#also his timings are so different from standard!!! somehow i could parry some of his slashes but almost none of his light hatchets!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lost-eternity · 4 years

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Matchup Requests *CLOSED*

This was done as a trade instead of a standard match up, hence why I am permitting it. :)

Matchup for @stormra

okie dokie I match you with...

I have to admit, this was a bit of a difficult one. It was really between Charles Grey and Sebastian. And it was close. But a few small details caused me to lean towards Grey instead of Sebby. I’ll explain why later on.

First of all, your love languages mesh rather perfectly

Charles Grey’s (inflated) ego causes him to thoroughly enjoy the praise and affection you lavish upon him

He enjoys being treated as a prince and has no inclination to returning these affections

It’s a selfish love but weirdly enough, it works

He also doesn’t give enough craps to care for society or propriety to be embarrassed or ashamed of your advances

He is quite inept at displaying physical affection and his attempts are half-hearted at best

It’s that blasted ego again

But he does try. In his own little way

He may (attempt to) awkwardly cook something for you, or more likely than not, force you to take fencing lessons

He always wins

And he goes really hard on you claiming that you would never learn if he went easy

It’s laborious and by the end of each session you are close to collapsing from exhaustion

Insert a lewd joke here, “Oh, my dear, if this is how easily you tire, I better condition you for my bedchamber...”

Yeah, it turns out he is a complete pervert sometimes

But fencing is one of the few ways he can actually express himself

Which seems a bit paradoxical if that expression is affection or love

But it is kind of cute.

He is determined to teach you, and although he may not be the most outwardly affectionate, the amount of time and effort he invests in you is enough to tell you how much he cares

He is a very busy man you know, running missions and odd errands for the queen

His free time is extremely precious for him

So the mere fact that he is spending it with you is a lot more monumental than most people would assume

But you are smart enough to realise this

And that is one of the reasons I did not pair you with Sebastian.

Sebastian is a lot more how shall we put it... salacious. His flirting is subtle in public but that bastard would do anything to make his lover blush, testing the limits of society and still managing to get by without being caught... somehow. It’s his way of exercising control and I think that would really clash with your love language.

So,

Charles Grey is also a rather chipper fellow.

Like "chipper" may be an understatement

Excitable puppy man is more like it, at least when it comes to fencing... or maiming... the dude has weird hobbies

But he really understands your desire to travel. He is full of jittery energy that he uses releases running errands for the Queen, travelling across all of the UK. And really most of Europe running diplomacy missions and handling sensitive cases

He would probably be hesitant to allow you to accompany him

But you'd wear him down eventually

Grey really understands your wanderlust, he has a hard time focusing on monotonous tasks or locations as well

So he may allow you to join him

With one *small* caveat

You have to defeat him in a fencing duel first

Which is absolute shit. But you understand where he is coming from.

That ego of his leads him to consider himself the best swordsman in Europe, if not the world

He figures that if you manage to strike him down then you could handle yourself with anyone

And that is no small task

It seems entirely daunting and near impossible (which is probably another reason he assigned it)

And that brings me to my next point.

Charles Grey needs some who is open minded and chill enough to out up with his shit

But also stubborn and outspoken enough to shut him down when he tries some spectacularly stupid

Which is why you would work well with him. Not only does your nonchalance perfectly foil his constant energy and inquisitive nature, but you also have set your boundaries and know when to shut down schemes and ideas

So yeah

You begin training extra hard

For maybe like a day

Then you give up

It's hard, everything hurts, you are exhausted, and all you MIGHT get out of it is one lousy trip

So you begin putting training sessions off

"I'm not feeling well."

"I'll start once I finish this book"

"Oooh, it's too late now"

To say that Grey would be discouraged and slightly hurt is an understatement

His passion and life blood is fencing. He has worked really hard to get to this point and the fact that his significant other takes no interest in it wounds him

This could definitely be a point of discourse if your relationship

But you have to remain open with each other and talk it out

That is the most important thing. Communication. And let's be honest. Charles isn't not going to say shit

He is "too manly" or too egotistical to admit his feelings

You'd have to be the one to approach him on the matter

But I feel like you would. You are used to hearing problems from your friends. You know when something is wrong and better yet, you listen

After a talk, he understands that it may not be the fencing specifically you are disinterested in

But you just struggle to maintain motivation

And from that moment on, Charles Grey becomes your personal cheerleader

He's the mom at a soccer game freaking s c r e e c h i n g and going "that's my girl!" whenever you win a match

He takes pride in all he does, and he is proud of his protégé

He never allows you to lose motivation and is (annoyingly) insistent about the fencing

Which again, could lead to some arguments if you resist

But he is doing it from a place of love because he can see how miserable you are cooped up in the same place

He knows you

And finally, the day arrives that you set to duel Charles Grey himself. If you win, you get to attend some of his missions with him (others are too sensitive to risk being seen by a civilian)

You are understandably nervous, but also introspective. Honestly it is probably a tidal wave of emotions far too complex to convey with words

But ill try

Let me just....

This morning was like most mornings.

A heavy fog blanketed the docile countryside, most animals just began to shake off the effects of the previous night's slumber.

Commoners rose with the peeking rays of the sun, beginning to perform their routine tasks before the last of the fog had been burned away by the heat. For most people this day was completely, utterly, ordinary.

But not for you.

This day meant everything. This day meant your freedom.

You had risen before even the sun, shedding your skirts in exchange for ivory fencing gear, exchanging your fan for a rapier and your hats for a meshed mask. This had been your life for the past year, and would continue to be so until your final breath.

But today. Today was different.

Today determined your future. And quite frankly, your sanity.

And all you had to do was defeat your lover in close quarters combat. A monumental task in-of itself. Half of your acquaintances thought you mad, the other half patronized you, treating your struggle as a desperate cry for attention. They simply couldn't understand why a lady would go through such trouble as to challenge the country’s greatest swordsman. A woman's place was in the house, and in home is where she is complete. Why would she bother her pretty little head and sully herself in the wretched world around her? That was a man's job, such trifling affairs should be of no concern for a lady.

"She is odd, that one." They would say. But they didn't understand, how could they?

Raised under the constrictive hand of the patriarchy, they were forced into complacency. A complacency so culturally ingrained that they themselves never sought to question it. Or, those that did often keeled to the whims of man's iron fist in fear of social ostracism and reputational backlash.

But you were different.

From childhood you felt the pangs, the longing to not only see but experience both the beauty and sorrow of the world around you. To learn and ingrain yourself with the cultures, to explore every nook and cranny of your planet. You could never understand why those around you seemed so content with living and dying inconsequentially, never experiencing the midnight sun or the sweeping winds of the steppe. Dying without ever truly living. Merely existing in their self-made reality, completely ignorant to the bright, beautiful world around them.

Why stay put when you can travel?

Why exist when you can live?

These questions, along with the persistent voice of your instructor (and fiancé), kept you focused and motivated. All of that training, all of those hours of arduous, grueling work had lead to this moment.

You stood within the fencing hall, the lack of bodies usually present caused the room to echo with each clicking foot fall on the tile floor. It was wide, empty, and entirely unwelcoming. It felt like a stranger to you, despite the year of training you had completed within its walls.

Before you stood a similarly dressed figure, its face obscured by the dark meshing that covered the helmet.

It was entirely impersonal.

A faceless enemy in a sea of a faceless crowd.

But you knew better. His posture was all too familiar to you. The slight tilt of his head, the pitch of his shoulders, the strangely comforting steady hand in which he held his weapon. This was your lover, Charles Grey. And your opponent.

It was definitely surreal. He rarely ever wore his mask in training. The absence of his characteristic gloating smile and talkative nature felt almost lacking. It was rare that he would be so quiet... so solemn. But he was just as aware of your current situation as you were. And how much it meant to you.

Without a word, he raised his weapon and the battle commenced.

It was an intense battle

With every blow he performed, your parried and dodged

With a feline grace, you danced up-top light heels, twirling and spinning in an almost melodic fashion

Metal clashed against metal, each crack ringing through your ears

You had trained enough with him to know that he had a tendency to leave his left side unguarded and exposed

But he also trained with you to know that you can forget to guard your knees

And as the minutes tick by, marking one of the longest conflicts you had ever had with him, exhaustion sets into your bones

And you falter

The blow is lightning fast, you hardly have a chance to comprehend his movements

But his hips are besides yours, his knee hooked behind your leg.

He pushed you backwards with his forearm, causing you to fall backwards, only to trip on his knee and slam against the ground

Something cool and metallic is pressed to the back your neck

You don't need to look to know it is the rapier and that you have lost

The sound of you two's laboured breaths echoes through the empty chambers

Several seconds tick by as the two of you gather your thoughts

...You... lost

You finally turn yourself around, noticing that Charles had removed his fencing helmet

Damp silver hair sticks to his forehead, matted and plastered across his face

For a moment, a look of sorrow flickered across his handsome features, only to be replaced by that typical cheeky grin

"You lost, luv. Better luck next time, eh?"

You never really had much of a plan

But seeing that smug expression kicked your instincts into overdrive

With one fluid scissor sweep, you dislodged his balancing, a well-placed kick aiming where the sun don't shine toppled him over entirely

And then he was on the floor next to you, his face contorted in an express of pain

You were quick to discard his weapon and straddle him, keeping his wrists pinned above his head to the floor

"Lesson one: never trust your opponent"

You parroted this line to him, one he had told you many of times

He only managed a pained grunt in response

Chuckling, you apologized with a chaste kiss which he all too eagerly accepted

He was probably just being theatrical to get more kisses

You did not have much time to ponder the situation before a polite round of applause erupted from a nearby alcove

You nearly jumped out of your skin

You did not notice the shawled figure, cloaked in all black, like a walking shadow

The figure took a few steps forward, emerging to the light

And that is when you realized who it was

Queen Victoria herself

By her side, astute as always was the man you practically considered a brother

Charles Phipps

By now, you were extremely aware of the suggestive position you were in

Straddling Charles Grey, your hips against his, his wrists clasped tightly in your hands and pinned above his head

And oh, gods that insufferable smirk with which he was regarding

"As you can see, your majesty, my darling is highly... proficient." Grey practically hummed

You quickly scrambled to your feet, unsure how to handle yourself in the presence of a queen

Turns out, Grey had invited her to witness your duel in hopes of securing you a position under her employ. Either as an emissary or housekeeper.

According to Phipps, She was quite impressed by your performance, even though you lost

The only other person she had seen to be able to keep pace with Grey was Phipps... and a certain blonde who shall not be named

And that is the story of how you became the head maid for the Queen herself and an emissary on par with Grey himself, running missions as a husband-wife warrior squad, haha

You two probably met in an odd way

I’d say for a fact that you were attracted to Sphere music hall

It’s like that place was made for you

Semi-modern concert style music hall which people hailing from all backgrounds and classes intermingled together in harmony

Divinations and readings were done for free and in return, each patron was given a bracelet depicting their star sign.

As a matter of fact, a lot had to do with the star signs.

Meditations were conducted in between hours and food served

It was a really great place to go, somewhere you fit it because you had always been an outcast

Forced to keep your craft a secret in fear of retribution from the church, you usually made coin as a street performer and singer

It was not a lot, but it was certainly enough to keep you off the streets

Unfortunately that also meant you were constricted to the same place

Your family had consistently tried to marry you off to some rich white dude

Well, rich(er)

But you did not want to be wife and then a stay at home mother

That was somehow worse than your current situation

Also your opinionated and confident demeanour often scared off potential suitors

It was a serious problem because apparently women were supposed to be soft spoken and weak.

But you on other other hand, never showed weakness

It was far too “masuline” apparently

So you decided to strike out on your own and try to make it as a singer

Easier said than done

In the music hall, you truly felt free to express yourself

Its charismatic leader put major emphasis on the stars and night sky, he was extremely introspective and the two of you instantly hit it off (I considered matching you with Blavat instead of Grey but I kinda feel like you two would work better as friends)

You were completely enthralled with his demeanour and exuberance

And you consistently attended the hall as it was the only place you felt you truly belonged, no one casting judgmental stares, no whispers behind your back, and most of all, you felt a sense of camaraderie that you have never felt before

And as a result, you fell victim to the cult

Initially, the Queen garnered concerns over the existence of this Music Hall and the traction it was gaining. As a result, she sent out her very own Charles and Phipps to scope out the place before sending word to Ciel Phantomhive

Infiltrating undercover as guests, the Queen’s handy butlers began an inspection of the area

There they ran into you

Literally

You were in the middle of entertaining a small portion of attendees with a song at the behest of Blavat himself (he was actually looking to hire you as a backup singer for the Starlight Four but you were not aware of this)

You were reaching the crescendo of your song when a drunken man slammed into you

You uttered an apology but he seemed rather intent on making himself a nuisance

“Watc’ yaaaa, yaaa stoopid *hic* bitccccc”

You took a few steps back in response as he staggered forward, raising a palm as if to strike you

Before you could react, a flash of white covered your vision

A man stood before you, sword drawn and dawned in a blindingly white coat

Silver tresses rolled down his back, as he glared up at your attacker from behind attractively long lashes

How he managed to sneak a rapier into the party was completely beyond you, yet here he was

“Now, didn’t your mama teach you manners?” He cooed, a slightly maniacal smile across his lips

“Yoooou wanna go?” The man sneered, “I can tak *hic* you pwetty boooy”

Of course, this scene began to attract attention

The murmurings and pleasant violin music had all but stopped as thousands of eyes turned to face you

Blavat had to step in, nervously defusing the situation

He had the drunkard escorted out and moved to confiscate the weapon from the white-clad man only to get the think pointed at his throat

“A man’s worth is in his sword. It would be cruel to take that away from him.”

You were entirely unsure if he was being literal or making a dirty innuendo with that statement

Regardless of his intentions, he was promptly thrown out as well

Much to the chagrin of a separate, similarly dressed man who seemed down right exasperated with his partner’s trigger happy (blade happy?) tendencies.

You decided to follow this peculiar stranger out and thank him for what he did

You found him trying to crawl through a window, seeking re-entry into the part.

“Uh, excuse me...” You called to him as he fiddled with the lock on the window. You had no idea how he managed to climb up that high in such a short amount of time, but he had perched himself rather precariously on the window sill.

“Not right now, luv.” He called back, “I am busy.”

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there. I could have been hurt.”

He paused, not once looking back at you. “Right. Who are you?”

You were rather taken aback

He literally just saved you, how could he not remember you?

“Look, if you aren’t going to pay me the mind to even look at me, I won’t take the effort to thank you.” You huffed and turned to walk away

“I wouldn’t go back there if I were you.”

His voice caused you to halt in your tracks. You spun around to stare at him incredulously. “Excuse you?”

God, those silver eyes were breathtaking as he gazed at you, practically oozing with a feline grace

“Those people aren’t good people.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone

“Oh? And what do you know about them?” You retorted defensively

“More than you, obviously.” He finally managed to pry the window open. “Her majesty has good instincts. She knows this place is dangerous, else-wise she wouldn’t have sent me.”

And with that weirdly convoluted and vague sentence, he slipped back inside and disappeared

You were left to ponder the meaning of his words

Her majesty?

This bloak knew the bloody Queen?!?!

What else did he know?

What could possibly be so bad about the hall?

You decided to call it quits early that night to process. You never thought you would ever see him again, or so you thought

You had been doing your research, sticking your nose in places you probably should not have

Blavat, someone you once considered a close and trusted friend almost seemed menacing to you

And he definitely picked up on your closed off body language

But you knew that something fishy was going on during those “private” events. Only specific people were ever invited (AKA not you)

It all just seemed really sus

And you were determined to find out

So you snuck in

Having spent many hours in the hall, you were aware of certain passages and entrances that others were not

And you were able to sneak in without much issue

But you weren’t able to see much

A heavy smoke filled the air, smelling pleasantly of posies and roses

Your eyes began to droop and heaviness set into your lids

And you fell asleep

You woke up, with the concerned and slightly perturbed face of Blavat staring down at you

Well, shit... busted

“We had a nice thing going, y/n. And you just had to ruin it.” Blavat stated callously. “You know those events are private.”

And with that, you were barred from entering the music hall... permanently

This was definitely rather devastating as it was the only place you could truly be yourself without fear of rejection of prosecution

But now you were more sure than ever that something was amiss in that hall

Why else would they be so strict?

You were probably only left alive because they knew that whatever gas they used to put out those in attendance also affected you before you could see anything incriminating

And so you began trying to locate that mysterious man in white

He seemed to have more answers than you did

It did not take long to figure out his name and occupation. Charles Grey. Butler to the Queen herself

He must have been quite the impressive butler to be going out on scouting missions for the Queen and not just serving tea

Regardless, gaining an audience with him was nearly impossible

So you would just have to attract his attention...

Somehow

Given his affinity towards sword fights, you were sure that a loud brawl outside the palace itself would almost certain garner his attention

The real question was, where in the world would you get people foolish enough to pull such a stunt and risk getting arrested

Sooo, maybe not that

You might have to work backwards

Ask around and find those that may be acquaintances with him

Which was a lot harder than it looked

It took days of searching, but you were eventually sent to speak with a mortician who according to your contact “knows everyone who is no one”... whatever that meant

It did not take too long to find out

This mortician was... eccentric to put it in the most polite of terms

But he was definitely connected with Britain's underbelly

Which you assumed is where the “everyone who is no one” comes from

You came in hoping to pay him off, to which he blatantly refused, instead asking for you to make him laugh

Which was an odd request but one which you were willing to comply if it meant breaking the case

You spent hours trying different tactics to no avail

Until you sang a very dirty and very perverted song (Most likely “God’s Loophoel”. Yeah, actually don’t look that up, it is exactly as it sounds)

He seemed to enjoy that far too much as his cackles were absolutely thunderous

In tears, he kindly revealed to you that he was familiar with this Charles Grey and could pull a few favours to get you in contact

But he never said when, nor did he ever say where

But he did ensure word of your snooping reached the ears of Charles Grey who surprised you in your own home whilst you were halfway dressed

He initially was very cross with you poking around, scolding you and chastising you saying that it was “no business for a lady”

But you shut him down pretty quick

And afterwards, the two of you hit it off and decided to make evening tea on Sundays a staple thing

Grey would inform you about the progress of the Sphere Music hall and in return, you would keep well away from it

It worked out for the two of you

But word of your sniffing around had also reached the ears of one certain earl and his own demonic butler

I would be careful about what questions you ask and where you poke your nose

We wouldn’t want it to get bitten off, now would we?

this was a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoyed reading it, dear. Let me know what you thought

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wewererogue · 4 years

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A lot of the knives you post are super cool looking but how usable are they? Would a rogue have a filigreed dagger in real life? What blade does your Iconic character use? Also I would love to see some ranged weapons as not all rogues like to be close to their target

Great questions, anon! This deserves a loooong answer.

Are the fancy daggers usable? Generally yes. Most of them are status symbols of some sort, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get the job done. Perhaps a handful of them are ceremonial or ornamental. Rule of thumb: if the blade is sharp and serviceable, and the hilt isn’t a weird novelty shape which can’t be reasonably gripped, they are very much usable, as tools and/or weapons.

Miniature Ottoman gem-set dagger (11.7 cm. long), 19th c., an object of art.

Spanish parrying dagger, c. 1675, real fancy, 100% usable.

Would a rogue carry such a fancy dagger in real life? It depends on what counts as a rogue in real life. If you’re picturing low-class petty thieves scraping a living in the urban underworld, they probably wouldn’t walk around with gem-encrusted daggers. Poor people in general wouldn’t have access to expensive items like that, and if they somehow did (say, illegally), they would rather sell them than carry them and be compromised.

The slums - Assassin’s Creed Syndicate concept by Hugo Pazzuoli

Most of them wouldn’t have a dagger at all. (The violence of the criminal underworld has been systematically exaggerated in the legal records and the press/literature.) They would carry a small knife as a tool, much like everyone carried a knife, and its quality would depend on their income. They might use it to cut a purse, though most pickpockets relied solely on their deft fingers and misdirection. And those who weren’t above violence would generally carry a knife or a sword (laws/social norms permitting) or a big stick.

So couldn’t a blade be a status symbol for low-status people? Oh, it most definitely could. But what type of blade depended on the situation. Any Spaniard would prize his or her fancy navaja - except that “fancy” in this instance doesn’t mean covered in gems and gold, just well-made and pretty, and maybe with an inscription that drips with bravado. (“Valour!” “I am from Seville!” “Don’t open me without a reason and don’t close me without honour.”)

Navaja, Albacete, Spain, 1883

Most Ottomans couldn’t afford a silver yatagan (i.e. with an intricately engraved silver scabbard and hilt), but a well-made sturdy knife with a bone handle and a few decorative touches was widely accessible. In many cultures, gifting a good knife to a teenager (usually, but not always, a boy) is a rite-of-passage custom that goes way back, and isn’t limited to rich kids.

Turkish yatagan, silver hilt and scabbard, 18th c.

Bosnian bichaq, bone hilt, Ottoman period

In Venice and Florence, bravos were considered lowlife thugs, but that didn’t stop them from carrying intricate daggers and stilettos. Indeed, stilettos got a bad rap as “dishonourable” weapons because bravos were using them to stab people. (In contrast, nobles and soldiers stabbed people with rapiers, swords, and impunity.)

Stiletto, Italy, 17th c.

The baselard became so popular in England at some point that it was considered a standard accessory for urban dwellers, regardless of class. So in contexts like this, a low-class rogue could easily carry a special, beautiful knife or dagger - though not obscenely expensive.

Baselard

That said, rogues aren’t exclusively low-class or urban. Hotheaded gentlemen from England were one bankruptcy away from becoming highwaymen, and then they’d carry whatever swords and daggers (and guns) were available to their class. Rowdy European noblemen who kept stabbing each other in duels might be considered swashbucklers. Courtiers and courtesans could easily be portrayed as Charisma-based rogues, and some of them weren’t above backstabbing/poisoning the competition. Rural brigands and bandits came from all walks of life, from rich and powerful families/clans to dirt-poor farmers and shepherds, and they prized their fancy knives either way.

The yatagan of the notorious Greek bandit Fotis Yagoulas

So in conclusion, the fancy knives and daggers I post aren’t exactly representative of Rogue weapons… but they’re not wildly irrelevant either. The most expensive ones are courtly daggers or presentation daggers, and it’d take some creativity to place them in the hands of a Rogue. And the majority of Rogues remains sadly under-represented, for practical reasons: low-class items don’t often find their way in museums and collections, and unlike gold and silver, a simple wooden handle will decompose over time. That said, lots of roguish folks have carried blades that are similar, at least in some regard, to these fancy knives. We just have to figure out the right context.

Plus, I’m super interested in the ethnographic aspect of this - if that’s the correct term. (Is it? Help, native speakers!) I mean, I like imagining Rogues, and I’d like to help others imagine Rogues, from all kinds of different places and cultures. Rogues and Fighters are universal classes out of the box. Nothing compels us to stick to imagery and inspiration from a small corner of the earth for anything, but for Rogues in particular it would be a crying shame. The Chinese have a whole epic for their bandits. The Mediterranean, all three continents around it, has been swarming with thieves for thousands of years, and yes, I’m proud of that. Brazil had cangaceiros, Ireland had rapparees, the Balkans had hajduks, Japan really had ninjas (though not in what’s usually recognisable as ninja attire). Arabic literature was the first to treat rogues as (anti-)heroes centuries before the idea appeared in Spain and then flourished in England. And pretty much everyone under the sun has a folk hero / Robin Hood figure who stole from the rich and gave to the poor.

Basically, the main point of posting knives and daggers from all over the globe is that roguish inspiration can indeed come from all over the globe, and I think that’s awesome.

On my iconic: Naddiyah’s city was heavily inspired by Ottoman era Algiers, and her dagger of choice comes from a little bit to the west: the Moroccan koummya.

As for what I post here, oh, this is the archive. I’m trying to collect posts from my old blog, which was sadly deleted. If it occasionally floods your dashboard with a specific topic, it’s because I’m trying to recreate a whole tag or something. Sorry! The new Rogue blog is @theoutcastrogue. You’re right though, I have neglected ranged weapons. What do you prefer? Bows? Crossbows? I’m taking orders*. :D

super fancy steel crossbow, France, c. 1720

*without specifying delivery time because gah, this is a BUSY time

#long post #correspondence #tools of the trade #theory #trs

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sirbadgerduke · 4 years

Text

Retrospective Thought: Top Ten Games of The Year 2019

Another year down and just on the horizon beckons another year into the light, and this year was a real wild ride for games. From triumphant returns ala Devil May Cry V to huge disasters ala Anthem. What is a defacto truth though; there’s plenty of great games that came out this year, and can only make us wonder what is brewing for the new start of a new decade. As we close out the 2010s and enter the 2020s, I think we should look back on the great games that came out in 2019. Obviously this is MY list of games that I LOVED playing this year, I haven’t played every game to ever come out this year so there’s bound to be a favourite or two of yours not on this list. I respect you either disagreeing or agreeing with me. So here goes, the Ten Games of the Year. Honourable Mentions: The Surge 2, Mortal Kombat 11, Monster Hunter World: Iceborne, Blasphemous, Oninaki, My Friend Pedro, Marvel Ultimate Alliance 3:The Black Order, Dusk Diver, Daemon X Machina, Death Stranding, MediEvil Remake, Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.

10) Plague Tale: Innocence(PS4/XBO/PC) This title is very much a sleeper hit in my opinion, a game published by Focus Home Interactive, who have been killing it in the “AA Experience” space of games with the likes of Styx, Greedfall, etc and Plague Tale, is a game worth checking out. You play as Amicia De Rune, who must protect her younger brother, Hugo, from Inquisition guards, villagers and a deadly swarm of plague carrying rats during 14th century France. The story slowly builds drama, tension and atmosphere with a fantastic setting that is surprisingly overlooked for more contemporary settings and locales, the idea of making Rats(for most of the game mind you) as this unstoppable almost “supernatural” force is both genius and frightening. Above all else the characters are well written, many parts believable and many parts relatable, you’ll be feeling their trials and tribulations as you go through the games 17 lengthy chapters. The gameplay is surprisingly both solid and janky at times; taking on a stealth system that mostly works well, you gradually gain a number of tools to deal with both human and vermin obstacles all the while with a small number of bosses that feel more like a mix of combat and puzzle solving. The game is worth picking up if you’re craving a smaller, less busywork heavy kinda game.

9) Astral Chain(Nintendo Switch) Platinum Games is one of my favourite Action Game developers currently in the industry; they make great combat systems with deep mechanics all the while adding more depth than you initially thought could possibly be able. While it’s not on the same level as NieR: Automata, Astral Chain continues the trend of Platinum Games nailing their signature style of gameplay; over the top whacky combat with anime as hell storytelling. This time you play a cop of a special police division that focuses on investigating the Astral Realm with your own Jojo-like Stand called a Legion. You’ll go on missions to battle these weird creatures, investigate the areas, even helping people and picking up litter(yeah, really) all the while slowly opening up your repertoire of Legions at your disposal. This is standard “Goofball anime nonsense mixed with badass tier combat and gameplay” that you either love or hate from Plat. While it’s not the deepest combat system out of their library, it is a rather interesting and fun premise with the combat focus being on the switching between Legions and their placement on the battlefield, the game offers its own level of depth, even if its a pond compared to the likes of Bayonetta 2 and NieR: Automata. If you want an anime as fuck, fun romp, Astral Chain is for you.

8) Code Vein(PS4/XBO/PC) The Soulsborne-like clone fad is a weird beast to look back on; while some heavy hitters have come out of it(NioH, Surge to some extent, hell Hollow Knight,Jedi Fallen Order) there’s been some real stinkers( Lords of The Fallen, again, Surge to some extent), it seems to have caught the industry hard as you could easily find at least one clone you’ll like and one you despise. Code Vein is a very weird Souls-like game in that it’s focus isn’t really a particular gameplay mechanic they introduce into it, or even how it offers “loot” but more on its focus on a narrative and characters. You play as a nameless revenant that wakes up with amnesia and a pretty white haired but barely clothed girl. It’s your duty to collect blood beads to keep your hunger sated. As you explore and push on the story opens up, introducing new characters and locales with a enough variety to keep you interested. Gameplay wise? Combat is solid, it’s admittedly very soulsy, so love it or hate it, that’s how it does things, plus you have the option of having a CP controlled companion with you on your journey to help alleviate some of the difficulty. Where the game shines in gameplay is it’s endless combinations and build opportunities, allowing you to really cater to a unique playstyle best suited for you or a more typically fantasy build if you so choose. Bosses, however are a huge mixed bag of good, bad and just outright frustrating. If you really want an Anime Souls-like, you would do yourself a huge disservice to miss out on this one.

7) Outer Worlds(PS4/XBO/PC) Obsidian Entertainment does a really good job on making some great RPG titles. From KOTOR2 to Fallout: New Vegas and even their own IPs like Pillars of Eternity 1 and 2, Outer Worlds is no exception among this collection. While the game is set in an alternative future, you are awakened by a mad scientist named Phineas Welles from cryosleep only to find that most of the passengers are still in hibernation aboard a colony ship. The game features several factions and a branching story that reacts to the player's choices. The writing is pretty damn great, witty and intriguing, something severely lacking in later day Fallout titles. Outer Worlds is pretty much a Fallout Game without the fallout licence only it builds from New Vegas’ strengths rather than let it get muddled down with Bethesda’s weaknesses. It even comes with it’s own take on the VATS system. The gameplay is solid, it’s just New Vegas but better, whilst in the grand scheme of things? It’s not the thing that will win you over in the long run. If you’re a Fallout Fan sick of the current trend Bethesda is in or whether you’re looking for a great Space Adventure, Outer Worlds is not the best choice, it’s Spacer’s Choice!

6) Greedfall(PS4/XBO/PC) Oh Spiders, Spiders, Spiders. This dev company has steadily grown strong from game to game. From it’s rocky beginnings with Of Orcs and Men and Bound by Flame to the almost good Technomancer, Spiders have, in my honest opinion, have found their major hit and boy has it been a hit for Focus Home Interactive. You begin as De Sardet, a human who’s sent with his cousin to govern newly discovered island, neutral in the varying factions and war that is happening all the while you seek to find out more about the this mysterious illness that plagues the De Sardet family, so that you can cure Greedfall, honestly, is such a weird game to come out in 2019 but one I do not regret having played at all. It’s reminiscent of old Bioware titles like Mass Effect 1 and Dragon Age: Origins; the gameplay is solid and fun allowing you a nice enough variety to go deep as you want whilst having a rather engaging story and narrative that is populated with companions that all have very different opinions and often clash with one another’s. It feels like a game that should’ve been released back in 2010 from Bioware, in a good way obviously. While it’s not graphically impressive, the art style is really nice and the world is both intriguing and bleak. Worthy a look into if you’re seeking that old bioware-esque flair that’s seriously missing from Latter Day Bioware.

5) Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice(PS4/XBO/PC) One of my all time favourite games is a From Software developed title by the name of Bloodborne, which is also my all time favourite PS-Exclusive. My hype for Sekiro was almost reaching the moon since the teaser was shown back in 2018, a chance to travel to Japan with that Souls-like style if you will. Only it’s the least Souls games in the Souls style of games that is developed by the originators of the brand. The focus here, is less on builds, blocking and dodging and more about your posture, parrying and loadouts and the gameplay absolutely, masterfully services that to a T.The Bosses are some of the best in the series, almost better than Bloodborne’s roster, but with the addition of mini bosses that roster is pretty huge(for better or for worse). You take the role of Sekiro, a ninja who’s service is needed by Kuro, a bearer of the Dragon’s Heritage; power/curse that grants anyone they deem worthy with immortality, however, when they die and resurrect it runs the risk of infecting people with Dragon Rot. The more narrative focus is a nice change of pace in my opinion and with the added blend of japanese history with mythology giving it a rather rich and surprisingly lived in world. Sekiro is definitely worth getting if you fancy yourself more dueling style gameplay.

4) Judgment(PS4) Ryu Ga Gotoku Studios have become another of my favourite game devs in recent years. Their work on the Yakuza Franchise is a blessing for a revamping of a classic Adventure/Savage Beat’em’up Hybrid, though they’ve since become the most popular and one of very few to exist. Judgment is a sorta separate entity/spin-off to the mainline franchise but still somehow connected(Unlike the great Fist of The North Star: Lost Paradise title.) to the Yakuza story in a much smaller degree. You play as Yagami, a private detective who was once a renowned lawyer until he was disgraced by one his star client who went on to murder another victim despite being found innocent. That’s as much as I can say about the story since the game is essentially a Crime Drama/Mystery with a little bit of Yakuza DNA. The cast of characters are all great, the villains make you want to absolutely bring them down a peg and the good guys really makes you root for them to win and push through the struggles. As is with Yakuza, the meat and potatoes of the series, the gameplay, is on point. Continuing the savage Brawler system but extending it into a more personalised style for Yagami, with his own heat moves and skills to boot, it’s fantastic and absolutely a treat to pull off combats, especially switching between all three of the styles. The Boss battles are a sweet as all hell, especially Cane Guy, who’s probably the most anime as fuck character you face of against. Buy it if you love Yakuza and crave for more, or if you’re new to the style of games.

3) Resident Evil 2: Remake(PS4/XBO/PC) Survival Horror is a genre that seems to struggle, with the occasional surprise hit that everyone gets behind. With that in mind, Resident Evil 2 Remake is a fantastic survival horror game that brings back the franchise to its roots and redoing them with a great, brand new shine and paint. Resident Evil 2 Remake puts you in the shoes of Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy during the Racoon City Incident, while Claire searches for her brother and Leon goes to his first day on the job at RCPD, despite being told not, they must survive and avoid the monstrosities that roam the city, zombies, Lickers and the big bad Tyrant himself Mr X. A very nice remix of an old formula that gives it some new life, RE2R has impeccable atmosphere, tension and horror, half being brought to you via exploring and solving puzzles and the other half from Mr X himself who stalks you down with a purpose; to take out any survivors in Racoon City. Gameplay is super solid, and surprisingly does not make the game a pushover, solid shooting mechanics with some great puzzle mechanics and ofcourse exploration whilst not being an open world make this a title worth having in your collection. Whether you’re a survival horror fan, RE fan, Old Skool style RE fan, you’ll do yourself a massive disservice not picking this gem up.

2) Devil May Cry V(PS4/XBO/PC) Honestly, you can just call 2019 the Year of Capcom’s return to form, by nailing it with RE2, MHW in 2018 and obviously Iceborne later in year, it was only time that DMCV would come out between those mammoths titles. After the disastrous ReBoot, everyone including me too were sure that DMC was put back in the ice for good. That’s of course before DMCV’s triumphant teaser at E3. Devil May Cry V continues the story of Sparda’s progeny, Dante as he helps out returning upstart Nero and intriguing newcomer V as they take on the new Demon King; Urizen. This game is absolutely fantastic and I can’t fanboy over it enough. The story, while simple and easy to follow, has great character development and pacing, bring characters into their arcs in ups and downs that steadily build up to a final confrontation that just might be my new favourite boss battle of all time. The gameplay! The gameplay, is, to put it bluntly; absolutely sublime. From Dante’s weapon variety and DT craziness to Nero’s new gadgets in the form of his robotic arms to the weird Summoner-style gameplay of V, the game is its most diverse gameplay wise and not once feeling janky and sluggish at all. The Boss Battles are all fun and really bring something to the gameplay to both push and test you to your limit. Devil May Cry may just be one of my all time fave franchises and to see it return so triumphantly? Actually brings a tear to my eye. A must, must, MUST buy if I’ve ever played one.

1) Control(PS4/XBO/PC EGS Exclusive) Aaaah, Remedy, bringing such classics like Max Payne and Alan Wake into this world, Microsoft did you dirty with Quantum Break. So where did it leave them to go? To spiral into the weird worlds of Stephen King, Cosmic horror and the SCP Foundation for inspiration, to which Control is born, a phenomenal Third Person Shooter Metroidvania-esque game with a solid narrative and a beautiful visual and art design. You are Jesse Faden, a person of interest that has been searching for the Federal Bureau of Control since an incident with them when she was young had taken her brother. I really don’t want to say more than that, it’s better for you to experience the story for yourself. Narratively speaking? It has some great SCP-esque world building and lore with a solid to really good story that’s pacing 80% of the time really well. Gameplay and visuals with music are essentially where this game shines for me. Solid as hell shooting mechanics with some really badass powers helps to bring this game alive, but you don’t have all those powers from the get go, they are steadily paced throughout to make sure you’re not vastly overpowered or underpowered, it’s rather nice actually. Visuals and music are sublime, both together make for some truly memorable moments and areas. As stated, this is a Metroidvania and so has a lot of isms associated with that style; locked off area you’ll obviously return to with new powers to explore further, a semi-open world map, etc. I can’t sing this game’s praises enough, I think this might’ve just beaten out Alan Wake for my favourite Remedy game. Absolutely get this game NOW. So there’s my top ten list to round out 2019, a truly great year of great games. I’m honestly really excited to see what comes out in 2020, as it looks to be quite literally STACKED with potentially great(and shite) games. Hope you all had a spiffn’ new years, and here’s to 2020, let’s see what’s in store for us now!

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lordmartiya · 5 years

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lord Martiya’s Lilanette Week 2018/2019 Day 1

Hey, everybody, lord Martiya here with the newest edition of the Lilanette Week. This time I’ll be a bit more ambitious, as six of the stories will form a coherent plot just for you guys. Hope you’ll like it.

Anyway, I’ll start with one certain scene from “Chameleon”, and go from what my personal experience tells me about Marinette and Lila’s characters.

Day 1: Canon Machine Broke

Marinette had to admit she wasn’t exactly rational whenever Lila was involved. In fact, even if she wouldn’t admit out loud to anyone but Tikki, there was something in the Italian girl that scared her, and it had been there even before Volpina. Hence why she had been trying to expose her so stubbornly, why she had confronted her in the bathrooms… And why she had just let herself being physically intimidated by the girl who now had her backed to the wall with her hands at the side.

“You seem less dumb than the others, so I will give you one last chance: you are either with me, or against me.” Lila threatened, almost casually.

“What’s wrong with you?” Marinette let out.

And that got an unexpected reaction from the girl, who gave her a terrifyingly familiar glare and slipped for a moment in some dialect: “Nun facevo la bella vita. O cerchi ‘a filastrocca?”

“Uh?” Marinette said as she translated the phrase.

“Well, I suppose I could give it. Not that you’d understand, what with having your little place in the world to feel safe, the parents you can trust, bullies that are easily deammolla! Ma che cazzo?!”

Much to both girls’ (and Tikki’s) surprise, Marinette had hugged Lila, and had no intention to let go for a while. For she had now realized what scared her so much: Lila had lost all, or almost, all trust in other people, exactly what had almost happened to her because of Chloe’s bullying. And if it killed her, she’d make sure she could trust at least one person.

____________________________________________

Alya following an Akuma villain around was something rather common. That she had almost the entire class with her, however, was not, nor was the fact they had collectively caused it.

It had started with Chloe’s little comment as they returned to class after the lunch break. “I would have never expected to see Marinette sitting alone again”, she had said. Reminding everyone, including their teacher, that Marinette had a very different reason than jealousy for reacting as she had to what they had done to help with Lila’s tinnitus: they had volunteered the desk of a former bullying victim. Then, as they discussed how to resettle the seats, they had noticed Marinette and Lila were missing, and started fearing the worst: one of the two, most likely Marinette, had been Akumatized, and was now attacking the other.

As Alya metaphorically kicked herself for what she had done to the one who was supposed to be her best friend she had also remembered that Marinette had a very good reason for not trusting Lila in general: the day she had first come there she had been late, arriving in the nick of time, and had spent the entire lunch break working on homework that was due for that afternoon, so she had missed Rose vocally identifying Lila as prince Ali’s girlfriend before anyone else but Chloe could even hear her voice, much to the Italian girl’s bemusement (“For hopefully the last time, we’re friends” she had said in a dangerously low voice after slapping her face), not noticed the newcomer at all during the lessons, and couldn’t see her as she tried to downplay her relationships with famous people during the lunch break, and by the time she finally discovered Lila she only had a good-looking girl who had made a number of unlikely claims making moves on Adrien-the only way she could have got a worst first impression would have been seeing Ladybug’s reaction at Lila endangering herself at revealing their closeness (what had reportedly caused Volpina) but not hearing what the heroine had said, something that could have well happened considering Marinette lived by the very park it had happened. Seriously, it was like some kind of demigod had decreed Marinette and Lila were to be mortal enemies.

The fear of one of the two having been Akumatized was quelled when Mme Bustier’s phone, that she had produced to give the Akuma alert, was promptly infected by an Akuma (purple, meaning that Papillon hadn’t managed to reproduce the trick for multiple Akuma at a time yet)… And replaced by the one coming from the realization Marinette and Lila were missing together. Marinette, who was the fittest girl and either the second or third strongest female student of the school, with the only one who clearly surpassed her being an older Savate practitioner, rather short-tempered, and alone with the one girl that irked her as much as Chloe. And Lila, Marinette’s rival for the spot of second strongest girl who, for all her attempts to hide it, was a good amateur boxer, with a reputation in the relatively small female amateur boxing community because, when in London, she had won by knock-out against an older and larger girl. And of course Marinette was once again the one who didn’t know: they knew because Nora, having just realized her sister’s world-traveling classmate was that Lila Rossi, had barged in the class right after one of her calls to try and recruit her for her gym and revealed it, but Marinette had already left to calm down. And so she didn’t know why they hadn’t called Lila out when she had claimed her tinnitus was from saving Jagged Stone’s kitten (as if he’d be able to keep one alongside the crocodile!) rather than a training accident like the sprained wrist, or her reflexes had made her catch the thrown napkin and she had said it was to protect Max’ eyes from being gouged. God, the moment she thought back to those Lila was sure to convince herself everyone but Marinette was stupid.

So here they were, following Madame Poppins and her teen-tracking cellphone to find the missing girls, hoping they hadn’t been trying to kill each other.

“The second row?! Really?!”

“Really. I think Mr Agreste did that on purpose to get revenge for what she had put him through in the past and hadn’t thought about the possible consequences…”

Everyone stopped at the voices of Lila and Marinette coming from the bathroom… And not shouting at each other. Then Kim, reckless as usual, opened the door, and saw that, somehow, Marinette and Lila had become friends while everyone was worried they were trying to kill each other.

“Girls… Lunch break is over, and Mme Bustier’s phone got Akumatized.” Alya said.

Not even five seconds later, Marinette was running away with the Akumatized phone, with Madame Poppins giving chase after being apparently called out of her shock by Papillon. And Alya, having enough of that madness, decided to do as her older sister would have done and went to the Italian girl:

“Look, Lila, we already know of the boxing thing, my sister’s the Nora Césaire and told everyone when she tried to get you on the phone and have you enroll at her same gym, and nobody in Paris would say anything when Ladybug is doing her thing, so you can stop with those attempts at covering up.”

“Oh. And I who was starting doubting of your intelligence…” Lila admitted. “Say, Marinette’s a strong girl, isn’t she? In her heart, I mean.”

“The strongest.”

For a moment, Lila said nothing. Then, looking at Adrien that for some reason was running after Madame Poppins, she added: “S’er bionno nun move’r culo, Marinette me la fotto io.”

Alya didn’t understand Italian, let alone what was likely a dialect, but what she had just heard, and Lila “did I just make that pun?” snicker after she spoke, made her wonder if her fellow exchange student and Marinette becoming friends had been a good thing after all.

Note

When it comes to the class I work on a simple assumption: they aren’t stupid. That of course begs the question, how did they believe her? And my answer is easy: she had been at Le Grand Paris to speak with prince Ali for whatever reason (are they friend-friend, or just friend as two teens in the diplomatic world from nations in good relationship are? That is for you to decide), and Rose, sweet romantic soul she is, took the utterly wrong conclusion and loudly announced it to the whole class, resulting in her being established as “Prince Ali’s friend/star-crossed lover”, and pretty much everything else sparked from there, convincing the girl from the very cunning-dependant diplomatic world she was surrounded by idiots and not normal teenagers. As for the boxing thing, her general nimbleness and the way she caught the napkin hint at that or another martial art/combat sport with a heavy emphasis on footwork and parrying, and I’m of the idea she had said the very transparent lies about Jagged Stone’s kitten and the eye-gouging napkin planning to get caught and being “forced” to admit it… Except everyone but Marinette knew already, guessed she was trying to hide the boyish interest and was gentle enough to get along, further convincing Lila everyone but Marinette and Adrien were dumb.

What Does Lila Say

As you may know from my other stories, I imagine Lila as being from Rome, and her first language being not standard Italian but Romanesco, the local “colorful” dialect, for the simple fact I find amusing to have a classy girl suddenly speak in a way that outside Rome would be extremely crass. Marinette, given her grandmother, can understand it (it helps that in the end Romanesco isn’t too different from standard Italian), but not all of you readers can, so, let me translate: the first phrase translates literally as “I didn’t live the good life. Or do you want then list?”; the second is a demand that Marinette lets her go, with the general purpose Italian curse “cazzo” used as emphasis; the third, finally, translates as “If that blond doesn’t get his ass moving, I’ll steal Marinette”, with the verb used here for “steal” actually meaning “have sex” (Lila didn’t actually mean that double meaning).

#@lilanette-week #Lilanette

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esandcasg · 3 years

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Chapter 8: Thorne in the Mountainside

Ifan flew through the air like an Olympic ski jumper in his prime, the steely look of focus etched on his face as he zoned in on the target in front of him. Except more powerful. More graceful.

The big clumps of snow that spiraled around the mountain face in the blizzard seemed to bow down to his physical superiority, parting as they flowed over the rippling muscles of his waxed chest and back, creating vortices that flew off into the air as they reached the shelf like structure of his surgically modified butt cheeks.

As he reached the target he drew an ice-axe from his back holster, before imbedding it in the top of the drone, as described better in the previous chapter.

Ifan gracefully landed on the snow, immediately adopting his standard strong man pose as pioneered by Bruce Forsyth, the walls of the mountainside flexing slightly due to the sheer physical prowess on display. And in that moment the storm stopped. The clouds dispersed almost instantly, and the first rays of sun shone down, illuminating Ifan as if he was some Godly creation. Which he is.

He turned to us, but I knew immediately that something wasn’t right. His eyes flickered to something over our shoulders.

“Get down!” He screamed.

I glanced backwards and in a split second registered movement behind me. Grabbing Andrew, I flung myself onto the ice, just as another figure flew through the air above us, an ice-axe slashing through the space where our heads had been just a moment ago.

The figure summersaulted in the air, landing some meters in front of us, before rolling forward and jumping up into a crouched attack position, ready to strike, an ice-axe in both hands. He turned to look at us, and I felt my legs give way slightly. The world seemed to skip a little bit.

It was Ifan. Another Ifan. Except this one was even less dressed than the first one, sporting just a pair of white and blue lycra hotpants with a wolf on, something last seen on the television show Gladiators in the 90s. The cut of the hotpants and squatting position showcased his gargantuan thigh muscles that seemed to be made of granite.

I didn’t have time to consider what this new development meant, and whether Gladiators was making a comeback, before the original Ifan was in action. Seemingly troubled by this show of bravado, he ripped off his walking trousers revealing a similar pair of lycra hotpants – something usually reserved for Friday nights with Celia (before having a child) - before launching himself at the doppelganger Ifan.

“Finger!” He cried, as he soared through the air towards his target.

Once more in midair, Ifan drew two further ice-axes from various places – one from the second holster on his back, the other from down the front of his hotpants – and tried to strike simultaneously blows to his seemingly genetic duplicate. But Ifan was ready for the attack and raised his ice-axes to block. And in that moment the two Ifans were locked in combat, like two alpha-male wildebeest on the Serengeti, battling over attention from the hottest piece of wildebeest ass in sight, horns intertwined, grunting under the strain as their powerful frames clattered into each other.

Ifan and Ifan stood close to each other, interlocked by four ice axes, their faces just a few inches apart, eyes bulging with rage, like Shadow on the Duel platform on Gladiators. The biggest question that came to my mind at that moment was whether the name Shadow would even be allowed these days.

As Andrew collapsed to the floor, screaming in terror, there was a blur of ice-axes, muscles and body building bronzer, as the fight sprung into life in front of us.

Ifan struck first. Unentangling an ice axe, he swung and tried to deliver a blow to the side of Ifan’s head, who saw it coming at the last minute and managed to turn his head so that the side of the blade delivered just a glancing blow. The most ridiculous sentence ever written in Vertical Summit. Everyone knows Ifan can’t turn his head.

Both Ifans went on the offensive, trying to deliver blow after blow, like a meth addicted hooker on a Saturday night. The clanging sound of lightweight aluminium echoed around us as they tried to find the killer blow. By this point I had completely lost track of which Ifan was which. And as Andrew continued to scream from the corner, I only assumed that he wasn’t keeping track either.

Ifan dodged every swipe, he parried to the left. Ifan countered to the right, he caught him in the neck. This was rapidly becoming a legendary fight and a normal Tuesday night for Shia Lebeouf.

We on a small flat outcrop of rock, maybe twenty feet wide. On both sides there was a drop that would be fatal. Both Ifans seemed to be aware of this, never getting too close to the danger. As their ice-axes became entangled again, Ifan kicked his adversary in the chest. He skidded backwards, coming to a rest just inches from the drop. He’d lost an ice-axe. Standing up, he threw the other ice-axe into the snow. As Bruce Lee once said, a man with one ice-axe has one weapon. A man with none has many.

The other Ifan clearly saw this change in advantage, and threw his ice-axes down also, and from there the fight took on a completely different tone. Gone was the slashing and potentially fatal blows of mortal ice-axe combat, and in its place the more elegant form of karate.

Roundhouse. Back kick. Reverse punch.

As these two magnificent creatures did battle, I reached into my pack and drew out a red and white flag to act as referee.

Ifan tried a high roundhouse to the head of Ifan, but he saw it coming, dropping down into the splits and sucker-punching Ifan in the crotch, who proceeded to fall to the ground and look like he was about to throw up. I raised the red flag.

“Point to Ifan!” I announced.

Ifan slowly climbed back up off the mat, but he didn’t look good. He hobbled to the side of the arena, cock in hand.

“Can you continue?” I asked.

He considered this for a moment, before nodding.

“Ifan Thorne is going to fight!” I announced to the crowd, who went wild.

Ifan slowly staggered back to the centre of the mat and faced his adversary. They assumed their fighting stances.

“Fight!” I shouted.

Learning from the last point, Ifan avoided kicking, this time closing the distance to Ifan quickly and aiming a punch at his Solar Plexus. But once again Ifan saw the move coming, and dodged to the side. It was like they were somehow connected in mind as well as body.

“Sweep the leg!” I shouted, to no Ifan in particular.

The fight was stopped instantly by the crack of a rifle round that reverberated around the mountainside, much like Andrew’s farts in the toilet bowl just a few days before. Had it really only been two days ago that I’d spoken to Andrew in his cabin in the jungle? It felt like months already. So much had happened since then. Like Christmas. And Lockdown 3.0.

“Enough,” shouted Andrew, having seemingly regained his composure. His rifle was pointing up into the sky, the muzzle smoking in the cold mountain air. He lowered it so that it pointed in the space between the two Ifans. “Stop this madness at once. I haven’t even seen Karate Kid so I have no idea what is going on.”

Ifan and Ifan took a step away from each other and bowed, before facing Andrew and I and bowing.

“Can someone explain what the fuck is going on?” Andrew continued. “What is this, Double Impact?”

No one spoke. An awkward silence descended over us, like the start of a Microsoft Teams meeting when you don’t know the people on the other end of the call and the small talk has already faded out. I took the initiative to speak.

“Andrew,” I began, “this is much more complicated than that.”

Andrew turned his head to face me, a stunned expression on his face. His rifle moved slightly, and out of the corner of my eye I saw Ifan take a step forward.

“You know what is going on?!” He quizzed.

I thought about what I could tell him at this stage. “The only thing I really know is that only one of these is the real Ifan.”

“No shit. And the other?”

“I… I don’t know,” was all I could say.

“Okay,” he said, turning back, “let’s find out. You guys have one second to answer my questions that only Ifan could answer. Hesitate, I shoot. Wrong answer, I shoot. Clear?”

The two Ifan’s looked each other, testosterone charging the void between them.

“Okay, first question. What is Ifan’s favourite place to take a drive?”

“Crewe,” said both Ifans, simultaneously.

“Hm. Correct answer. Okay, who would be Ifan’s best man in the event that he gets married?”

“MyMateMatt.”

“Adam.”

Andrew didn’t hesitate. He aimed towards the Ifan that had answered ‘Adam’ and shot. Clearly his aiming hadn’t improved much from the previous chapters, as it clipped Ifan in the shoulder, spinning him around like a top, before he tripped and fell over the side of the ridge into the five hundred meter abyss below.

I walked to the edge and looked over, to see the last traces of the friend who would have me as a best man. But I didn’t hear or see any sign of him. No falling body. No fading cries. It was over. I would have to delete all the saved speech notes and potential jokes, like the cake being in tiers.

I turned back. Andrew was pointing the rifle at me. “Now, you had better start explaining what the hell is going on. I’ve known something wasn’t right since you came into my cabin with that bullshit time travel story, but thought I’d go along with it and see where it led. Now start talking.”

I drew in a breath and expelled it slowly. It gave me a few extra seconds to think about what I could tell Andrew.

“Craven is making a clone army. Ifan is his source subject.”

I made my way up towards The Bottleneck at approximately 8,200m, some four hundred meters below the summit of K2. I had been in a daze, seemingly skipping through the technical features with ease. I had a vague memory of scrambling up the side of House Chimney, circumnavigating some Korean climbers who were stuck in the infamous technical section, struggling with fixed ropes and drawing heavily from bottled oxygen. I nodded to their lead climber, knowing that it was likely the last time that anyone would see them alive.

As I approached the serac I stopped, unzipped my shell jacket and retrieved the map from the inside pocket. I had calculated that the entrance to the tunnel was around here somewhere. But where? I scanned the area but could only see ice and rock. Reaching into my pack, I dug out my high tech binoculars and switched to infrared mode. Perhaps I could pick up a heat signal somewhere. I once again scanned the area but yet again came up short in finding any clues. At this altitude it appeared that everything was devoid of heat.

I started to doubt myself. Had I made a mistake? Was this as much of a wild goose chase as Al Powell checking out the Nakatomi plaza? But that map had to have been in my hip for a reason.

As I rotated my binoculars across the landscape they suddenly flared with a bright red heat source, right in front of me. I shat my pants.

A man stood in front of me. He was short and squat, devoid of any neck. Even dressed in high altitude climbing gear – some ridiculous brand with a bolt logo on the front - I could see that he was a phenomenal physical specimen.

He was vaguely familiar to me, but I couldn’t place him. I once again became frustrated at my inability to drag memories out the depths of my mind, but on some level I knew that I had seen him before. Possibly naked in a lake in Sweden. And a shower in Burnham.

“Adam?!” He asked. “It is you! What the hell happened to you?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” I said, trying to blag the fact that I had no idea who this guy was. “In the flesh!”

“Where have you been for the last two weeks? Last thing you said was that you were going to check out a meteor. I’ve been out on this shithole of a mountain trying to find you.”

I wondered about telling him the truth. But somehow it didn’t feel like the right thing to do. I struggled for a response, but luckily he didn’t give me the opportunity to answer.

“I think I have found the entrance to Craven’s tunnel. Follow me.”

Craven. The name jogged a memory.

I followed the guy up to the edge of the serac, where he proceeded to pull it to one side. I followed him into the tunnel that lay beyond. As the serac door slammed shut the tunnel was illuminated, and we heard slow mechanical breathing resonating along the passageway in front of us.

Another rifle crack brought me back to the present. Andrew had fired a second warning shot into the sky that - due to the combination of mechanical factors such as angle, starting velocity and weight of the round, intrinsic factors of density, aerodynamic profile and ballistic coefficient, and extrinsic factors of barometric pressure, humidity, air temperature and wind speed - took out a Korean climber on The Bottleneck on K2 about twenty kilometers away. At this proximity the blast was deafening and it took a moment for the ringing to subside.

“What else?”

“What else, what?” I asked, naively.

“About Craven. About Ifan.”

“I don’t know much,” I lied. “I just know what when Ifan was on K2, Craven captured him and decided that he would be the chosen subject to base the army on.”

“How many? How many Ifans are there?”

“Well, originally he wanted to create one hundred thousand, but he realized that he’d spent most of his money on Rab gear, whereas he should have chosen a cheaper brand.” As I said this my eyes wandered down to the logo on Andrew’s Primark synthetic down jacket. “So in the end he had to settle for five.”

“Five? We are talking about five thousand Ifan’s out there hunting us?”

“No, just five,” said Ifan, rejoining us. By now he had put on some more appropriate clothing, adding the lycra crop-top to complete the full Gladiators ensemble.

“Just five?” Continued Andrew. “So what else?”

“That’s all I know. What we know. We were locked up on K2 for three years and then eventually kicked out.” I could only hope that I sounded convincing.

“And what do I have to do with this?”

“I don’t know.”

Andrew seemed to consider this for a moment, before turning and picking up his 4270kg backpack.

“Where are you going?” Ifan called after him. Andrew stopped and turned.

“I’m getting the hell off this mountain. I’m getting the hell away from you.”

I watched him for the next five minutes as he picked his way down the ridge that would eventually lead him towards the bottom of Sia Kangri. It was a slow process as his balance issues and oversized backpack meant that he kept falling and then stopping to gather himself. Eventually, after he’d gotten about twenty meters, I’d seen enough so picked up my daypack and set off after him. We still had a job to do for Craven, and by God I wasn’t going to fail him again.

I couldn’t look Ifan in the eye as I passed him. Not because of his confession about MyMateMatt a few moments ago, but because of the ridiculous outfit he was wearing.

Much like R2D2 and C3PO on Tattoine where they fell out, went separate ways, get picked up by Jawas, and then eventually are excited to find each other sometime later, Andrew and I fell into step as we approached the final technical part on the descent of Sia Kangri.

“Andrew,” I said to him to gain his attention. When I caught his eye I pointed down at my nutsack. That I had clipped to my belt for easy access to some snacks whilst out on the mountain.

Andrew nodded acceptance before digging his fingers deep into my sack. And with that the bond was seemingly reformed. It’s amazing how the offer of the contents of one man’s nutsack to the other is enough to rebuild any burnt bridge. As Andrew withdrew his hand, some nuts became dislodged and were scattered all over the rock around our feet.

Ifan walked past us. “Come on guys, let’s keep going.”

Andrew and I looked at each other. I could see the concerned look on his face, and assumed that he could see the same mirrored in mine.

“Did you see that?” He asked.

“Yeah, Ifan didn’t stop to lick up those nuts.”

“Not just that,” he continued. “He is now leading a descent. First time ever. Usually he’s way out the back complaining about his little legs.”

“My God,” I said, turning to look at Ifan, storming down the mountain. “But this means that…”

“That I shot the wrong Ifan,” said Andrew.

A crack of thunder drew our attention away from Ifan – if we could call him that - for a moment. I looked back up the mountain and saw big black clouds once again swelling over the summit of Sia Kangri.

“What is going on with this weather?” Asked Andrew.

I thought back to K2. Whilst I knew that it might appear that I simply removed the storm so that I didn’t have to write about it in this chapter and that I couldn’t think of any ideas – partly true – the remaining truth was that this was also connected to Craven and something that hopefully Andrew would develop further as it was his idea.

“Come on,” I said to him, turning away from the brewing storm.

“Wait, what are we going to do about Ifan?”

“Let’s go and make sure. Leave this to me.”

We walked down the ridge to where Ifan was standing at the top of a fifty meter cliff, a technical section that Andrew named Fake Plastic Trees. He was pulling some rope out of his pack.

“Nearly at the bottom,” I said to him nonchalantly.

“Yeah,” he said, also nonchalantly, his back turned to me.

“Where did you park the C-Max?” I asked, nonchalantly.

“Oh, down by the entrance to Sia Kangri park. By the restaurant The Grill.”

“The Gasherbrum Grill?”

“Er, sure.”

I was sure that Andrew had no idea what this Dar es Salaam reference was all about, but I had heard enough. Only the true Ifan would know the right answer to that question.

“No, it’s the other grill,” I said.

Ifan bowed his head; he’d fallen for my trap and he knew it.

He stood slowly, turning towards us, fire raging in his eyes. But it was the gun in his hand that drew my attention.

“So you worked it out?” He said coldly. “I was hoping that I’d manage to get you off the mountain on your own accord. I figured it would be pretty difficult to carry Andrew off, even with these bad boys.” He flexed his 48 inch biceps, something that once upon a time Amy would have melted at the knees at. “But I guess you’ve done most of the hard work. It’s just this last section and then I can deliver him to Craven as promised. But you, Adam, I guess you are unnecessary baggage.”

He turned the gun towards me. I braced myself for the impact of the round.

Suddenly there was a distorted cry from behind us, like the Boss DS-1. #guitarpedaljoke

We all turned to look.

Wait! He isn’t dead! Ifan surprise!

Ifan staggered over the ridge, a gun in his hands and death in his eyes. He was caked in blood that was crusted all over his face and torso. My god, there’s blood everywhere.

Whilst he moved slowly towards us, the other Ifan moved fast, grabbing Andrew and holding his gun against his head.

“Drop the weapon, Ifan,” said Ifan. Right now I was on course to break the world record for the most amount of Ifans written in one chapter of a book. I just had to keep going.

Ifan dropped the gun and put his hands on his head. I don’t know why he would do this, but still.

“What was it you said to me earlier?” Asked Ifan, turning the gun towards Ifan. “Oh yes, I remember now. ‘Finger’.”

Ifan started laughing. Just a small chuckle at first that built into a proper thigh slapper. But it was seemingly contagious as everyone else started joining in. Even Ifan.

Suddenly Ifan tensed. “Get down Andrew!” He shouted, before reaching behind his head and grabbing his side arm that had been taped to his back using Christmas tape.

Andrew was too stunned to move or had gone into stasis, but it didn’t matter. Unlike Andrew, Ifan was an expert marksman and shot Ifan in the chest. He staggered backwards a few steps before stepping out over the cliff and disappearing from sight. We all heard the scream that ended with a sickening thud a few seconds later. Luckily Andrew wasn’t wearing a watch, so he wasn’t dragged down with him.

I peered over the edge and this time saw a mangled corpse at the bottom of the cliff. Relief filled me.

“If Ifan wants his clothes back, he can climb down there and get them his bloody self,” I said to Andrew, who rolled his eyes.

On cue, a bloody Ifan walked over towards us.

“Sorry for shooting you, buddy,” said Andrew.

“No worries. It was just a nick. Probably fine for future chapters.”

Andrew looked back down at the body below us, just as the first flakes of snow from the storm hit us.

“You guys have some explaining to do.”

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uldren-sov · 7 years

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echo

A spiritual successor to my Post 5.4/Post Breakup/Pseudo-Relapse fic Explanation about the Jedi will be at the end

She knew when this started; her affection for Nar Shaddaa when most Sith hated it on principle. It was a wild, lawless place, rife with passion and violence, all tied up with garish neon bows.

Anymore, to her, it personified what it would be like should Sith who followed the Code would run a planet. The Code called for passion, to break one’s chains through one’s own courage and strength. It called for freedom.

She didn’t know where all of Dromund Kaas’ rules came from.

Wait, she did.

Boring Imperials, obviously.

She hated it too, at first. The chaos, the pollution, the grime, the aurorium, and the smell, before she felt the people, before she tapped into the heartbeat of this planet. Before that Jedi helped to make her see.

Hours or so after her … mistake in the alley, she found a quiet spot on the edge of a low roof. She sat atop her legs and expensive boots - she can work out the scuffs later. She rested the backs of her hands over her thighs, palms up. Her eyes closed.

To wear the telltale brown worn robes anywhere was akin to wearing these ugly neon signs that might as well have said “I’M A JEDI!” As a new apprentice, well, she was going to do what she’s already done before; what every Sith should do.

Kill Jedi.

She could not, however, kill this one.

Not that she didn’t try, full of vim and vigor as she was. She had called out to him, approached him from the front, and called him out in the middle of the street. He accepted, she rushed in to strike-!

It was parried, with a side step and a hand to her wrist.

He took off, then. She didn’t know at the time that he was leading her away from bystanders when he turned to face her in some abandoned, warehouse with a loading dock on the second floor for ships.

They fought until her arms burned, they fought until her voice was nearly gone from all her screaming, they fought until she exhausted her skill of hand-to-hand and moved onto their sabers, they fought until she physically could not fight anymore. Sweat streaked over her skin, she felt droplets make paths down her arms and face, her hair had nearly completely fallen out of her bun.

She didn’t think she landed more than three blows.

At 21 years old she didn’t think she’d die so young.

“So … what now?” she panted, unable to catch her breath as both of her lightsabers still hummed in her hands. “You kill me?”

“Why would I do that?” said the man. Despite the somewhat long white hair he had a fairly young face, somewhere in his older twenties early thirties perhaps. Human, gray eyes, tall, solid frame under a set of well-used armor and that telltale tattered brown robe. He extinguished his own blue saber and clipped it back onto his waist, hiding it behind his robe.

“You won, and you Jedi kill Sith, don’t you? I’m ready,” she managed. She wasn’t but at the moment it was all she could do to keep standing, let alone fight back.

“I was simply defending myself and now it seems I don’t need to,” he said calmly. By the Emperor she wanted to cut that calm smile off his fucking face, she hated him so much. But he nodded over to some stairs before turning from her and walking towards them. After a few steps he looked over his shoulder at her more purposefully and beckoned her to follow with a little flick of his wrist.

He won their duel - if it could even be called that - honor dictated that she should at least follow him. He led her up the stairs to the partially covered dock and sat down near the end of the dock itself, out from underneath the decrepit roof, too worn down by acid rain and whatever other pollution to stop it’s eventual decomposition. She pulled her long hair back up as she watched him carefully, side-stepping a shingle that fell nearly on top of her, as suddenly he extended a hand to his side … and pat the ground next to him.

“You can’t be serious,” she deadpanned.

“I’m not serious, I’m-” he seemed to stop himself with an amused “hmm.” He shook his head and pat the worn permacrete next to him again. “What’s the harm? All I ask after my win is some of your time. You don’t seem to be quite like your fellows - “ she bristled as she approached “- in that they lack some common decency. Someone of your caliber, no doubt, can see.”

He was playing to her ego and despite recognizing the ploy … she had to admit it worked, a little. She did hold herself to a higher degree and standard than other, lower, Sith. But she had to, given her bloodline. She reasoned, perhaps, the least she can do was listen to whatever this was going to be, and be on her way. Maybe next time they met, she’d show him what a mistake he made in sparing her.

She sat down next to him on her knees as opposed to his cross-legged pose.

“All I’d like for you to do is close your eyes, let your consciousness spread, and quiet your own thoughts,” he explained as, from his profile she could see, he had his eyes closed.

“Meditating. You are taking advantage of your win and ordaining I meditate,” she declared on the edge of anger once again, “you must be joking.”

“I’m actually Sevus,” he smiled to himself, some teeth peeking through and she scoffed aloud. “But I am also serious, just … try. It’s not an order, just a request.”

It was a strange request and she pursed her lips frustratingly. She clenched her eyes shut and did as she was asked. Nothing. She felt herself, her ever rising impatience and frustration with this whole situation. She gave it all of twenty seconds before she was about to just stand up and leave. This was insulting and an affront to what she represented.

“I sense a family, I think, who’s sitting down for dinner a building over and a group of – people about your age seem to be pulling a helluva party,” he said and she stared openly at him, glaring even. He peeked a gray eye open and smirked a little “What? Don’t tell me you can’t.”

She huffed, but her ego was already the most damaged part of her from their duel, she couldn’t just sacrifice all of it. So she got settled in, she closed her eyes, and she tried to listen. She reached out which was harder than she thought it’d be. She was taught to harness her own emotions, instill fear and anger in others to latch on but it was all so immediate, so self-centered. She reached and she strained and then - it happened.

It clicked.

A wave of emotions threatened to drown her for all of a crushing moment before she felt all of it around her. Beings tightly knit together with love and compassion in their hearts like a warm glow of embers, exuberant joy and fierce camaraderie from a group was like a firework exploding. Her heart hammered in her chest, people everywhere thrummed with life, the whole feel of this area was chaotic and awhirl with goodness, violence, malice, and pleasantness alike.

She felt the hum of calm, serenity, and … something warm and inviting right next to her like a beacon.

She had to open her eyes, she had to break off from this. It was an exhilaration she felt in her core and she realized she had been clutching, white knuckled, onto his hand that had somehow made its way beside her in that blinding rush. She tore her hand away and stood accusingly, yet he didn’t react much. He opened his eyes. He looked up toward her. He set his hands in his own lap.

“What was- “ if this came so naturally to him, she wasn’t about to admit she didn’t know what just happened “- what’s the point of that?!” she demanded. He got to his feet, facing her.

“You seem different, as I said, than your fellows. I think you are and I wanted to see if … I could just show you something new,” he offered gently. Her lip twitched in outrage, at his gall.

“So. What? You’re looking for - for an apprentice to show all this to?” she spat “A Padawan?” Her anger was fluttering and anxious, she felt her hands shake. What could she do? He seemed to have greater mastery of the Force than her, better martial skill, age. She felt backed into a corner or rather, after that, she felt vulnerable.

“Never. I’d settle for a friend.”

She left.

Over the years she would find him again, and again. They would fight, he would win, and win some moments of her time. He wasn’t preaching, not really, but she got to know the galaxy from a new set of eyes. Any questions she had, and there were a lot of questions, were answered. They debated, they fought, they had tea, and more often than not it’d be here on Nar Shaddaa. Neutral territory.

She learned he was a Jedi Master and despite his look he wasn’t terribly older than her, only eight years. She learned he didn’t understand and actively flew in the face of some of the Jedi tenants because he could not help but help people, that beacon she felt so long ago was his compassion. He loved life, and he loved people, and a woman in particular as well.

She sought him out in the usual way before this whole mess started and after nearly five years of knowing each other she finally, decisively, bested him in their salutatory spar. They had gone back and forth for about a year now, this, though, put an end to it. He bowed his head in defeat and they both extinguished their lightsabers, three between the two of them.

“What now, Elora?” he asked, the dynamic of their circumstances shifting. She thought about it a moment and gave a nod to the door outside the training room they were in, his training room, in his house, on Nar Shaddaa. She turned from him and started walking before pausing, looking over her shoulder and beckoning him with a flick of her hand.

He laughed, he followed.

He didn’t gain a padawan, no, but she didn’t deny she valued their friendship immensely by this point. A Lord and a Master.

What a pair they made.

She opened her eyes.

He was lost to her when Zakuul came, she’d like to think he died heroically. He never feared death, he would become one with the Force. The thought comforted him. She looked down to her hand and called forth her power as a small, bright, blue flame of energy sprung forth in her palm.

“I miss you, my friend, yet even now you help me,” she spoke to herself with something of a smile, speaking into the flame of Light. It sprung forth, suddenly, rushing up the sleeve of her jacket to spread over her shoulder, widen, and then wink out. It was like a hand had just clasped her there.

She jumped to her feet and whirled about. But no, her friend was nowhere to be seen. She still didn’t quite believe in the Jedi philosophy, especially with death, but if it gave him peace at the end… maybe that was good enough for her.

A calm returned. She hurt, still, from the events of the day but she knew there was more to this than she knew. It was all right to feel the hurt, but she wouldn’t let it consume her. Not again.

She had come a long way and there was still much more to go.

The Jedi Knight was my dear friend’s who first introduced me to SWTOR! And indeed his (level capped) JK did drop in on my SW unannounced and it was a much needed breather than the holier-than-thou types she had experienced.

I owe him and this game a lot and just wanted to translate that to a fic

Thanks!

#swtor oc #oc: elora #swtor #sith warrior #jedi knight #other people's ocs #my writing

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feed-our-souls-too · 5 years

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Art, Film, Faith (part 2)

This is post 2 of 3 from a friend and fellow artist (find her Instagram here). She took a class on faith and film and we both found that the journalling and conversations that resulted from it were thought-provoking and, as such, worth sharing here. ~Julie (The Hopeful Raincoat)

Entry 3

In the class, there has been a lot of commentary about having discretion and understanding the perspective from which we view movies, but not very much about being a ‘glutton’, or the risks that might lead to it. In Through a Screen Darkly, Overstreet comments about a time when he was employed at a video store and had viewing access to a wide variety of films. “I wasn’t thinking about whether my intake of mediocrity and cinematic junk food was doing any damage or dulling my intellect,” then later, “I might have become an addict, hooked on something unhealthy that would slowly corrode my imagination.” This made me think about one of my concerns with striving to find what was underneath a movie to discover meaning, intention, and spots of light in a dark world. I feel like there is a point when the excitement to find these things might lead to shoving them into the narrative in order to justify watching the movie – a symptom of addiction.

The book implies being an addict is mindlessly watching movies for superficially interesting content. However, for Christians well aware of the standard their peers want them to hold to – whatever is pure – their symptom of addiction might be to shove in whatever is pure without much consideration. When I discovered comics in the Seattle Public Library, I ate them up, because I loved and knew the characters from the movies but had never had access to comics before. (It was probably a similar situation to working in a video store – unlimited access all of a sudden.) For the most part, I watched out for content that is corrupting and harmful, but if I could find just one little thing that related to a moral, or a ‘Christian’ value, I probably read it at face value, and was inconsiderate of any other impact it might have had on my thinking.

In the film Wings of Desire, the angel Damiel sees Marion take off her acrobat uniform and then gently touches her neck. An argument is made in the reading that says this is not intended to be a ‘celebration of lust,’ but a moment of admiration for physical beauty. There is merit to this, as Damiel may primarily see her as a creation of God with a unique experience, Marion is a ‘fine sculpture’. I sometimes worry that these kinds of arguments are a mere justification to watch the film without regard for the potential of negative implications. In the case of Wings of Desire, if the argument had stopped at, “It only showed her back,” that may be a sign of addiction because that is an excuse. It is a minor justification using face value without any thought about the significance of the moment.

LATER EDIT: Christians must have personal discretion for everything that they interact with, we must be critical thinkers. We must not be flippant, positively or negatively, with the content we interact with, whether it is the latest adaptation of a Steven King novel or the most innocent children’s television.

Entry 4

I am still not satisfied with my questions from the last journal entry – when does film become just another piece of entertainment with a ‘fulfilling’ excuse? In Braveheart, fans might excuse the long, drawn-out battles because it is retaliation against oppression. The main character’s violent actions in The Patriot were justified for a similar reason. I remember my brother was pretty excited about the patriot’s original commitment to nonviolence. It might be because avoiding war is not the big picture most Americans think about when reflecting on the American Revolution, so this plot feels like a unique twist, which is a strategy that writers use for building viewer interest. However, I wouldn’t say we watched the entire movie just because the patriot wanted to avoid war in the first twenty minutes.

In the discussion of heroes and characters viewers admire (chapter five of Through a Screen Darkly), The Lord of the Rings was given credit for being a “meaningful mythology of longsuffering, sacrifice, and hope.” I totally agree. But I tend to be skeptic about the next sentence. “Somehow, Tolkien’s “Catholic work” resonated with viewers who flinch at the word religion.” Did it? I’m not sure – I do not really know people’s minds when they watch movies. What kind of response was it? What did they ‘resonate’ with? What is resonance anyway, does it come on a scale from one to ten? Does seven qualify as ‘adequate resonance to be considered a moving experience’ and therefore acceptable content? The success of The Lord of the Rings might demonstrate that the series is an exceptional work of art, meaning that it was ‘moving’ for the majority of those exposed to it. However, the films are not without the mindless entertainment of intense action that draws theater crowds in droves for other movies. The craftsmanship of the film is top notch, a fantasy world brought to life with outstanding realism, truly a spectacle to see. How can we be sure when art has moved beyond that?

Something that comes to mind is conversations with random people. Is it not the small, unexpected conversations with random people that have exponential value? It is highly unrealistic, perhaps outright false, to expect that sharing God’s love with those around us will bring in “results” every single time, or even ninety percent, eighty percent, fifty percent. Why should I expect that standard from art, even if it is exceptional? In light of this, I was actually a little bit comforted that even Gladiator, with a similar surface value as Braveheart and The Patriot, has some sort of undercurrent value that can be read into, and apparently people occasionally see that. But alas - another question surfaces - is the risk of becoming numbed to violence and caught up in the frenzy worth a sliver of a chance to experience something meaningful? If the film challenges itself in regard to violence, acknowledging the moral conflict and implications as in Munich or Unforgiven, (films that were discussed in Through a Screen Darkly, but I have not seen them) perhaps yes.

Entry 5

One of the lines from Through a Screen Darkly in a chapter on humor and comedy that stood out to me was, “It takes humility to accept such a public critique.” This was in the context of laughing at the mistakes that humans make, including the mistakes we make ourselves. It made me think about learning to take jabs – basically my dad telling me to tough it up when my older brother name called. The resolving family policy ended up being if you can’t take it, don’t give it. Our inter-sibling relationship now looks dangerously similar to Ruffnut and Tuffnut from How to Train Your Dragon (the ‘nut’ relationship is much more refined in the Netflix series), and I love it. My little brother and I in particular are willing to take the brunt of a joke just to generate a good laugh. I think that I had that mindset even for political jokes when I first came to Seattle from Montana, laughing along to jabs about Republicans that my classmates, professors, and even church leaders made. It’s a joke, it’s supposed to be funny, I can see why they think it is, I was willing to accept that. However, I think I stopped chuckling when I realized there was no reciprocal (which is also true of my hometown…) and it was not going to stop. Ever.

Receiving a joke from film is different than in-person interactions, whether it is about Christian beliefs and/or hypocrisy, or something else I relate to. It is a lot harder to be humble when there is distance between viewer and director (a growing problem in our media-directed world), and it is easy for a viewer to think that a director is trying to be degrading. Generally, I trust that people willing to make jokes about me to my face do so out of good humor. I am not sure if I can say the same about filmmakers, I do not know them. After some consideration, even if I do not find the jokes humorous, it can still be an opportunity for reflection on why the director thought it would be funny, which could be revealing in itself. If humor is acknowledging an err (a concept that Overstreet develops in his book, and a definition of humor I find to be very accurate), then there might be an err the viewer has not recognized.

The other portion of this reading that I was troubled with was the contrast of fools in real life and film. It seems like a narrative tactic to give a character who behaves against common unspoken (maybe even spoken) rule, opportunity to reveal something great. People do not expect this in real life, so it a surprising twist in a story and adds contrast. A fool in a story can be crafted and designed. But what about the Parry’s (Parry is a character from a film Overstreet mentions, I do not recall what movie he is from, only that he is homeless and seemingly a lunatic) that might cross our paths while we are visiting the downtown cinema? People usually avoid them. There are a lot of different issues in this situation (such as personal safety), but I find it ironic that people let fools inform us in film, but not on the street. Human interactions are supposed to be more effective than electronic ones.

#god and art #faith and film #through a screen darkly #book #article #external post #contributor post #art faith film part 2 #part 2 #film #art faith film

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adrienaline-rushed-art · 7 years

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Tomato Soup and Lemon Zest: Touche, Pussy Cat!

Rating: Teen

Chapters: 5/5

ao3 fanfic 1 - 2 - 3 - 4- 5

NOTES: "I'm just tryna get my head around, wtf is happening *clap clap, clap*" "I'm just tryna get my head around, wtf is happening *clap clap, clap*" - lol

I was reminded of OK Go for some reason.Did anyone get the reference in the title? No? Ok...

That's a wrap!Well.. ok that's a lie. I'm probably gonna do drabbles for this and make it a series. But for now, a break, I've got to finish Maid for It and Charming Spell first.In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! Please leave reviews!

Comment if you want me to tag you in the next update, otherwise check the tag #adrinathdrawingfic

based on this post

@samantha-girlscout @artgirllullaby @miraculouslyme @breeeliss @itsmegan347official @b0n3-crush3r @tallsuperstar @messy7seamstress

Also, @yourfavouritekindoftrash made a fic based on the same post, check it out under the tag #adrinathdrawingfic

It had now been 2 months of constant training. Nathaniel was already starting to become toned. He was gaining endurance and strength he'd never heard of - though, they still didn't meet the athletic standard - he was at a good place where he could probably excel in a P.E. class. And his teacher noticed, too.

He often hid behind other students so that the teacher would forget about him long enough to last through to changing time without doing a thing. Recently he was confident enough to give the activities and sports a shot. He wasn't half bad. Not skilled, but not trailing behind his team while chasing a ball and wheezing. Not strategic, but not standing frozen like a deer in headlights waiting for the other team to steal the ball. Adrien was his only issue. When he was on the opposing side he was nervous and when he was on the same side he preferred to pass everything to Adrien and just watch. It was far too stressful knowing Adrien was watching him play… and he was watching a lot.

Nathaniel had achieved a lot with his dedication. It was time to move on to the main goal. Fencing.

"I'm proud of you, Nath," Chat handed half of his baton over to Nathaniel, "You're finally ready."

Nathaniel smiled shyly, studying the baton in his hands. "Yeah, well, I'm not close to the finish line as far as my coordination goes."

"That's what I'm here for," Chat smiled at him in a caring way Nathaniel wasn't familiar with.

"Right?" Chat continued, "Otherwise you could've done all of this on the internet."

Nathaniel shook his head. "No, I wouldn't have stuck to this if it had been from the internet. The only reason I'm trying is because it's you- I mean because you're- Imeanitsnoteverydayasuperheroofferstojustshowyouhowtofightand-"

Chat laughed. "I get it, you love me, nothing to be shy about."

When Nathaniel stopped to gawk at him, Chat swallowed hard and began to regret the existence of his mouth.

"Oh. Uhh.. I, um sorry, I didn't know you actually…?"

Nathaniel stopped Chat nervously. "No, it's fine! You just caught me off guard, oh was that a joke? AHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Yeah…" Chat's smile was strained, and his smile was stiff, "A joke."

"Anyway…" Nathaniel tried to hide his disappointment.

"Right, back to stance."

Chat Noir moved Nathaniel around again until he was positioned correctly. Nathaniel tried moving forward as instructed.

"You're putting too much weight on one side and you're leading with the wrong foot," Chat stood behind Nathaniel, trying to help him shift his weight and grabbing his wrist to raise the staff higher.

Nathaniel tried again. He got the leading foot right but his balance was even worse.

"Try to be on the balls of your feet instead of your toes."

Chat continued to give Nathaniel the best advice he could until he finally was alright at it.

"I feel like a crab," Nathaniel finally said.

Chat laughed, "Yeah, I know.. And look you have red hair too."

"Not all crabs are red, you know," Nathaniel pulled at his bangs to stare at them.

"I know…"

"There are purple ones too."

"You've got purple pants on."

Nathaniel glared down at his pants. "Oh my god, you're right. I'm an actual crab. How many nicknames am I gonna get? Tomato, Little Red Riding Hood, now what… Mr. Krabs?"

"Now, now, don't get crabby about it," Chat grinned.

Nathaniel shot daggers at Chat. "Teach me how to fight already so I can kick your ass!"

Chat shot his hands up defensively. "Hey, I thought you liked puns?"

"I never told you that…" Nathaniel squinted at Chat.

"Ah, nevermind, you're right… I must've been thinking of Ladybug or something. Hey, but, aren't nicknames kinda nice, though? They're cute… well except for Mr. Krabs, but trust me that's not gonna be one of them. Maybe Krabby Patty."

"No, that's… No. And, maybe they would be cute, except that no one ever asks me. They just start calling me something, and my quiet ass doesn't have the guts to say anything about it.."

Chat stepped closer to Nathaniel. "You're right, I never asked either, I'm sorry. Is it alright if I-"

"No no no, it's too late now. I think it'd be better if I thought of one for you," Nathaniel tapped the staff on his chin.

"People call me Banana Hair," Chat suggested.

"Mmmm… no, I'll think of my own, thanks. How about, Lemon?"

"Noooo… I do not want to be named after smut fics," Chat cringe.

Nathaniel poked Chat's chest with the staff. "It's not my fault that's the first thing that crossed your mind. Normal people think of fruit when they hear the word 'lemon'."

"Oh, they think about fruit alright…"

"Oh my god. Listen, I happen to know someone who's nickname is Lemon, and I happen to think it sounds perfectly fine. I'm sticking with Lemon, and you can't convince me otherwise."

"But, well just don't say it in front of anybody. I don't wanna sound like some sexual beast."

Nathaniel snorted. "And we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He tugged at Chat's bell until it came slightly down and jingled.

Chat froze. What the fuck was happening? Chat Noir was supposed to be his safe haven, now Nathaniel was growing bold. Was his newfound confidence because of his new physique?

"I-"

"You're the one who's been flirting and teasing this whole time."

Chat Noir scratched the nape of his neck. "You're right, I deserve that type of name then."

"No, you don't deserve it in that sort of way. You deserve it because you deserve a nickname. I don't mind the flirts…"

Chat blinked at him. He smirked. "Really? You're not so bad yourself- now let's get back to that ass-kicking you told me you were gonna do."

After a little over a month, learning grip - though Chat informed him it would be different with an actual rapier - and how to loosen his wrists without making them weak, it didn't take him long to get used to attacking and parrying.

"Well, you're ready to do a drill. Is this the part where you kick my ass?" Chat lowered his stance and pointed his staff to Nathaniel.

Nathaniel smiled. "I guess we'll have to find out."

Chat waited for Nathaniel to advance and their staffs clashed. Nathaniel swung with practiced movements. Chat picked up the pace, stepping forward and driving Nathaniel back. The wind blew and Nathaniel noticed a small poster of Adrien Agreste falling at his feet. He glanced down at it to avoid stepping on it.

"Don't take your eyes off me," Chat said.

Nathaniel twitched, blocking an attack and ignoring the poster. He kept a steady gaze on Chat Noir.

Chat looked back to make sure Nathaniel didn't start wandering near the fountain, but Nathaniel's staff collided into Chat Noir's and slipped just enough to graze Chat's side.

Chat stopped, stunned. Both of them stared down at Nathaniel's extended arm, going through the gap between Chat's arm and his waist.

"I thought you said not to take your eyes away, Lemon." Nathaniel grinned up at Chat.

Chat bit his lip. "Touche, Red."

Nathaniel stood back. "I guess that's the closest I'll get to any sort of ass-kicking. It was probably luck though."

"Maybe," Chat maneuvered his staff until Nathaniel somehow ended up on the ground, "But don't let your guard down."

Nathaniel smiled ear-to-ear at his cellphone below his desk. Several pictures of Chat Noir had been secretly saved to his photo album. Class wasn't really being taught at that moment, students were working in class assignments and wandering around. It was time to add a new member to the sketchbook hall of fame.

He sketched a basic outline, adding no details but a rough tail and ears. He started with the eyes, which had a gaze that could kill, somewhat familiar. Of course it was familiar, he'd known Chat Noir for months.

He took a moment to take in Chat's mouth, which he should've had memorized by now from all the times Chat teased right up in his face, but just barely touched skin.

He finally moved to his nose, which he always saved for last. He drew what he could from what showed beneath his mask.

He looked back at the composure of the face. He furrows his eyebrows. Something…

He drew the shape of the head and started to move on the the hair before he froze.

"Oh my god." Nathaniel muttered.

It was unmistakeable. He'd drawn every shape perfectly. Those strokes weren't foreign to him, his hand knew those lines.

Adrien climbed the steps to Nathaniel. Without lifting his head and with his hands casually stuffed in his pocket he asked, "What are you drawing this time, Nath?"

Nathaniel's finger twitched around his pencil. He glanced back down at his paper, then back up at Adrien. He stood up slowly.

"Adrien… you're… Chat N-"

Adrien's face dropped as he flinched and within a split second he sprung into action. He strode forward, with a subtle wave of his hand and a few quick shushes. He placed his lifted hand on the collar of Nathaniel's blazer, the index of his other hand found itself touching Nathaniel's lips before he moved it out of the way and planted a kiss. It all happened so quickly Nathaniel had no time to react. He could do nothing more than simply let Adrien take another heartbeat of a moment before pulling away, and listen to the delicate chirp of lips parting echoing in his ears.

Adrien remained breaths away, gazing into Nathaniel's eyes. "Touche, Red."

Was that good? I hope it wasn't anticlimactic :/

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#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #adrinath #ml rarepair #adrinathdrawingfic #cass writes

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