#i kinda hate this kinds of narratives because i feel bad

[theconsciouscrow]

Can i make you guys feel bad a little bit?

If The Final Draft is the last segment of Alan's spiral, doesn't replaying it only serves to prolong his suffering?

Imagine being him and finally receiving his third eye via light bullet, becoming FINALLY free after 13 YEARS respawning- and then his overlord i.e. the gamer just goes like "ok now i'm going to start it all from the beginning again just to take photos".

Happy Christmas!!!

#i just watched Alan's first TV recording about the loop and i just feel like i'm torturing him :( #like seriously is this game even replayable??? #i kinda hate this kinds of narratives because i feel bad #before new game plus i felt even WORSE #cause it was pointless at the time #also hugs for ahti... or whatever entity named ahti who's possessing that poor mans body #alan wake #alan wake 2 #remedy #remedyverse #sam lake #alan wake spoilers #remedy entertainment

[netherfeildren]

Kiss, Kiss, Kill, Kill!

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel is a long haul truck driver. One day he finds a pretty girl in a diner and decides he’d like to keep her. 

Murder and sex ensue!

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Graphic depictions of violence; Murder; Blood; Gore; Threat of SA; Impotence; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Loss of virginity; Virginity kink; Breeding kink; Spit kink; Rough sex; Pussy slapping; Dark!Joel; Mean!Joel (also kinda crazy and pathetic); Obsessive behavior; Possessive behavior; Discussions of suicidal ideations; Unreliable narrators; Alcoholism; Consensual non consent kind of (But not previously discussed - they're both into it tho); Use of misogynistic language; Grief

A/N: Hi :) Another one just bc I have no self control. 

Parts of the narrative read a little disjointed and/or confusing. This is intentional. I was kind of trying something weird out here, I guess.

Word Count: 9.7K

Read on AO3

The first time Joel sees you, it’s a Thursday. His least hated day of the week, but not his favorite, for he doesn’t really have any favorite things anymore. Your eyes’d stunned him at that first look. They sparkled as if dusted with frost – speared him with an intensity that burned. 

But no… that was a lie, and Joel is trying not to be such a liar anymore. He does have one favorite thing now. This middle-of-nowhere diner, this place where’d he’d found you. 

The first time he’d actually talked to you, you’d interrupted his own stubborn, sour silence with a silence of your own. Different, agonizing, compared to your usual persistent fishing for his attention. 

“What’re you doin’ out here in this wasteland, sweetheart?” Because you look sweet as that cherry pie you’re always trying to push on him. 

“Been here my whole life.” It’s verging on evening, the sky gone to melancholy, and there’s a young girl with dark hair weeping on the shoulder of an older woman in the booth over. He wants to snap at her, demand to know what the fuck she could possibly have to cry over? He’s sure she mustn’t have a dead daughter like him, and so there really seems to be no reason for tears. 

“No plans to leave?”

You shake your head, hum a little, set the coffee pot down on the edge of the table to pop a hip out and think on your answer. “Guess you could say I’m a little bit weak or scared, don’t know.”

“Doubt that,” a surprised laugh forced out of him. Entirely improbable, he knows this just by looking at you. “You’ve got eyes that seem as if they’ve never held fear within them in your entire life.” And he makes you laugh at that, head thrown back, throat rippling. The sound like the tolling of the bell indicating the start of the rest of his life. 

When you’re done gifting him your laughter, you ask, “What about you? Why are you here?”

“My daughter died.” Plain. 

Your eyes seem to shutter or flicker, something like a chimera about them, “When?”

“Two years ago.” He watches the crying girl and the old woman get up to go. And then the two of you are alone. You move to sit in the booth across from him. He’d been coming in here to see you for more than half that time since, and now, the first time the two of you are having an actual conversation, and this is what he’s decided to open with. But really, it’s the only story he has to tell anymore. He watches you watch him for a long moment, as though you’re searching for something within him, or mulling over what it is you want to say to him, the shift of your jaw from side to side as you chew on your words. He feels easily frightened now – fragile – and yet vibrantly malignant, at the same time. A juxtaposition on two opposite ends of the spectrum of good and not so good, or perhaps, verging on very, terribly bad, in the grocery store line of human morality. Two Joel’s at the start and end of the queue who could not seem to come to terms with one another. Enemies – they were enemies of each other. A Joel who’d once had a daughter, and a Joel who now did not. A Joel who’d pulled a trigger at his own temple, and one who’d never even considered such a thing. He draws his finger along the line of scar tissue at his temple.

For a long time he’d wanted to tear a hole in his world and escape, but he was no master of inventiveness. On the contrary, he found his attempt rather miserly – had short changed himself at the last moment and flinched. But perhaps, it had been for this reason – for you, to find you. He wishes he could peer inside your mind, crack open your skull and read everything you’re hiding away from him inside there. A violent thought, but you make him feel slightly violent, or – no, that’s not it – for Joel is already a violent man. It’s more that you pull a specific hue of violence out of him, incite it, like he needs to move, to howl, to claw at something, at you, scream and scream and scream to keep your undivided attention on him forever. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say finally, voice quiet. “How old was she?”

His loss. That was a funny way of putting it. It had never felt like a loss. The word was too small. Four letters was not enough to describe what it really was. There was no word for what it felt like. An emaciation of his very self until he simply ceased to exist. Something that had sucked his soul, his heart, his brain out of his body, but they didnt feel lost. They felt destroyed, decimated, or like they had never existed. Sometimes the feeling left him confused, disoriented – this strange purgatory he’d been relegated to, it was like it had never happened in his mind sometimes, or like it had happened to a different man. Like that life with that beautiful little girl with the green eyes who’d had a father who loved her, who’d then died, had happened to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Joel. Like a war that had raged and raged for centuries, and now nothing was left in its wake. Only that terribly fraught reminder of a violence too grotesque for a human mind to conceive. 

How could he miss something, wish for something so, so, so fucking desperately he’d peel his very skin from his body himself to get it back, but also feel like it didn’t belong to him anymore? Like it had never happened to him, like he remembered it out of his own body? A dream that belonged to someone else, and Joel’d only been told of it second hand. His mind was fractured now, he knew this. He wasn't right – broken or glued together the wrong way. His bones didn’t fit in his joints the way they were supposed to anymore. He was all wrong and ugly and fucked. 

“She was twelve.”

“My whole family’s dead,” you say it almost casually, with a half shrug of your shoulders. “Is that why you started driving? To get away?”

He’s been a long haul truck driver for going on two years now. Started just after Sarah – needed to get away, to get lost. He didn’t enjoy it – he does not enjoy it. Not because the work is bad or boring or what have you, but because he doesn’t enjoy anything anymore. But it’s productive and pays well and… well, he does appreciate the solitude. There is that, at least. He’d been on the route from New Mexico to Washington for several months now, and it was fine. Occasionally, he’d head up to the Dakotas – not so fine, longer, harder trek, but he managed it. He preferred this one, preferred the darkness of the north west corner of the country. He never went further south than New Mexico, though. Absolutely never into Texas. He’d never go back there again. 

“Sure… to get away.” He couldn’t be there anymore afterwards, had nothing left. “My neighbor, Anna, she’s got a teenager, Ellie. Sweet kid. Weird kid,” he laughs fondly, remembering the two of them. “The kid was friends with my daughter, Sarah. And after everything– well, after everything, Anna made sure they both stuck around. Didn’t let me shut myself away the way I wanted to,” ill-shaven recluse, confused, fractured, “They’re good people. You’d like them, I think. They’re… they’re my friends.” They were another reason he kept doing the driving, he liked to send money back to Anna and Ellie. He knew they didn’t need it, didn’t want it, but he had to. He needed to feel like he was still taking care of someone, contributing to someone’s well being. It was just part of who he was. 

“I’m sure I would.”

He watches your silent enrapture as you listen to him tell you of his pseudo life. After a while he’d realized that was all he’d started doing, making his way back to you, to this diner where you work. A sad place for ugly men to stop in on a pause from their interminable journeys and lay eyes on an angel. He hadn’t even really realized that’s what he was purposely doing or that it’d become a pattern. He just needed something to see at the end of the tunnel, a light to look towards when he was lost in the darkness. That’s what you are, a single flickering light in the abyss of darkness he exists in now. 

You’re small – tiny compared to Joel’s own hulking size. He thinks he could break you, easily, if he isn’t careful, if he so felt like it. And you were – you are so fucking pretty. He thinks of you so often. Almost as often as he thinks of his dead daughter which might seem wrong or strange, but it’s really nothing more than the two opposite ends of a spectrum of perfect beauty that he’s known within his lifetime that now he cannot reach either end of. Sarah – dead, forever out of reach. And you. Too perfect for consideration, too beautiful and good for these monstrous hands of his. The thing he’s become in his grief is not worthy of a gorgeous creature like you. His existence post Sarah’s death had become some sort of apocalyptic dysphoria where the only monster here was Joel. But he does like to watch, and he does like to think of you. To come to your diner and sit and watch you serve coffee to your customers – the scum that muddles through here isn’t worthy of laying eyes on you – men like him. Sometimes, when he sits here silently, pretending to ignore you and not be entirely beguiled by you, he feels as if he has a purpose again, like the money for Anna and Ellie, getting to inconspicuously watch over you, make sure no one gives you a hard time gives him purpose. And when he goes, even though he never really wants to, he takes you with him in his mind through the long stretches of his hauls. When there are nothing but ghosts to keep him company. When thoughts of Sarah and that dead life become too overwhelming, he calls you to mind, plans his routes to make his way back to you. 

You’re also fucking persistent – not giving him the chance to wallow away in his silence and brooding. He was rude at first, gruff and unresponsive and wouldn’t ever acknowledge your queries of, How’s it going today, and, Oh, back again I see. Sometimes he wanted to snap and just spit the truth at you, ‘course, I’m fuckin’ back, I’m here to see you, I’m obsessed with you. And rounds and rounds of, Can I get you another cup of coffee? The same as usual? You’d memorized his order. Pestered and pestered and pestered for his name until he’d finally ceded it to you, and, How ‘bout some cherry pie this time? After a while you’d gotten sick of his recalcitrant bullshit and just dropped off the piece of pie, slipping it onto the edge of the table and sliding away without a word or a half look back at him. He’d eaten the whole damn thing, savored it, and caught your sassy, little smirk after he’d finished. He’d wanted to bend you over the counter and spank your ass until you cried after that. He bets you’d taste as sweet as that pie, that if he slapped your cunt enough times he could get it red as a cherry. He bets you’d like that – that you’d like it a little rough, a little dirty, a little mean. You might look like an angel, but Joel’s seen the way you look at him, the way you follow him with your eyes, leaning against the counter, chin cupped in your small palm watching him eat his eggs and drink his coffee. 

You want him. 

But Joel is frightened – frightened and cowardly and not right, and as much as you look like an angel, he also worries you might have the ability to entice him into very, very bad things – to provoke him into depravity, even. There is a part of him, large or small given the day and the mood and the weather that he walks in here on, that has the rotten half of his mind whispering at the not-so-rotten half that he wants to defile and debase you, and that he’s pretty sure you’d like it if he did. He wants to fuck you full of his come and then watch it leak out of your used, gaping hole. Then he wants to lick you clean, kiss it all better so that he can do it all over again.

The first few times he’d stopped at your diner, he’d pretended he hadn’t even noticed you, would lie to himself in his mind and tell himself that he had no interest in a little thing like you. He had no interest in women, in making connections, in having conversations. Occasionally… well– no, not occasionally. Twice, it had happened twice now, when the urge had struck, the itch had become too persistent, and his hand not enough, he’d gotten a hooker. The first time he’d shut down completely, lost his hard on and not been able to finish. The second time… he’d finished. He might’ve even made the woman come, he hadn’t bothered to ask, but he thought he might have. Then he’d gone back to his truck and cried great heaving sobs. Like he’d said… not right, he wasn’t right anymore. Couldn’t even fuck a whore without blubbering like a baby. He’d wondered if perhaps his grief had made him impotent. That’d be funny. That type of funny thing that is also a humiliation… you know the sort?

But after a while, the lie had become too much of a farce, even for his own mind. He knew, from that first moment he’d walked in, and you’d spun around, a bright smile and chirpy, little voice telling him to sit anywhere you’d like, be right with you, mister, that he’d taken notice. More than notice. He’d put you in his pocket that day and had carried you with him in some way since. Like a stone chosen off the beach, washed up by the tide and deposited in the sand just for him to come across, or maybe like a fucking infection, like the plague, for he did not want this. He did not want to think of you. He did not want to think of anyone or anything. He wanted to be alone and without anything or anyone for the rest of his life. If he did not have anyone, if he remained alone, then he could never again experience that loss which was not truly a loss, but something much worse and devastating, and even, perhaps, a little hilarious, in that way that a hilarious thing can also sometimes be humiliating and shameful… there it is. A loss that is not a loss for it is a thing so devastating it becomes something else entirely. A humiliation to one’s very existence, a decimation, emaciation, all the things, all the things, and nothing at the same time.

His mind was wont to ramblings, on occasion now. Perhaps, incoherence, was the better word. Anxiety, as well, panic, tears. Couldn’t even fuck a hooker without weeping, howling, a few sobs. 

He had wandered so far, and sometimes he thought, I want to go home, but of course, that home no longer existed. It had been put in the ground two years ago and lost forever. The dissatisfaction of constant ennui. He could, perhaps, return to the geographical place, but nothing familiar would remain. He couldn’t live with the memory, he couldn’t live away from it. It was like it had simply ceased to exist that day that she’d died, and every moment since that moment was just a series of moments filled with a yearning for some place that no longer existed. He didn’t think he’d ever again feel at home anywhere.

And yet…

He turns back to look at you. 

“How did they die? Your family.”

“Home invasion – murdered. He never found me, hid in the boiler closet.”

“Little rabbit.”

“Hmm,” a huff of a laugh, “Maybe. Someone once said I was lucky. Pretty fucked up, no?”

“Do you feel lucky?”

“Never. Angry – that I’d been left behind.”

“Yeah…”

“Alone.”

“Are you alone?”

You turn back to him. Inspect him. He watches the slant of your eyes take in his hair, his face, wrinkled, haggard, his chest, his arms – he feels a flush flare beneath his ribs, then back up to his eyes. He wonders if you’ve ever been fucked before. You’re young – but he can’t imagine how you wouldn’t have been. He thinks he’d do anything in this moment to get between your thighs, but also, he hopes you haven’t, hopes you could be all his, only his, his his. Mine. 

He hopes he won’t cry if he gets the chance. 

“Entirely,” you say finally. 

“I had– have– ” shakes his head, “I have, I guess, a brother. Tommy. But the last time I saw him… I was horrible.” They seldom saw each other now – lie – they never saw each other now. Truth, Joel. We’re telling the truth now. 

You laugh lightly, shrug, “Happens.”

“Sure…”

“What’d you do to him?”

“Ah, just couldn’t get a handle on myself after everything. Things got bad enough eventually, and we fought… a lot. Violently. I was violent. One morning I got out of hand, terrible – one of my biggest regrets. We hurt each other with our words and our fists, and in that way only two people who know each other too well can. He cracked my ribs, gave me half his orange in the evening, afterwards – said our apologies. He was gone the next day. Haven’t heard from him since. I just got to be too much for him,” he says again, needs to reiterate it, make sure you understand that he is too much and too dark, too unmanageable – ugly. That you should not be sat here with him. That he has a violence within him, and that you should probably run as fast and as far as you can, but that he cannot promise he will not follow. “I had…” he is ashamed of this part, surprising for he sometimes wonders if he still possesses the heart to feel shame, “I had a problem with drink for a while – not anymore, though,” he says quickly. “I promise, not anymore.” He should not be promising you anything. “I got control of it – knew it was making it all worse rather than better. Felt like I was trapped underwater with my damn ghosts – that … What's that thing called when – when sick people get like – like trapped inside themselves or somethin’? You ever heard’a that?”

-

“Locked-in syndrome.”

“Yeah– yeah. I read about that once or heard it somewhere – that’s what it felt like when I was drinkin’ – fuckin’ terrible. Let it go after a while… but by that time… Tommy was gone, done with me. I was – dunno… like some sort of demon or somethin’ – somethin’ bad.” He huffs a small, derisive laugh, looks at you with that ridiculously charming, crooked half smile. 

That laugh sparks a kindling of anger inside of you for him. This is a broken, angry, creature of a man, you think. Something fractured – not whole, and he must be handled with care and gentleness. “How could he just leave you?

“Didn't give him a choice. Sometimes people deserve to be left.”

“I wouldn’t have.” That sobers him, wipes the smile right off his handsome face. You think of the invisible giants hurting this man in some unimaginable fashion; of the endless tenderness coiled up inside of him and how the crushing of that tenderness – the death of it – has given way to what may be considered madness. Because after all these months of watching him, of him watching you, you can see it, recognize that tenderness for what it is, but also the madness, for it is impossible to ignore if you’re really looking. Soft marrow at the center of a hard man. 

“I did other things… worse things.”

“Try me.”

“I tried to kill myself.”

You whistle, long and low. You actually had not been expecting that one, at least, not the admittance of it, “You’re just full of truths,” for looking at him – the sort of man he’s built as, the thought that he could be felled by anything, even his own hand, is a little hard to believe. 

“Feels like a sort of confessional in this–”

“Shithole–”

“Diner–”

Your voices overlap. You both laugh. You think you quite like the sound of your voices intermingling one on top of the other. 

“What happened?”

“Flinched–”

“I flinch all the time.”

“Have you ever thought about killing yourself?”

You hum, tilt your head side to side on your neck as if you’re letting the thought slide from ear to ear within your skull. “Perhaps only the peripheral idea of it, but never with much imagination or dedication. I don’t think I have that much to kill myself over, you know?”

“Your family?”

“Not really – it’s sort of become just this… this thing that happened once. I don’t feel much ownership over it anymore. Don’t know why, exactly.”

“Sure, that’s how I feel about it sometimes too. That belongs to a different man now – like– like some actor or a facsimile, and I just look in on it as if from a distance. Enjoy the sight of someone else's suffering…” He shakes his head, “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, no, I understand. Something to do in the way that a tragedy can be compelling to watch. You can let go, let go of your awareness of yourself and experience it in a way you’d never do so in the present moment.”

“A dissociation.”

“Yes. Why would you want to go and relive the basest parts of yourself all alone, over and over again? Not likely.”

“But it was me.”

“A dissociation,” you repeat, smile. 

“Yeah,” he pauses, turns the coffee cup round and round with the slow spin of his wrist as if to dissolve the remains of the grounds you know the shitty machine has left deposited at the bottom. There is a small dusting of golden brown hair covering his wrist and disappearing up his forearm beneath his flannel. You want to taste it, follow the trail to places unknown. “Not so well adjusted, us two,” And he laughs then. A real laugh. He lets you have a real laugh of his, and it is powerful – special. 

“Well… no.” Of course not. “I don’t think either of us could ever claim that.”

“Bet you’ve never been bad a single day in your life, have you?”

You cock your head, let your eyes slide from him to peer out the dark window. His lonely semi is parked under the single flare of light out there. The evening has sunk into a deep blue, the hue of mourning, of melancholy, and the pavement is wet with evening rainfall.

You'd heard that some trucks had spaces behind the seats where truckers could put a bed, have a place to rest. You wonder if he’ll take you back there and fuck you in his little bunk. And honesty is a fickle thing when discussing a topic like this, isn't it? There’s a depravity about him, and you can’t tell if the truth or the lie would placate him – incite him – more. To be similar in such a way as that which he’s imagining. A little bit of both, then. After all, intent holds weight – imagination, desire, it has a mass to it that can, if enough pressure is exerted upon it, be transformed into something else. 

“Not yet,” you tell him, sliding your gaze back to meet his, “Haven’t had a chance – but there’s still time.”

-

“What would you like to do?” He wants to take a bite out of that soft flesh you’re encased in, draw blood.

“Something depraved?” You’re taunting him – trying to provoke. It makes him slightly angry, but also hard. You should know what it is you’re toying with here. 

He frowns at you, at the lilting song of your words trying to beguile him into doing whatever it is you think you want him to do to you. “What is it that you think you want here? You don’t know what I was, how I lived. Shouldn’t be sat here with me, little girl,” he scoffs. “I was– was not– I don’t fucking know, not a man. I’m not, I’m not. Not a person anymore, just this thing that continues to exist. I should not have been expected to survive. This should mean something to you too. You also have no one. You’re alone too. You’re alone in the world. You know what it feels like to only live in the winter.”

You’re quiet for a long moment, and then you say: “I think I’ve come to quite like the winter.” And at that he knows he’s taking you for himself, whether you agree in the end or not. You’re going to be his. 

But he knows he must also let this roiling anger, this depraved hunger settle before he lays hands on you. Like this, in this state, he’d be too rough, break you, nothing compunctious about him or his jaggedness. He excuses himself for a smoke, your only response simply more of that inciting silence – more thoughts of cracked skulls and a cherry red cunt and tears after failed trysts with someone who doesn’t even know his name. He’s fucking embarrassing. What would Tommy say if he knew Joel couldn’t even get it up for a paid fuck anymore? He’d laugh in his face, never let him live it down. He misses his brother very much. He misses lots of things. 

He’s sucking on his Red under the awning of the diner’s entrance, imagining what it’ll be like to suck on your little clit, when he hears them. 

“She’s usually out about midnight. We’ll snag her then.” Grating, guttural voice.

“But I get to fuck ‘er first. This was my idea so I go first.”

“Yeah, whatever. S’only happenin’ ‘cause of me. Too fuckin’ stupid to see the plan through after all these months of watchin’ ‘er.”

“Fuck off.” Silence, and then almost with giddy elation: “We gonna kill her too?” Something cold and terrifying settles within Joel. 

A beat, “Should we?”

“Dunno, man. Might be fun, huh? Never done it before.”

“She’s fuckin’ pretty,” the voice draws the vowel out in a high pitched, sacharine whine. “Got the face of an angel.” Joel’s angel, his, his, only his.

He’s got his Bowie in a sheath on the back of his belt. Perhaps, this would be a useful exercise in release. After he’s dispelled his excess energy he can come back and touch you, take you. 

“Can’t wait to taste that cunt.” His cunt.

“Seen her tits, man? Fucking round and bouncy. Wanna make ‘em bleed.” And there’s only one avenue of consequence after that. After all, this is not the first time Joel’s done this. 

His most well kept secret.

Sometimes, when the itch cannot be eased, abated, by his hand or a fuck or a drink or any of the other readily available vices, he turns to this. Only when the straits were dire. Only when he saw no other recourse. Only after his daughter was dead and in the ground and his brother gone away from him

. 

But sometimes… sometimes it’s just fun. Sometimes it’s useful for a man to do that thing that he really feels he wants to do, if only to enjoy himself, if only to let go of some of that suffocating tension. If only to keep vermin like this away from an angel like you. 

“We’ll chill in the woods for a while, wait the little thing out, yeah?” Joel edges his way towards the edge of the building closer to them, peeks a lone eye around the corner. Two men, middle aged. Not a problem. Not for a man like him. 

He waits for them to make their way to the edge of the tree-line, watches them disappear into the gloom. He looks back into the diner through the murky windows. The warm glow of the overhead lamps washing you in a hue of golden light that brings out all the warm goodness in you he’ll take for himself once he’s snuffed out this issue. 

No one’s going to touch you but him. No one’s going to hurt you but him. 

As he rounds the corner of the diner there’s a piece of metal pipe propped up against the building by the dumpsters. Very nice. 

He goes after them. 

At the edge of the tree-line, under a swaying, low hanging branch, there is a tiny unfledged bird, helplessly twitching its way towards death in a puddle. He pauses to watch its struggle, gathers his skin about him, tightens his seams – prepares to gorge. He watches the inch by inch pilgrimage towards its last breath, then stillness. He feels so much older than his years, like he’s lived a thousand terrible years, watched a thousand terrible deaths. But there is a buoyancy about him, as well. Filled with a saccharine sweet fizz of sticky anticipation. He’s going to taste your cunt after this is done.

 He moves into the gloom. He’s going to kill them for you, and his cock is hard at the thought.

Stepping beneath the canopy of the trees, into that cold, damp darkness, he sees the absolute truth of the world. On the heels of two men who’d do you harm, he knows that he’d failed to save someone he cared about once, he’d not be bested by failure a second time. Darkness implacable, the crushing black vacuum of their overheard words buzzing in his head like flies, of the harm they’d do you. Two hunted animals moving away from a creature much darker than they could even imagine, scurrying on borrowed time. What most moves him is that the things they’d do to you are not so dissimilar to the things he plans to do to you, as well. The only difference being that after he’s done defiling you, he’ll keep you for himself, with all the care and gentleness a little thing like you so deserves. 

-

You press your ear to the cracked open door leading to the back of the building. It’s not the first time those two’ve talked their filth regarding you. The murdering is new, though. You’d not thought they were smart or inventive enough to come up with an actual kill plot. Rape enough of a hardball for minds as shallow and small as those two’ve got. 

You’d never really considered them much of a threat. Or maybe you’d just never really cared enough to pay them much attention. But as you watch the broad, rippling expanse of Joel’s muscled back stalk after them, his pause at the tree-line to look down at something on the ground, you think he must be more in the vein of taking a stupid man’s shit talk to heart than you’ve ever been. 

He has a thick, forearms-length of steel pipe gripped in his huge fist, and there’s a wicked looking knife strapped to his belt on the back of his hip. 

Interesting. 

You look back at the empty diner, the lonely parking lot beyond the glass of the windows, only Joel’s semi still taking up residence on the wet pavement. You turn back to follow after the three men. 

One you want, two you’re interested to see what fate awaits them.

For some reason, when you step outside, you’re expecting there to be snow on the ground, but there is none.  

You move across the pavement towards the forest-line, and the pilgrimage towards the verdant darkness feels very much like your one-way ticket out of this forlornness you’ve been trapped in your whole life. You’ve been stuck in this small town for so long, for too long. One man had already tried to forcibly evict you, had taken your entire family with him, maybe this one, maybe Joel, would do so in a way you’d more likely enjoy. 

There’s been a steady, faint drizzle all day long, and the puddles of rain look like holes in the dark pavement, apertures into some other realm that glide past underground. You wonder if you stepped through if you’d disappear below into some other place. You wonder if he’d be able to find you even in that unknown other. 

You cross the line into darkness. 

The familiar terror of silence – you don’t seem to find it here. There is only the sound of your rushing blood, the cadence of his voice rumbling through your psyche, firing your neurons up into a frenzy. There is a twisting heat low in your pelvis, dampness between your thighs. What’s he going to do? Why’s he going to do it?Is it for me? Is it for me? It’s for you.

You let out a low whistle between your teeth and move beyond the trees. There is a giddiness about the darkness of the wood – the motley of shadows, the aroma of mushroom rot. 

The familiar terror of silence. Perhaps, that is what they are experiencing now. The great horror of being set upon by a beast more terrifying than anything they could have ever conjured up on their own. 

That infinite tenderness from before, that acute madness – it coalesces in the gap in the trees as you come upon the three men. 

Joel has already started on the first. He murders almost tenderly. With great care, but infused with an aroma of agitated frenzy that seems flavored in the same notes of erotic buzzing that hums beneath your own skin. There is blood and viscera splattered on his face and clothes, in his hair. That great hunting knife embedded in the throat of the first man. The body lays facing you now, eyes open, shocked at his own death. Funny. Perhaps, that’s how they would have liked you to have ended up once they were through with you. 

Oh, how the tune changes when the monster is on your side. 

What are you? Be a creature. Be a creature. Be a creature!

You take Joel in. Thick, massive frame. You love his hair, it was one of the first things you’d noticed, thick dark curls streaked with the silver veins of his age and experience. Something that promised of care and knowledge and patience. His patchy beard with the heart shaped gap in it, you’re going to write your name into that space. His powerful arms, muscles coiled tight, his shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders as he brings the steel pipe up above his head, pauses to look down at his next victim. 

“We won’t bother her anymore, never again – p– please, please, I swear,” the man on the ground begs and cries. There are tears and snot bubbling down his ruddy, pocketed face. 

Joel is silent and terrifying and glorious above him, and then a small nod: “That’s alright… I believe you.” The metal comes down in a whistling arc, makes contact. 

Flesh and blood splatter, the sound of it is pulpy and wet and vindicating. He starts with the man’s knees, then his head, caved in like the shell of an egg, the yolk spilling out like vermilion drool. 

He heaves silently above the man that would have done you harm. Makes the threat go away. 

You step forward, cunt pulsing and wet and eager for him. When he’s gotten his fill of bludgeoning he turns slowly back towards you, as if he’d known the entire time that you’d been stood there watching. 

And the look on his face, it makes something electrifying and sticky buzz up your spine and ooze down your veins. You shift back on your heels

He shakes his head, his eyes are huge, pupils blown wide. “Don’t run,” he says slowly. If you hadn’t just watched him murder two men in cold blood – no, in your defense, he saved you, he protected you, fizzy heart full of satisfaction – you’d say he almost looks a little doe eyed. 

A hollow pounding begins in his heart, as if it had remained silent for the past two years and was only now taking notice of its own silence. His cock, hard enough to burst, angry and throbbing beneath the confines of his blood soaked jeans. Fuck this scum laying on the ground beside him, look at what he has infront of him. Nothing else matters but you. A goddamned angel. Damned for he’s found you now and nothing good can come of this. He takes a step towards you, and you match him with one backwards, away from him, his blood starts to howl in his veins. Different to the humming frenzy that had filled him as he did his murdering. This is hot and viscous and ravenous, and he knows he’ll get to keep his catch once he’s gorged himself on it. He knows he’ll get to keep you once he’s caught you. 

You take two more nervous little, quick steps away from him. Your eyes are slightly manic, face flushed, frame jittery, excited. A rabbit that knows it’s about to be caught. He watches the pause of your limbs as they fill with coiled energy, getting ready to make the bound and leap towards escape. He lunges, goes in for the kill, teeth bared, talons  brandished. 

Faster than you can even comprehend, he lunges, takes you to the ground with one massive, powerful shoulder to the vulnerable, soft of your belly, one huge paw cradled at the back of your skull to protect you from the hard ground. Your spine hits the cold, wet earth, the breath knocked out of you. You think you let out an animal noise, high pitched and supplicant. A thing that knows it’s been caught and is soon to be devoured. Your limbs scramble against the dirt, heels digging into the ground for purchase, you feel the loss of one of your shoes, as you try to get away or to crawl closer, who can be sure. A spider caught in the web or a larger, hungrier arachnid. He sets the huge heaviness of his muscular weight over your much smaller frame, one strong hand caged around the column of your throat, the other pushing your chest into the earth as he shoves his hips into the cradle of your own, forcing your thighs apart and your skirt to pool at your waist. You feel the stretch of the center plaque of your tights as his wide breadth settles between your legs, making room to take you for himself. You bring your own hands up to the wrist holding your throat and dig your nails into the skin there. You can feel the light smattering of hair covering his forearm beneath your soft palms, the cold, wet dirt beneath you, the searing stretch of the inner muscles of your thighs spread wide for him, the damp of the air surrounding the two of you. He leans forwards, pressing you down into the ground, and you have the fleeting thought that you want to transfuse yourself into the earth, into him. 

He pauses then to look down at you, appreciating the gloriousness of his catch. “Caught ya.” And he’s filled with an exuberance, a sort of victory. Look at what he’s snared – all for himself. 

You try and struggle again, if only to see the flare of annoyance in his eyes. It makes your cunt tight and achy. Even more than it already is. There’s a part of you that thinks you want him slightly angry – rough or mean. That you might like it even more if it hurts. Be kind enough to be cruel about it, you want to beg him. He leans forward to press his nose to your cheek, drags the cold vermillioned flush of it along your jaw, down the line of your throat, bites harsh and painful at your collarbone then over the peak of your breast. 

“Are you a virgin?” He whispers into your skin. It sounds very much like a threat. 

“Yes.”

“Saved this cunt all for me.” And it is not a question. Yes, you moan anyways. Let him know. Let him know that this defiling is a gift you’re granting him. He sits up on his haunches between your thighs, his hands sliding down to press on your lower belly and digs his fingers into the center of your tights and pulls, ripping a hold in them for his pillaging. You try and press your knees shut at the feel of the frigid air on your sensitive inner thighs, dig your nails into the ground above your head to try and drag yourself away from him. 

He digs his own fingers harshly into your flesh, his nails biting painfully into the soft skin of your thighs and ass and brings you back towards him. There’ll be streaks of pain left in his wake after this. Bad little rabbit. He smacks the inside of your thigh, watches the smooth flesh ripple for him. You let out a warbled, angry screech, little nails still trying to claw yourself away from him. He laughs then, a little mean, condescending. “Fight harder, little baby. This is pretty pathetic.” He rips your thighs apart, keep your fuckin’ legs open for me, his hands slick with the blood of his victims slide up the back of your thighs, anchoring his palms beneath the damp creases of your knees to press you open and wide for him, slaps your cunt, hard, over the soaking gusset of your panties. 

“Who the fuck’re you wearin’ this tiny little thong for?” he growls. It’s white lace, with a sweet, little pink bow adorning the front. “Me? Wrapped yourself up all nice and pretty for me?” Your little foot sneaks up under his armpit and tries to push with, what he’s sure is all your valiant might, at his chest, trying to unseat him from his conquering position above you, but he takes your ankle in a vice like grip, bites harshly into the meat of your calf so that an animal squeal of pain is clawed out of your throat at the same time that he slots his fingers under the damp center of your panties. “Sing as loud as you want, sweetheart. No one’s gonna hear you out here.” He can feel the soaking wet seam of your cunt against the backs of his knuckles, and he rips them clean off you. The sound of the last remaining barrier of protection of your cunt against his ravaging being decimated has you going shock still – prey that knows it’s caught and has decided to give up. Good, this is how he wants you. Your big, wet eyes look up at him as he flings the lace towards the still steaming dead bodies. That’s all they’ll get of you. The rest is only his. Mine, mine, fucking mine. 

You let your arms go limp above your head, soft and pliant and ready for ravaging, melting into the earth.

He presses your knees back and up, letting the red blossom of your wet cunt bloom for him. It’s slick and swollen, and he knows when he shoves his cock inside it’ll be burning hot. “Look at this gorgeous virgin pussy, baby. All for me. Only for me…” he murmurs, hypnotized, mesmerized. He drags the back of his knuckles over your slit, uses his thumbs to spread your lips apart, admires the swollen nub of your clit. You’re just as hungry for him as he is for you. Messy, eager little whore. He moves to undo his belt and free his aching length. Huge and brutish, thick veins pulsing just beneath the thin skin. He’s going to split you in half, break you, mold you in his image. 

He spits right onto your soaked folds, watches the thick glob of saliva slide down to mingle with your own leaking slick. He’s not even going to make you come first. Little virgin cunt and he’s not going to even bother getting you ready – just gonna shove the whole, unforgiving length of himself inside of you. Force you to take it. He fists his thick fist around himself, jacks his cock once, twice, squeezing at the bulbous head so that a trickle of precum seeps out of the slit. He presses his head to your clit, slides down to give you a small threat of pressure at your opening. When he looks back up at your face your eyes flutter shut, a look of pure contented submission washing over the gorgeous planes of you. 

“Not gonna be gentle, baby. Don’t got it in me.” He notches the fat head at the slick mouth of your entrance and crams his cock inside of you in one go, meets that thin barrier that says you still belong to yourself and rips through it. Mine now. No reprieve, no respite. And God, the feel of it, cleaved in half, scorching hot, filled to the brim and never deep enough. He is a rabid, snarling beast of a man as he hits the very end of you, grinds his cockhead at the mouth of your womb. You let out a warbled, pained moan, little fingers coming up to claw at his throat and chest with kitten-strength, down to dig into his thick thighs as he pins you down, and you tilt your hips to let him in deeper or escape him, he doesn't know. He doesn't care. He pulls his hips back and forces himself back in, too thick cock wedged into the too tight space. “Christ, goddamn tight fuckin’ pussy – made for me,” he grits through bared teeth.

He fucks you raw and cruel, and he needs you to just lay limp and still and take it.

And you do. And he does not cry this time. 

He sets a brutal pace, throbs deep in your belly at every pause as he grinds at your cervix. It must be painful for you, perhaps, but the flush in your cheeks, the fever in your eyes, the ripple of your cunt around his driving length tells him you also like it. “What a good girl, taking my big cock,” he coos. You preen, tilt your hips this time in supplication he’s sure, hitch your feet higher along his sides. There are tears running back down your temples and into your hairline. His cock makes you cry. If he could, he’d split your throat and drink, he would. But he cannot, so he’ll split your cunt instead. He thrusts into the hilt, complete negligence for care, for gentleness lost in the dark wood, for the desperate necessity of feeling your virgins blood coating his cock. Your protestations lost to the louder song for more, for harder, for deeper

Joel, Joel, Joel. 

He’s going to listen to you sing his name for the rest of his life. 

He feels unhinged, a thread picked at too many times, spun loose, unraveled and frayed. That edge that separates good and evil – his bloody fingers clamp down hard on the edge of your jaw, forces you to open for him, and he spits into your mouth – direct, dirty … warm. “Lemme see…” he rumbles, and you stick your tongue out for his inspection. Once he nods, pleased and smug and conquering, you close and rub the slick of his saliva onto the roof of your mouth with your tongue, savor the taste of him. This was the taste that you’d longed for… that which teaches you what that professed edge really is. Is he good, is he evil – he’d just killed two men, you’d watched him, cunt wet at the sight of it. Albeit to protect you… sure – but does it even matter? You swallow his spit down. Probably not. 

He is huge and life altering inside of you. Your virginity scoured away on his invading length. 

He leans forward, hand clamped around your jaw to pierce you with his manic gaze, like his cock pierces your cunt. He smells like the forest and sweat and power. “Little fuckin’ tease,” he grits, “Bringing me cherry pie like that all the time – fuckin’ provoking me. You just wanted me to pop your cherry for you. Didn’t you, little girl?” All you can do is nod dumbly and take what he gives you. He hooks one of your knees over his elbow, the other propped over his shoulder, foot bobbing limply at each slam of his hips. He has you bent entirely in half, cunt splayed wide open for him to fuck down into the deep, devastating end of you. Your vision goes blurry, black stars streaking across the back of your eyelids. All you see is him. Perhaps he’s all that exists now. Maybe you’re just as dead as the two bodies laying beside the two of you. You wonder peripherally what the sight of the four of you must look like. Joel’s hulking form fucking you like an animal into the dirt. You open your eyes to look up at him, there’s blood splatter across his face, in his hair. His skin is burning hot against yours. You think that perhaps you’ll have scorch marks in the shape of his fingers in your skin after he’s done with you. Two dead, brutalized bodies cooling beside the place where the two of you are fucking. 

“Can feel ya tightening up, baby. Gonna come all over my cock.”

He does something to change the angle, and it fucking hurts. “Too much,” you beg, try to push him back weakly, but your cunt pulls sharp and tight, and then your muscles are rippling around him, womb contracting painfully as your orgasms blinds you with its sudden intensity. 

“Don’t care,” he growls back. “Do not fucking push me away.” No, he must not care. Prey doesn’t decide how it’s felled, after all. 

He pulls out and back then, suddenly, slaps your cunt harshly, once, twice. You mewl, high and shocked, writhing around in the dirt. He grabs you by the hips and flips you so fast you’re left disoriented, pulling your ass up, up, up. 

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he croons, bends to bite down on the meat of your asscheek, and then notches back at your gaping, fluttering hole, orgasm still running through you, and pushes back in. You’re soaking wet, slick and fucked open by him and the taking is much easier this time. You feel his thumb press down on your asshole, “Gonna take this too. Gonna have every part of you, every piece. Gonna swallow you whole.” All you do is arch your back further, cheek smushed into the dirt, fingers digging into the cool earth for purchase, for salvation.

The sight of you stretched around his thick base, so slick he feels you dripping down his balls and further below, into the bloody earth. There’s a red tinge of your own blood coating his skin, and he’s going to come. He’s going to fill you up with his spend and fuck it deep into you until it takes. Until no matter how far you want to run, he’ll be with you, always. He lets his head fall back on his neck and stares up at the dark canopy of the trees, groans low and deep.“You’re gonna be my little hole now,” he promises, presses one large palm into the small of your back to deepen the angle and fuck down into you. “Gonna take you with me and fill you up whenever I feel like it. My gorgeous little cumslut.” The ramming of his hips starts to grow sloppy and stuttered, close to the edge now. Victory is so, so near. 

You start to claw at the dirt and wiggle again. Little knees chafed raw and scrambling against the hard ground trying to get away. He slaps your ass hard, hopes there’ll be the print of his hand to appreciate later. 

“Not inside, not inside – not – no birth control,” you stutter, beg.

“I’m not fuckin’ pulling out.” He twists a cruel and unyielding hand into the back of your hair and presses your face harshly into the ground. Your eyes pinch and tears seep and mingle into the blood and dirt beneath you. “Gonna pump you raw and full. You don’t gotta worry about anythin’ anymore, baby. Gonna take care of you,” he grits and you press yourself harder back into him. There is an existential seesaw inside of you – a volleying of your wants – you want him to hurt you, to force you, to take care of you and keep you, all at the same time.

“Promise – promise me you won’t leave me,” you cry and beg because really, that’s all you want. All you’ve ever wanted. For someone to stay, for someone to never leave, no matter what.

“I promise – fuckin’ swear.” And you go loose and passive again at that – his to do with as he will. Nothing else really matters after all that.

He senses the change. The loosening of your muscles into capitulation. He stops his thrusting and grinds, strums at your clit. “Oh fuck, you want me to fill you up? And what happens if I do? What happens if it takes? Want me to get you fuckin’ pregnant?” Starts to fuck into you again, “I think you do.”

Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.

“You’re mine. Fucking mine.” He says it again and again and again, yes, yes, yes, lets himself fall forward, anchored above you with one strong arm as he presses as deep as he can physically go and starts to fill your pulsing cunt with his come, the heat of his spend inciting you to roll into one more throbbing orgasm. He brings his face down close to yours, open your eyes, little thing, lemme see you. The fluttering of your lashes, sweaty, dirt-streaked face, and you are seraphic, the wet crimson heat of your blood pounding beneath the delicate membrane of your skin. Gorgeous, perfect, conquered and his. 

“Fucked full’a me now,” he whispers, presses a soft kiss to the tender skin of your eyelid. You nuzzle into him, and then look up at him with the warmest, most vibrant gaze he’s ever seen. Fucking pleased and sated. 

“They wanted me, but only you get to have me now,” you whisper. “How does that make you feel?” Provoking, provoking again. 

“Like I fucking own you.” He grinds his still spitting cock further, feels the pull of your muscles milk him deeper. 

He lets his weight fall partially over you, too heavy for the full mass of himself. You are, after all, a delicate thing, and he must remember to handle you with care, occasionally. He feels the pulsing and quivering of your cunt around his softening cock, and the two of you settle to lay there in the dirt, bodies still dead, virginity scoured and stolen, and stare at each other. 

“Have you ever been in love?” you whisper, dragging the tip of one little finger, whisper soft, over the arch of his brow, the slope of his nose.

“I feel a little in love with ya right now,” he confesses, and you press that finger against the seam of his mouth, begging for entrance, and then inside, against the flat of his tongue to inspect the wet gleam of it. It’ll be inside of you soon enough, you should take a look at that which you’ll be writhing against in due time. 

“Good. That was my plan all along.” Smug, conniving little creature. 

-

Once it’s full dark, he packs you into his truck, buckles your seatbelt for you, tucks a blanket around your dirty knees and drives off as if he hadn’t just murdered two men and taken your virginity with their blood still hot on his skin. He goes for miles and miles, eventually finds a dark, secluded spot to park the truck for the night. He takes you into the back bunk and fucks you like you’d wanted him to, on your side, one leg slung over his shoulder, hand gripping the lush of your ass to pull you onto his impaling cock, watches your ass bounce against his thrusts. A demanded play with it, lemme see ya push it back in, as he watches himself drip out of your messy hole. Eats your cunt until you cry. Afterwards, the two of you lay, naked and damp, facing each other, tracing the lines of one another in the quiet dark. 

Sometimes he’s worried he’s blood hungry – or pain hungry. Starving for something he doesn’t have a name for. But he thinks that, perhaps, he can use your name to fill in the blank space now. He’d always felt as if his devotion was a punishment to the receiver. After all, everyone Joel has ever loved has left him. But as he looks at you, there’s something in your eyes that tells him that perhaps, you’ll remain. Perhaps, he can compel you to, force you to. Perhaps, he can anchor you to himself, and in turn, give you everything. 

“Are you a ghost?” he asks.

“No. Are you?”

“Sometimes I think I am.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re like a fuckin’ angel or somethin’. What were you doin’ out here in this wasteland?” He asks you again.

“Maybe I was waiting for you.” This answer he likes.

He’s quiet for a long time after that – taking you in, cataloging you, memorizing you. His fingers ghosting over your face, your hair, strumming the fan of your lashes. Later he asks: How do you remember the memory of someone else? How do you keep them when they’ve gone somewhere entirely unreachable?

“Because you love them,” you tell him.

“That’s enough?”

“Of course. Will you ever forget that you loved her?”

“Never.”

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

#my writing #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine

[curapicas]

Oh look, the donghua is doing the heavy lifting for me and juxtaposing them on its own volition. (kind of a continuation of this)

Plot-wise, Li Tianchen's relationship with Lu Guang hinges basically on trying to manipulate and hurt Cheng Xiaoshi to do his bidding through hurting LG (worth noting this implies an understanding of such attachments, and the viciousness stems from a certain resentment of it + his twisted personality). I don't even remember if he's aware LG also has powers.

but tbh the funniest thing coming out of LTC vs CXS&LG is that, in a weird way, he was actually letting off his anger on the "right target", kinda? Technically? Of course I'm not saying LG deserves it nor that LTC was being anything but unhinged. But I do believe there's more than meets the eye (and probably informs the ways Lu Guang can be confronted on the narrative, more on that by the end)

Bc this show is competent, many characters have parallels with each protagonist, and LTC-LG are no different. There's a post I couldn't find that went on their reactions to their most precious people dying in front of them: whereas LTC loses all hope, LG has the means to go back, and thus doesn't even try to let go. Alas, they're both tacticians who, despiste meaning well for LTX and CXS, end up manipulating them into inaction/ignorance;

And they do so bc both feel adrift and out of options - but the show focus a lot on how powerless LTC feels about his life for it to not be a big factor. LTC fights so hard for a modicum of control that I don't even think it registers how he impacts LTX, meanwhile LG has so many variables stacked against him and his empathetic partner that he ends up prioritizing CXS' survival, even above their connection (he keeps to himself Emma's death, for example)

In the twins past, LG was the one that guided CXS into staying on task. And before that, he hid the photo even from the police. Tbh he'd never see it that way, but isn't this accidentally the best revenge for his stabbing? lol

Either way, LTC loses his hope, blames CXS and believes him to be what LTC hates the most, a nice guy who's secretly a jerk. Except. Who is actually closer to this description? A guy who can be polite but will stay passive if that affects CXS too much, to the point of lying about saving Chen Xiao's mom?

Curious to me he was also pretty straight forward in calling LG a jerk, and maybe it's just because LG botched his kidnapping attempt. But maybe he has pretty good instincts bc I don't think he even knows why he hates the man so much, lol. After all, for all Li Tianchen knows, everyone is a jerk who stands by and watch.

And maybe it makes him even angrier because he finally met someone who also has powers and is willing to call him "friend" and "play" with him. Considering his one friendship was with Liu Xiao, someone he's aware has plans, he might've even considered to have his own pet project on CXS. But the thing is, this person already seems to have a way more genuine friendship, and it's with LG.

Summary: LTC, if only he knew, would hate LG for not changing his past + being a guy who's very much capable of standing by and watch + having an actual friendship with CXS

DISCLAIMER: I think on his own right, Lu Guang values kindness in general. But LTC's vision is too black and white to even account for that.

While I'm on the topic of LG: while his passivity keeps him from being of any effective help to the twins, he's also keenly aware of the butterfly effect and that he could possibly make things worse instead, something CXS has been confronting throughought the story.

And yet. His objective is what ultimately makes us see this approach as instead of wise, more akin to the desperation of a grieving man - not unlike LTC who by the end of s2, gives up altogether of hope and follows the Big Bad. Besides, it somewhat clashes with the fact CXS actually does make a difference for the clients, be it by making the past more tender (Chen Bin's wife has sweeter memories, Dou Dou's life was actively made less worse) or the present better (lesbian noodles make up, Dou Dou's father and Qiao Ling reconcile), which is also something LG is aware of, since he agreed to deliver Chen Xiao's messages. So far I don't personally see a clean, objectively correct approach, thus I'm willing to bet it'll be whatever is diametrically opposite of Liu Xiao's, lmao

-kinda unrelated, but I've seen people mentioning an interview where Li Haoling-laoshi (aka the director) said he tweaked a little with Li Tianchen before s2, and he was meant to be (even more) obsessed with Cheng Xiaoshi, making this whole post even more hilarious

#link click #shiguang daili ren #li tianchen #lu guang #it's not easy to be the Yearner of a duo but someone's gotta do it (in ltc's case I'm talking about hatman) #the way ltc jumped in front of his family as a kid vs the way lg comes to cxs' rescue with a kick both remind me of lx jumping in water #but this comparison leads me nowhere except 'heroic rescue' so I'll leave it be #and now I've accidentally opened up a parallel between LG and LX too. oh boy #I've been /rotating/ these characters in my brain and the amount of words shows this

[dollveis]

⠀⠀⠀𐚁 ͏͏ ᳝˚ ͏͏𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞!𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬. ׁ ׂ ✦

✿ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : college!ellie x fem!reader.

✿ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : kind of enemies to lovers trope, vaguely anxiety mention.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀✿ ﹙ 𝐕𝐈𝐕𝐈 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒﹚: i took two whole weeks to make this request because im literally blocked and i entered in a crisis after uploading it by accident (i also have serious problems with verbs tenses), kinda hate this tbh. @evanpetersluver obligated me to give her credits because she was the one who gimme the idea of alpha and omega, ily. dialogues and narrative are written on italics.

⠀⠀⠀

Thinking about college!ellie as your girlfriend...

You met her by accident on your first day of college, it wasn't the best first impression.

"Fuck, watch where you're going," a female voice said, with upset tone and cursing a little bit more under her breath. A girl with a half-up half-down hairstyle, a helmet hanging on her right hand and furrowed eyebrows looking at you, her green eyes piercing you like blades.

"Excuse you? you should too, damn," you were having a bad day because of that stupid teacher who humiliated you in front of your class and as cherry on top, now this stupid girl thinks she can talk to you like that? you bumped into her by accident.

The day after you bumped into her again, this time when you were entering on your dorm. She was one of Dina's, your roommate, closest friends.

You couldn't stand Ellie and her mocking attitude, and it seemed like the feeling was mutual.

"Why's this dumbass here again, Dina?" your hand rubbing the bridge of your nose, already fed up of that annoying and cocky smirk of hers, "you don't have a dorm? you're always here, god".

"I can't believe you're at college, you act like a baby," she mocked, leaning against Dina's headboard, "get over it".

It's almost insane to think you became lovers at the end. One day you entered your room with watery eyes, stressed and anxious about your exams and works, tired to the point you didn't cared about Ellie's presence in Dina's desk. She ran to you surprisingly fast, expecting her usual bullshit she acted caring towards you for the first time, with concern in her voice and worry adorning her features as Ellie kneeled down.

Without realizing you cried on her arms for the next two hours, being comforted by her warm hug and her hands caressing your back, making your heart race fast on your chest.

"You don't hate me?" with your voice broken and shaky complimenting your swollen reddish eyes you pulled away your face from the curve of her neck to look at her eyes, this time a soft stare in them.

Ellie didn't answered, instead she kissed you. The sweetest kiss you ever felt, with both of her hands on your cheeks as her fingers traced messy figures.

"That seems like hate to you?" a fond smile in her lips and without waiting for you to think and answer, she pressed her lips gently against yours.

After that, without words needed, you and Ellie already knew you were girlfriends.

A few weeks after starting dating, Ellie already learned you classes schedule and she started walking you to class and wait for you once they end if she was free, sometimes bringing you your favorite snacks and drink.

The times you forget about your money Ellie won't stop insisting to share her lunch and even if you always reject her, unluckily for you Ellie is persistent as hell.

"I'm okay, Ellie, i said no," you stroked and squeezed Ellie's thigh under the table of the cafeteria, her slightly larger hand trying to reach yours to interlock your fingers.

"Yeah, i don't care, you need to eat and take care of yourself, now eat or i'll feed you," she threatened even if you kinda liked that idea.

Sometimes you surrender and eat or intentionally refuse to tease and embarrass Ellie by making her feed you, thing that she did few times and later told you she hated you and never did it again.

Every time you tease her she takes revenge in front of your friends, making your cheeks red and something awakening inside you.

"You look so pretty and so mine today, sweet girl," she whispered in your ear, her arms wrapping around your waist and her lips softly skimming your neck, giving you a kiss to immediately break the contact with you. Her lips forming a smirk when she looked at your nervous expression.

"Hey, are you okay? You are really red," Jesse asked you with a worry, approaching his hand to your forehead, "you have fever?".

She loves to pick you up with her motorcycle from everywhere. She doesn't care if it's an hour away from where she is, if you call her she's picking you.

Actually, before you she didn't let anyone get on her motorcycle like it was her child. Now she even bought you a helmet so you can always go with her without any danger.

Ellie memorized what you like and what you don't, giving as result her waiting for you at your dorm with a wrapped gift in her hands after you told her you passed that test that was driving you crazy or similar situations.

If she used to spent the whole time on your dorm, now she almost lives with you and Dina, having multiple clothes and dinosaurs pyjamas on your closet along with yours.

She's a film lover but her favorite genre to watch with you are the kids ones, she loves those and thrillers too. I said movie nights almost every Friday and Saturday?

The type of girlfriend who invites you to everything even if you didn't care if she went alone, she just wants you there because loves your presence and your silly comments, she loves how you make her feel warm.

"I got invited to this party, wanna go? Dina's probably going with Jesse," she asked, looking at through her instagram's messages while she was layed on your bed.

You turned your head from your desk and notes to look at her, her hair messy and some hair strands invading her freckled face, "Not a big fan of parties, but you can go, baby," you hummed already knowing her answer because you knew Ellie Williams like your hand's palm.

"Then i prefer stay with you watching Alpha and Omega," her eyes lighting up with excitement, showing how much of a kids movie lover she was.

"Again?" a dumb smile in your lips, mesmerized by your own girlfriend.

#=͟͟͞⚝ 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐯𝐢 ! #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou

[flower-boi16]

Top 5 Best & Worst Characters in Hellaverse

So, for the most part, Hellaverse has pretty meh to bad characters. Buuuuut, there are a few decent/good ones, so, just for fun, let's go over the top 5 best AND worst characters in Hellaverse (in my opinion).

5. (Worst) Stella

So Stella. Stella, Stella, Stella...you had so much potential to be interesting...but you just...aren't. Just for the record I don't think making Stella abusive is a retcon since it doesn't contradict any of her past behavior in season 1 minus like...one background painting.

That's not really my problem with Stella being abusive. My problem is that it makes her boring and the show does that as a way to woobify Stolas. Really not much to say, she's just...boring.

5. (Best) Octavia

It's pretty funny how Octavia is pretty much the most beloved character in the critical community. She's both decently likable and is a bit interesting when you look at her, as she's a girl who was negatively affected by her fathers' actions and is dealing with the negative changes that have happened to her due to her parents always arguing...

...also her father is Stolas so she is therefore the most sympathetic character by default. Really, there aren't that many good characters in either Hazbin or Helluva, and Octavia isn't an amazing character, she only appears in like, two episodes, but she's still fine by herself and is one of Viv's better characters.

4. (Worst) Charlie

I already made a full post about the issues with my problems with Charlie as a character so I won't once again go very deeply here. You're probably wondering why Charlie is even here to begin with since I stated that I don't exactly hate her.

...well, just because I don't hate a character doesn't really mean I like that character. A majority of Hazbin's characters have similar problems of not being that developed at all and the development they do have often feels rushed. The reason why I put Charlie as the 4th worst character in Hellaverse is because, well, out of every character in Hazbin's main cast...Charlie is just kind of the one with the biggest issues.

Again, I already talked about my issues with Charlie in my post about her but just to recap; Charlie suffers from being heavily underdeveloped, she isn't a very compelling protagonist and has 0 growth throughout the show. She learns absolutely nothing. Her mentality is never once challenged by the narrative and she is always portrayed as right and anyone who disagrees with her is automatically wrong, and she also feels heavily overshadowed by the rest of the cast despite being the main character.

Charlie is also not the best person at times like some people have pointed out (she KNOWS THAT ANGEL IS BEING ABUSED and she chooses not to do anything about it. Wow, what a great friend), and overall she kinda sucks as a protagonist.

4. (Best) Lucifer

I've seen Lucifer gain a lot of flak from people with them calling him a bad person and it's not entirely unjustified. I can definitely understand why it may be hard to sympathize with the guy who literally greenlit annual genocides of his own people because he thought that they deserved death.

Not to mention him calling Charlie a "failure" in the pilot which is just...never addressed here. Also it's fairly weird that despite Lucifer being the sin of pride...he isn't really prideful of anything...? So ya, there a few issues with Lucifer as a character.

In spite of that though, I don't think that Lucifer is a particularly bad character. If anything, he's actually one of the more well-developed of the main cast and he has an arc that's decently compelling...?

He initially started out as a dreamer, someone with many creative and imaginative ideas for Heaven, but his ideas were always rejected and he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven.

After he was cast down to Hell as punishment for accidentally letting evil seep into the world, he lost his will to dream and fell into depression, having a heavily cynical view of Heaven and Hell due to his past experiences. He closes himself off and doesn't stay in contact with his loved ones, mainly his daughter due to his depression. He tries convincing Charlie into his cynical views because he doesn't want his own daughter to face the same crushing rejection he faced.

However, he reconnects with his daughter and brings back a spark in him that was lost long ago, and he promises to support Charlie and her dreams, despite his depression not immediately disappearing.

Admittedly that part is pretty rushed, like Charlie just says "but dad...mah people!!!!" and he's just like "ok". Again, it's not perfect and has some small issues, but compared to most of Hazbin and Helluva's other characters, Lucifer's arc is far more well-developed and is interesting in it's own right. If anything, Lucifer thinking that his people deserve death simply shows his cynical mindset that he's had for years, and Charlie's able to bring back that dreamer that was crushed long ago.

So ya. Lucifer is not amazing, but I like him. He's neat.

3. (Worst) Chaz

Chaz sucks. Chaz is a character that only exists just to make a bunch of unfunny sex jokes and nothing else. He is completely one-dimensional and is nothing more than a walking sex joke. And his "jokes" aren't even remotely funny.

I really don't have much to even say about Chaz. He's just THAT one-note.

3. (Best) Velvvette

I've talked about my thoughts on Velvvette before so I won't go too in depth here again. Buuut needless to say I think she's probably my favorite character in hellaverse. She's one of the few antagonists Viv's made that's actually entertaining and fun to watch, with a well-developed and charismatic personality that's not just "asshole who swears a lot". She isn't the best character in hellaverse though, but she has far more depth as a character compared to most of the other antagonists.

2. (Worst) Adam

I've spoken about my thoughts on Adam before multiple times so at this point I don't know if I have anything left to say about him. Adam is a boring, one-dimensional character with very little depth or personality as a character. He only exists just to be a pure straw character so he can be proven wrong by Charlie.

He can't have any real depth as a character because he only exists just to be torn down by the story. Again, already talked about that in a previous post so I won't go too in-depth here, but needless to say...ya, Adam still sucks.

2. (Best) Alastor

Like Lucifer, I've seen Alastor gain a heavy amount of criticism but personally, like Lucifer, I think Alastor is one of the better characters in the main cast. The has a sense of mystery and intrigue to him that makes him pretty interesting as a character. You're left wondering what his whole deal is & what he's planning.

That combined with Alastor's charisma makes him an entertaining antagonist for the show. He's one of the few characters that I'm interested in to see what they do with in the next season. So ya, I like Alastor...

Now time to get to a character that makes me want to punch myself in the face.

1. (Worst) Stolas

.....Honeslty what can even be said about Stolas that hasn't already been said? I've made so many posts complaining about this stupid owl and you already know my opinion of him at this point. If you really want to know every single critique of Stolas I have, read every post I've made that's tagged "anti stolas". But...I'll just say this.

Stolas could have been a good character. Hell, he could have been the show's BEST character. He had all the potential to be super interesting and compelling character with a great arc...but instead, Viv decided to completely retcon everything season 1 established in order to try and make Stolas an UwU soft boy the show REALLY wants us to sympathize for, in spite of Stolas being a bad person.

I'm sorry if I can't sympathize with the guy who SA's an lower class imp for his own pleasure and frequently neglects his own daughter and pays more attention to st. imp. And, as an artificial way to make Stolas sympathetic, the narrative has to wipe away any actual flaws he has and demonize any character that even remotely gets upset at his actions (which I talk about here), because god forbid we hold Stolas accountable for ANYTHING right? We have to coddle and absolve him of ALL his mistakes despite his flaws being what made him interesting in the first place.

Stolas NEVER grows or develops as a character because of this and so he has basically no character arc. Not only is he a poorly written mess of a character...he's also just BORING now. There's nothing interesting about him anymore, he's just an UwU sad sack. He had so much potential to be interesting but that potential was completely wasted in favor of this bullshit.

And THAT's what makes Stolas SO FRUSTRATING. Really, he pretty much represents HB, and, to an extent, all of Hellaverse as a whole; it started out good with a lot of interesting ideas and potential but through bad writing, all of that potential got squandered and now we're just left with a completely disappointing mess.

Stolas is the worst character in the show because he's the only one who legitimately FRUSTERATES me. He's my least favorite character in all of fiction and a complete mess.

1. (Best) Sera

I already talked about Sera before in a previous post so I won’t go too in depth here, but Sera is one of hellaverse’ better antagonists for having more depth and nuance as a character. She’s the head seraphim of Heaven and greenlit exterminations in order to protect Heaven….and Emily.

In spite of that though, she clearly doesn’t want to do this and is only doing it because she wanted to try and protect her people, and Emily, who she clearly cares deeply for as her older sister. She’s a lot more compelling as a character that most of hellaverse’ antagonists, not being good or evil but rather morally grey, having nuances to her as a character.

To me, Sera is the best character in all of Hellaverse because she's the one with the most nuance and depth compared to 90% of Viv's other characters, especially her antagonists. She actually has REAL DEPTH and complexities to her that make her a lot more interesting compared to most of Viv's characters. Hell, most of the characters in the best list are put there BECAUSE they are just more developed than most of the other characters (which just shows how bad Viv is at character writing)

Like Alastor, she's one of the few characters that I am interested in seeing what they do next with season 2, as she is likely going to get a redemption there. Well just have to see. But for now, Sera is the best character in all of Hellaverse.

So...ya...that was my top 5 best and worst characters in Hellaverse...

....bye.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop criticism #hazbin hotel criticism #anti stolas #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism

[firesnap]

I hate that I took him at his word. I remember there being a conversation during one of the wine streams where Wilbur said he would "never hurt a fly." What fucking bullshit. I looked forward to those wine streams every year even when I wasn't that into mcyt. Like I know that's a little minor thing to focus on and obviously these are my own petty feelings but like. Those streams were dear to me and we all came back together for them and they're fucking ruined now. Fuck this guy honestly.

There's a great post I wish I could paste for you about how we need to shake off the narrative that abusers are inherently evil. They might even see themselves as incapable of hurting a fly. They might be the kind of person who no one had a bad thing to say about them until they did. They might be, most likely, a complicated person capable of doing good and being kind and also horrible things.

I think, trying to go back through past things the person has done to show that they're "evil" kinda dismisses the story Shelby told.

He wasn't evil. He still hurt someone and has said nothing about it. He still hurt someone and then destroyed her things and made an album about it. He doesn't deserve our support because, as Shelby said, he's shown to be dangerous and incapable of controlling himself in a way that doesn't damage those around him.

But, no longer sidetracked, I understand what you mean. I don't think any of them realize that their communities are more than things they can farm for interactions. I don't know if any of them will ever grasp how many people are involved in these online spaces in creating, discussing, offering friendship and advice and just existing -- even just coming "back" for events like those streams and feeling welcome. So it hurts like hell to see one of them go up in smoke like this.

#the current state of things

[soapskneebrace]

same anon who sent the ask abt price: MW3's writing was embarrassing tbh. i agree 100% that narratively, its the most logical and sensible for price to be the one who takes the fall. what you wrote i flat out completely agree with, and its deeply disappointing that we are stuck with an extremely poorly written and rushed story. the game was a hot steamy pile. everyone was slightly out of character, they all growled their lines like mad dogs, and the missions were ass. i cant believe no one talks about the mission where you get anti arab hate crimed. what was that??? what was the reason??? (the only thing i liked about that game were the 9 minutes of nikolai. i just find him entertaining.) i was replaying mw2019 while super high and got to the mission where you threaten the butchers wife and son and just thought to myself; that lady and that kid are gonna have nightmares about price for the rest of their lives. that room is going to come back to them again and again and again. they literally did nothing wrong except the crime of being the butchers family. what price and gaz did is never going to leave them, and gaz was right to question price on that. of course, the game doesn't care at all. they're disposable NPCS for a shock value scene. i dunno, the fact that the game doesn't really give a fuck, and seemingly even condones what happened, just kinda hit different and i had to put the game down for the evening. i guess that hit at that moment bc i had also read a fic a bit earlier where the reader was price's civvy gf and gets kidnapped by his enemies. it bent my brain a bit bc, the thing in the fic is literally a canon event perpetuated by price, portrayed as a good thing by the source material, that now price is the victim of. it was a very weird feeling for my weed addled brain to try and process. think i blue screened actually. i wanna put price in a jar and shake him vigorously. pin him to a board like a entomology insect. i want to bite him. i do love him i swear. but maybe make him actually face a single real consequence for his war crimes? (disappointing that it will never happen on screen bc these games are all gas no breaks outright propaganda. not to mention real war crimes are happening constantly in front of everyone's eyes and going completely unpunished) sorry this is really long, i have no one to talk to abt these games and i dont understand my feelings toward that British man

Yeah. The thing about Price is that he's not a good person in the slightest. We write fiction about the kind of man he can be--the best version of himself, a version we can all stomach--but the real Price is distinct from that, and the best people in this fandom recognize that.

Soap and Ghost have some plausible deniability simply because we haven't seen them doing anything other than action movie stuff. Gaz is on the road to becoming Price--Price is doing his damndest to turn Gaz into himself--but he isn't there yet. (@391780 did a GREAT analysis of the driving scene in mw19 and how Price subtly manipulates Gaz, but I can't find it.)

EDIT: Early kindly provided.

We, as the audience, are not actually supposed to worry that much about the Butcher's family, because Price is one of the Good Guys who would never let something Bad actually happen. Infinity Ward does not take the Butcher's family seriously, and does not want us to take the family seriously, because they are just a convenient vehicle with which to move the plot along. Their presence is, in the end, shock value. We are meant to stare, wide-eyed, wondering is Price really going to go that far? while in the back of our minds knowing of course he's not, because he's our hero. He's just doing whatever it takes. The family is not meant to be anything other than fodder for Price's characterization.

Same with Samara. We are not supposed to care all that much about her, personally--we're supposed to marvel over Makarov's canny brutality, his bRiLLiANcE in recognizing the obvious fact that an Arab woman would make a perfect scapegoat for a plane bombing. Samara does not matter to MW3. Only the shocking way she dies. None of these Arab characters matter to Call of Duty--only the entertainment value of their pain.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I am reminded of when Price threw a man restrained into a bomb jacket off a balcony, with not a shred of remorse afterword. I'm forced to ask the question--who would Price scapegoat, then, if he felt justified enough?

And yeah, he's never going to suffer the consequences of his actions, because Infinity Ward doesn't think he's actually done anything wrong. We throw the word propaganda around a lot without actually defining it, but Price is emblematic of how the propaganda of Call of Duty works. Price does something reprehensible, and is shown to be justified in doing it--implying that real men like him are justified, too, because don't you understand how little choice Price had? Don't you get that there's no good choice to be made? This is how he has to act, and this is how all soldiers have to act, because war is a dirty business, and someone needs to be willing to do it for the benefit of the ignorant public.

The question of why any of this should be happening at all is never asked.

#answered

[epickiya722]

At this point, he's trying to change the narrative to shift it to his favor which it just disrespectful to Horikoshi and his team.

Ain't it funny that out of all the lines, it's just that one line? The very last line? Yet, all the other lines seem to still keep their meanings. Hm...

Like, every time there's a line that shows just how far Bakugou and his relationship with Midoriya has developed, the "official" translation is a total different line with a totally different meaning.

He would not say "OFA couldn't keep you on the ground...", he would not start that line like that because he has grown. Saying that just makes him sound like he's kinda boasting about his own quirk and downplaying OFA aka Midoriya’s quirk.

Now him saying "we'll finish the job" sounds less... bad given that bit could be interpret ss him saying "him and Midoriya". But... it also makes no sense because the fan translation also alludes to the fact that he and Midoriya could win together. Him saying that he'll take up what Midoriya can't is him saying "I got his back, we got this together, they're a duo". The previous chapters and the second movie show as such.

So why change the line though? Hm? So couldn't there be a line that was similar to the fan translation instead of that whole line change?

See the problem! The fan translation worked out a way better translation with Bakugou saying he'll take up what Midoriya can't because it's a callback to his apology, one of his biggest moments within his character development. Also, Horikoshi often makes callbacks.

And that said callback refers to Bakugou's growth. He still will be there so they can win together.

I know some people will be like "here's the BkDks complaining again".

Forget it being about shipping! The "official" translation just didn't do Bakugou as a character justice here. Yes, his development does involve Midoriya. But even without shipping goggles, one could see how that last line isn't fair to Bakugou's development.

Actually, you know what?

The thing I find funny about this is antis will see everyone's reactions to this and say "BkDks are making it about shipping" even though they're just as bad, even worse.

This is an example.

Let's be honest. The reason why that translation changed is probably because a certain translator feels some kind of way towards Bakugou and Midoriya. Probably why we gets "mistakes" like this constantly.

If I was translating the manga and I didn't care about BkDk, I still wouldn't be mistranslating for the simple fact I wouldn't want to change the narrative that Horikoshi wants to give. It's his story, after all. I damn sure don't want anyone doing that to me.

Especially over some damn ship they want to be salty about.

Which a lot of people who hate on BkDk do. They like to shift the story into what they want just for a chance to shit on a ship and its shippers.

Now, how can anyone be that pressed, how can anyone be so in their feelings that they would change the narrative of a story that is not even theirs by even translating wrong, I do not know!

#i wasn't going to say anything but #i just can't #just kiya's thoughts #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha 405 #bnha manga spoilers #bnha spoilers #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #bkdk #bakudeku

[thewayuarent]

Boston is the worst

And how we get into stupid game of compared morality that doesn’t actually exist

This moment got me thinking. A lot. Mostly something like “Sand, honey, are you okay?” but also about how it doesn’t make sense for Sand to say that. Like even Ray was like “Hmmm, babe, actually, no”.

And then I got it. It’s not about why Sand says it, it’s about why narrative implies it so often.

But why is it constantly implied by narrative that Boston is the worst? Not just bad, or shitty, but actually the worst of all of them? And I kind of feel that I got it. But first, let’s go through the whole list of Boston saying be gay do crimes and compare it to other characters. And yes, I know that all those situations and motivations were different. I understand that this is not the same situation playing out the same way every time.

1. Boston recorded Ray and Mew intimate moment.

So as Nick recorded Boston and Top and Top recorded Sand and Ray. And Drake’s character I forgot his name again did with Boston.

2. Boston shared it with Top.

So as Nick, Sand, Ray and Mew did with BostonTop tape and Mew did with TonDrake clip (I kind of get Ray a half-free pass in that cause in my opinion he was more a tool than active participant but I still remember him).

3. Boston manipulated Nick’s feelings for his own goals.

So as Mew did with Ray on several occasions, and Sand did with Ray that one time to hurt Top, and Mew did with Top and the whole using sex as a test thing. (Also Ray kind of tried it with Sand but Ray sucks at manipulation and failed miserably).

4. Boston slept with Top when Top was in a relationship with Mew.

So as Top probably (?) did with Boeing. And you know who also did this? Yep, Sand. With Ray. Who also was with Mew.

5. Boston chased Top against his will.

So as Ray constantly chased Sand since ep 2, and Top constantly did with Mew since they broke up. And Nick did with Boston at the Halloween party. And Atom now doing it with Boston.

(Honestly, the only normal reaction to that in my opinion was from Ton who was like fuck off to Nick and Atom. But it kinda worked for both Sand and Mew so good for them I guess?)

6. Boston took an advantage of Top on several occasions.

So as Ray with Mew - twice, Ray with Sand (seriously bro stop it) and Top with Mew (and yes, hugging your unconscious ex who can’t give his consent and who told you several times to fuck off is not okay, I’m sorry. Try to put yourself in Mew’s place - not cool)

7. Boston outed Ray’s personal information.

And so as Ray did to everyone in the bar, and Mew did with Top and Ton in the Halloween disaster party TM.

8. Boston gets violent with Nick.

And so as Sand and Top, and Mew with Ray, and Sand with Ray, and Ray with Boston, and Top and Ray, and Mew and Boston, and literally everyone to everyone except Nick who is apparently hippie.

9. We all know that Boston didn’t cheat on Nick, right? Their relationship was communicated pretty clear. But I’ve seen those takes so.

Yeah, Top and Ray both did it with Mew.

10. And don’t even let me start to talk about slutshaming and purity culture. Ton is constantly dragged down for his active sex life both by other characters (Mew, Cheum, Ray, Nick) and the audience.

And yeah, Top is the same, and Sand is the same, and they never told us about Ray but did you see that guy? He’s the same.

And what distinguishes Boston from others is that he actually always - since the very beginning of the show - owns his shit. He’s almost never remorseful (for now), because he knows who he is. Bitch and proud, I would say. And I believe that it’s actually the case - because it’s way easier to feel superior towards someone who’s not denying their wrongs.

And this is about characters, but also about the audience. Every week, whatever happens in the show, Boston gets his amount of hate. Ray was winning after episode 8, but somehow Boston was still there. Boston, who actually didn’t do anything since episode five. It’s nine episodes aired already, can we leave him alone, please?

Every character in this show does shitty stuff. And it doesn’t make any of them bad irredeemable people. It makes them complicated, and young, and stupid, but not evil. This is not the “who’s the worst” competition. But somehow, for whatever reason, Boston keeps winning it.

Because the audience kind of get used to it. Because he doesn’t look remorseful. And who cares that he was punished by narrative way more than once, right? That he is isolated from his friends group - the only friends he has, and we can see that it affects him. That he was betrayed by Nick who he trusted. That he was a victim on revenge porn not once, but twice. That he did his best to clarify his boundaries but still get the creepy stalker behavior both from Nick and now from Atom.

Why does he need to change his personality to get some level of understanding and compassion? Why is he’s the only one who doesn’t deserve it? Because he’s a slut. And a bitch. And a bad person. Because while we have Boston it’s so much easier to apologize whatever other character we want. Because while Bostons exist it’s way easier to compare ourselves with them and keep winning some moral high ground points.

Because instead of thinking about these characters as complicated and trying to understand the motivation behind their sometimes morally wrong and questionable behavior, it’s so much easier to brush it off saying “Well, at least they are not Boston”, right?

#ofts #only friends the series #only friends #only friends meta #only friends boston #can you say he’s my favorite character? he is #I’m so close to get a tattoo with leave Boston alone caption

[nalyra-dreaming]

aah, I wish Jacob had been allowed to talk more about 'truth and falsehood' on the show. I know he was never gonna give specific spoilers, but it seems some fans are still in denial about Louis being an unreliable narrator at all. The fact that these kinds of discussions were happening behind the scenes suggests the cast knew from day 1 that something about season 1's narrative was false or misleading, they just didn't know exactly what.

Yeah.... I saw some posts around^^. (And the podcast host also pointed out that Louis was an unreliable narrator...)

I mean, it kinda feels like some kind of "gag order" has dropped away, because Jacob (and Sam) have been very blunt about that (and the Loustat relationship) in the last few interviews, but actually the fact that they all were discussing (and therefore knowing) what was true, and not is, actually, nothing new:

"Whenever I talked about something that Louis had said or that was in the script, because this show is Louis’ recollection of events, Sam would just be like, “Lie. Lie. That’s a lie. Did that happen? Is it real? Didn’t happen that way.” Very unhelpful for my preparation. [Laughs] I got really icy about it a few times. “I don’t want hear this. I have to believe something is true.” It’s nice be able to believe what you’re saying."

That's from October '22.

So the fact that he is, in fact, an unreliable narrator (or misremembers) and the reason why he changes some things stands in the room with him...

Like, if you watched the first season, and heard Daniel calling bullshit again and again, and saw him literally destroy the narrative of the last part and did not get any of the hints that are strewn throughout the show... then you simply haven't been paying attention.

And I know, there's so many layers. So many other - important! - stuff to focus on. Racial conflicts, patriarchy, power dynamics, cheating. The list goes on. But ultimately... this will be their - Lestat's and Louis' - love story, and this has been re-iterated in these last interviews, as well as that they're following the books, and... well.

POV changes, revisits and changes of perspective (and being called out for lying, too) are part of the books.

It's just that some fans don't want to apply this to Louis, for representative reasons I believe.

But... as Jacob put it so nicely in one of the last interviews:

"Something that can get misunderstood about representation is that all representation has to be good representation. It's important actually that we don't show a queer couple as a monolith or a Black character as a monolithic thing. I love that the show is willing to explore the multitudes of that relationship."

A lot of fans don't want to see the "bad" in Louis, or Claudia for that matter (and I use "bad" here very loosely, because there are no "bad", or, for that matter, "good" vampires in the chronicles). The hate I've gotten for pointing out weaknesses or simply flaws in the narrative, or when their behavior didn't make sense to me - or when I interpreted it differently in the light of later books... was off the charts at times. And I fear a lot of people will have a very hard time with the shifts that will come in soon.

But... they've been hinting at that since the beginning. And yes, they've obviously known, too. (And I would argue they would have needed to know which scenes would be revisited - and, honestly, Jacob's comment above does hint at that, imho.)

#Anonymous #asks #ask nalyra #amc iwtv #iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #interview with the vampire amc #iwtv amc #iwtv 2022 #interview with the vampire #lestat de lioncourt #louis de pointe du lac #loustat #representation

[jinglyjangly]

Major spoilers

So shady sands got nuked by a random vault dweller because his wife took their kids, and he wanted his kids, and he was mad his wife found a settlement when vault tec was supposed to be the ones settling the surface…he was mad the ncr “did vault Tec’s job before they could” so he blew…the fucking ncr’s main settlement up

I wonder if it’s like “oh yeah he was a protag of his own mind pretty much” kind of jab but even then it leaves a bad taste in my mouth? Because it is insane video game writing and it’s definitely insane bethesda video game writing, but it fucks up a very integral part of two major games

And I hate how much like…yeah the BoS is back to being technocratic and more cult like in the show but it’s also still praised kind of? And the random, and I mean RANDOM, nonbinary BoS member that’s there for like, 20 minutes was just…a waste. A nonbinary person that really does nothing but just be there and hurt themselves to forward the narrative of the cis het protag. Honestly they’re there to piss of the conservative gamers but I’m not conservative and I’m pissed shady sands and the ncr got did dirty like that so in the end every fallout fan is mad

Like…the ncr went from a huge mega power that is basically a country, to being blown up by a dude? And they don’t mention the hoover dam and how maybe they were weakened from the legion/ncr conflict…which would’ve made it believable. Nada. They just say it this guy blew up shady sands so I guess it happened. It’s canon.

They just made the ncr seem so small after fnv made it feel so big and menacing in its own way with hundreds of named npcs with stories and it was so gooooood and they made it feel like a shitty dinky settlement comparable to fucking…like…diamond city

Idk it’s like 5am and the final episode just pissed me off. They should’ve just set it in New York or Florida and made up new factions instead of establishing canon endings to the most favored game in the series. Or they could’ve done a prequel to fo4 if they wanted it to tie in the games so bad.

The ghoul also has the best scenes and story but I’m…idk the drugs suppressing the “feral” disease is also a weird thing. It’s new to the tv series and what only in la? What’s it made of that no one else makes? And why the fuck did he have to eat someone. I liked the scene because it was kinda just neat to watch in a way… but it’s like “oh he’s a ghoul so he eats people whoOoOo” They never really…explain…if he like…needs meat or something and idk. I dunno. And cold fusion? Like what. Wha…uh. I fucking hate the idea of power being harnessed from tiny object. It’s just a lame McGuffin they can pass around. I would rather it be like…they’re fighting over a wind farm to harness power and they need like a scientist/engineer to fix it. Something that feels big and really.

Anyway, I’m fine with watching it until I think about it, and then I don’t like the plot. So it feels like fo4 all over again but I’m more mad because I feel like it ruined fnv’s ending. Which sucks. So personally I do not see the show as canon but as like, fan fiction to like…maybe a independent/house/legion ending for fnv when the ncr is super week and some guy just bombs it…because he’s mad at his wife.

Big ooof, a 8/10 until episode 8 and then it’s a fat 2/10…one star for goggins making another badass ghoul in the series and one for the dog

#spoilers #so yeah it’s not that good story wise #maybe I’m a nerd scream at clouds about lore but like #they did it dirty :’(

[bojackandherb]

Hard take but I think it’s better that Bojack did NOT die in The View from Halfway Down.

Him dying would go against the whole theme of having to live with your mistakes. Also it would’ve just been too depressing, especially for people who relate to Bojack’s struggles. What would him dying accomplish? What message would that send across? “Sad horse guy tries and fails to become a better person and to get better while struggling with mental illness, trauma, and addictions, then he finally starts making real progress and just dies.” That’s just depressing. And I know the show Bojack Horseman is kinda depressing, but there’s always an undercurrent of hope. Bojack dying would destroy that hope. Because yeah, Bojack did a lot of terrible things, but he always has the potential and the desire to get better. And maybe you hate him, that’s totally fair. Maybe you think he crossed the point of no return long ago. But the show says no, he actually can get better despite all the terrible things he’s done. And no, it doesn’t undo any of the terrible things he’s done or the pain he’s caused, but it does means he can at least stop hurting people so much, and maybe even help some people. And we do see him helping people and being a lot nicer in season 6, even though he still has a lot of flaws and ends up backsliding. He always has the potential to get better again, unless he dies.

What do you want Bojack to die for? His mistakes? The people he’s hurt? Because him dying wouldn’t undo any of the terrible things he’s done, and I don’t really think it would the people he’s hurt much peace either. In fact, considering a lot of the people he’s hurt have complicated feelings about him, I think him dying would actually give them less peace. Especially if they knew he died by suicide. Because while he’s alive they can cut him out of their lives, maybe tell themselves they hate him and that he’s a terrible person, and just be done with it. But if he dies, then there’s always these kind of thoughts like “is it still okay for me to still hate him? I may have hated him but I never wanted this. Was I too hard on him? Was there something I could’ve done better? Was I in the wrong for cutting him out? …why did it all have to go wrong?”

And yeah, it is possible that some people would get peace from his death. But probably not most of them. Especially not Hollyhock, who already knew about all the mental health struggles he had dealt with and already had a penchant for blaming herself.

And what of the people still actively in his life at that point? Todd, Princess Carolyn, Mr. Peanutbutter, and Diane. His death would’ve done nothing but hurt them, especially Diane. She was affected badly enough when she thought he might be dead but it turned out he actually wasn’t, imagine how badly she would’ve been affected if he’d stayed dead. I can’t think of any way his death wouldn’t helped anything or anyone.

In conclusion, Bojack staying alive in TVFHD was for the best, and his dying would’ve been bad for both the characters and the overall narrative of the show.

#pls don’t be mean this is the first meta I’ve posted #I hope this doesn’t come off the wrong way or anything haha #bojack horseman #Bojack meta #meta #Bojack horseman meta #the view from halfway down #Bojack analysis #bojack horseman analysis #bjhm #bojack #long post #possum’s greatest hits #200+

[timptoe]

Finally started playing ME Andromeda, I’m about thirty hours in (so no spoilers!), and…it’s kind of lovely? I get the sense from the fanbase that it’s pretty hated but I’m kind of liking it. First impressions:

It’s very much like if Mass Effect and Dragon Age: Inquisition had an adorable baby. Is that why people don’t like it? Because it’s so much less hoo-rah military?

I also heard no one likes the Frostbite graphics but they don’t bother me? The asari are a little cutesy, but everything else is gorgeous.

I do miss Shepard and the crew, tbh. Love the Liara cameos. Will always want more of Kaidan and Joker and Tali and Vega and everyone.

Do like the new crew, especially their interactions with each other. Hardcore shipping Drack/Lexi. And the Drack-Vetra friendship is really sweet.

I just met Reyes and hooooooo boy. Scott’s been flirting with Gil but he’s suddenly falling hard for Reyes—sorry Gil, don’t hate me forever.

Also Gil just go kiss Kallo already, ugh.

Also also (because Reyes’ voice actor is also male Hawke’s voice actor) my new Dragon Age II headcanon is: after Hawke meets Zevran and does his quest, he will only speak to Isabela in Zevran’s accent for the next six months. She hates it but finds it weirdly sexy. (Much how I am reacting to Reyes’ voice.)

Jaal++

Did the Nexus really not carry a QEC to talk to the Citadel? They traveled to a different galaxy and didn’t think, hey, we have tech that’ll let us say “yo descendants we just woke up!”?

Exaltation is a sufficiently creepy plot point, right up there with indoctrination and Reaper liquidation.

I miss quarians.

I do not miss missions. The open world style is my jam, I love the viability/colonization aspect, love the way this game does side quests.

I find the concept of the exiles to be weird. You sign up for the Initiative, are deemed worthy of being sent ahead on the Nexus instead of an ark (so you’re presumably all in), and you flake out in less than a year because…it didn’t all go to plan? That part of the narrative’s kinda weak.

Though I just got the first part of the Jien Garson whodunit and I’m super invested already.

Really intrigued by the Remnant.

Andromeda does feel less high-stakes than the original trilogy, which is too bad. Sure you’re not dealing with galaxy-wide apocalypse, but survival in Heleus should feel a lot less Laura Ingalls Wilder and a lot more Oregon Trail.

Overall, I’m liking it. Less than halfway through so still plenty of time for it to go sour, but I’m intrigued.

#mass effect #mass effect andromeda

[misscrawfords]

I'm reading Pride and Protest by Nikki Payne, a modern retelling of Pride and Prejudice and I'm struggling.

I actually find what Payne has done with the characters and setting really interesting and there are some touches I really like, especially turning Mary into Maurice - an "activist" who changes his activism regularly and lectures others on what they should be doing. (Any interpretation of Mary that isn't "misunderstood, shy, nerd girl who isn't-like-other-girls and is actually just like me, a misunderstood, shy, over-looked nerd girl" gets a positive vote from me.)

However, I really very much dislike her interpretation of Darcy (Dorsey) and Elizabeth (Liza)'s relationship and that is... kinda crucial!

It's waaaaaay over sexualised. Like, I get this is a romance book, but, like, I'm reading along enjoying the story and plot and then suddenly Dorsey is thinking about burying himself in Liza's breasts and I'm like "wooaah!" It's like it's impossible for the author to show them having feelings for each other without it being explicit and I find that out of place both with the source material and with the rest of the narrative.

Secondly, it is sexual... immediately. It commits the cardinal sin of saying "Darcy and Lizzy were hot for each other from the start and all the tension is ~ s e x u a l tension". The 2005 abomination does this too with the near kiss in the rain. And pretty much every single P&P inspired enemies-to-lovers narrative out there does it too. The problem is... this is a really, really inaccurate interpretation of the original book. Darcy is, admittedly, attracted to Elizabeth very quickly. Something that he manages to show not at all to anybody. Only Caroline Bingley, who is intensely interested in Darcy's romantic feelings, spots it. Later on, arch observer Charlotte and good friend Col Fitz also suspect something but by this point in Rosings Darcy has given into his feelings and is trying, albeit terribly, to court Elizabeth. Not that she notices. Darcy is completely able to conceal his sexual attraction to Elizabeth from everyone who isn't thinking about Darcy sexually. He is not quite so able to conceal his romantic interest later on. But crucially, at no point does Elizabeth notice a thing. She has LITERALLY NO IDEA. This is because Elizabeth has no concept of Darcy as a romantic prospect for her at all. She laughs at thinking what a good match he'd be for Anne de Bourgh, a probably sexless in appearance invalid. She doesn't hate him in a ~sexy~ way, she just really does not like him and does not consider him as a romantic option.

If Elizabeth is aware that Darcy has the hots for her, this changes the dynamic completely. If she is actually attracted to him in the first part of the story, that changes the dynamic completely. And both of these changes alter and potentially cheapen Elizabeth's character. If she is aware on some level that Darcy likes her and is interested in her, then she ends up looking like an idiot when the first proposal comes around. Or she ends up looking coy and like she is actually flirting with him. Yes, there is banter but Elizabeth is not consciously flirting or trying to attract him! Elizabeth spends the whole first part of the novel with a crush on Wickham. Austen is perfectly capable to showing to the audience without needing modern explicit language that a character has the hots for another character. Elizabeth fancies Wickham, not Darcy! As the meme goes, Darcy and Elizabeth are experiencing two very different kinds of tension! That's part of the comedy. And if Elizabeth is aware that she is attracted to Darcy, it just becomes a different story, and a less interesting one. Elizabeth becomes yet another romance novel heroine who likes the "bad boy" and tries to persuade herself not to, until the tension is sooooo strong and she ~snaps.

But one of the major points is that Elizabeth doesn't like bad boys! She falls for (well, crushes on) Wickham because she thinks he's good. She dislikes Darcy because she thinks he's bad. She only starts to consider Darcy positively when she understands and sees for herself the truth of his character. That is what she finds attractive, not him being a buttoned up jerk! "One has all the goodness, the other all the appearance of it." That is central to P&P's story and its message.

Unfortunately, in the aims of writing a "romance" novel, Pride and Protest gives us heaving busoms and erections and almost-kisses and therefore completely destroys my interest in Dorsey and Liza's relationship at the same time as well as finding it just a bit tasteless because it feels like there are two stories going on: an interesting exploration of how the context and characters of P&P would work in a highly politised and racially diverse modern USA - and a very generic romance novel story which doesn't do either Darcy and Elizabeth justice. A shame.

It does make me wonder about how to update Austen's novels in terms of sex. Because obviously one of the major changes between the 1810s and now is that having extra-marital sex is totally normal and people date and break up without social repercussions. So unless you are setting the update in a community where that is not the case, you've got to deal with sex being freely on offer. I guess there are different ways around it but I think if how you deal with sex means that the fundamental beats of the narrative and character development are changed, then something's gone wrong somehow. And I feel that Elizabeth's total obliviousness to Darcy having any positive feelings towards her at all until the moment he proposes to her is a crucial part of the plot and a source of unending humour.

#pride and prejudice #pride and protest #modern retelling #jane austen #fitzwilliam darcy #elizabeth bennet #darcy x elizabeth

[joe-spookyy]

hi today i’m ranking werewolf designs based on how much i judged the vfx team for creating them. full post under cut sorry it’s so insanely long but trust me on this one it’s fun i’m discussing an american werewolf in london harry potter twilight the wolf man buffy the vampire slayer etc and so on (except not etc that’s it.) my credentials are i’m insane about werewolf narratives and i’m the boss of the applesauce.

first up is an american werewolf in london. now THAT is a good beast. he’s spooky. he’s scary. he’s wolf-like but not Just a wolf. and they get some mega extra points for that transformation sequence. rick baker the man that you are. however as much as i love it there’s a few critiques i have to bring up. first. it’s kinda odd that so much of the color palette for the transformation scene was browns and blacks when the actual werewolf was mostly grey. the final product was a little off from the transformation. i did like both of them quite a lot though so i’m not that mad. see. look. kind of off. but it’s definitely not bad i can mostly see how one came from the other even though the colors might be a little different. it also sort of lacks in facial movement in its final form as it’s kind of stuck in that permanent snarl, but they did a good job softening its eyes in the final scene where alex is trying to get through to david. 9/10.

mid-transformation fully transformed

next up yeah i have stuff to say about the harry potter prisoner of azkaban remus lupin design. is it fuck ugly. yes. is it cgi. yes. is jk rowling responsible for it. yeah. however. is it kind of a creative take on the typical werewolf idea. i hate to say it. yes it is. it goes against the typical sorta big strong hunky beast werewolf, and i cant lie, i appreciate it. it’s unique and kinda haunting in its own way. i don’t like that it’s bald. but i like the boldness and well. they got creative. 6/10.

ugly fucking freak ⬆️

next i’m going back. way back. yes sir we’re looking at werewolf of london. from 1935. and the wolf man. from 1941. cause they look pretty similar and they’re both jack pierce so yeah i’m lumping them together. if you ask me these ones lean more to the side of wolfman than werewolf - they’re kind of just hairy guys. which is like fine i guess i just think they should put more emphasis on the wolf. i like the wolfman better than the werewolf of london, which makes sense, cause i know the guy playing the london one didn’t feel like sitting for makeup and so jack pierce got to do more on the second round i guess. however WHY was bela lugosi’s werewolf form a straight up wolf and not lon chaney’s? they don’t explain it. rude. they’re iconic of course but they are honestly not showstopping. 5/10.

werewolf of london the wolf man

alright we’re flashing back to the present with twilight!! yeah. ok so last time i was complaining about there being too much man and not enough wolf. or like. too much were? i don’t know. whatever. anyways. this time i’m complaining because it’s too wolf. that’s just. it’s just a big cgi wolf. i don’t like this. it’s boring. i don’t even have that much to say it’s just like. whatever. 2/10.

lame as hell ⬆️

now. i’m gonna get irritating here. next up is buffy the vampire slayer. now i love oz. i wanted to like the design i really did. and they started out off strong. well. strongER. it’s like. kinda bad. but it definitely looks like a wolf? and it’s. kind of person ish? i don’t know. they tried. the bodysuit is loose but it’s better than what’s to come so i have to give it like a tiny bit of respect. 4/10.

see? not great but could be significantly worse.

and it does get worse. so. let me speak. this is the worst thing i have ever seen in my entire goddamn life. that looks like a gorilla. there’s like barely any semblance of wolf on this other than that it has fur. i don’t understand why they decided to go in this direction it looks terrible. and the body suit part always looks loose as hell. it comes across as like an ugly gorilla mascot suit, and they make no effort to have it move in a remotely wolf-ish way. they usually just have it scuttling around like some sort of little freak. oz does not deserve this ugly shit. i love buffy and wanted to enjoy the werewolf episodes but lord have mercy. this sucks. whoever did this i’m gonna find you. 0/10.

oz (bad) evil bitch veruca (worse)

that’s all the werewolves i can think of right now actually. and it won’t let me add more pictures cause i’m on mobile. in conclusion an american werewolf in london did it best and every other depiction of a werewolf should be looking to that for inspiration. but fight me on these by all means i may have objectively correct werewolf opinions but that doesn’t mean i’m not open to discussion. thanks for watching #sparkleon

#werewolf #film #horror #werewolves #lycanthropy #lycanthrope #anthropromorphic #an american werewolf in london #aawil #david kessler #rick baker #harry potter #remus lupin #marauders #jk rowling #werewolf of london #the wolf man #jack pierce #universal #universal monsters #lon chaney #bela lugosi #twilight #jacob black #bella swan #edward cullen #oz buffy #daniel oz osbourne #buffy the vampire slayer #oz btvs

[rawliverandgoronspice]

Nah, your mention of the teacup scene was honestly perfect, because, just like P-Z it just feels so weird, and just kinda pointless/disjointed. Heckers, even the people I know who LIKE the story of totk, did not seem to like the teacup scene. Also, if I can throw in: It felt like a scene that, in its idea, should have been in the DLC. Maybe actually focus on just Sonia and Rauru as people, instead of the weird "talking around the bush, your powers don't work, Link, and the other piddly talk." Like in the botw DLC, the focus was more on a "slice of life" peek into the Champion's life. It's such a waste of main-story content, and literally established nothing new. Heck, I actually hate that scene because it's just such a lazy way for Rauru to find out who Link is, and then later tell Ganondorf about Link. Additionally, while we're talking about disappoint scenes/bad writing. Zelda's "I didn't remember anything from being a Dragon." It was such a bad cop-out, and it annoyed me to no end. They didn't need to mention it, leave it up to the player to interpret if Zelda remembers, and what she might have remembered or forgotten. The way it gets dropped is also like a hard rock. Riju: "So how was it?" Zelda: "Lol idk, don't remember." It's weird how you can put Botw-Zelda's sacrifice against Totk-Zelda's sacrifice, and Botw she just sacrificed a lot more, even though Totk really plays up the severity of the "Sacrificing yourself to become a dragon"-thing, only for it to just be the most overhyped McGuffin to get Zelda back into her time.

Hey, thanks for the follow-up!

Yeah, agreed. I have talked extensively about the dragon problem somewhere??? I'll try to find it. Here! Which is basically that even if I agree the dragon thing is super cool and powerful and visually jawdropping and emotionally something, it's... kind of not a lot of what it claims to be.

But in addition to that, you made me think of something else by having this comment; there are multiple times during voiced cutscenes specifically where lines are used (I say used because every voiced line costs *so much money* so producers will always beg you to keep them to a minimum) to reassure the player that nothing truly bad is happening.

The thing with Zelda telling you she doesn't remember her time as a dragon is a great example, but there are many more. The first time I actively noticed it was during the Sealing cutscene where Rauru dives in to put his hand in Ganondorf's uhh tender heart (and he steals his magic? I wish something was actually done with that it could have been great if Rauru was corrupting himself voluntarily or something), and there is a whole dialogue where Ganondorf goes "hahaha thousands of years will pass in the blink of an eye", which could be a way to just brush off Rauru's actions as negligeable, but could also be a way to minimize the toll of time taken on both of them the same way it did for Zelda, especially since they semi-turn to stone immediately after. There are a lot of dialogue bits that feel like they are here for damage control and reassure us that the nice things are nice and the bad things are bad (a lot of the gerudo Sage dialogue also reads like that to me as well).

But yes, in general, it is a game that is incredibly averse to consequences, which does a lot of harm to its narrative tension in my opinion.

#asks #tloz #totk critical #totk spoilers #ganondorf #zelda #when will my brain return from the imprisoning war... #just the fact that ganondorf being stopped by rauru is barely acknowledged by ganon also bugs me #like it doesn't change the energy of the scene at all #he goes wow cool you did that anyways see you all in a bit #and rauru then hypes up link like you will sooo die to death dude #and ganon is like interesting factoid ok goodnight #and I feel like ganondorf feeling angry about that at least a Little (like see him being semi-mad about it but trying to be smug) #(instead of being 100% just smug the same he was before) #would have helped with scene tension in my opinion #that is pretty flat right now (but that's a global problem there are very little emotional progressions happening) #thanks for the ask!