I'm not the type to willingly look at critics of stuff I like. Mainly cause it makes me sad. But I've seen some recently about c3, and I have to admit there are some valid points... But a lot of them just makes me confused.
For exemple one that comes up a lot : There is too much/not enough stakes.
Both are utilized a lot. 10/20 episodes back people kept saying the campaign was boring and "there is no stakes, and no overall goals, and nothing to look towards" etc... Now I see a lot of "There is too much stakes, I don't understand what's happening, It's too stressful, Why is there stakes that early" etc...
WHAT DO YOU WANT ? Like seriously, I'm not even mad at those people just... confused. They also keep comparing those aspects to C2 for some reason (because c2 is absolutely perfect of course and was cr's peak and all that bullshit) Don't get me wrong, I loved both the previous campaigns, but like, they had stakes too. The Chroma attack, Vecna, Lorenzo kidnapping half the party and killing one member permanently very early in the campaign, The Angels of Iron trying to f* release Tharizdun or help spread it's chaos, Cognouza and I can probably keep going.
Then there is : "Bells Hells don't talk about there problems like M9 did, They are all so open to each other already I don't understand. They feel unorganic."
Ok. Let's look at something.
Goals of the M9 at the start of c2 :
All (exception of Fjord) : I'm fleeing from things and people, I need to survive and make money. I don't know who I can trust, but I probably will have more chances if I accept some help.
It make sense for them to be wary of each other, and to open up later. They don't have an urgency, a goal that makes them go forward, not yet.
Goals of BH at the start of c3 :
Orym (Dorian and Ferane follows) : Set on a quest to uncover what happened to his home and husband, searching for Oshad Breshio.
Imogen (Laudna follows) : Get to the starpoint conservatory to undestand her (and laudna's) powers.
Ashton : Clear their debts. Understand what happened this day.
FCG : Uncover what happened to their old party.
Chetney : Finding people to help him controls his powers.
They are all tangled up in misteries the want to untangle. They want to understand their lives, why they are here right now. They really quickly realise they were all traumatized in some way by things like that, AND that each of their misteries are probably more dangerous and out of their league that they anticipated ; They both realize they are gonna need help AND understands the others situation very early on. They have reasons to keep going and walking without thinking too much about what to do next. Well shit. When you think about it... It also makes sense.
Last point. This made me laugh more than the others. It was two comments under the same critic : It went a bit like this.
1st "I fully agree. I think they should talk more. They don't open up enough, and too much is happening."
2nd " I agree, They talk way too much, I want things to advance. Even back in c1 they had this problem. I skipped all the roleplay parts to get to the combat and big events." (like wtf bud)
Finally this is just to say I absolutely think that critics is necessary to a healthy fandom, and I don't mind that. Not only that but there is also something i can respect about them, even the dumb ones ; it seems more and more realise and admits, that this is fully subjective ; That they don't like all of it, but that they are also part of the problem themselves. I respect that, and I'm happy to see more and more realise it instead of outright saying it's just "bad and terrible, and not what it was".
Honeslty, personally, as long as the cast is having fun at the table, I am too.
(sorry if there are some mistakes in there I am both a fast typer and a non native english speaker)
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;; HAPPY WARRIORS RELEASE DAY!!!!
Yes I called out of work for this, no I don’t want spoilers lol. We’re ( @endlesscacophony and I ) starting with Azure Gleam, and then moving to Golden Wildfire. I’ll make sure to post a tag ( ;; fe3hopespoilers ) if I do end up writing any metas, headcanons, or musings ( or just screeches lol ) about the game in the first month. After that, I will stop tagging spoilers!
That being said, a polite request for my buddies here: I don’t mind your opinions of any character, route, etc. If I see overt hate toward any individual, ship, or route, I will instantly block. I am so not joking at this point. I don’t care if it’s a ship I like, dislike, am ambivalent toward, etc., but at this point I am so over the discourse and vitriol I have seen in some places that I am adopting a zero tolerance policy. ( I would also like to take a moment and express this is directed at no one in particular, nor have I seen it before on my dash, but I am taking necessary precautions for my own and my partner’s enjoyment of the game ). If you have something negative to say, please find someone to rant to in DMs. I will never yuck your yum, but I will not stand for anyone else doing it to anyone else, either.
On this day, more than any, please be kind. Please tell people you love them. Please spread enthusiasm and light in this fandom above all else. Have a goddamn blast with this game, ridiculously ooc, insane, unwieldy, or even the opposite hopefully! It’s just a game, it’s just some pixels and pretty lights. Don’t stress.
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honestly it's so stupid that of all the life series teamups ethubs got the title of divorce duo or what ever. when divorce duo is cleo and bdubs to me.
3L they are in love. this is just textual does anybody ever think about the anguish of bdubs trying to die for cleo and then not even registering when cleo dies before him because it's just so unthinkable and unexpected. cleo had a widower's pact going and cleo dies first and it's so. the crastle which he built to protect them outlives them both
that one bdubs stream where when someone asks what his favorite season was, he says 3L because of teaming with cleo
the first thing bdubs says to cleo in LL is "now it feels like home" & etho cracks a joke (prescient, in the wrong direction) about bdubs already teaming up with cleo and feeling betrayed. but he doesn't, he doesn't team with her, and this time when she outlives him she has a different kind of widower's alliance with etho instead.
promising to leave the monolith to his neighbor cleo in
double life, cleo literally says "i know we're divorced." and then he breaks her trust by lying to her when she NEVER EVER lied to him. and nothing is ever the same again. she really loved him once, but it's different in all the worlds after.
i dont trust my memory of the more recent seasons but even the family bit in limited life is like. okay they got to be ghost together she still picks on him, theyre still so comfortable with each other.
and then in secret life cleo's boyfriends comments about etho is just like well theyve been divorced long enough to be a kind of friends again and they're helping set him up.
they used to be kind of IN LOVE and now they just kind of love each other but it's still there. i am so so so so glad they teamed up that first season it changed everythign. to ME
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Forget-me-nots (Jegulus one-shot)
(326 Words)
Every Saturday since James read about Regulus' death in the daily prophet, he'd gone to the ocean.
Every Saturday since James read Regulus had been killed for trying to leave the death eaters, he'd brought a flowers. Forget-me-nots.
Every Saturday since James read that Regulus didn't even have a body to bury, he put the flowers in the water.
This Saturday was no different.
Once James was done with all his duties for the day he apparated to the shore he always went to. It had been a long day, the stars were already shining bright in the sky by the time he arrived.
He walked over the sand, flowers in hand, and sat down by the water, the waves occasionally drifting over his feet. He looked at the water, saw the stars that reflected themselves in it, and looked up at the actual stars in the sky, letting out a deep breath and closing his eyes for a moment.
He began talking, about his day, what he'd done, how he felt about it. Pretending as if Regulus was there to hear it. For a moment he let himself believe that was true. That Regulus wasn't dead. That they never broke up, because Regulus was never a death eater. That they were on the same side of this stupid war. That they still talked regularly, and that Regulus was sitting beside him, listening to him talk now. But when he opened his eyes again, Regulus wasn't there. Of course not. Regulus was dead. There wasn't even a body.
He sighed and and lifted his hand, gently letting the flowers down on the water. Watching as they float away, imagining that maybe, somehow, they'd find their way to Regulus anyway, before he stood up and apparated home again. Knowing that was unrealistic and childish.
What he didn't know was that somewhere, under the water of a dark cave, lay Regulus body with blue petals in it's hair.
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THE QUEENLY TRADITION OF KILLING BEARS AND SAVING PRINCES
In the very same forest where his parents met, Ayn reminisces about them with you. The conversation gets derailed long before you decide to tease him about the Sword of Transcendence—only to get teased in turn.
— pairing: [godheim] ayn alwyn x little painter/you
— word count: 1.3k
— tags: established relationship, referenced pregnancy, takes place after an AU of courtyard reunion/crown's weight where they were together the entire time
— note: i've had this in mind since the scene where you kill a bear. it's the writer's fault for making parallels so easy to draw.
— return to lbc masterlist | series: none
"THIS—" AYN SAYS AS THE sound of the careful footsteps and rustling grass draw closer to his location, underneath the very same tree that witnessed his parents' first meeting. "—is where my parents met. It took a while for me to find it, but I can finally show it to you."
In lieu of a greeting, his queen gazes upon him with a displeased expression. "I could've been an assassin."
Rather poetically, your long, messy hair has been tamed into a well-behaved plait. But you are not his mother, and he is not his father. There should be no tragedies in your future, and Lars will once more sit on the throne only if Ayn's own child refuses it.
"I knew it was you." He watches the ends of your red bow—the same shade as your dress—peak out shyly from behind your head. "Do you not trust my instincts?"
You don't respond. Instead, your gaze travels to the initials carved onto the tree trunk, where the E of his mother's maiden name has been overwritten by the A of his father's, and his own, surname. Crossing the remaining distance, you neatly sidestep his hand and places yours over the crude outline of the heart surrounding them.
"She saved him from an assassin," you murmur, voice distant and guilty.
At once, he knows where it is your thoughts have wandered to. Ayn shifts, reaching out his gloved hand to you—an offer, to do as you please, whether it's to pull yourself down, or pull him up, or to simply hold on.
"This is where Father meant to give her the Sword of Transcendence," he explains, once you take his hand and sit down. His voice has grown softer, and you take it as your cue to rest your head on his shoulder. "But he changed his mind after one of his knights stopped him and made a ceremony of it."
Even though you've heard this story before, you seem as enchanted by it as you did the last time—and all the times before that. You adjust your hand, intertwining your fingers with his, and when he looks over at you, he sees nothing but pure affection in your gaze.
Birdsong accompanies his story, as does the gentle rustling of the leaves. Closing his eyes, he remembers the days where his parents would narrate it for him. As a child, before he began to properly notice Father's treatment of Mother, he found it to be nothing less than a perfect fairytale.
Now though, most of the magic has been scrubbed off, leaving behind only a bitter taste on his tongue he associates with the life Mother could've had without him and his father. Ayn only hopes his own child won't feel the same way about him.
"And that was when he asked her to be his bodyguard," he finishes, repeating exactly what his father would say at the end.
"We met in a ballroom," you lament, after your obligatory cooing. The longing in your usual comments that you don't is especially pronounced today. "No carving hearts into meaningful trees for us."
He smiles faintly, angling his head towards you. "The ballroom is much closer to the palace than this tree."
"It doesn't have to be a tree," you murmur. Before he can comfort you, though, you spring back to life, lifting your head off his shoulder with a faux thoughtful look on your face—and he pays the price for it, your shoulder bumping against his, with a fond sigh. "But, you know, I've saved your life before. I've even killed a bear before. Even if we don't have a tree or a flower field—"
Lips stained red, slanted into a mischievous smirk. A slight tilt of your head. Gloved fingers tucking the longer strands of your bangs back behind your ear. You lean in close, until all that's left in his vision from the scenery around them is the golden hue your hair takes under the gleaming sun.
"How come I don't have a fancy heirloom sword to pass down?" you ask, clearly anticipating your turn at teasing him.
"You're right," he acknowledges easily, a bit unwilling to play along. Ayn cups his chin in such a manner that it covers up the small smile playing on his lips, and commits himself to the act. "I should've prepared some sort of gift."
The smirk on your face drops as he taps the handle of the Sword of Transcendence. A panicked gaze lingers on him, on his hand, and it isn't long before your emotions manifest in a more...physical manner.
"Wait, no—" You straighten up, hurriedly putting some distance between them, and perhaps Ayn is a terrible person for it, but he can't help but silently guffaw. "That was a joke. That's your mother's sword! You can't—you can't give that to me."
When it becomes clear that your ramblings have no end, he reaches out and curls his fingers around your wrist. The act silences you immediately, even before his patented snarky comment. You wrap your own hand around his, and your fingers slot into place in the spaces left between.
"Why not? I thought you wanted a 'fancy heirloom sword'." he quotes.
Though you hardly look threatening with the rosy hue of your cheeks clashing against your scowl, he can admire your commitment to the role. "I'll take another one."
"I don't have another one," Ayn responds innocently, taking delight in the way your glare intensifies.
"Make another one then," you fire back immediately, crossing your arms. A pout forms on your lips, before your hand slips out and cradle your still flat belly. "Your father is such a bully. Don't let him fool you, okay?"
He bites back a smile and leans closer, closing the gap between you and him. "I should be saying that about you."
You seem to understand what he's after. With a snort, you make the first move, pressing your lips to his for a quick kiss. But despite that, when you pull back, you're still holding onto your grudge.
You even go so far as to throw his own words back at him.
At that moment, he has a sudden, vivid vision of his own child—your child, separated by gender only through the length of their ambiguously-colored hair and nothing else—stirring up trouble. Usually, in idle moments, when his thoughts wander to the future, Ayn sometimes frets about what they'll take from who. From whether red eyes and deep purple hair is a better combination than the opposite, to whether they'll favor a paintbrush or an instrument, and anything in between.
But their affinity for trouble-making is something he's never budged, and right now, Ayn is certain your features lend themselves best to trouble-making.
Narrowing his eyes fondly at his wife, he says, "We can let the little one decide then."
The expression on your face as you think over his offer would fool anyone into thinking you were deliberating over something serious. You purse your lips, taking the time to exaggerate your exasperation, and declare:
"That would take years. So, I'll let you off, just this once."
"Oh, how can I ever repay you?" His voice is dripping with amusement. Ayn has the smile to match, which only widens as he pretends to have found the answer. "I know—"
"Not a sword."
Ayn bursts into laughter—the kind that leaves him breathless, with an aching stomach and a curse that only prolongs his condition. Soon, you join in as well, and then both of them are stuck in a loop, able to afford only a slight lull of peace before something or the other sets them off.
"A kiss?" he wheezes, once his laughter begins to die down. For real, this time.
"That—"
You don't hesitate to take him up on his offer. But this one is not a merely peck. He has enough time to pull you into his arms and onto his lap. Enough time to think about what it is that you taste like. Fruit, mostly.
When you pull back, both hands still cupping his cheeks, your eyes are glimmering with delight.
"—I'd say, is acceptable."
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