll, positioning it so as to be between Oz and anything that might want to attack, trusting the fire to act as a sufficient barrier on the other side. He did need to rest, even though he knew he wouldn’t actually sleep.

They still had a long way to go to reach Mistral and safety, after all.

[caffeinatedcursedcutie]

Fangs That Bite The Hand Part 1

Damien lifted up the trusty red cooler from the back passenger seat of his car, shutting the door behind him. He took a moment to take in the scene of the forest, interrupted by private officers and workers in protective gear, quite a few of them standing around as if waiting for something. With a wave to the crew that had followed him in the specialized blackout van, built to block out all sunlight and keep an undead safe on the way back to a hospital. The change of scenery from dull concrete and shining buildings was nice, greens and the scent of woodsy soil setting him into a decent mood. The cooler banged against below his knee in time with his steps, the bag hanging on his shoulders beating a similar beat, and he hummed under his breath. The wide concrete building was half overtaken by vegetation and moss, the giant hanger doors had been opened and a large team of people milled about like worker ants. One such ant, in an official looking uniform caught his attention, and quickly made his way to him. The portly man with a dark mustache lifted a hand flat to him, gesturing to him to stop. 

“You, you’re…”

“Damien Mathews, SPN official officer.” His hand went to his belt and he flipped a badge open, showing the government seal. “I was expecting a Men In Black thing. Sunglasses, snappy suits, mysterious stranger thing going on…” 

“Suits and uniforms can scare creatures in cases like this. Easier to keep it casual just in case.” He gestured down to his ragged old hoodie and jeans, not caring to also admit that the agency didn’t have a dress code and his laundry was currently a wrinkled pile on a chair in his apartment. “Right, well, let me catch you up to date.” With that, the portly man turned and started to walk with Damien towards the concrete and metal building. “Apparently you guys have been trying to track the people who ran this place for years, after huge advancements in scientific studies in injuries relating to vamps-” “Undead beings" is the official term. Vamp can be…derogatory.” He cut in shortly, running his free hand through his hair. “Uh…huh. Undead beings, medical advancements with serious, verifiable studies but with a source that was hidden. Someone started looking into it, coming to the conclusion that the scientists and doctors writing the studies were doing unethical experimentations. They start an investigation back in the day, and get close enough to get a hold of a doctor that was directly involved in it, but they scare the people running it, so they abandon the entire thing with one final piece missing. Where the actual lab is. Well, 14 years later, here we are.” He gestured up to the building, now towering above them and blotting out sunlight from where they stood.  “We were sent in to collect evidence, trying to file a massive lawsuit against every single doctor, scientist, and administrator that was involved in this mess. Well…evidence we found, but not without it grabbing hold of my guy and putting him in the hospital.” “Hm. Well, that’s what I’m here for. We’ll get the being out so you guys can continue the investigation.” As he walked into the vast, empty opening of the building, the scent of musk and mold made it feel like rotted cotton was stuffed up his nose, their footsteps echoing across the dimly lit room. 

14 years?!? Poor thing has got to be borderline out of it at this point. Hopefully I can get a name so I can stop calling it the being. A feeding and some help out of here, and we should be able to get them into the truck. 

The crew wasn’t kidding when they called it…a vault, the entrance that he had been led to could only be described as a bank vault, made with iron and kept shut with a huge rotating lock. The officer grabbed ahold of one of the spokes, and Damien was quick to shake off his surprise and lend a hand, grabbing another and rotating the heavy door with some force. The horrid smell of rot and decay grabbed ahold of his senses and the heavy door finally started to crack open. His nose wrinkled in response, it wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar scent, but this was potent. They opened the door just a sliver, and then waited with bated breath for…something to happen. When nothing but deathly silence stayed in place, Damien moved to the sliver of an entrance. “You sure you’ve got this? That thing nearly got someone down already.” “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve done this. They just need some food and some care. I know 14 years seems like a while, but time passes a little differently for an undead.” He said firmly, setting down the cooler and pushing the handle aside to open it. He paused, listening for a very faint scuttling. "Went on a trip to the old country for the rescue of one that had gotten sealed up in a well a few years back. Forty seven years, poor guy came out flying and crashed into a local house. A good meal, a shower, and sleeping for three weeks had him right as rain." He picked up a thin slice of raw, bloody venison. At this point, his breathing steadies, his heart starts to thump in his chest. This was always the most exciting part of his day, getting to make first contact and assess the problems with the being. He turned his body sideways to fit through the gap of the heavy door and the latch. 

Unsurprisingly, it was very dark in this chamber. He rapidly blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus on the shapes in this grey void, the suffocating smell of stale air and rot sat heavily in his chest. 

"Hi there." He said softly, taking a step. His own footsteps echoed, almost deafening against the still silence. "I'm not sure how lucid you are, but I've got this…" Damien lifted up the cold, slimy piece of meat to get the scent to linger. "And plenty more where it came from. I'm sure that's a lot better than being in here, right?" 

For a moment, doubt lingered in his mind. Had they let the being out accidentally? He took another step into the darkness, pressing against his eyes so deeply it was almost tangible. "Hello?"

A shattering scream tore through the silence, a body slamming into another and throwing it across the chamber.

[nysocboy]

Gemstones Episode 1.8 Review: Kelvin's testicles, Jesse's butt, and ancient Philistine penises

In the last episode, Scotty kidnapped Gideon and Jesse, forced them to open the church vault, and stole the Easter offering money, incidentally confessing that he had been in love with Gideon.  Judy and BJ had a breakup scene, but Kelvin and Keefe barely appeared.  In Episode 1.8,, their romance is centric. 

An Old Man's Dick:  It's still Easter evening.  After dropping off Judy at her house, Baby Billy asks Tiffany "Who wants to suck an old man's dick?" She goes down on him while they are driving down dark country roads near the estate.  Suddenly Scotty, driving away with the money he stole, runs a stop sign and crashes into their car!   They are unharmed, but Scotty is near death (Tiffany finishes the job by accidentally shooting him).  Then they steal the money.  An interesting call-back here: earlier Scotty implies that he forced Gideon into oral sex, and he dies while interrupting consensual oral sex, an ironic punishment of the sort you would see in 1950s horror comics. 

Top five young ministers:  Gideon admits to being Scotty's partner in the offering-theft plan, and is rejected by Eli and Amber.  But he doesn't mention his part in the blackmail plan!  We cut to Jesse telling his siblings that they are in the clear. But how do they know he won't tell later, and implicate them in the assault?   Worried that he'll be arrested, Kelvin is having anxiety attacks and "sharp shit pains in my stomach" (hemorrhoids?).   Even if he wasn't convicted, the scandal would destroy his career.   "I was in the Top Five Young Ministers to watch last year -- I got a reputation -- a following."  Wait -- if he's so famous, why is his whole plot arc about proving his worth?

Denim brings lunch:  We cut to scenes where Baby Billy and Tiffany leave town with the offering money, Eli worries that the whole enterprise is corrupt, and Jesse apologizes to Gideon for pushing him away and starting the whole mess. Eli admits, for the only time in the series, that the church's finances are not entirely above-board.

 Next, Judy tries to mend her relationship with BJ by bringing him lunch at the optometrist office.  Whoops, his coworker Denim already picked up lunch.  "So you're having sex with BJ?"  No, she's a lesbian -- she has a wife.  This does not convince Judy, who calls her: "One of those benevolent lesbians, out to meet a hot guy, make friends with him, so you can sample-suck some clean dick."  BJ's nonchalance about LGBT people, plus Judy's sort-of nonchalance, will become important later.

He refuses to take Judy back, so she storms into the parking lot and starts destroying cars, finally getting arrested.

Hemorrhoids and Testicular Tumors: Keefe is swimming while Kelvin tries not to look at the body that is giving him so many unwelcome desires.   He wants to know how he can rid the world of darkness, when he's surrounded by it: his mother died, Eli was assaulted, the church was robbed.  He concludes that God is punishing the family for "not being who we say we are."  But Kelvin had nothing to do with those things. How does "not being who we say we are" apply to him?

"Don't you think God is being a little harsh?" Keefe asks.  We all wear masks; we hide things even from ourselves.  

Kelvin laugh/cries and says "I think we're getting off easy...when the Philistines stole the Ark of the Covenant, God punished them with hemorhhoids and testicle tumors."  

He's referring to an obscure story in 1 Samuel 4-5, where the Philistine thieves were punished with opalim. The King James Bible translates the Hebrew word as "emeroids" (now "hemorrhoids") and the NIV as "tumors."  An article in Biblical Archaeology Review points out the importance of penises in Philistine art, and suggests"flaccid penises."   No one mentions testicles; apparently Kelvin invented it, to correspond to the glimpse of Keefe's testicle that began his recognition of his homoerotic desire.

Next: "You should go, Keefe."  Keefe doesn't understand: "You want me to make a store run?"  Kelvin becomes angrier and angrier: "Go.  Leave.  Get out. I am no longer fit to lead you!" 

Kelvin scratches his butt as he says this.  Apparently he has hemorrhoids, and thinks that God is punishing him -- an ironic punishment for having anal sex? Will testicular tumors come next? 

Keefe disagrees: "There's no one more worthy than you."

 "Get the fuck out of here! Now! Do I need to call security, motherfucker?"  This is shockingly aggressive.

Keefe wades away, holding his swimsuit like he held his shirt during the mushroom head scene.  The intimacy he enjoyed that night has been revoked.  Kelvin falls into the pool and screams and cries.

Why does Kelvin send Keefe away?  If he's no longer qualified to be a spiritual leader due to the assault of the blackmailers, they could certainly continue to live together.  It must have something to do with the "hemorrhoids and testicular tumors," the intimacy they shared, or even homoerotic desire itself.  Kelvin believes that it is evil, demonic, that Keefe is a serpent who tempted him.  I don't care much for this association between LGBT identities and sin, but the show has been careful to establish that it's in Kelvin's head, not a general theme, structurally or in-universe.  

Jesse's Butt: Jesse invites his crew and their wives to "movie night," but the movie is actually the video of their sex-and-drugs party. He has decided to come clean: "These flawed men and myself have participated in some illicit, sinful activities."  Is this a callback to Kelvin's belief that he has participated in "illicit, sinful activities" with Keefe?

No one wants to see the video except Mandy, Chad's wife. Jesse advises that she might not want to because it features "Chad's gray testicle." Another testicle reference?  Is seeing that, like, the belly of the beast?   But they all go to the screening room, even Chad's underage kids (um...that's illegal).  

As they watch, the wives storm out in anger and disgust. Amber starts throwing things at Jesse, yelling that he drove Gideon away and destroyed the family.  Then she grabs an assault rifle and shoots him (with buckshot) in the butt, a symbolic anal rape. 

We cut to shots of Baby Billy and Tiffany rolling around in their loot,  Eli using his influence to get Judy out of jail, Keefe driving away crying, Scotty's van being dredged up, and Jesse yelling "She got me in my meat! She broke my butthole!" The background song is "Oh, Lord," by Geordi:

Oh Lord, what's wrong with me.  I can't seem to be what I wanna be

And it's not for the sake of tryin'

I tried so hard, God know, and felt like dyin'

And if you've been watchin',  you woulda seen me cryin'

So, O Lord, won't you give me your hand?

The siblings and their partners have broken up.  Gideon is gone.  This is the low point of their lives, and there's just one episode left for things to get better. 

Next: Episode 1.9 Review: Jesse is racist, Judy is a rapist, and Kelvin is the Devil

[beantothemax]

[continued]

The Final Boss: Prophet of Lies

The first action that the PoL will take is Theft of the Future, which will permanently scramble the turn order

It won’t be obscured, but it’ll be in the wrong order (and a different wrong order) for the entire rest of the fight

All of the PoL’s weaknesses will be locked by two Mist Cultists

He’s definitely weak to Swords, Fire, and Light but I don’t know what any others would be (probably one more; maybe Staff or Axe?)

The Mist Cultists are just gonna spam Dark spells at you willy-nilly, so they’re annoying but not a real threat

The PoL, on the other hand, is going to throw out every single debuff in the book to slow you down

Blindness especially because come ON, but Terror, Silence, and Confusion are absolutely still on the table

Maybe I’m gonna give him a custom debuff to inflict but I haven’t decided on that yet. Maybe if I’m feeling creative

Captain Kaldena’s skill Dark Tomb (incapacitates a Blinded traveler) is gonna make a return her, albeit with a different name

You know what. Screw you. All magical attacks from the Prophet of Lies and Mist Cultists can inflict Blindness now.

This is the Blindness fight.

Honestly I really sorta just. Don’t have a lot to say about the first phase. Apologies gang.

After phase one, the cultists are dead, the Prophet is backed up against a wall, and two extremely angry swordswomen are out for answers

“You are a fighter, it seems. Why are you doing this, prophet?”

“He… he has bade me do it… I serve only him…”

Ekaterina steps in. “Still going on and on about this ‘he’ figure. Who is he? Or, simpler question, who in the hells are you? You haven’t even graced us with your name.”

“ENOUGH. I have had enough of this nonsense. He has had enough of this nonsense, and I-”

(back to Praem) “If you will continue to withhold answers from us, in service to this master of yours, then you shall die like the dog that you are. Shall we put him down, Ekaterina?”

Unfortunately for these two they forgot the key rule of fiction that monologuing will get you killed because this banter gives the Prophet the time to like. Magic blast them away and start ominously chanting

“Thief of stars, breaker of the vault of the twelve chains, Callidus Corivard, I am your hands, I am your eyes, I am your blade…”

He keeps chanting and a shadow grows upon the wall behind him as he does, but that’s all that the player is shown until Praem and Ekaterina start talking again

They exchange what-the-fuck-isms for a bit but realise that if they don’t deal with this guy very quickly things are going to get Very bad

The shadow on the wall is no longer his, and is starting to form a face of its own.

The Prophet himself has grown probably around three feet taller, with all of his limbs and bones having become noticeably longer

The key inspiration for this is the Other Mother from Coraline. If you’ve watched the movie, you know the scene of which I speak.

Shadows begin crawling around the walls of the cave, and Ekaterina tells Praem to deal with the big guy while she handles keeping the shadow back

Because like. It’s very clearly dangerous. That is Not a benign shadow.

With that, Praem charges at the thing that used to be called the Prophet, entering…

THE PROPHET OF LIES PULLING A REVERSE PRAEM LATENT POWER AND MESSING WITH THE TURN ORDER,,,,,,,,, PARALLELISM IN GAME MECHANICS MY BELOVED

also do NOT like the detail that the PoL’s bones are. ‘longer’. not a pleasant mental image. THE STUFF ABOUT THE SHADOWS CRAWLING ON THE WALLS WAS A VERY COOL MENTAL IMAGE HOWEVER I LIKED THAT A LOT

ITS TIME

[weatherman667]

Lara Croft GO

The original Tomb Raider was a phenomenon that swept the Video Game industry and beyond, but, was in truth, a hot mess.

While obviously inspired by Indiana Jones, the point of Tomb Raider was to combine the adventure-platforming of Ocarina of Time with gunplay.

For those who weren't there. PS2 is where we figured out how to do shooters, but didn't really do them well. Before anyone says Bioshock, remember that the shooter aspects were okay. Bioshock is great because of it's fantastic story, and it's fantastic ability to use the medium to tell this story, not because of how good it's shooter gameplay was. The PS3 era is where we really got shooters right.

Tomb Raider is from the PS1 era. And this is why people need to understand I'm not insulting Tomb Raider, as Tomb Raider was completely unprecedented. The PS1 / N64 era was where we were figuring out 3D games. Some things worked well. Some did not.

All of the gameplay elements of Tomb Raider were okay, which was fantastic for it's day, but none of them were especially good, if we use hindsight. One of the problems they had with the puzzle aspect was that their engine finally let them move your cube in a 3 dimensions. The problem is that this makes put-the-cube-in-the-hole extremely taxing, as you have to get the cube oriented perfectly, by slightly nudging it on the corner.

Lara Croft GO takes the puzzle aspects, and simplifies the controls, leaving just the puzzle. Movement is grid-based, and every time you move, the enemies and environmental hazards move with you, (don't ask why the ancient temple has working buzz saws). As for Lara, she moves and acts like Lara SHOULD move. She is confident, bold, dynamic. You will kill any enemy who's square you move into, but if you stand in front of an enemy, it will kill you. Lara will vault over their head, do a shooting slide, and all of the things Lara should do.

The original even gave you a control to do a 180˚ turn, which is done with a quick roll. If you turn 180˚s in Lara Croft Go, she uses the same movement.

The puzzles are fun an intuitive, with the game only telling you things it needs to tell you.

The newer Laura Croft games decide to copy Metal Gear Solid, and add a bunch of scenes where you lose control, and can barely move. The problem is they have no idea how MGS does them well. They also remove all of the positive traits Lara Croft had, in the name of female empowerment. Somehow.

What this means is that we simply did not get to see what Tomb Raider could do with modern hardware and gaming conventions.

Now, Lara Croft GO certainly doesn't do this. But, it is fun, and while limited, it's limited gameplay is incredibly well implemented, making it the first good Tomb Raider game we've had in... 15-20 years?

We had a revival with Uncharted: Drake's Fortune, but, unfortunately, they decided to double down on the shooter aspects. While the shooter aspects were well done in Uncharted, they were simply one part of the game. As the Uncharted series continued, it started taking over the whole game. This lead to Serial Escalation, from entirely myopic developers.

I.e. you end up with snipers with highly visible laser sights and big guys in ridiculous armour with gatling guns. Instead of having Nate have to take a machine gun nest, which is not easy, and something that could allow his climbing skills to solve the problem, you have epic John Woo gunfights... against increasingly boring enemies.

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.31--Episodes 20-21

I have watched through S3E21; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—Every time people are happy in this show, things get worse. Last time everyone was happy, Peter Pan almost wiped out the entire town. This time, there are time shenanigans. When will we reach the lowest possible badness level and have nowhere to go but up?

—This show feels like it was written by the most top-tier fanficcers. It’s an exquisite piece of art, and despite the sheer beauty and intelligence of its story and characters, it doesn’t shy away from utilizing the plot devices and tropes that are common in fanfiction. Which, by the way, is simply a form of media that goes to show how many genius writers exist in the world, and how certain concepts are naturally appealing to a large majority of the population.

—The streaks of grey in Rumple’s hair are quite fetching.

—Maybe Granny should join the Merry Men. She already has the crossbow.

—Yay, Dr. Hopper crumbs! I’m glad he got to have a conversation with Henry, because he has been rather important in Henry’s life, and it would be a shame to not include a scene like that when it fits in so easily. Also, sweater vest!

—It’s very selfish of Emma to still want to take Henry back to New York. Now he remembers he has extended family in Storybrooke, not to mention a whole other mom. And it’s not fair to them, especially Regina, either. Seriously, for a hero, Emma’s being about 0% empathetic right now. She hasn’t even considered Regina’s feelings about it. Also, Henry has spent all but one years of his life in Storybrooke, so for him that is home. Emma is just not being considerate of anyone right now.

—Of course Dorothy was disappointing.

—I do kind of appreciate the way the good witches were talking about the Wizard. If he had gotten a chance to actually be a devious trickster, he might’ve been kinda cool.

—Regina putting the pendant in her vault is so stupid. That’s basically the first place a badguy goes if they’re looking for magic. It’s the opposite of secure.

—I’m not disappointed in Rumple for killing Zelena. Frankly, she had it coming. And it would be pretty ooc for him to not exact vengeance, even if he’s a semi-changed man. There is, after all, a difference between natural growth and bad characterization, and after Bae was the center of his machinations for centuries not avenging Bae’s death would be the latter.

—I am kinda disappointed that he’s lying to Belle, especially now that they’re engaged. That’s going to come back and bite him in the ass eventually.

—Emma looks extra pretty in the fairytale clothes. Honestly, find me someone who doesn’t, because cloaks and blouses and fancy jackets with gold buttons are just lovely.

—The timeline is going to be so messed up by the time Hook and Emma get home. Everybody’s going to end up with like three heads or something.

—Seeing Charming and Abigail’s interactions with each other is fun now that I know Abigail isn’t happy with their arrangement either. Before, she came off as a spoiled princess. Now she reads as being equally unhappy as Charming is. And he’s doing his best, but when it comes to Abigail he’s hardly an attentive fiancé (which again, is understandable) so her reactions are quite understandable.

—Emma introducing herself as Princess Leia is hilarious. Who wouldn’t pick that as a codename?

—The book turning blank because Emma messed with her parents’ relationship is terrible.

—It’s pretty cool that Emma got a chance to experience the life her parents wanted for her. I think she actually would’ve been a decent princess, if she’d gotten to live in the Enchanted Forest. Though, her dress wasn’t quite as elaborate as some of the others; seeing her in a full-on princess getup would’ve been fun.

—I gotta love Rumple sending people off in style. Charming needs to rescue Snow from a sleeping curse? Not in that outfit, buddy. Emma and Hook need to encourage Snow to steal from Charming? Royalty don’t dress like that, dearies. He’s so frickin extra.

—Regina using light magic was awesome. I enjoy that she gets to illustrate how neither good nor evil is entirely inborn.

—You know, I’d still love a holiday episode where absolutely nothing important happens and nobody is in danger of dying. Maybe split between Christmas and Thanksgiving; we start at Christmas, with everybody already acting annoyed at each other, and over the course of the episode flash back to Thanksgiving to find out what caused it. Of course they’re all fighting over something stupid, because it’s a holiday.

—I’m quite relieved we didn’t go far enough back in time for Emma to literally become her own great-great-great-grandmother. Although, she is messing with her parents and drastically lowering the chances that she was ever born, so…kind of a lateral move.

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[rantsintechnicolor]

Las mujeres caminan en el bar…

A tall, blond woman walks in first, with her hair piled in a practiced, artful mess of carefully curated carelessness. Blond to hide her gray because she is not quite ready to be seen as old. The bartender gets much more of a Lauren Becal vibe, though again, her hair is the wrong color. Behind her walks another woman, her hair is pulled back in two pin curls, her bangs are swept to the right--her right--off her forehead. The effect is very Roman Holiday (1953), though her hair is red instead of Audrey’s shiny black. They are certainly tourists the way they move though the space looking around. A cruise ship did dock this morning at the port. But they don’t move like the other tourists he’d seen come through. They were more quiet and observant, rather than demanding and loud. They seem more laid back, though not exactly relaxed. It is too warm for them. Too warm or too humid. Their cheeks are flushed. Lauren looks annoyed and uncomfortable. Audrey looks tired and melancholy.

Lauren identifies the service of the bar while the Audrey surveys the entire room as their eyes adjust to the dimness. The day is very bright, and though lots of light enters the tall arched openings (can you call them windows if there is no glass?), it is decidely dimmer. The ceilings are vaulted to let the hot, humid air rise away from guests, and is encouraged to do so by a fan on the ground floor. The ceiling fans are moving lazy above, but don’t seem to be moving the air very much. 

The bartenders are busy with other patrons, and the ladies seat themselves at a table by a tall window near the floor fan. They scan the QR code on a nearby table to access the menu. 

Audrey watches as the bartender approaches. She knows he is making a calculation in his delivery. He commands both English and Spanish, but decides to speak English to them. He is a hefty, bearded fellow. And so is his companion. In this way, these friendly Puerto Rican gentlemen mirror the aesthetic of the craft beer man in the continental United States; hairy teddy bears.  

“Hello ladies. We serve craft beer here. We have over fifty taps and we specialize in the local craft scene on the island.” Audrey wonders if he expects them to walk out because they might be looking for what most cruise tourists want: rum punch, piña colada, mai tai, and hurricane. 

“We are here for the craft beer,” Audrey feels like she has to assure him. 

He smiles. “If you know what you like, I will help you find it.”

“Oh, this Kölsch! May I please have the Kölsch?” Lauren said. The bartender nods.

“May I taste the Cal Common?”

He smiles. “If you know what you like, I will help you find it.”

“Oh, this Kölsch! May I please have the Kölsch?” Lauren said. The bartender nods.

“May I taste the Cal Common?”

“Oh, a festbier.”

“What can you tell me about these two saisons?” 

The bartender answers their questions easily. They taste each other’s beers and discuss flavors briefly, and make happy noises in their throats. They order a first round, and a cuban. They order a second round. They mess around on their phones a little. They chat. They plan their next move. A child pushes over the pallet placed to create a barrier between their table and the street. The server apologizes, but the ladies are not mad about it. They put it back up, and promptly forgot about the incident. Similarly, a woman grabs a chair to take over to her table, and clips Audrey’s leg. She pulls her leg in, inspects and rubs the painful spot, looks behind her once, and lets it go. 

The ladies move and talk together with such ease, it’s almost boring to watch them. But a couple of patrons are watching them. Some are jealous of that ease and comfort they have with each other, their own personal short hand for communicating, and some ability to predict what their partner will do. A couple men think what a waste it is for two beautiful women to be in a relationship together and off limits to them. Some are really happy to see ladies enjoying beer which is still a scene dominated by men; it completely changes the energy of the scene and for the better. Some relfect on what a beautiful thing, a traveling couple in a beer bar not fighting or arguing. To the ladies, it is another adventure in a port city, a challenge to find the things they like and avoid the overwhelming “moichendizing” of the embarcadero, to find the culture hidden behind the veneer put on for the tourists.