#and exploration and survival idiocy

[vivalasnether]

In game shots of my new son.

Had some free time today, so did a solid ‘its not much, but it’s honest work’ chill out day on server. Very silly to be running around farming for hours with a baby zombie piglin strapped to your back.

#minecraft #blockbench #java edition #vanilla minecraft #this server is like meant to be the embodiment of old school minecraft #where it's like ugly and silly and nothing is efficient or aesthetic #its just fun #and exploration and survival idiocy #hmmm wondering f i can tag it vanilla actually #cause i am using like client side forge stuff - freecam and optifine #lampkin the baby piglin is like purely a resource pack so as far as im concerned that's vanilla but not sure if optifine counts #most people seem to consider it such cause it's not a gamplay mod #that air bridge with zero supports is a pig bridge to spawn #only meant to ride pigs on it #it takes - genuinely - about fifteen minutes to reach spawn #lampkin is named after my legally obtained son in a modded game where i picked up and legally relocated a baby villager #that was given the auto generated name lampkin #he was my son he was a good boy he hhad many many children

[sequinsmile-x]

The Fall - Part Two: Emily

It sneaks up on him. Quiet and unassuming until it catches up with him, tapping him on the shoulder just before he’s pulled under by it.

For her it's fast. Every moment she's overlooked, wilfully ignorant of them or not, hit her all at once, knocking all the breath from her lungs.

An exploration into how Aaron and Emily fall in love with each other.

Part 1

-x-

Hiiii friends <3

Thank you so much for the love on part one. I will never tire of writing for these two idiots.

I really hope you enjoy this part, and Emily's idiocy as she realises how deeply in love with Aaron she is.

Third and final part will be up tomorrow <3

-x-

Words: 2k

Warnings: Mentions/discussion of infertility in this part

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She’s anxious. 

She can feel it burning in her chest. The scar on her abdomen twists with it, so fresh and torn open she can feel the thrust of the table leg, Ian’s icy blue eyes staring back at her whenever she blinks. She places her hand over the scar, pressing firmly against it to remind herself that it is healed, the numb tingling of the thickest part of the scar bringing her back to herself. A much-needed reminder she’d already survived the worst of it. 

“Emily?”

She looks up at the sound of her name being called and stands as her eyes meet those of her doctor, Doctor Wells.  Emily screws her hands tightly together as she walks the short distance into the other woman’s office. 

“Thank you for waiting,” Doctor Wells says, gently closing the door behind Emily and indicating towards her desk.

“It’s okay,” Emily replies as she sits down, smiling tightly at Doctor Wells. She swallows, desperately trying to push down the anxiety that was climbing up her throat It’s cloying, blocking her airways like a thick paste. 

“I’ll go over the details with you in a moment,” Doctor Wells says, clasping her hands in front of her on the desk between them, “But to put your mind at ease, based on the ultrasound I performed, your blood work, and the exploratory laparoscopy I see no reason why you wouldn’t be able to conceive and carry a successful pregnancy.” 

It takes a moment for her words to settle over Emily, for the good news she’d convinced herself she wouldn’t get to wash over her. She chokes out a laugh and shakes her head slightly, a single shocked word following the strangled sound.

“What?” 

Doctor Wells smiles, “The injuries you sustained have not impacted your fertility,” she confirms, “There could be…complications if you chose to move forward and have a baby, mostly to do with the stretching of your scar tissue as your abdominal muscles move to accommodate the fetus,” she smiles kindly, “But we could cross that bridge if or when we get there.”

Emily nods, settling back further into her chair as she relaxes a little, the tension that had been building in her chest since she got confirmation of this appointment easing slightly. 

In Paris, the doctors had mentioned her ability to have children off-handedly. It wasn’t a priority at first, all of their focus was on her physical therapy. Rebuilding muscles she hadn’t even known she had, her exhaustion bone deep as she learnt to walk again. Slowly building her strength back up over months and months. It was mentioned again just before she came home, a follow-up appointment where it was decided if she wanted the answers they’d have to do more tests. She decided she wanted to know one way or the other, to know if that door was closed forever, locked shut before she’d ever truly been able to open it. 

She’d convinced herself it wasn’t possible. Prepared herself for the worst-case scenario, a lifetime of being let down by circumstances and things she couldn’t control assuring her that there wasn’t another option. 

She listens as best as she can as Doctor Wells tells her everything, her explanation that, given Emily’s age on top of everything else, her results were excellent. Some of it passes her by, her shock making her feel like she is underwater, and she knows she’s going to have to call up in a couple of days for a summary of what she’s been told. 

She thanks Doctor Wells and leaves her office, stuck in her own little world as she leaves the hospital. Smiling to herself, biting the inside of her cheek in an attempt to contain it, as she walks outside. The possibility, the maybes and what ifs she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in months escaping from the box she’d locked them up in so tightly. 

The relief, the light feeling in her chest she hadn’t had in months, is short-lived as she realises it’s all well and good to know she could have kids if she wanted to. That Ian hasn’t stolen that from her as well as the life she had loved, the all too brief peace she had enjoyed. It was fine knowing that, but it didn’t mean she’d get to experience it. She was single and in her 40s, and unless she walked into the person she was going to spend the rest of her life with soon it would be yet another thing to pass her by. 

“Em?”

She looks up as she walks out of the hospital, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as her eyes meet his, “Aaron?” 

He stands up from the bench he’d been sitting on and he picks up a small box he’d placed next to him. He walks towards her and comes to a stop just in front of her, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” she says, smiling curiously at her friend, “Are you okay?” She asks, wondering what on earth would have brought him here to the hospital, “What are you doing here?” 

He smiles, an edge of what she thinks is embarrassment to it as he avoids her eye contact for a second, “I know you were anxious about today so I thought I’d come meet you afterwards,” he admits, clearing his throat, “I brought you cookies. Jack and I made them last night.” 

He thrusts the box in his hands forward and she takes them from him, her eyebrows furrowing as she looks up at him, “Thanks. Thats…” she drifts off, unsure how to put into words how she was feeling, what his casual attention to detail meant to her, “That’s really sweet. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Yes I did,” he replies, his smile wide, his dimples carved deep into his cheeks, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he shrugs as if it’s nothing. As if his simple kindness and the way he cared for her weren’t everything. 

When she looks back on it, she isn’t sure why this is the moment that flicks the switch in her head. Why him showing up outside the hospital to wait for her, after an appointment she’d only mentioned in passing, made the penny drop after so many other moments that had seemingly passed her by. It's fast. Every moment she's overlooked, wilfully ignorant of them or not, hit her all at once, knocking all the breath from her lungs.

One thing Emily had always prided herself on was her intelligence, never letting anyone, especially men, diminish it or her. She’d effortlessly always got good grades, even when she tried to make a point of not trying when winding her mother up was the only way she got her attention. She could pick up languages easily, her brain wired in the right way for it, a benefit of the old money type of nomadic childhood she’d had. She loved to read and learn. To look up at the sky and know what stars were looking back. She’s a smart woman and she knows it. But right now, staring at the man who was where he’d always been - right in front of her - she feels stupid. 

She loves him. Loves him in a way she never thought was possible, and if the way he was looking at her was anything to go by he loves her too. 

He was her best friend, her confidant. The reason she was starting to feel at home again in a place that, when she first came back, had felt unfamiliar. A danger she knew was dead and gone lingering in every shadow, including her own. She loved spending time with Aaron and Jack, evenings and weekends that gave her a taste of the life she’d never had. 

Dinners of boxed mac and cheese and dino nuggets far better than some of the fine cuisine she’d eaten all over the world, purely because she was with them. Their company and the achingly normal time she spent with them were more important to her than anything else. Her one-on-one time with Aaron, the way she could make him laugh, an almost goofy sound from him that she could never have imagined when they met, a balm to her weary soul. 

She wonders if that’s why she didn’t see that it ran deeper than that. She’d already lost so much over the years that she knew she couldn’t lose him too. So she’d subconsciously blocked herself from realising she didn’t just love him as a friend. 

She was in love with him. 

It feels like the lights have suddenly been switched on. That her future which had been bleary and out of focus was now in bright techicolour, every image clearer than the last. Each one filled with her and Aaron and Jack, a family she’d found in the most unlikely of places. 

She was in love with him. 

“Em?” He asks, placing his hand on her arm, his warm palm pulling her out of the trance she’d fallen into, “Are you okay?” 

She looks at him, her eyes snapping to his, and she nods, “Yeah,” she says, clearing her throat when her voice shakes, “Yeah I’m totally fine.” 

He frowns, his concern clear, “You’re crying.” 

She lifts her hand to her cheek and feels a stray tear on her cheek, one she hadn’t even realised had fallen, and she lets out a strangled noise, something halfway between a laugh and a sob, and she shakes her head as she wipes it away. 

“It’s been a long day,” she says, smiling reassuringly at him. 

“We can do dinner another night if you-”

“No,” she says, shaking her head as she cuts him off, stopping his offer to cancel their plans of her coming over to spend time with him and Jack. The thought of being anywhere other than where he was inconceivable, “Dinner with you and that adorable son of yours sounds like exactly what I need.” 

“As long as you’re sure?” He asks, his brows furrowing as he looks at her intently as if he’s trying to look past the walls he’d already knocked down. She reaches out and squeezes his arm, smiling softly. 

“I’m sure,” she says, squeezing his arm again before she lets him go. She raises the box of cookies he’d given her, “Besides, I don’t think I could eat all of these myself.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head at her as they turn and head towards the parking lot, “Says the woman I once saw eat an entire pack of thin mints.” 

“Hey,” she says, mocking offence as she scoffs, “That was me being supportive of the Girl Scouts.” 

He smiles, his eyes shining brightly, making her stomach flip, “I’ll believe you, thousands wouldn’t.”

She bites her lip to stop herself from saying something she knows she shouldn’t, knowing that the parking lot outside her doctor's office is not the place for grand revelations. She realises that he’s walked all the way to her car with her, several spaces past his own, and she tilts her head at him curiously. 

“You didn’t have to walk me to my car.” 

“Yes I did,” he says, repeating his words from earlier, his smile making her feel like she’s burning from the inside out. Her heart threatening to burst with the love she felt for him. 

She stares at him for a moment and it takes everything in her to not lean forward and kiss him, to close the gap between them and take the step that one of them had to take at some point. Instead, she clears her throat, sure that her cheeks must be bright pink from how warm they felt. 

“So, I’ll meet you at yours?” 

“Yeah,” he says, smiling at her before he starts to walk back to his car, “See you there.”

“See you there,” she says before she climbs into her car, pulling the door closed behind her. She sits in silence for a moment, frozen in place before she looks at herself in the rearview mirror. She huffs out a laugh and shakes her head, “Well, shit.” 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner fanfiction #emily prentiss fanfiction #hotchniss fan fic #aaron x emily #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction

[little-creatures-in-my-head]

General Rules and Information

General information that is applicable to all blogs:

Mun goes by Calem and is 18+

Please do not engage if under the age of 18, Mun typically likes to explore dark topics that are not suited for minors.

I am semi-selective on who I rp with as I want to get along with my rp partner.

OOC communication is important for me to help ensure all parties in a rp are comfortable and aware of anything coming up.

I will rping as both canon and ocs across different fandoms. Canon characters are simply my interpretation of them or, in the case of some video games, how I play those characters.

Mun =/= Muse. My muses will have a variety of beliefs and characterizations. They do not reflect me as a person and if an rp partner is feeling uncomfortable with a situation, please reach out to me and we will discuss how to solve it.

I will not always be prompt with responding to rps as I am struggling with personal irl things. I do not mind a nudge if it has been a few days and you have not heard from me. However, please do not go nudging me if it has been less than two days.

As an upfront warning: I do not rp to ship. I do enjoy shipping, but I would prefer a relationship be based off of chemistry.

On the same note: I do not mind multi-shipping, however, there are ground rules for this. Multi-ships are either all separate AUs from one another or is conversed and agreed upon by all parties in a polyamorous situation.

All sideblogs and the characters they contain will be listed below the cut. Please note that Sideblogs may be subject to their own extended rules. Each Sideblog will contain links to posts for character introductions unless it is a solo character blog, then the introduction will be apart of their pinned post along with additional rules.

This list is prone to changes and alterations as needed.

The Tales from the Gas Station: Marlboros and Blood Jerry "Marlboro" Pascal: (Canon)A rather chill guy who rarely seems serious. A part-timer at the gas station, who despite his idiocy, can be scarily smart.

Spencer Middleton: (Canon)An over the top and dramatic serial killer. He's a bit obsessed with the workers of the gas station for their tenacity and ability to survive deadly situations.

Meeko ?????: (OC)A naive amnesiac patron of the gas station who lives out in the woods taking care of the local raccoon population. Is often called in by the gas station workers to "handle" the unwanted guests.

#oc #oc rp #rp

[jakey-beefed-it]

Got through the first third or so of the current adventure in last night’s D&D session, where the PCs are braving a city that no longer exists in the world, but only in the Shadowfell, where fears and nightmares are made manifest and other extraplanar influences are strong in addition to the bleak despair of the Shadowfell itself.

The PCs made some good progress moving through the labyrinthine city, avoiding a number of unseen hazards and stumbling into a few more. They were briefly separated while trying to traverse an ancient nexus of teleportation portals (bit like a fantasy airport terminal,but with more magic and funhouse mirrors).

During their separation, they confronted and spoke with what they perceived to be their worst selves. Rather than a combat encounter, this was done entirely through RP.

The dwarven life cleric, Flint, a gruff healer in the best tradition of Bones McCoy, was confronted with a version of himself that had been surviving alone for ages, had given up on trying to save anyone because they kept getting themselves killed through their own damn fool idiocy, and had turned to merely raising their corpses as servants. “They don’t have any more sense this way, but they listen to it better.” Dark Flint tried to convince our Flint to give up, since nothing he did really mattered and he’d fail in the end, but Flint thought for a bit and replied that even if he failed, someone else would come along and try again, choosing hope over despair.

The human Great Old One warlock, Hakim, a fiercely intelligent scholar with a fundamentally humanist outlook but prone to arrogance, was confronted with a version of himself that had at last learned all that he sought to know- by joining the world in a single overmind. Gone were the petty fears and superstitions and hatreds that led to so much suffering- everyone worked in harmony, whether they liked it or not. Dark Hakim appealed to our Hakim’s frustration with ignorance, but Hakim insisted that all one could ethically do was provide guidance, not control.

The tiefling sorcerer, Rin, a stubborn and often ruthlessly independent powerhouse who was raised in isolation, was confronted with a version of herself that had at last cut free the last few ties to others holding her back. She described compassion, reliance on others, and such as terrible weaknesses to be cast aside, and urged our Rin to reject any and all fellowship and rely only upon herself. Our Rin was strongly swayed by these words, truly believing reliance on anyone but herself to be weakness, but fundamentally decided that the strength that Dark Rin had pursued had simply made her as brittle as the ice she conjured.

The sylvari (yes, the race from GW2, the player and I are working together to bring something rather like it into my D&D setting) rogue, Naal, a naive and deeply kind young explorer wracked by doubt and fear, was confronted with a version of himself that had overcome his fears by rejecting the teachings of his people and usurping the rival Nightmare Court that sought to overturn his culture. Naal held fast to his beliefs even when confronted with a version of himself that was clearly confident at last, insisting that courage was persisting in spite of fear, not eliminating it.

They then found themselves on the other side of the portal nexus, each fully aware of what the others had gone through. Also leveling up having confronted their shadow selves and emerged intact, increasing to level 10.

In all I think it was a pretty good session, with everyone getting a chance to shine, a strong and evocative atmosphere, dangerous but not lethal encounters, and of course the hopefully memorable confrontations with their darker selves.

Part two next week! Hopefully I can keep the momentum going.

#Jake runs Dungeons and Dragons

[sammysdewysensitiveeyes]

"You’re too inquisitive for your own good; even most cats have more of a sense of self-preservation than you do." Shaw knows, he's met CERTAIN CATS.

(I got kind of bold and wound up writing this from Sebastian's POV, because the scene popped into my head and I couldn't imagine it any other way. Hopefully it's at least funny.)

“C’mon Shaw, where’s your sense of adventure?” Pyro exclaimed, letting the fireball float through the ancient hall. Remarkable technology, thousands of years old. Did that mean that the Inhumans were remarkably advanced at the dawn of humanity? Or that they’d stagnated for years locked up in their isolated city? Shaw didn’t notice much difference between the features of this abandoned Inhuman temple, and what he’d seen in “New Attilan.”

“Exploring a thousand year old temple, who wouldn’t be curious?” Pyro continued, talking simply for the sake of talking, as he always did. “It’s like an Indiana Jones movie!”

“No, Allerdyce, it’s like real life, not some half-baked adventure movie about an archeologist with very questionable professional methods. And you’ll treat this like a proper mission.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pyro waved his hand dismissively, with an added “wanker,” under his breath. Sebastian considered daring Allerdyce to repeat himself a tad louder, but decided it wasn’t worth it.

The Inhuman temple offered incredible technology that they could adapt and make use of on Krakoa, and Sebastian’s mind was already spinning with both economic and engineering possibilities. Of course, they hadn’t exactly asked permission to access the temple, but the Inhumans themselves obviously hadn’t used it in quite some time, and what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. If the British Museum could swipe priceless works of art in the name of “civilization,” surely Krakoa could take some of these forgotten riches in the name of “reparations” for the crimes Inhumans had committed against mutantkind.

If only Sebastian hadn’t been sent with the most idiotic, impulsive, irresponsible, most-likely-to- cause-mass-destruction member of his team.

He glanced over to see Pyro fooling around with the circuits set into the wall, and even though this was most definitely NOT a movie with cliched spike traps and a giant rolling boulder, Sebastian’s hackles rose in instinctive alarm.

“Don’t touch that, you idiot!” Sebastian snapped, just as a button pressed inward under Pyro’s careless fingers.

The floor dropped out from under them.

Moments later, Sebastian was sputtering in disgust, picking himself up off a stone floor in pitch darkness. Judging by the stench, they had been dropped into some ancient sewer system, and it was probably a miracle they hadn’t already suffocated, breathing in the –

Sebastian heard a click, and for the second time in five minutes was too late to stop his team-mate from doing something unbelievably stupid.

Fire rushed through the underground tunnel with a deafening roar, as Pyro’s flamethrower ignited the collected methane gas. Sebastian shut his eyes as the fire swept over him, but the intense heat seemed to probe into every crevice of his body, scorching the hair in his nose, and the discreetly trimmed tufts in his ears. In an instant it was gone, and Sebastian was left coughing, with the scent of charred body hair and old Inhuman shit choking the air around him.

He catiously opened one eye. Pyro was standing there, no worse for wear, with a small ball of flame in one hand, which he then sent flying around the tunnel, surveying their surroundings.

Sebastian looked down at himself. His Armani suit was reduced to blacked rags, and marinated with the smell of thousand year-old Inhuman farts. He looked over at his companion. Pyro had the absolute audacity to grin at him, with that dull, stupid, happy-go-lucky expression that he always wore when things went wrong and it was entirely his fault.

“Well, that cleared things out down here, didn’t it? Probably best we ain’t breathin’ whatever gas I just burned away – “

Sebastian gave no warning. He just swung his fist at full strength, and felt the very satisfying crunch when Allerdyce’s face caved under his fist. Pyro’s head left a splatter of blood and cranial fluid as it cracked like an egg against the wall. Then the corpse flopped forward to collapse at Sebastian’s feet.

Pyro really was a fragile little man, for all his cocky aggressiveness. Like an angry Chihuahua, complete with incessant yapping. But like so many mutants, he believed powers made him invulnerable.

“Such a shame, Madelyne, Allerdyce didn’t survive the fall,” Sebastian murmured to himself. With a bit of practice, he could probably manage not to smirk as he said it. “Don’t worry, Haven, the Five will save him from the consequences of his own idiocy, as they always do.”

Maybe not the smartest move, since Sebastian was now alone in the Inhuman temple, and plunged again into darkness, with the light source extinguished in every sense of the word.

“Worth it,” Sebastian decided.

#pyro #st john allerdyce #sebastian shaw

[thecreaturecodex]

Taong Tuod

“Ada, Natures Malice” © Brian Valeza, accessed at his ArtStation here

[The art above is referred to as an Ada, which is a subset of engkanto. The engkantoes are faerie creatures of the Philippines with a colonial influence (compare the encantado of Brazil). If the stories, they’re typically described as looking almost exactly like humans, as European faeries often do. So I was on the hunt for a monster that looked roughly like this awesome art, but was more canonically a killer plant-thing.

This led me to the “taong tuod”, as described on the Cryptidz wiki. Always a dubious source, but I figured I’d follow up. I’m glad I did--the taong tuod isn’t a Filipino folkloric monster, but a media monster. Specifically, it first appears in a Tagalog horror comic. I don’t read Tagalog, but I’d be very interested to know what the comic is about--from the images alone, it appears to be about a Gothic manor overgrown by malevolent plant life. The name translates loosely as “mourning tree”. And then I was off to the races.]

Taong Tuod          CR 12 NE Plant This creature looks something like a gnarled stump grown into a humanoid shape, with four clawed hands. Instead of a head it has a crown of branches, in which hang multiple skulls. A single red eye glowers from within the tangle of branches.

Taong tuods are sometimes called “mourning trees”, as they grow from areas infused with death and negative emotions. The sites of massacres, destroyed cities and especially prolonged battles form taong tuods, and they are often created as natural plant growth overtakes the remnants of civilization. Despite this, they are decidedly unnatural creatures—they are obsessed with learning everything they can about tragedies and catastrophes, and then keeping that information to themselves. They decorate their bodies with fragments of corpses, call upon the spirits of the dead to learn their secrets, and then track down the living colleagues and compatriots of the fallen to add them to the roster of the deceased. They often lurk in ruins, defacing them after uncovering their secrets and then murdering explorers so that none but the trees will remember.

In combat, a taong tuod trusts primarily to its savage claws. It may stalk creatures from hiding for a while, using its aura of despair to weaken their resolve and render them susceptible to terrain hazards and traps before it closes in for the kill. A creature that proves able to injure the taong tuod is typically targeted with its beam of ages, locking it into a despairing fugue state while the monster kills its allies. They use tree stride to flee a losing confrontation, but usually shadow the victorious party for weeks at a time in order to get revenge.

Taong tuods distrust even each other, but are fond of mindless or barely sentient plant creatures, and often keep them as guardians and cannon fodder. They can move with preternatural ease through overgrown terrain, and their lairs are often inaccessible without hours of clearing foliage or magical assistance. They keep treasure, especially those that bear images of the living, and may talk to them and their body part collections as if they were alive.

Taong Tuod           CR 12 XP 19,200 NE Medium plant Init +6; Senses darkvision 60 ft., greensight, Perception +17 Aura despair (30 ft., Will DC 22) Defense AC 26, touch 16, flat-footed 24 (+2 Dex, +10 natural, +4 profane) hp 168 (16d8+96); regeneration 5 (acid, cold) Fort +20, Ref +11, Will +13DR 10/slashing and magic; SR 23 Defensive Abilities spectral shield Offense Speed 30 ft., climb 15 ft. Melee 4 claws +18 (1d6+5/19-20) Ranged beam of ages +14 touch (6d6 negative energy plus grief) Special Attacks rend (2 claws, 1d6+7) Spell-like Abilities CL 12th, concentration +16 (+20 casting defensively) At will—call spirit (DC 18), spiritual weapon (1d8+4, +16/+11/+6), touch of idiocy 3/day— command plants (DC 18), thorn body, tree stride 1/day—commune with nature, plant growth, transmute metal to wood (DC 21) Statistics Str 20, Dex 15, Con 22, Int 16, Wis 19, Cha 19 Base Atk +12; CMB +17; CMD 29 Feats Bleeding Critical, Combat Casting, Critical Focus, Improved Critical, Improved Initiative, Weapon Focus (claw) Skills Climb +23, Intimidate +14, Knowledge (history, nature) +13, Perception +17, Sense Motive +13, Stealth +15 (+23 in forests), Survival +13; Racial Modifiers +8 Stealth in forests Languages Common, Sylvan, Treant SQ superior woodland stride Ecology Environment warm and temperate forests Organization solitary or memorial (1 plus 1-10 plant monsters) Treasure standard Special Abilities Aura of Despair (Su) All living creatures within 30 feet of a taong tuod must succeed a DC 22 Will save or suffer a -2 penalty to attack rolls, saving throws, skill and ability checks as long as it remains in the aura and for 1 minute thereafter. A creature that succeeds its save is immune to the aura of despair of that taong tuod for the next 24 hours. This is a mind-influencing emotion effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Beam of Ages (Su) As a standard action once every 1d4 rounds, a taong tuod may fire a beam of negative energy from its eye. Treat this as a ranged touch attack with a range of 120 feet and no range increment. A creature struck takes 6d6 points of negative energy damage and is overwhelmed with grief. A grieving target can take no actions, is flat-footed and suffers an additional -2 penalty to Armor Class. A creature can halve the negative energy damage and negate the grief with a successful DC 22 Will save. A grieving creature may attempt a new saving throw every round to shake off the effect. This is a mind-influencing emotion effect, and the save DC is Charisma based. Spectral Shield (Su) A taong tuod is surrounded by a mantle of soul energy, gaining a profane bonus to its Armor Class and saving throws equal to its Charisma modifier. If it fails its save against an effect that negates possession effects (such as dispel evil), it loses this bonus for 1 minute. Superior Woodland Stride (Su) A taong tuod is not affected by difficult terrain caused by magical or mundane plant life, and takes no damage from hazardous terrain made out of plants, such as a spike growth or wall of thorns spell.

#taong tuod #horror comics #plant monster #pathfinder 1e #brian valeza

[dundunny]

Arkham Asylum

So I just got the Arkham Collection, and I'm gonna try to bust through all of them about a decade too late, but that's usually how I roll. First up: Arkham Asylum.

My first mistake was starting this right after beating Spider-Man for the PS4 because I inevitably started comparing them mentally. Asylum was about a decade before and also was trying for something completely different. The first is the battle system; it's much clunkier and feels off. Assassin's Creed II was released the same year so it's not as if the technology wasn't there, but I'm wondering if it's because Asylum emphasizes so much on stealth that it's trying to discourage the player from engaging. Part of the problem is there's no healing and thus very little forgiveness for mistakes. If someone has a gun, you're more or less screwed because three hits and you're dead. But even other weapons or just too many opponents are very difficult to overcome. If you're sneaking around, fine. I can pick them off. However a mandatory fight can fuck you over quick. It's just somewhat surprising for a dude who supposedly knows dozens of martial art styles and has a belt of gadgets, he seems to be unable to take a couple of guys with ease.

Speaking of Batman, I think my biggest problem with the game itself was his idiocy. In a universe of people who can fly, control sea creatures, or lift cars with ease, what he brings to the table are his resources, cleverness, and contingency plan for almost every scenario. So you'd imagine after being gassed once by Scarecrow, you'd fucking wear a gasmask or something, not just deal with it another two times. Don’t fucking tell me he doesn’t have some sort of protection in that Batcave of his.

What's worse is how he continually tells people to wait here because they'll be safe. They won't. They're not. Yet for one group of people he advises to fortify the door and guess what? They survive! Too bad he never told anyone else that or maybe guide them to that location. I counted and literally only eleven people walk away from this night alive. The first group, fine, I don't think Batman knew the extent of what he was dealing with, but once you start seeing the prisoners leaving bodies hanging from the ceiling, I think it's best he not leave people just standing around the greenhouse as if they're going to be OK.

In terms of plot, it was fine and interesting to see how Joker's plan unfolds. Although I would prefer to see the entirety of Gotham, I like the claustrophobic feeling of being stuck on the island during a massive prison break. I understand they wanted this to be horror, but I look at the facility and wonder why hasn't this facility been shut down because it wouldn't even pass building code, and what year did they think this game would take place because no sanitorium would look like this after c.1950? I think the designers pushed this theme to the point the architecture just got nonsensical, like public showers in the weirdest of places (right next to the welcome desk to the penitentiary) or a morgue literally right outside the doctor's office in the admin building.

The lineup here is Zsasz, Bane, Harley, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, Riddler, and Joker, some of whom you never actually fight. Unfortunately for most of the boss fights they just follow Bane's fighting style and pattern, so there's less variation. Scarecrow is the same fight thrice, and Killer Croc is the most annoying section of the game where you have to walk extremely slowly so he doesn't detect you, except he jumps out of nowhere every thirty seconds anyway to attack you.

Probably my favorite part of the game was solving the riddles and unlocking profiles to see references to all sorts of Batman baddies. Tweedledum and Tweedledee! I completely forgot about those dudes. Getting the goddamned camera to focus on it and accept that I'm staring at the solution is a whole other problem though.

Overall though, I did enjoy the game and am glad I played it. The buildings and environment are fun to explore, the story and characters are engaging, the voice acting is good (bringing back the animated series I see), and I did feel my heart pumping a lot of the time as I tried not to get caught. I wouldn't say it's the most amazing thing I've ever played, but good work guys.

#batman #arkham asylum #rocksteady #video games #game review

[fromthewifecage]

Kombatants and a clumsy S/O (aka: Oh shit I just dropped my sandwich on the floor)

This idea for some headkanons came from a silly chat with @gojihime99, and I just had to write something. Also I’m suffering from pretty horrendous PMT this month and occasionally, amongst the anger and annoying fits of sobbing, I become even more clumsy that normal. I’ve almost fallen down the stairs so many times in the last 2 days that I have no idea how I haven’t seriously hurt myself. This includes Erron Black, Johnny Cage (mention of Younger!Johnny but focused on Dad!Johnny), Nightwolf, Bi-Han, Kenshi (yes @malicedragoness, I finally included him for you, sorry it’s not full on filth), Kabal and Kano (again Kano is last so if you don’t like him you can ignore the end). It’s aiming for humour and fluff, with a hint of smut. Hope you like :D It’s quite long so do keep reading after the cut! Erron Black: This man has the reflexes of a magician. He’ll be relaxing with you, an arm slung around your shoulders, one hand stroking through your hair, whilst his other hand will be dancing a coin across his knuckles. You’re not complaining, talented fingers are very useful after all, but it’s unfair that he never seems to drop anything or even have to concentrate on making sure he doesn’t spill his drink when he’s carrying it, your drink, a bowl of snacks, and some napkins because it’s inevitable that you’ll spill said drink at least once. “Noooooooooo!” Erron appears in the doorway, thumbs hooked into his belt, feet crossed nonchalantly and a massive smirk on his infuriatingly sexy lips. “What you dropped this time, darlin’?” “Sandwich.” He snorts and saunters away, spurs jingling, the noise only half covering his low rumbly laughter. Sexy bloody bastard. Well the floor is clean, he knows you drop stuff occasionally (all the time) and so he takes time to mop the floor, all so you can take advantage of the 5 second rule. And he mops topless because it means you’ll get all hot and red and then your clothes will fall off and you’ll both end up fucking on the kitchen worktops. “Noooooooooo!” This time it’s Erron yelling and you running into the bedroom. There you find Erron sprawled on the bed, his smirk even smirkier. “You ok?!” “Looks like I fell on the bed. Gosh darn it.” His smirk curls into a predatory grin that sends a deep aching pulse to your core. Ugh. Stupid sexy bastard. Then ‘oh nooooo’ you’ve fallen too. And your clothes soon fall to the floor. Gosh darn it. Keep reading for more idiocy after the cut...

Johnny Cage: Younger!Johnny has no time for clumsiness and will roll his eyes whenever you trip up the stairs (how is that even a thing? Surely gravity should stop that? Stupid science). He’s a bit of a twat, let’s be honest. It’s when baby Cassie comes along that he experiences his own clumsiness for the first time. Being woken countless times a night and surviving for months on little to no sleep turns the once smoothly graceful man into a stumbling mess. It also shows him how dangerous a home can be and after he’s tripped over a dropped baby bottle seemingly 100 times in one night that he calls in his PA and has the apartment (Penthouse) baby (and sleepy Dad) proofed. Dad!Johnny is a much more understanding and kind man. “Noooooooooo!” Johnny runs into the kitchen, hair wet from the shower and sticking up in every possible direction, towel flapping, fists held in front of him, his entire body radiating green light. “You ok, baby?” You’re speechless, scared and he’s now worried. It’s after a good few minutes of him searching the kitchen, spouting off threats of serious bodily harm that you find your voice. “I’m sorry, please don’t be angry with me I didn’t mean to I’m sorry please don’t Hulk-out!” He’s puzzled at first, and kinda worried you’re unwell. that’s when he notices the green glow lighting up the kitchen. His face flushes red and he’s so damn adorable that you can’t help but pull him into your arms, and when you finally get him to tell you about the ‘glow’ you just about die with happiness. You wake him up the next morning wearing all the green clothes you own. “You ‘Hulking-out’ now, sweetheart?” “It’s my way of glowing, you know, cos I love you too.” Maybe you didn’t need to dig out that ill fitting green shirt, because he has that off you in mere seconds, and everything else you’re wearing. Neither of you leave the bedroom until you really need a sandwich. And he offers to make it this time. Nightwolf: He’s not one to comment on any clumsiness, that would be mean and the last thing he’d ever want to do is make you feel uncomfortable or ashamed of something you can’t really control. If you repeatedly drop or squish things he’ll rearrange his home to make it easier for you to move without bashing your hip into the edge of the table, repeatedly. He’ll think about why you might be clumsy, are you not paying attention, or is the table possessed by an evil demon who likes to watch you hurt yourself on it’s sharp corners? Maybe you’re overly stressed by your job? He wants to help, he wants you to be happy and besides, if your hip is sore then that might get in the way of rolling about naked together in the forest and that is not ok. “Noooooooooo!” Nightwolf runs into the kitchen in the most heroic way, hair loose and majestic, an axe tightly held ready to vanquish whatever is making you shout. He finds you pouting at a happy Kiba licking at the floor. “Are you alright, my love?” When it comes out that you’re sad because you dropped your sandwich on the kitchen floor and Kiba snaffled it in one big bite, Nightwolf is stunned. He puts down the axe and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back and trying oh so very hard not to laugh. “I’ll make you a new one, and we can go outside and watch the sunset whilst you eat it.” Nightwolf is the best. Especially when he’s butt naked and howling with pleasure into the night as you ride him, sandwich forgotten and uneaten in the picnic basket he put together. Bi-Han: The man can move as silently as smoke and as fluidly as water, so honestly, your clumsiness does annoy him. But he does admire that you don’t make a big deal (usually), that you clean up any mess, and you don’t ask him to modify his home to suit you, rather you accept you’re going to bash your hips against the edge of the table, or hit your head when you open a cabinet when looking for his secret chocolate supply (he’ll deny he has one). If you’re living together or at least spending time together out of bed, then he has actual feelings for you, so accepts your clumsiness as part of you, and wouldn’t dream of asking or trying to get you to change. He loves you as you are, clumsy dork or not, and you love him just the way he is, a big scary (sexy) assassin. “Noooooooooo!” Bi-Han saunters into the kitchen. He’s an exceptionally skilled assassin, he can tell if there is someone else is in the house, and it’s just you, and from the sound of it, you’ve dropped your sandwich. He leans against the doorframe and watches you sulk. “You’re cute when you pout.” You have to stomp over to the fridge to hide the smile that tries to erase your pout. When you find you’ve had the last of the cheese you really do pout. Bi-Han just grins that infuriating gin of his and nods towards a bag on the table. Inside is cheese, crisp salad leaves and your favourite bread from your favourite bakery, all the way over the other side of town. He knew you were running low on supplies and didn’t want you to go hungry. You reward him with a long lingering kiss and don’t even mention the blood smear staining the bag. Best not to. Plus Bi-Han has his hands under your top and you’d really rather not distract him from that. Kenshi: He would never deliberately intrude upon your thoughts without your express permission, but sometimes, especially if you’re thinking hard or are emotional about something, your thoughts project too loudly to ignore. There are also times that Kenshi feels he has to read your thoughts, for example if you’re upset or he’s genuinely worried about you. Your clumsiness confused him at first, he’d hear shrieks or thuds, you’d wince if he pressed against a bruise as his hands explored your body, and it took him breaching his own rules on telepathy and reading your mind to see what really happened. So he was relieved to find that you were not in danger, no-one was hurting you or making you anxious enough to lose focus and hurt yourself; you just lost focus on your surroundings, weren’t spatially aware of your own body or were paying attention to something else enough to walk into the wall, again. “Noooooooooo!” Kenshi strolls into the kitchen as the sandwich levitates off the ground and back onto the plate you’re holding. “My hero!” You squeak and rush to hug him. He’s a fantastic hugger so you barely need an excuse to wrap your arms around his wiry frame. The sandwich starts sliding off the plate again so Kenshi calmly hovers them both onto the table to let you hug him tighter. “Was this just a ploy to get me in your arms?” You laugh and hug him tighter. “No, but would you object if I tried it in the future? Or we can just pretend I’ve dropped my sandwich and you can still be all handsome and heroic and save me from possessed food?” His laughter is silenced by your lips pressing to his own and hands that tug at his crisply pressed shirt. His smile is too beautiful not to kiss. Kabal: Not only is he a speed demon, but he’s graceful as well. Quite how he can zip around at speeds so fast Sonic would be jealous AND manage not to knock anything over and avoid pedestrians is frankly unfair. At the start of your relationship he’ll zoom around moving things out of your way, but after you explain it feels overly protective and nannying, he stops (unless you're in serious danger). He understands your need to feel free, to grab onto any small chunks of personal freedom that you can, and admires that you can accept your ‘flaws’. He does tease you about it if you bump into something, but gently and with a smile, and he knows you can’t resist his smiles, so it’s doubly good, right? “Noooooooooo!” He’s there before you finish groaning out your frustration. “You ok?” “Dropped my sandwich.” He can’t help but laugh. “And there was me thinking it was a monster. Kinda hoped it was a monster so I could show off and slice it into pepperoni so you’d swoon and offer me anything I wanted for being your saviour.” “Oh, is that how it is?” You grin and grab a hold of his shirt, tugging him to press against you. He raises an eyebrow and grins, eyes sparkling. “You want me to get on my knees and show you how grateful I am for you rescuing me from the big bad sandwich?” It’s after you both breathlessly get to your feet having rolled around on the kitchen floor, that you notice what happened to the sandwich. Kabal jokingly offers you the bum-flattened bread. You both end up on the floor again when you tell him you’d rather eat his ass. Kano: Drop his stuff and he’ll get pissed off, drop your own and he’ll laugh. And if you drop food then he’s fully into the 5 second (or minutes/hours) rule. Food is food, and when you grow up dirt poor then a little bit of floor on your sandwich isn’t enough to throw it away. If you’re in a casual/fuck buddy thing with him then he’s not going to see you enough to witness your clumsiness, but once he develops feelings for you and wants you around, he finds pretty much everything you do cute and lovable. “Noooooooooo!” Kano barrels into the kitchen like a sexy (sexier?) crocodile Dundee, knives out, tits out, red eye glowing menacingly. He’s used to all manner of fuck off deadly shit in Australia, and in Russia you may not have ‘death on eight legs’ or Jaws waiting mouth open in a puddle, but you do get bears, wolves, and angry bastards who’ve run out of vodka. “You ok, love?” You pout and point to the floor. Your meticulously made sandwich (and you’d been thinking about it all day) lay on the floor. “Well, whilst you’re down there, love?” His grin is filthy and despite the horrendous line, you laugh. “Oh no, think it’s my turn, don’t you?” “Don’t have to ask me twice.” For a man his size he is far faster than you’d imagine, and he has his tongue inside you before you can really catch your breath. He even gives you the bigger half of the sandwich afterwards. He’s a softy really.

#Erron Black #Johnny Cage #Nightwolf #Bi-Han #Kabal #Kano #Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat Headkanons #Mortal Kombat Headcanons #Younger!Johnny Cage #Dad!Johnny Cage #noob saibot #OG Sub-Zero #Sandwich

[sauerland-2001]

The ending of Outer Banks frustrated me so much, because it has 567 loose ends and if Netflix cancels this I will never know if JJ gets away from the monster that is his father.  I was genuinely upset at the post-jail scene in the car and it made me want to protect that kid like crazy.  

I still had a bit of a problem with the complete ignorance of race, which I’m guessing was a conscious choice because they wanted to focus on the war between the two classes on the island.  They had all these poc characters and not one of them pointed out that the repercussions were definitely more severe for them.  Calling Pope repeatedly an uptight drama queen made me roll my eyes so much, because guess what...he knew that if they’d get caught his life would be over.  I appreciated that JJ seemed to understand that and took the blame for the boat thing.  I also understand that the tone of the show would have been a different one if they had included the issue of race.  This is not Dear White People. It’s just something I thought about while watching.  It didn’t ruin the show for me and I enjoyed it for what it was.

John B. is such a ridiculous character but I really like him.  His humor, his pettiness, his strong will that often turned into sheer idiocy and recklessness....he had a lot in common with other male teen leads from other shows but his emotional reactions to what went on around him put him above many of those similar characters.  That kid was anything but cool :-D But they really need to stop putting his life in danger like that.  I mean, someone almost drowned him, he was electrocuted, thrown off a tower, hit by several cars, had a bike accident and survived a storm in an open boat.  Slow down, show :-D 

I want to say something about Rafe but I’m not an expert when it comes to mental illnesses and I don’t want to upset people in my ignorance.  Let’s just say I was not a fan of how they treated that character, because they had a chance to go beyond “coke addict/spoilt rich kid/policewoman killer” and kind of missed the mark by making it about his daddy issues.  Maybe they will explore his mental health in season 2 (if that happens).  

I will say more about the girls in a different post :-) 

#outer banks #outer banks netflix #outer banks spoilers

[nobodyfamousposts]

Categories of Failure - An Akuma Analysis

Who wants more analysis of Hawk Moth’s idiocy?

If there is anything that makes Hawk Moth’s quest for the Miraculous hard to take seriously, you need look no further than his multitude of akumas that almost seem designed to fail.

I’ve taken the time to note what akumas Hawk Moth DOESN’T create even if it could solve his problems (aka: a stealthy akuma, a Miraculous-locating akuma, or even one that could just heal his wife with no Miraculous or potentially reality-destabilizing wish required). But I haven’t yet fully explored the akumas he DOES create and just WHY they are horrible.

I’ve been talking about this for a while now and I think I’ve pieced together an accurate—or at least coherent list and explanation of what I mean. I have noted four particular categories of akumas doomed to fail and I think they highlight in and of themselves the issue of Gabriel’s horrible lack of planning and why his stated goal does not appear to be his actual goal.

Powers Too Big:

These are the akumas who by all logic should have a pretty high death count just by the very nature of their powers, even before they actively try to attack the heroes. These are the akumas that are powerful—TOO powerful. So much so that their sheer destructive capability should have wiped Paris off the map. But the biggest issue with these akumas is not only that they fail despite being extremely powerful, it’s that Hawk Moth remains completely unaffected by their powers. These are world-affecting akumas who at the very LEAST should have SOME impact on Hawk Moth’s lair give that he is operating from within Paris. So why was his lair not flooded? Or frozen over? Or taken out by the giant freaking volcano?

These are cases where the powers of the akumas are big—HUGE even. Enough to affect the WORLD. By that logic, they SHOULD also affect Hawk Moth. And if it wasn’t for the shoddy writing, maybe they would. In each case, we’re shown that Hawk Moth and his lair are just fine. Given what little we see of her, we can assume that his wife’s comatose body is fine, too. Which…makes NO SENSE.

This leads to a major flaw in Hawk Moth’s overall plan in that he happens to BE in the very city he’s attacking. Meaning that whatever he is having happen to the city should by all counts be happening to HIM as well. If it weren’t for the plot armor, Hawk Moth would be dead. Flat out. And even if he DID manage to survive, he’d certainly have cause to be be more on board with Ladybug fixing everything.

But plot armor is still no excuse for Hawk Moth to have NOT thought this through. I shouldn’t have to get into the scientific logistics of how cold it would have to suddenly be for a city to freeze over in summer, the full impact of a volcano eruption in a populated city, or how much water would be necessary to fully flood Paris just to point out that whatever effect they’re having should also be hitting the Big Bad’s lair just as much as the rest of the city.

Hawk Moth’s location aside, some of these akumas are BIG enough that it honestly shouldn’t matter WHERE he was. Even if he somehow managed to instantaneously make and warp akumas to where he needed them to go from across the world, some of these akumas are just too powerful. So powerful in fact that they have more of a chance of obliterating all life than they would of getting the Miraculous.

Even ignoring that, the fact that their powers are so huge makes them a terrible choice of tools if the goal is specifically to steal magical jewelry. They just aren’t practical for the intended goal, especially since their powers can effectively doom the world at large. The heroes could be killed and their Miraculous easily lost. Alternatively, it’s been made clear in canon that the Miraculous CAN be damaged. So what will Hawk Moth do then if his akuma loses or even outright destroys either of the two Miraculous he needs—particularly the Ladybug Miraculous, which is the ONLY THING that can set the world to rights?

Examples: Stormy Weather 1&2, Frozer, Syren

Stormy Weather 2 flat out nearly destroyed the WORLD. I cannot emphasize that enough. Because if the city is destroyed and everything is ash, the wish is going to be kind of pointless. Because yes, we have confirmation that Miraculous CAN be damaged. Hawk Moth would know that as well. So WHY would he create an akuma THIS powerful which could potentially obliterate the very things he wants it to get for him?

Powers too big means he’s using the equivalent of a hurricane to try and get a kite out of a tree. That’s not what the hurricane is for, the hurricane is not efficient in this task, and it is more likely that the kite will be decimated. As will the tree. And everything else.

Powers Too Small:

On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have the case of the akumas with powers that are either minimalistic or much too specific to do any real good or make any real progress in obtaining the Miraculous. The fact that they are any threat at all seems to be less a matter of the power Hawk Moth gave them and more their own ingenuity and ability.

Examples: Silencer, Frightningale, Troublemaker, Antibug, Copycat, Dark Owl, Puppeteer 1, Chameleon

Some of you may argue with me on Antibug and Copycat. I include them both here due to the limitations they have. Antibug is just a reverse color of Ladybug. She was able to summon a Charm, but it was simply imposing rather than useful. Copycat is pretty much an exact copy of Chat Noir, including the time limit after using Cataclysm ONCE. Compare this with Volpina, who is pretty much an improved version of Rena Rouge given how many illusions she can create.

What made each of them threatening and useful was how THEY applied their powers rather than what the power itself was. Look to Silencer, whose powers were by far the most limited—being the ability to steal the voice of anyone but ONLY through physical touch. The power was lame and hardly threatening, and it took his “victim” interfering with Ladybug in the fight for Silencer to even get her voice at all. But out of all the akumas, he’s actually the one who made most efficient use of his powers and made the most progress in his own personal goal of outing the scumbag music producer who stole Kitty Section’s music and Marinette’s designs. That says a lot for Luka, but not for Hawk Moth.

Dark Owl was also a threat. Not going to lie that he was quite possibly one of the biggest threats to the heroes. But again, that was more on his own ingenuity rather than Hawk Moth’s empowering him. After all, he’s the first and as of yet only akuma we’ve seen actually HIDE his akumatized item.

Puppeteer (the first time) can ONLY control people if she has a doll of them. Her power is reliant on the dolls existing in the first place and without them, she’s easily beaten.

Frightningale was a waste of potential and having a legitimate reason for the heroes to sing.

And Chameleon was limited in whom she could transform into in that she had to specifically kiss them. Sure, it got the person she was impersonating out of the way. But unlike Silencer or Dark Owl, if she was going to make real effective use of this, she shouldn’t have made it obvious she was an akuma.

Mind Affecting Akumas: 

Out of all the akumas, THESE are the ones who should by all counts have made the most progress in getting the Miraculous, especially considering how often Chat gets hit. Plot armor as justification comes off as cheap reasoning and even downright stupid when the akuma literally has half of the intended goal in their hands and decides, “nah, I’m just gonna leave things this way for now”. AND HAWK MOTH LETS THEM! Among all the signs of inefficiency and foolishness in the supervillain we are supposed to see as a threat, this situation and the fact that it has happened more than once would be the big one.

But there’s one other aspect here that should be of particular note…

Throughout the series, there are I believe at least four specific instances I’ve found of mind-affecting akumas who get tired of the fighting with the heroes and end up trying to unleash an ultimate move of some sort that will allow them to control everyone in the city.

I repeat: EVERYONE IN THE CITY. All the people who happen to be in Paris at the time of the attack. EVERYONE.

Including the super villain who happens to have his evil lair underneath his house located IN SAID CITY!

Simon Says/Jackady proves that Gabriel isn’t immune to the effects of his own akumas. So if ANY of those mind-affecting akumas manage to follow through with their city-wide attack, that means by all logic that Hawk Moth will get hit as well. So in those four instances, what would have happened had Ladybug and Chat Noir NOT stopped them?

Oblivio? We’d have an amnesiac Gabriel Agreste waking up in a creepy lair with no idea why he’s there or how to get out.

Darkblade? We’d have a random knight where Hawk Moth used to be.

Malediktator? Well, nobody will be taking Kitty Noir from Chloe and her family at any rate.

Princess Fragrance? Singing Hawk Moth. And that is something nobody needs to see.

But sure, let’s pretend that Hawk Moth would be immune to the mind-altering effects of his own akumas if they did manage to control the entire city. Let’s pretend that. If that’s the case, why not have them IMMEDIATELY use this big power from the start to hit everybody in the city and thus get Ladybug and Chat Noir under their power before they realize there’s even an akuma?

All in all, this is another example of Hawk Moth’s poor planning and tendency to leave himself wide open.

Unwinnable By Design:

But I think the biggest offenders are the ones whose powers make it downright impossible to complete their goal altogether. Usually it's because the powers they were given would immediately make the Miraculous permanently lost if they actually managed to hit the heroes. And even if they CAN undo the power, they would be stuck in either a stalemate or a catch 22.

Basically, their own power makes the battle unwinnable.

Examples:

Timebreaker zaps people out of reality just by touching them. But she has to touch them to get the Miraculous. How was she supposed to get their jewelry? Sure, Hawk Moth instructed her to get Chat’s ring before he faded away, but…how? He was already fading in seconds and Ladybug was already shown going through him. Her mission was impossible from the start.

Reflekta makes people into copies of herself. This should technically put her into the Powers Too Small category, except that it also makes her goal unachievable. Hawk Moth even calls her out on it when she transforms Chat because now she can’t get the Miraculous since it…y’know…doesn’t exist anymore. It’s suggested that she might be able to transform someone back given how she blackmailed Mayor Andre into helping her, but we have no way of knowing if that’s true or if it was something she lied about to get his help.

Similarly, Glaciator turns anything he hits into ice cream. The Miraculous are as good as melted.

Gamer 1 has the same issue. To be fair, maybe he can somehow restore the Miraculous once he hits the heroes, but his power is operating the giant robot out of the game and controlling it just like one can in the game. He can zap people to get points to become stronger, but there was no indication he can restore things that were zapped.

Pixelator and Collector would be caught in a catch 22. Even if they did manage to zap the heroes into their photos or book, there is no way that they could specifically remove the Miraculous without also freeing said heroes.

Conclusion:

All in all, given how OP the Butterfly is and Hawk Moth is while using it, there is little reason why he shouldn’t have won already, especially given the completely disproportionate power set on the side of the heroes as well as the lack of growth and power increase they are allowed to have.

Hawk Moth had all the tools necessary to win. The board is in his favor. The heroes are severely handicapped. No one is even bothering to try and actively search for him or track down where his akumas are coming from. The fact that he makes ANY progress (as implied by the confusing spoiler pre-reveal of Hawk Moth discovering Fu is the Guardian in Ikari Gozen), seems less a matter of him actually trying to save his wife and more sheer luck of things falling into his lap.

As it stands, there is a question as to whether Hawk Moth is taking his quest for the Miraculous seriously instead of simply going for a record of most villain cliches that can be fit into one series.

#ml salt #ml analysis #gabriel is an idiot #hawkmoth is an idiot #akuma salt

[floating-in-the-clowds]

Clowd’s Tale

As a child, growing up in the Viera Tribe, Clowd was orphaned, her parents disappearing when she was only a baby and so she was raised by the community, moving from family to family, never quite settling down nor fitting in with any one group. This affected how the other children within the tribe interacted with her also often excluding or forgetting about her.

One day while playing in a forest, Clowd wandered further from the group than was safe and was nowhere to be found. Exploring deeper into the woods, Clowd came across a decrepit looking mansion, long abandoned and, curiosity getting the better of her, ventured inside. It was only by evening that the searching Viera found her curled up on a woodland path shivering, almost half dead, and with 2 puncture wounds on the back of her neck.

Rushing her back to get help for her recovery, to everyone’s surprise Clowd had survived the night as well as being seemingly more energetic than ever.

The next few weeks passed and the way that Clowd was treated, rather than improving, only became worse. Her impossible recovery garnered her the nickname Zombunny from the other children, and her newfound lack of needing much to eat caused the adults that were looking after worry and eventually they daren’t go near here for fear of contracting whatever affliction she had, calling it a curse.

The following years were no better; while other children had grown into puberty and began to develop their adult bodies, Clowd had remained the same, retaining her 8y/o self. This unfortunate lack of change only spurred more harassment and bullying from other Viera.

This neglect eventually caused Clowd’s will to break and she ran away into the wilderness to live alone, rather than suffer another day.

It was 15 years before Clowd saw another person again.

Many of the tribes of the Au Ra don’t tend to stick in one place for too long, and the tribe of KahKol aren’t different in this regard. However they did stick out from other tribes in the fact that this particular tribe was composed of only orphans or refugees made so often by having their previous tribes destroyed, and Mizuki was such an orphan having had his family end up in tragedy, leaving him alone to wander until he was found by the KahKol. Being only recently accepted into the tribe, Mizuki tended to find himself alone and sticking to the edges of the camps, not prepared to open himself up to the rest of the tribe yet. He didn’t shirk his responsibilities to the tribe though, often leaving to hunt and bring back food.

It was one such time that he ventured into a nearby forest chasing after his usual prey when something quickly shot past his vision, no larger than his quarry, but big enough that he couldn't ignore whatever it was. Crouching low, Mizuki crept closer to where the creature darted off to, bringing into view a hunched over figure seemingly eating the remains of an animal. Mizuki began to creep closer, trying to get a better view of whatever it was, when his footfall came down upon a branch creating a loud *CRACK*-ing sound. Time stopped for a moment as the two stared at eachother, Mizuki found himself locked in the gaze of the ruby red eyes of a Viera, a wild, scruffy, blood-splattered one, but the ears marked her as a Viera nevertheless.

With a short breath, Mizuki stuttered out

 “Y-you gonna finish that?” pointing towards the carcass.

Taking Clowd back to the tribe and getting them to let her stay was far easier than actually convincing her to come along back with him in the first place, being alone in the wild was more than enough reason for the tribe to accept her into their family. Some may find it fortunate, others may see it as idiocy but many of the would be problems that arose while Clowd was introduced to the tribe could be explained away as simply differences of culture and biology between the two races as many of the children and young adults had never met a viera before, therefore when Clowd stated her age to be 42 while she had the body that matched many of the 16y/os such as Miuki was accepted readily. A few of the older ones had heard that Viera live well past their hundreds so this should be fine, mistaking that Viera actually reach maturity at around 13. Another would be problem was Clowd’s diet; Clowd, while able to eat food and very much enjoying doing so, seemingly however only needed to consist of blood of other living thing creatures. In fact, when she abstained from drinking blood it seemed to only make her more irritable and brought upon the symptoms of starving if avoided for too long, even with plenty of alternate foodstuffs to consume. This oddity was accepted readily due to the fact that some tribes of the Au Ra race partake in drinking the blood of others also, though this is more recreationally or as a ritual, but most just believed Clowd to enjoy blood as one might coffee, with symptoms being something like caffeine withdrawal.

Throughout the following 10 years Mizuki and Clowd became near inseparable, going most places and doing most things together. It was on such a hunt together that Clowd and Mizuki arrived back to a dear tragedy as the KahKol tribe had been completely destroyed by the Buduga Au Ra tribe, leaving those alive to suffer alone. Upon seeing the devastation, Mizuki took Clowd and ran with all their might away, far away, as fast as they possibly could.

During the subsequent years together, Clowd and Mizuki decided that the only way to survive was to sell their skills and become adventurers. This brings us to the start of A Realm Reborn where Clowd’s journey of self discovery blooms.

They still don’t know that Clowd’s a vampire btw, she just thinks that she’s cooler than everyone else…

Dumbasses.

I’m happy to take any asks about Clowd if you have anything you wanna know and I can answer in character too if you’d like! Just make sure to specify whether your’e asking me or her lul

Mizuki belongs to @bad-luckcharm​

#Ff14 #Ffxiv #Ffxiv viera #ffxiv art #ffxiv character #ffxiv oc #.this is the 2nd time writing this after tumblr ate the first one #im so tired #my art #ffxiv au ra #viera #au ra

[uniqueshoebakeryweasel]

This is my @jedijune fanfiction. This is totally late and I have absolutely no excuse for it so I apologize! I had fun trying to figure out how Anakin’s brain works for this fic, because he’s such a chaotic force and I don’t really understand him at all! Constructive criticism is very welcome! Thanks and I hope you enjoy!💙

Prompt 2: Lightsaber

It was official. Anakin was about to die. He had only been a Padawan for about a year and now he would never fulfill any of his hopes or dreams. He would never become a Jedi Knight or Master, he would never get to see his mother again, never get a chance to free her and tell her how much progress he had made. He wouldn’t be able to free all of the slaves on Tatooine. And he would never get to explore the whole wide galaxy!

After all his thoughts of how he would go out if he ever did, this wasn’t what Anakin expected. He thought that if he ever died it would be in the midst of a large battle - he would die heroically saving countless people, Jedi included. Obi-Wan would finally see how good he really was, and in Anakin’s last moments Obi-Wan would apologize for holding him back and teaching him useless things like breathing exercises and boring meditation techniques. Even in his head, however, Anakin usually assumed he would survive whatever wound had led Obi-Wan to apologize to him, so that he could go on to become the grand master of the Jedi, as well as a most loved hero of the galaxy!

Now Anakin knew that that wouldn’t come to pass. Instead, he was doomed to die as a Jedi Padawan, here on a small planet where he and Obi-Wan had been sent as peacekeepers.

Obi-Wan and Anakin had chased an assassin who had attempted to kill one of the leaders within the negotiations at the time. Somewhere along the way they had gotten separated, which led to Anakin stumbling into the bind that he was currently in. He had almost caught the assassin on his own, but he got cocky and the assassin took advantage of that. He had caught Anakin on top of one of the buildings, and after a few minutes he had managed to push Anakin off the edge. Anakin had fallen onto a balcony a ways down, and discovered that the building wasn’t finished being built and there was no exit from the level he was on. He wasn’t yet skilled or experienced enough to find a way out, although he had tried, and nearly fallen off of the balcony in an attempt to climb down. So there he was - stuck, mildly injured, and waiting for his terrible fate to come to pass.

Anakin knew he was being dramatic, however - death would be too quick a punishment to be suitable for such a mistake. Maybe Obi-Wan would realize that he was indeed too young to be a Padawan and would demote him to be a youngling for a few years. Maybe he would be sent away! Anakin overheard a few Padawans talking about some type of agricorp that their friend had been sent to? Apparently if a youngling wasn’t chosen by their thirteenth birthday they were sent away… who knew?

Just then Anakin heard the sound of engines outside of the building and looked up in time to see a quaint ship carefully lining up by the balcony that he had fallen onto earlier. He panicked as he saw it, his imagination going into overdrive as he thought of the probable consequences of his actions. What if Obi-Wan simply kicked him out of the temple and left him to try and survive! What if he decided to just leave him on this foreign planet where the people spoke a dialect that he didn’t understand? What if they decided he was better suited to Tatooine and dropped him off back at Watto’s shop??

His mother would be so disappointed! Obi-Wan would glare at him in that way that would look rather neutral to outsiders, but if you were on the receiving end of it you would just Know that you were about to regret whatever you just did. The other Padawans would laugh at him for his idiocy and tell him it proved that he was never worthy, just like they always said. What if…

Anakin’s thoughts and wild imagination were cut off by his name being called out from the direction of the ship. Looking up from the ground - when had he started looking at the ground instead of the ship? - he saw the ship's ramp had lowered and suddenly Obi-Wan was safely on the balcony, looking at him with… was that worry in his eyes? No, that couldn’t be right, and it would quickly change when he realized the magnitude of what Anakin had done.

“Are you alright, Anakin? It’s unlike you to be this quiet,” Obi-Wan questioned as he swiftly paced forward to stand in front of his young Padawan. For once in his life, Anakin was unable to come up with any response, sarcastic or not. So he simply looked back at the ground, hoping wistfully that it could just swallow him up and end his suffering.

He glanced up briefly when he heard Obi-Wan stepping closer. His brow was creased and he was scanning Anakin over for, presumably, injuries. However, Anakin knew that he would only find some cuts and bruises from the fall, and maybe from the brief scuffle he had had with the assassin.

After what seemed like ages but was probably only a few seconds, Obi-Wan seemed satisfied that he wasn’t terribly hurt, and gestured for Anakin to follow him into their ship.

Once inside, Anakin swiftly strapped himself into the copilot's seat, and promptly smashed his face against the window as he stubbornly stared outside to avoid Obi-Wan concerned glances as he began to pilot the ship back to the room they were staying at. Anakin assumed that meant that the assassin got away, which certainly didn’t help his mood.

For some reason, Obi-Wan allowed him to stay silent the whole trip back, which admittedly wasn’t that long, only a few minutes, but still… Anakin grudgingly appreciated it, not that Obi-Wan ever needed to know that, and as soon as the ship landed on the roof of their building, Anakin hopped out scarcely before the ramp was even lowered, and scurried inside to clean up. Before he made it up the stairs to the refresher, however, he was stopped by Obi-Wan, who placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder just as he was about to skulk off to the refresher.

“Stay here for now, Anakin,” Obi-Wan instructed before swiftly moving to the kitchen to prepare both of them some tea.

Their accommodations were small and simple so the kitchen was little more than a few cabinets and appliances in the corner of the room. Anakin huffed and moodily sat down on the steps that he had been about to climb. Obi-Wan put on the teapot and as he waited for the water to heat up, he glanced at Anakin over his shoulder.

“What happened?”

It was a simple question, and yet it was what Anakin had been dreading since he had fallen onto the balcony. Obi-Wan had turned back to face the teapot so Anakin had a chance to gather the courage to speak.

He finally decided it would be better to get it over with, so glaring (pouting) at the floor, he shot out, “I lost my lightsaber!”

Once he realized that he had actually admitted to such a crime his head shot up to look at Obi-Wan, his eyes going impossibly wide, and he started rambling, “it was an accident I promise, the assassin pushed me off of a building and I landed on that balcony and I didn’t even notice at first but it must’ve fallen off or something because I couldn’t find it anywhere, and I’m really sorry! Please don’t be mad, don’t send me back to Tatooine..”

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan cut him off when it was clear that he wouldn't stop. “Calm yourself, my young Padawan. Why do you think I would ever send you back to Tatooine?” Obi-Wan pinned Anakin with an incredulous gaze as he turned around to fully face him.

Anakin squirmed uncomfortably and grimaced as he replied. “Well, you’ve told me before that my lightsaber is my life, and that I have to be mindful of it at all times, and you’ve told me specifically not to misplace it, because I would be in trouble if I did…”

Obi-Wan sighed, and started working on brewing their tea as the teapot had just started whistling. “Please listen to me, Anakin. Nothing you do could change the fact that you are my family and I love you - I would never send you away for any reason. You’re my Padawan - it’s my duty and my honor to train, protect, and guide you into the life of a Jedi. I care about you and I just want to help you build the skills and habits that will help you be safe with or without me there to help you. That doesn’t mean that you will never make mistakes, but it is my job to help you lessen the chances of those mistakes happening.”

Anakin hadn’t looked up from the floor the entire time Obi-Wan was talking, but he looked up when he heard the clinking of two mugs being placed on a table. Obi-Wan strode to the steps he was sitting (most definitely not skulking) on and took a seat next to him. He waited a moment for Anakin to look up at him and gave him a small smile, before pulling something out of his robes. It was… Anakin's lightsaber!! Anakin's eyes widened and he leapt to his feet, shooting his head up to gape at Obi-Wan in awe.

Obi-Wan chuckled at his reaction. “You have much potential - however, you are still a new Padawan, and your Force shielding isn’t as thorough as it someday will be. You panicked when you lost your lightsaber and I felt you try to block me from our training bond, but you only managed to dull what you were feeling, so it was fairly easy to deduce what had happened. When I came to get you, I stopped by the base of the building and found it before I picked you up.“ Obi-Wan gave him a stern look, “I tell you not to lose your lightsaber because it is your life. I just want you to be safe. We will discuss this later, and meditate on it together.”

He ignored Anakin’s groan of annoyance and continued, “Tomorrow. I think you’ve had enough excitement for tonight, so for now, enjoy your tea. You did well, Anakin.”

Much love to the wonderful and talented muffin @imaginaryrobin for being my ever patient beta reader and illustrator!!

Your art looks as spectacular as always!💙

#jedi june #chaotic lil bean #anakin is such a mess #this is the first time he ever lost his lightsaber #according to me of course #he didnt take it very well #every time after this he just doesnt care though #obiwan probably regrets being so reasuring this first time #cause now he’s oht of control #tea reference #cause now I’m required #it’s a thing #dont even worry about it #obi toes the line of what a jedi is supposed to act like #because lil ani doesnt understand jedi yet #and obi wants to speak to him in a way he’ll understand #ANI ISNT POUTING OKAY #(only he really is) #(just dont tell hom he’s being stubborn) #i wonder if ani knows that obi got shipped off to the agricorp thing? #does obi know that he knows? #who am i kidding #of course he knows #he’s obiwan #my brain is betraying me #smol star wars boi #star wars #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #ok sleep time

[hypexion]

Flesh and Stone is one of those episodes that’s actually pretty great, even though it would seem like it wouldn’t be.

Flesh and Stone wastes no time getting started, taking the dire situation from the end of The Time of Angels and barely improving it. Flesh and Stone is a race against the inevitable, a desperate flight from an enemy that cannot be defeated. But piece by piece, everything is set in place for a solution that’s suprising, yet comes entirely from things previously established in the episode.

Complicating matters is that Amy has been infected by Angels. It turns out that the Image of Angel includes images in your mind, and thus you look at Angel for too long, it can climb out of your memory and kill you. Freaky. The solution is to close your eyes - in a situation where being blind is equivelent to death. This starts as a way to split Amy up from the Doctor and River, but eventually it leads to an incredibly tense scene as Amy has to try to get through the forest, while blind and surrounded by Angels.

The big thing about Flesh and Stone is that shortly after it begins, the main season arc suddenly shows up an inserts itself into the narrative. The Crack from Amy’s wall is back, and now it’s hungry. What has previously been an end of episode stinger is now front and centre, another problem to add to the pile. In theory, this could have gone terribly wrong, taking focus away from the Angels. However, the Angels remain the primary threat, with The Crack being a more abstract threat. The only reason four people Get Got by it is really testement to their own idiocy.

The conclusion of the episode takes everything mentioned before and combines it wonderfully. Once the vital piece of information is provided - that all the Angels together are as complex as the Doctor - we are reminded of the gravity of the situation. The Crack erases things from time, saving Amy from Memory Angels, and all is... not well, but close enough.

There’s some interesting character action in this episode to. The Doctor’s growing frustration, Amy’s attempts to stop the soldiers walking out of time, and River’s attempts to be somewhat comforting even as the Doctor undercuts them. There’s a lot of range on offer here, as the larger story allows for multiple facets of the characters to be explored. Even, sometimes, ones that are sort of weird and unexpected.

Of course, Flesh and Stone does do one rather bad thing - it maintains The Time of Angel’s mistake in giving the Angels a voice. It’s actually worse here, since nothing “Angel Bob“ actually says needs to be said. We don’t need to told the Angels are laughing, or that the Doctor has missed something - the Doctor could just work that out from context. In fact, the Doctor realising that the Angels are laughing would lead directly to him working out he’s missed something. It’s the same with the countdown - it’s probably better if the characters work it out instead of being told, because they’re mean to be smart. Literally the only moment that requires the Angels to communicate is when they ask the Doctor to feed The Crack so they can survive. Which doesn’t need words. The Angels still have bodies, so when the door rises and all the Angels are revealed, they could be beckoning and pointing at The Crack. Visual language in a visual medium - it’s more useful than you’d think.

The one think I’m okay with that many people aren’t in Flesh and Stone is the scene where the Angels move. In Blink, the Angels never move on-screen, because the audience is watching them. Clever. So how can they move in Flesh and Stone? Simple - we never see them move. All film is a series of still frames, being played at a fast enough rate to provide the illusion of motion. Each of these frames can show an unmoving Angel. But between the frames, when we aren’t looking? That’s when the Angels move. Flawless consistency is achieved.

Anyway, and the end of the episode after everyone is safe, Amy’s character undergoes a sudden development. Moffat cannot help himself, and Amy decides the Doctor is the in thing. It’s weird, the Doctor finds it weird, and it’s mostly an excuse to set up the next episode. As a one off thing it’s sort of “eh this happened“ but it’s actually not a one off thing, but part of a pattern with Steven Moffat and female characters that is honestly a little creepy. The subtext of “woman falls for guy she met briefly as a child“ is perhaps alarming.

Issues aside, Flesh and Stone is a pretty great finisher for a pretty great story. All the bits and pieces assemble together against the odds to form a statisfying conclusion. As two-parters go, The Time of Angels and Flesh and Stone are definitely at the top of the range.

#doctor who #eleventh doctor #flesh and stone #doctor who rewatch

[scarlok]

top black sails characters, in ascending order according to their unimportance relative to my affection

20. s1 dufresne (as very distinct from s2-3)

generally does his best. has a mathematician’s intolerance for bullshit, so the lad was never going to last long under flint. has an accountant’s pent up rage, as evidenced on the andromache. probably has a crush on billy bones, like approx. one third of the walrus crew. (as with some other characters, I really would rank him higher but technically he’s not minor enough; such is my system.)

19. singleton

a moment’s silence for the first walrus crew member to be killed by flint under spurious circumstances, not that anyone misses him, the sadistic bastard.

18. israel hands

what a piece of work is mr hands. j’adore.

17. ned low

only really succeeds in sawing a man’s head off and threatening eleanor before he dies his own violent death. quite a waste of a narrative arc, especially given that the contradictory accounts of low’s death give one plenty of ideas to explore. mr meeks didn’t die for this.

16. fogg

a man with good survival instincts but no chance to exercise them. here lies mr fogg, who did his level best under impossible circumstances.

15. idelle

good at getting information. dispenses fashion advice to boring men. saves anne from an awkward situation that would have ended in anne murdering another customer. later tells anne what she thinks of her. owns a machete.

14. de groot

mr de groot is out here loyally trying to make sensible decisions while his captain specialises in bad ones. probably been doing this for years.

13. morley

dislikes flint, likes randall and his cat. dies under (imo) suspicious circumstances, involving flint, randall, and the cat.

12. muldoon

nice person. probably has a crush on silver* (like approx. one third of the walrus crew), which is just asking for trouble. silver rather (uncharacteristically) goes to pieces in that particular crisis, for which I am forever judging him, although virtually nobody survives flint’s leadership so it was bound to end this way. 

* apparently richard wright-firth said so but I don’t know where; regardless, your #1 source for gay pirate history is b. r. burg.

11. naft

FRUIT FRUIT [REDACTED REDACTED] PLANT PLANT

10. charlotte

does charlotte design a lot of pirate flags? does her dark imagination strike fear into the hearts of all law-abiding mariners in the spanish main? are she and idelle a thing? inquiring minds &c.

9. lars

he’s brave. he’s handsome. he’s good at being quiet. in an ideal world fate would keep him away from flint, but he deserves, at the very least, more appearances.

8. linus harcourt

so much fun, for all of 15-30 minutes. he probably feels his death is cosmically unfair. I rather agree.

7. palmer and oates

these two doomed fucking idiots. flint probably decides to shoot them both because he can’t tell them apart either. kudos to both actors for a fine delivery of doomed idiocy.

6. mrs mapleton

the one and only older woman on nassau? cleverer than rackham. probably right about eleanor. knows how to bide her time. deserves her status as a last woman standing. 

5. mrs hudson

her! career! of! international! espionage! also the possibility of her seducing eleanor and their running away to london. my ideas are good.

4. eme

seems to be doing important work but almost always off-screen, you know? (madi/silver is good but also consider: madi/eme, ruling nassau together. I’m not sure how this would tie in with actual historical fact, but I already asked myself that question a lot throughout black sails so who cares anymore.) (I saw a woman so beautiful I started crying.)

3. that spanish sailor

nearly kills vane, then gives a moving speech and provides fascinating information on spanish maritime laws before expiring; fucking magnificent. (in point of fact: spain was the main target of caribbean piracy and although most pirates thereabouts were english, irish, french or dutch, there were also spanish and portuguese pirates: ergo, inevitably, I would have made this guy a longterm character.) and I appreciate some lengthy non-english dialogue.

2. joshua

seems lovely. good theatrical instincts in battle. rightly protective of the dairy goat. even provided me with a teeny glimpse of the multilingual pirate show I want to see. his ghost rises up and avenges itself via vane’s fight with rogers and we are dancing on vane’s grave. (that might be a royal we, idc.)

1. joji

a prince among men. can deal with anything. best hair on the walrus. deserves so much better than this bullshit. aren’t you interested in a backstory that could link indo-chinese piracy to caribbean piracy? I am!!, which is why I’m even now reading kris lane’s pillaging the empire: global piracy on the high seas 1500-1750 to work out the details. I don’t see why this duty should fall to me instead of the writing team but somebody has to do it. (the remaining approximate third of the walrus crew have crushes on joji, prove me wrong.)

#black sails #spoilers #don't pick holes in my ranking system it's very sophisticated #when I said I was getting disproportionately invested in minor characters this is the burden to which I referred #long post

[keeroo92]

My Brother’s Pain

For @dmcgenweek Day Three - Grief/Sleep

Takes place after the events of DMC5, before the epilogue scenes.

Vergil hated the Underworld.

Why?

Well, for starters, it was always so bloody cold. The chill of it set him on edge the instant he and Dante had crossed over. The familiar icy caress reminded him of his other visits to Hell. He knew from experience if he made it back to the Human Realm, it would take at least a week to feel warm again.

Second on the elder Sparda’s list of reasons to hate Hell was the smell. Every plane had a distinct odor to it, but there was always an undercurrent of wilting roses. Ever since his first “visit” he’d hated the fragrance of roses. By itself, the scent wasn’t worth noticing. But when you mixed in the plane's aroma they had landed on, it was abhorrent.

Wilting roses and wet canine. Only in the Underworld.

Add to the mix of unpleasantness the fact that demons attacked every ten minutes, and Vergil lacked the ability to imagine a worse location to find himself.

And Dante’s here, too. Ugh.

Regardless, he had a job to do, and Vergil would not allow failure to wound his pride. He allowed himself the luxury of wrinkling his nose in distaste as he flicked the Yamato to the side to expel the demon blood coating it, sheathing the blade in a single, fluid motion. Dante didn’t bother. His idiot brother absorbed his own weapon back inside his body without cleaning it.

“C’mon, Verg. Let’s get this done.”

Vergil scoffed, his long legs bringing him to his brother’s side within three strides as the man in red walked toward their goal; the Qlipoth.

“My sentiments exactly, brother.”

Gazing at the tree filled Vergil with shame. He struggled to believe how foolish he’d been to think summoning this monstrosity to the Human Realm would bring him greater power. How naïve to imagine he could somehow become stronger by splitting himself in half. No, his desperation had borne that idea; it didn’t bear further thought.

His new plan was to observe Dante and decide for himself if his methods might cause his own strength to rise if adopted. It was a strategy he’d never considered, but knowing the life his brother led and taking into consideration what his human half had experienced, it was worth exploring. Perhaps the answer was to indulge both sides of himself, as opposed to just the one.

Even if his assessment proved incorrect, it would not be difficult to eliminate the man. Not considering how many demons were nearby waiting to rip him apart. Utilizing them would be child’s play.

The two men reached the Qlipoth within mere hours. There was no change in the lighting to mark the passage of time, leading Vergil to believe this was one of the Realms without sunlight. One where despite this, instead of the land being eternally shadowed, it was eternally bright.

Sleep would be a challenge.

A challenge to face later.

Vergil followed his brother to the bottom of the tree, the pair of them drawing their blades together to destroy the last remnant of his idiocy.

The Qlipoth fell easily to their combined might, a great crash marking its descent as it struck the ground. Once the rumbles subsided, Vergil once again sheathed his blade with care while Dante absorbed his own.

“Well… that’s that,” Dante commented.

“Indeed.”

“Guess we should find somewhere to rest for a bit.”

Vergil hummed his agreement, his cold eyes already scanning the environment for potential sites. Because they were in the Underworld, the Qlipoth hadn’t vanished upon being destroyed. Some of its limbs met nearby in a passable approximation of shelter. It still left one side open to attack, but it was an advantageous find, regardless.

“I’ll take first watch,” Vergil announced as he led his brother to the somewhat sheltered spot. Dante shrugged, peeling off his crimson jacket to curl up underneath it. He used one of the sleeves to cover his eyes and soon enough he filled the air with his restful snores.

Alone at last.

Vergil made a point to sweep his stern gaze across the horizon every few seconds, keeping vigil as was his duty. Yet as his eyes fulfilled his responsibilities, his mind wandered.

He couldn’t help but wonder about Nero. His son. He wasn’t sure how to describe his impression of that fact, his emotions too out of practice to recognize. His very bones informed him Dante had spoken the truth; he knew the boy was his. Yet there was no sense of ownership or urge to claim him.

I suppose I no longer have that right.

He’d made so many mistakes, so many errors in judgement. A twinge of unfamiliar discomfort made him shift uncomfortably as he dwelled on his many failures. He tried to find the language necessary to describe what he felt, but lacked the terminology. This, by itself, was alarming. Vergil prided himself on his vocabulary, always having a word ready for any -

“Mom…”

His eyes shot straight to Dante’s as he mumbled. The sleeve of his coat had fallen away at some point, letting Vergil stare in confusion as his brother writhed in the grip of his nightmares. His twin’s brows met and his teeth showed in a pained grimace.

Dante has nightmares?

“Mom… stay with me…”

Vergil turned away, redirecting his focus through sheer force of will. He envisioned a wall between himself and his brother, one that sound lacked the means to penetrate. He clenched his jaw in frustration as the echoing cries of his brother’s pain intermittently interrupted his musings. His thoughts drifted to their mother, of course. If Dante’s nightmares reflected reality, then it seemed she had left him behind as well.

A rush of understanding and sympathy did its best to overpower him, but he brutally grappled it into submission. Even if Eva left Dante behind, his life was still so different from his own that he didn’t merit kindness.

“Vergil… find Vergil…”

Dante’s muttered words sent Vergil reeling. He must have misheard his brother’s ramblings. For a moment, Vergil maintained his vigil. Yet his curiosity refused to abandon his thoughts and soon enough he edged nearer to his brother. He heard the low moans between the muttered expressions, his own name mixed alongside their mother’s in a cacophony of woe. He stepped closer, now standing mere feet away to listen to every word that escaped Dante’s lips.

“Mom… come back… too late…”

Vergil froze, not daring to draw breath as he listened. He tried to assemble the puzzle pieces into a coherent image, but without more information it was a fool’s errand.

Suddenly Dante’s eyes opened. He instantly spotted Vergil crouched beside him and grimaced, sitting up hurriedly. At first, Vergil considered playing it off somehow, making an excuse. Yet something inside him proclaimed its distaste for the idea. Instead, he sat alongside his brother with a sigh, his form rigid.

The silence stretched on as the two brothers both searched for the right words to bridge the vast gap between them, each for their own reasons. Vergil spoke first.

“I didn’t know you had nightmares about Mother.”

Dante nodded, his white hair hiding most of his expression as it shifted from the motion.

“Of course I do. What a clusterfuck that was.”

Vergil hummed in agreement, unsure how to navigate these treacherous waters. He wanted to know what happened, what Dante had seen. Needed more information regarding the night that left their family shattered. He cleared his throat.

“I miss her, Dante.”

His counterpart looked at him through his hair, probably assessing the truth in his words. Vergil’s chest felt tight as he watched his brother’s expression soften, his pain reflected in his twins gaze as their eyes met for what felt like the first time in understanding. He focused on him, maintaining eye contact despite the overwhelming urge to look away.

Dante broke first, shifting his body to hide his face as he sniffled. Even as Vergil scoffed at the sign of weakness, another part of him wanted nothing more than to lay his arm across his brother’s shoulders and attempt to comfort him. The opposing urges clashed within him in a storm, resulting in him not responding whatsoever.

“I miss her too, Vergil.”

Warmth on his knee made Vergil glance down to spot Dante’s hand resting there. He stared blankly for a long moment, unsure how to proceed. Upon considering it, he could not deny that the contact felt… nice. He wondered when he’d last allowed someone to touch him, but nothing recent came to mind. Dante withdrew his palm, leaving Vergil to puzzle over his mixed reaction. He asked the question he longed to find answers for to give himself another moment to process.

“What happened that night?”

To his surprise, Dante responded.

“She… she hid me in their closet and… went to look for you. I heard her scream but that’s all I know.”

Would she have survived if I’d been there? Was her death my fault?

Vergil bit his lip to stop it from trembling, fighting to conceal his emotions. They swirled within him in a whirlwind. His anger, his regret, his childlike sadness and his grief. He took a halting breath, his shoulders twitching as he withheld a sob.

“It’s okay, Verg. Let go, I’m the only one here and you can kill me later, anyway.”

Vergil glared at his kin intensely enough to melt glass, the mere suggestion of displaying his pain for anyone to see abhorrent. Yet even as he held his angry stare, a tear slipped out and rolled down his cheek. Dante sighed, rolling his eyes at Vergil’s insistence on self-control. He leaned closer and wrapped his arms around his brother, awkwardly pulling the man into a hug. It was clear from the look on his face he expected to Vergil to stab him for it.

Vergil steadfastly remained rigid, his staccato breathing the only outward sign of his grief. Once again, some foreign corner of his being longed to return the embrace. Another portion of his being wished for nothing more than to see Dante with the Yamato embedded in his belly. Yet he did neither.

“I’m not letting go until you either stab me or hug me,” Dante muttered stubbornly.

I’ve stabbed him before and it’s gained me naught. Perhaps it is time for a different approach?

As he said, I can always kill him later.

Vergil raised his arms with reluctance, wrapping them around Dante with a clenched jaw. Somehow, returning the hug made it more difficult to hold in his pain, and all at once it became too much to bear. He shook under the force of his need to control himself, unable to do anything to halt the erosion of his restraint.

Dante patted his back, and the dam disintegrated. Vergil transformed into a pathetic mess of sorrow as his tears dripped down his jaw, his shoulders and chest heaving from the strength of his sobbing. He could feel his heart burning in his rib cage, the low ache he had grown used to evolving into an agony so soul wrenching he couldn’t remain silent.

His own frailty disgusted Vergil as he howled at the still bright sky overhead, expelling as much of his pain as possible with the power of his voice. Dante released him as the sound echoed, cringing from the volume. Even without his brotherly hug, Vergil found control unattainable. He angrily succumbed to the tide of misery within him, riding out the storm until it blew itself out.

At long last, he returned to himself. He felt like a wrung-out towel, devoid of moisture or coherence in the wake of his episode. His limbs were heavy, eyelids swollen and raw from the tears he’d scrubbed away. Only a faded ache remained of his previously tortured heart. He leaned back against the Qlipoth they sheltered beneath, taking deep breaths to calm himself further.

Dante stood, threading his arms through the sleeves of his coat.

“Get some sleep. My turn to keep watch.”

Vergil hastily searched for a response, some arrangement of words to reassert his strength. Yet what escaped his lips did nothing of the sort.

“Thank you, brother.”

For more than taking watch.

#dmc #dmc dante #dmc vergil #dmcgenweek #my writing #brothers #fanfic

[boundlessappearings]

Land on Love

“Every production and articulate word, every morsel of nourishment. Every second of sleep, is an atrocity against love and a provocation to despair. Erotic passion has no tolerance for health, not even for bare survival. It is for this reason that love is the ultimate illness and crime. Nothing is more incompatible with the welfare of the human species. ‘I search only for the terror of evil’, writes Bataille, in his adherence to the violent refusal of integral being. ‘Evil is love’, ‘the need to deny an order with which one is unable to live’. The terrestial problematic at its most furious finds a useless undoing in eroticism, so that the decent into love is also fundamental economy, which is perhaps a tragedy, or a joke (something truly hideous and sacred in any case).

That the root of love is a thirst for disaster is exhibited throughout its erratic course. At its most elementary love is driven by a longing to be cruelly unrequited; fostering every kind of repellent self-abasement, awkwardness, and idiocy. Sometimes this provokes the contempt that is so obviously appropriate, and the tormented one can then luxuriate in the utter burning loss that each gesture becomes. One wastes away; expanding health and finance in orgies of narcosis, breaking down one’s labour-power to the point of destitution, pouring one’s every thought into an abyss of consuming indifference. At the end of such a trajectory lies the final breakage of health, ruinous poverty, madness, and suicide. A love that does not lead such a blasted carreer is always at some basic level dissappointed: ‘to love to this point is to be sick (and I love to be sick)’. Yet there are times in which the morbid horror of love infects the beloved, or one is oneself infected by the passion of another, or two strains of love collide, so that both spiral together into a helix of strangely suspended disintegration, cheated of innocent disaster. Each competes to be destroyed by the other, drifiting into the hopeless ecstasies that follow from the severing of all moorings, attempting to exceed the other in mad vulnerability. When propelled by an extremity of impatience this too can lead to suicide of course, but such an outcome is uncommon. The adequate pretext for such a conclusion is lacking, since the capacity to wound is melted from the world, which becomes a softened --- and often almost impercetible --- backdrop, whilst the beloved who is invested with such a capacity to a degree inconceivable to the utilitarian mind, strives to annul it. Thus it is that the lovers conspire to protect each other from the lethal destiny of their passion, either succeeding in this, and relapsing into the wretched sanity of mutual affection, or compacting their fever to new scratch-patches of intensity. In the latter case all legible charts are lacking, and if the real has a splinter-fringe of utter exploration this is it . . .” The Thirst for Annihilation: George Bataille and Virulent Nihilism Chapter 11: Inconclusive Communication. pg. 189 by Nick Land.

#nick land