#just. this story has entrenched itself in my heart for that

[organ-market]

Unconventional Detective Games

Return of the Obra Dinn, 2018

The maritime mystery game Return of the Obra Dinn by Lucas Pope is almost entirely subversive for a detective game. Everything in the game from its core premise to  hyper stylized presentation, is all ambitious and experimental. Every person aboard the Obra Dinn has mysteriously died and you assume the role of an insurance investigator piecing together the horrific events using a magic watch that delivers to you a front seat viewing of a vignette of each person’s demise. Using these dioramas of death, you are charged with recording the manner of death of each and each crewmember and passenger aboard the ship.

Return of the Obra Dinn and its addictively satisfying detective puzzle gameplay left me hungry for more. Playing the game instilled in me a deep love for a good mystery and a desire to solve them. While I love games like Disco Elysium, which stars detectives as its protagonists, the investigation was never really the point. Moreover, a love for the unconventional detective was entrenched in my heart and as an interactive medium, video games are perfect for aspiring would-be detectives.

Overboard! , 2021

The year is 1935, aboard the S.S. Hook, Veronica Villensy throws her husband overboard under the foggy shade of night. In Inkle’s devilishly clever puzzle/visual novel, Overboard! you have eight hours before reaching the ports of New York and in that limited time you must relieve yourself from suspicion and guilt for your husband’s death at any cost. It’s a sort of anti-detective puzzle about getting away with murder which forces you to learn your fellow passenger’s schedules, plant evidence, and be consistently careful with your language lest your words betray you much later.

The DNA of time loop games such as Majora’s Mask and The Sexy Brutale is woven into the gameplay loop of Overboard! It’s a fairly short game taking around 2-3 hours to finish the story but at the benefit of allowing an immense amount of player agency. There is a wide variety of solutions to evading the mighty hand of justice, you are free to travel around the ship on a whim with no direction from the game itself. The only hint system is visiting the chapel and praying to God which is both cleverly diegetic and hilarious.

The nonlinearity of your objective incentivizes logical thinking and experimentation. The puzzle is rewarding much like learning each map and NPC routines in the Hitman: World of Assassination trilogy is. At first you clumsily trip over your words when Major Singh interrogates you but eventually you can get away with murder in style along with netting some pocket money from the life insurance if you pull it all off just right!

The nonlinearity of each puzzle in Overboard! is incredibly refreshing, it just feels organic and natural. Going achievement hunting in this game is its own little puzzle and I still haven’t figured out some of the little secrets it hides from us. It’s a game I can’t put down and haven’t yet been able to stop thinking about and I really recommend giving it a shot since it’s only $15 and only $6 if you catch it on sale.

Pentiment, 2022

Obsidian Entertainment’s Pentiment was my favorite game of 2022 and enraptured me for long nights as I obsessed over its rich dialogue and gorgeous medieval illumination manuscript inspired art. So much love and research was put into the historical setting, it takes place in 16th Century Bavaria within the town of Tassing is filled with life and character. You play as Andreas Maler, an artist working in an abbey on a hill and whilst attempting to finish your masterpiece, your co-worker and friend, Brother Piero, is falsely accused of the murder of a wealthy Baron who was staying in town. You are sprung into action as you only have a limited amount of time to clear Brother Piero’s name.

You are given a limited amount of time to wander around town, attempting to conduct interviews, deduce motives, and eventually gather enough evidence to bring the culprit to justice. Because of the impending trial, time is ever so precious in Pentiment and you will never have enough time to do everything you want at your leisure. Every moment dwelling on conversation or recreation is time you could have spent digging for answers. In order to pin a suspect you must hone in on what you think is most beneficial for your case like a true detective.

Brother Piero’s freedom is always at the cost of another’s conviction, in Pentiment you must push the blame onto someone else. During your investigations, you find that Sister Matilda, a nun at the abbey, had been assaulted by the late Baron many years ago. This is one of the clearest motives in the game but most physical evidence points in other directions, all the while every nun in the abbey will assure you of her innocence.

Saint John's Eve Festival Bonfire

Convincing the archdeacon (the head of the trial) of Sister Matilda’s guilt is perhaps the easiest of all the suspects to accomplish and Pentiment will not tell you outwardly that Matilda didn’t do it but it doesn’t have to. In a clever subversion, the game never tells you if you caught the culprit in the end. Pentiment, brilliantly, left me to wonder if I made the right choices as the totality of the lethal consequences of my actions weighed on my mind. You can easily convince the archdeacon of someone’s guilt but are you able to convince yourself?

The brutality of the executions should not be understated. You look on helplessly as someone you convicted meets an unwieldy end as they plead, cry, and eventually die. The executioner’s sword rises and falls as it lodges itself into the neck again and again until the head breaks free from the neck. Whether you like it or not, your choices matter in Pentiment and the consequences stare you down with a harsh disposition.

While playing Pentiment I was continually reminded of a line from Rian Johnson’s murder mystery film Knives Out. The titular detective Benoit Blanc (he’s so me by the way) notes that, “...the complexity and the gray lie not in the truth but what you do with the truth once you have it.” The complexity of truth is captured beautifully by Pentiment. In many regards it is a conventional mystery but by weaponizing the player’s need for clear answers it infected my mind for many hours after the credits rolled along with the minds of many others. There are fierce debates and chatter surrounding who really did the killing. Pentiment wasn’t as well talked about as it deserved, with all the games releasing it was overlooked by most. Well, it isn’t exactly for everyone but for the price of $20 it gave me a wealth of dialogue to mull over and wonder about.

Phasmophobia, 2022

A multiplayer ghost hunting spookfest is not exactly what you’d think of when discussing detective games but Kinetic Game’s Phasmophobia is deeply investigative by nature. Intense inspection is at the beating heart of the game with an important twist. Where ordinarily a detective chases after a suspect after the fact, here your suspect is reacting to your every move and can (and will) kill you on a whim. In the game you and up to three other friends venture into a haunted house and gather evidence and clues to determine which of the twenty four ghosts in the game is currently residing in your location. 

You and your team will wander out of the safety of your van and into cold, darkened rooms to find clues by checking thermometers, speaking into spirit boxes, and throwing salt all over the floor in hopes of getting the ghost to step in it. Not only can you gather evidence with your camera and UV lights but another layer in your investigation is the behavior of the ghost. Knowing how aggressive each ghost is or how fast it is, is a tremendous asset in your deductive arsenal. The more you know, the more you can whittle the possibilities down until you have your culprit.

But finding the ghost and gathering evidence is just one thing, surviving the ghost is another. Being in the dark and bearing witness to paranormal activity will deplete your sanity and eventually the ghost will target you for a hunt. The front door slamming shut marks the beginning of a hunt, the ghost will manifest physically and chase you down and kill you if you don’t hide in time.

Corpse of my friend, deceased. Moments before I run out of the house in terror.

Phasmophobia is a dangerous balancing act of facing your fears by delving into the darkness in order to find clues and trying desperately to find the ghost type as fast as you can so you can get the hell out of there. The reactivity of the ghost keeps you on edge as you wander the halls gathering data. Speaking into the spirit box may prompt a raspy whisper into your ear or the candle you just lit may be blown out moments after. More interestingly though, is the voice recognition AI that takes advantage of the communication players rely upon. Everything from saying you’re scared to a simple curse word can lead to the ghost favoring you as prey. Even players who stay in the van for too long get targeted by the ghost!

Within Phasmophobia is one of the most unique investigative experiences on the market and definitely a one of a kind multiplayer experience. The comfort of having a buddy to share your terrors with is stripped away when they stop responding to your radio! It’s truly unlike anything I’ve ever played and the developers are constantly updating it, two big thumbs up from the afterlife. 

The satisfaction from my first time getting away with murder in Overboard! and the despair when I find out I had the ghost type completely wrong in Phasmophobia are some of my most memorable experiences in gaming! And Pentiment proved to be one of the most well written games I’ve had the pleasure of reading. I sincerely hope you check them out if you haven’t already! They’re all pretty cheap anyway. And once again begging for recommendations in the comments/reblogs so if you know any good, and hopefully weird, detective games let me know! Thanks in advance everyone and I’ll catch you on the flip side :P

-Ghost Emoji 👻

#organmart #om-ghostemoji #writing #video games #video game recommendations #detective games #return of the obra dinn #overboard! #overboard game #pentiment #phasmophobia

[claitea]

ok you want people to talk to you about pokémon right. well you’re in luck bc i wanted to talk to you

first question uuuuuhm. hm. how about you try to sell me on playing black/white. go wild and infodump about that green man etc

THANK YOU

hm. idk how much you know or want to know bc i dont want to end up spoiling the plot of the best piece of media ever created by human hands containing the absolute flawless amazing showstopping pinnacle of storytelling Natural "N" Harmonia Gropius. but also its an 11 year old game and i spoil it constantly anyway so lmao

bw itself in general? imo the Peak of pokemon all bias aside. the animated 2d sprites, the environments (going over the skyarrow bridge for the first time WOOOO), the music, the pokemon designs themselves, it still had mythical pokemon events like Victini's, pokemon musicals, Pokestar Studios in bw2, auugahhhh chewing on bw/bw2 like its a multivitamin gummy

the music is probably one of the best things about it! routes have slight variation depending on the season (bw has seasons btw its very pretty) which is super neat. village bridge is one of my favorite pokemon songs, it'll activate more instruments as you explore the bridge and talk to people with instruments and things. also Driftveil City. just driftveil its iconic

and now here's an entire no holds barred rant on Him

n. where do i start with him. i will be spoiling literally everything about him btw i just love explaining him

abandoned in a forest at like 5ish years old, he learned to talk with pokemon because he lived with them. ghetsis ends up finding him, claims he's his father, and whisks little n away to plasma castle and everything goes speeding downhill on a sled going over ice.

n's naturally Too Nice, so ghetsis is able to convince him that every human is pokemon-abusing scum by only letting n see pokemon that have been mistreated and isolating him from people other than ghetsis himself and n's foster sisters, anthea and concordia. he makes n think only he can change the world by joining with one of the twin dragons, becoming champion to prove his strength to the region, and from there he can force all people to separate from pokemon.

presumably the first time n's been let out of plasma castle is at 20 years old when bw takes place which on its own is just. insanely horrific. he's genuinely surprised that all the people he meets over the course of the game treat their pokemon well and their pokemon love them in return. unfortunately for n he is STUBBORN. up until the bitter end he keeps holding onto the belief that humans and pokemon should be separated despite all the evidence contrary to that because thats all he's known all his life. was he supposed to just throw away all he's been working towards for 15 years? drives me insane how deeply entrenched n was in his mindset that even when he had suspicions, he couldn't let himself waver from the path he chose. he literally runs away and disappears for TWO YEARS after you defeat him because he's so lost.

yknow how kieran tries to be the hero of ogerpon's story and gets furious when sv protag takes that away from him? thats kinda how n is, he thinks he's supposed to be the hero of unova but after clashing with you he realizes he is Not. "Is the world going to choose you, and not me?!" <- line that has driven me nuts for over a decade. n is literally designed like a classic mainline game protag: compatitively simple casual outfit (with the bright green hair to set him apart though), does the gym challenge and becomes champion, catches a box legendary, is fighting against a threat in order to save the region. the only difference being that threat was a lie, n was being used so ghetsis could take over the region.

speaking of ghetsis's atrocities. there's his infamous "freak without a human heart" line. there's the fact his final team is designed to counter and sweep n's final team, either he was planning for n to end up betraying him or just outright disposing of n no matter what he did once he outlived his usefulness. there's the fact he probably didn't even take much care of n and dumped the responsibility on anthea and concordia who probably aren't much older than n. there's the fact that in usum's rainbow rocket storyline, that timeline's ghetsis has one of the twin dragons, which i've seen interpretations of being that he's trapped n and taken the dragon or straight up Killed n because the dragon is supposed to choose its partner. fucked up stuff!

and throughout it all n still has some attachment to ghetsis! "It's hard to call you this, but… Father! Please understand."

ghetsis may have done All That but he's still almost all n had for so many years. n is also again, Too Nice, he still wants to see the best in ghetsis. pokemon masters had a storyline where ghetsis seems to be trying to make up and n makes the choice to trust him. ghetsis betrays them all of course but the fact n still chose to believe in him again is so. augh

enough about The Tragedy of N Harmonia though, he does turn his life around and seems so much happier in bw2. compare his first game encounter theme to his second. the first is creepy, stops jarringly, is literally named Prisoner to a Formula. his second reminds me of carnival music and i love it so so so much. also, i've had weird issues in the past where putting images under a readmore screws up the entire post's formatting and i dont want to retype THIS ENTIRE RANT but. in bw2 his battle sprite has a bigger smile than in bw1. he regained his whimsy :)

misc thing. he canonically talks so fast some people can't understand him. this is reflected in the game by his text printing faster than everyone else's, and if you set your text speed to Fast he talks at a unique EVEN FASTER speed which i think is really funny. they just Really wanted him to talk super fast they even bothered to make him his own text speed

#asks #clai speaks #i fuckigndhd. Love n. did you guys know. i really adore n. like idk if you guys could tell but i reeeeeally love n #i was supposed to do smth important today and should have left a while ago but uh. i am here writing about n. whoopsie! anyway

[talesfortold]

Prologue - The Flesh Demands Its Own Truths

this is the working prologue to my story. i really appreciate stories that have some sort of commentary on the human experience, and so i decided to try my hand at something like it. any feedback is appreciated! i will be posting this story on royalroad.com

Ohhh, yes, yes, you wish to learn about humans, do you? Why, you've just inquired about my favorite tragedy! Sit, sit, let me tell you about humanity's adversities.

A tragedy, yes… They're twice cursed, you see? Born with the capacity to love, and born with the capacity to hate. And therein lies their misfortune, for humanity loves to hate! Humans love… conflict. They crave it. And without fail, generation upon generation, they manage to find it.

Come! Look deep into the heart of the Tritor Forest, and there you will find Elurius. Carved out of the ancient trees surrounding it, the first people to settle there fought old horrors and fended off the closest Dungeons out of sheer stubbornness. They could've retreated to the coast and lived off the sea, but no! The founders of the town tore up the twisted roots of the forest and used them for the first walls. Spears were thrown and spells were cast in defense of the land they claimed as their home. They wanted to fight for a place to live! Their pride demanded it! And proud does the town still stand, built upon the bodies of thousands. Oh, how they weep for their fallen, as if they themselves did not send their men to die!

Look north to the lush plains that stretch from horizon to horizon. See how the soil is stained crimson from the blood of countless battles. See how it's dyed a richer hue as you edge closer to Gelya, a place trespassing monsters have learned to fear. The gentle rolling hills surrounding the town are filled with traps and tripwires! Flowers, birds, and bees watch every move! Men armed with magic and bows line the tall walls of the town, bastions against anything that dares approach. See, humans fought for their place here as well, and here they remain firmly entrenched. They will not be routed out.

Most of all, look to the realm as a whole!

A plethora of creatures lie deformed and corrupted beyond their nature. Swathes of land have been turned barren and others grow without bound. Countless kingdoms razed to mere ruins, their histories long forgotten.

The whole continent has mutated beyond recognition! Broken by spellcasters with too much magic at their disposal, remade by nature's insistence on enduring everything thrown at it. At the expense of the land itself, ancient Archmages and Archwizards fought until nothing was left but the echoes of their self-importance.

Once a thriving home to tens of millions of people, our continent of Aqeron now has less than a hundred thousand human souls.

And it's all due to some petty squabbles, human avarice, and the untimely intercession of the Divine.

Ah, but it's no matter!

Their desire for conflict, it seems, is inexplicably linked to their essence. To fight is to be human. They will pick a struggle against a rock if it means they get their fix! Even in the moments of peace, even during the peak of a kingdom's prosperity, humans will stoop so low as to bicker over things like who gets more bread. And even those who refuse to fight, those who refuse to do violence, fail miserably, for they crusade against their very nature. They lack the means to be rid of their curses.

Now you see their paradoxical nature laid before you. What pushes humanity forward if not competition? What tears down the tallest castles if not the unrest of the masses? They will love someone to the point of hating others. They will hate so much that love becomes but a memory for them. But in equal parts?

In the soul of a human who possesses strong feelings of both "love" and "hate" lies a chaos. A "conflict", some might say! Even if their tumultuous soul manages to die down, they get no rest, as the chaos takes root in their bones instead. Born from the conflict between the "love" and "hate" of a human soul arises the need for conflict in the body. A tragedy indeed! Humanity shall simply never escape their curses, even in death!

Gaze upon the damned! Behold their eternal struggle! Can't you grasp their agony?!

Even if the soul is satisfied, their flesh demands its own truths!

#writing #mywritingjourney #mycoolstory #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative writing #dark fantasy #fantasy #litrpg

[retphienix]

Persona 5 Royal.

Hm.

I think even with the newform of post shortening I'll read-more this, so let me get a gist out of the way.

This easily became one of my favorite games. It's on the list, it's embedded in my mind, it's granted me interesting plot lines and characters and it's quickly given me something I'm happy to love.

There's the gist; And the elephant in the room is that I got a smile out of the mysterious glance at what appears to be Akechi in the background, that's fun.

Now to say.

Much.

I'll try to separate different thoughts with a header of sorts because this is gonna be a mess.

This game is honestly pretty incredible.

I feel like this is a weird way to start this out but, I didn't expect to so quickly play an RPG that so enraptured my mind and heart after DQ11.

I've played a ton of games that have touched me in various ways, but it's rare for me to play one that so thoroughly entrenches itself in the miasma of experiences that make up who I am; Just finds my core and sets up shop. Offers a mirror, offers challenges, offers a shoulder, and plenty more.

Playing a game like that isn't common; It's a matter of having something to say, or do, or show, and it's a big matter of personal bias.

It's just how art can hit ya, or miss entirely. Sometimes you find one that stops you in your tracks and you dwell on it for years after.

Despite playing a lot of games, I, and I assume most others, don't play games that hit that note too often.

It's rare.

I've played so many games I would happily recommend for being phenomenal in their own ways, but that list isn't fully comprised of titles like that.

When I played DQ11 I found myself with a story so dense with things I appreciate that it took over my mind for months. It's still left quite the impact, being a title that can easily bring a happy tear to my eye if I dwell on it too long as I find what they've told to be such a beautiful heroes' tale.

Persona 5 has hit that same deep place in my mind, and, in the grand scheme of things, so quickly after I just found a different title that did the same.

And this isn't by any means a ramble on how P5 is perfect; Far from it because that doesn't exist and because it was created by people- people aren't perfect- people don't make perfect things.

Just in the way of cultural differences and personal morals there are things in P5 that I simply believe weren't handled as well as they could have been, be that gay characters, flip flopping on whether sexual assault as a subject deserves respect or laughs, or the ways in which relationships with minors and adults are presented and treated.

While conversely at least some of these faults could be argued for by virtue of life itself not being perfect, but then it becomes a matter of what is your art's morality; What is it trying to say, and is it being presented because it's true to life, or because it's titillating, silly, or something a creator believes to be right.

I digress.

This is a ramble on how what P5 is is something extremely special to me. And an incomplete one at that, as I couldn't possibly revisit every important moment in this 236 hour (inaccurate*) long story on a post made at a whim at the end of said playthrough.

*= I was AFK a lot, and my gameplay included a lot of rendering video, it wasn't this long but my save sure was lol.

I don't (currently, maybe I should) keep notes of my playthroughs- the posts themselves are catalogues of my thoughts at each time. The finale post is more to sum up where my heart lands me, not to substitute a well rehearsed and scripted video essay.

I guess that makes this even less than an essay- it's just a ramble, lmao.

Let's start with the end because it's so fresh.

I'd say what I understand to be the base game ending (I'm assuming it's just the previous god going) was bombastic, exciting, and even had the bite of the metaverse disappearing and Mona potentially dying. I fucking adore that.

The ending of Royal is a lot more clean... and reminds me of something I already mentioned lmao.

Spoilers for DQ11 skip to next red text:

but both include a Perfect ending and a Broken But Hope Filled ending but inversely placed in the story.

DQ11 ends on the Perfect ending, with the weight of knowing you created the Broken But Hope Filled ending and effectively killed yourself out of that ending to create the perfect ending.

The point of it all being that you did the best you could for the world, then found a way to try to do even better for another cursed world (parallel timeline shenanigans), so you sacrificed the life you've fought for, and the relationships you've forged to 'try again'. The Perfect ending in this case IS perfect, just not for the Hero. They gave everything up for this as a sort of ultimate sacrifice.

P5R ends on the Broken But Hope Filled ending and you spent the last dungeon literally killing the Perfect ending because you refuse to give up the relationships you've forged and the meaning you find in the struggles you're lives have experienced.

I find that interesting. (continued but not spoilers anymore)

Royal's ending is bittersweet. We're saying goodbye (THAT SUCKS), the metaverse is (I believe) gone again- but that sting isn't as bad since it's already done that before, Akechi is 'dead' but he simply doesn't compare to Morgana who was a true friend through the entire game, and we gave up a utopia to get this.

The entire moral that lead us here is literally golden in my book- I appreciate the insistence that our experiences hold value, including the negative ones as we grow from them. But I think as far as ending on a bang or whimper it's a lot less flashy than the base ending seems to have been assuming assumptions assumingly on what that is lol.

Basically, I think base had a better ending, but Royal had more to say and what it had to say was very good in my book, it just then had to end and kinda went "Uh, then we ended, shit."

I still teared the hell up multiple times doing my Earthbound walk about in the post game. And I still wish desperately that I got to get closer with Yusuke and Haru.

AH I love all the damn characters so much.

I feel I've said it all on these fuckers, I love these dunces and they are the best. The party is one of the absolute best out there- it's truly a crew you WANT to be in, you want to go hang with these guys at a ramen place, you want to go hang at a library because one of them needs help with something, you want to go wander the shops with them, you just want to be friends with absolutely all of the party members (maybe not Akechi in the later game when he actually joins the party but that's a whole other complicated goof).

It's an accomplishment to go and create so many likable and befriendable characters- I love em.

And the side characters and confidants are just a fantastic eclectic group- I'm being so vague simply because due to how P5 is formatted, I'd argue 99% of my posts are just me talking about the characters because you GET to do all these things with them. You GET to go to the movies and study and hang at the baths- so I've said all there is, I'm sure.

But I love them. <3

Another thing I've talked plenty on already but is worth mentioning in this finale post is that fantastic gameplay

I literally can't expand on it much in one post so I'll leave it simple.

It's flashy, it's EXTREMELY involved, it's combo heavy in a fantastic way (and with multiple avenues for combos!), and the worst I can say about it is that on Normal difficulty it became exploitable pretty early on and didn't really challenge directly much until the end, but, difficulty is not the end all of the gameplay's quality.

You want to feel involved and challenged in *some* way (if not direct difficulty), and I felt both of those things- just without much risk of failure. Arguably- ARGUABLY- that's damn near perfect. But for preference, I'd have preferred a slightly harder time- more HP on enemies and more risk of losing- but this isn't a complaint- it's a recognition that I will probably highly enjoy replaying on a harder difficulty :)

Simplifying the entirety of the gameplay to combat would be a crime though because this game was also half life sim, and quite an enthralling one at that. Hell, half isn't enough, MOST of this game was life sim, and I loved it so much more than I thought I would.

It also kinda screwed me a bit because I LOVE reading everything I have access to at any given moment.... and this meant a metric ton of reading every day, sometimes accomplishing next to nothing.

You could easily do all the things I did in this game in like 10 hours of gameplay, but it took me 23 times that because I would regularly take trips EVERYWHERE to seek out new NPC dialogue that added nothing to the game itself but was quintessential to my experience.

Loved it.

And before I close for good on this playthrough, I want to just speak some appreciation towards some of the morals and themes in here.

Not all, I'm stupid (for one), and tired (another), and some fucked up third thing as well so just a couple that I feel like talking about.

For one, RIDICULOUSLY big fan of the personal justice angle. It lent itself to so many narratives about the problems with the world from the angle of these things being normalized, expected, or accepted by society at large- but that doesn't mean we should accept them and stop trying to make things better.

It's just a solid theme to build around and it tied itself to the motivations of our characters so damn well with many of them being upset at how Adults handle the world or mistreat others and seeking to make things better.

Also, if the like 8 times I brought it up didn't make it clear, a big fan of the strength of kindness in the Akechi - Joker storyline. It's really a show of how Joker's refusal to turn his back on others, even people as, to be frank, shit as Akechi with his murder fun time nonsense, is literally what grants Akechi his moment of redemption.

That murder kid really tried to turn self sacrifice into a selfish move for personal revenge, and Joker's refusal to be insincere to him left Akechi stunned as his motivations were changed in real time right before he died- that's just a fun narrative, man.

And while I think it made the stakes feel less "scary" than the prior chapter, I really do enjoy how Maruki was our final baddie since he's quite literally a goodie.

It offered a completely different angle to challenge the PT's morals and allowed us to end on a narrative about the worth of our whole life experience rather than a narrative on defeating evil, it was honestly a really good choice in my book.

And I suppose that wraps up this mindless ramble.

To close I just want to say, I fuckin' love this game. It's a favorite now, as I've said.

I'd also like to say I'm surprised that getting to the post game wasn't as demanding as I was initially lead to believe.

I had been lead to believe, since launch of Royal, that this game was some weird "Do it perfectly or you're fucked" kind of game.

I avoided playing Royal for YEARS, because I thought I'd HAVE to shove a guide down my throat in order to experience half the game.

But as it turns out the Royal content is rather short, all things considered. And the requirements are MILES less intense than I was lead to believe- like- MILES. I thought you needed all confidants or else, like, it's not that hard lol.

Getting a perfect run on a blind run is a bit rough, but even that isn't remotely out of the cards if my playthrough is anything to go by.

And on whether / when I'll play more; Now that I've seen the credits, I'm not sure.

This playthrough was.... strange for me. When I pick a game up for the blog I usually stay pretty consistent with it. I've had flubs here and there over the years, but this might be the single most disjointed playthrough I've ever done- with months of no updates multiple times throughout just because of where I was outside of playing.

But because of this, I've basically been playing this game for 8 months. That's a long time to be on one single player game that I think a few weeks coulda done.

Kinda want something else. But my desire to play through on a harder difficulty, on NG+, and to get a perfect end to my playthrough with all confidants maxed remain.

Part of me wants to just jump right back in- especially since very very little of it would "need" (I do this for fun lol) to be blogged about in the first place, but a lot of me wants to sit this on the shelf and come back later in life.

And a lot of me also worries that doing that might table it too long, as I table many things and then decide new experiences trump them.

This game has the benefit of being one of my all time favorites now, so it's less likely, but I mean. FFT is an all time favorite. Doing modded runs of that for the blog has been backlogged for years. I don't want to put replaying P5R off that long at all.

But enough idle worrying in my game diary.

I am going to play something else for a while. That's my current plan. Mostly because that whole mishap with myself that caused this playthrough to be so disjointed is very much still a struggle- so I don't want to dive into a full new playthrough that's just as disjointed.

I might set a date for myself; Come back in a year's time perhaps. I have nothing set in stone. But I want to replay this. Harder difficulty, NG+, perfect confidants. I want that.

We'll find out when.

In the mean time I'm going to bask in the post-game joy of this phenomenal title.

I'm grateful for the opportunity.

And thank you to all who saw fit to interact through this playthrough- I doubt many would get this far into this nonsense post to see said thanks, but I'm sending that out there into the world all the same.

This was a ridiculously positive gaming experience in terms of the game, and a pleasure to chat with some fans.

Everyone, have a good one :)

#Persona #Persona 5 #P5 #P5R #Persona 5 Royal #RetPlays

[heartofspells]

How was Sirius with Harry in his low times after the trauma?

Oof. You're going right for the hurt, aren't you? But what am I if not a deliverer?

I very carefully avoided addressing this more than strictly necessary in the actual story itself. Because it's a difficult thing. How do you explain to a four-year-old, who's used to hugs and playing, wrestling, arms locking around legs, climbing all over you, that you can't stand to be touched by anyone anymore in a way that child will understand?

But here's another little outtake from At the Healing Edge of Broken, occurring sometime during chapter 10.

Cw: reference to mild, accidental hitting of Harry (but he's fine, it didn't hurt him), vague sense of depression, resistance to unwanted touch because of past trauma

(thank you so much to everyone for these. they could all be from the same person, but i don't care. please work my brain. let me live in this world for as long as possible. send all your questions, comments, musings to me. i will happily take them and hold them close)

Harry doesn't understand and Sirius can't explain. Lily and James both try, but Sirius can tell it doesn't catch or make any sense to the small boy, face still filled with confusion, eyes shifting to Sirius at odd moments.

They'd kept him away for a few days after it had happened. Sirius hadn't been consulted with the decision, but he knows his friends had thought it best. He thinks they were probably right judging by his reaction when Harry had finally returned and launched himself at Sirius where he'd been tucked into the corner of the sofa. Sirius had stiffened, arms flailing out wildly under the unexpected touch, having been drifting in a void and had not heard Harry entrance into the house.

Sirius had struck him, just a little, right in his side. Not enough to even really hurt, but it had been more than enough to cause Harry to retreat from him, eyes wide with startled shock, and guilt had welled so high inside Sirius, he'd nearly broken all over again from its crushing weight. Lily had checked him over as Sirius had watched from a distance, assuring Sirius Harry was more than fine, but it hadn't eased his hammering heart or coaxed the shriveling guilt from his body and soul.

But Harry, in the same way children always seem to move on from things so easily, most times, forgets soon enough. He wants to play, urges Sirius down to the floor with him, and Sirius goes when he can, when he's not sucked too far away from everything that matters most. He sprawls over the carpet with Harry as he always has, rolling cars about, teasing at Snuffles, making Harry giggle and tell him he's being silly, Padfoot. It warms Sirius, but eventually, Harry grows bored, wants to roll around, wrestle and tumble. He wants to touch, and Sirius can't.

He retreats with a mumbled apology, James watching from the doorway of the room, moving in to take Sirius' place with an ease Sirius knows is forced. He disappears to his room. He stays here a lot now, here or the back garden, his friends coax him back to the land of the living again. Because that's what this feels like, like some sort of limbo, a purgatory, if Sirius believed in such things. He's starting to, because he's stuck there, here. Can't escape. Voices of the damned scream constantly inside his head, so loud Sirius can't even begin to force them away.

Harry doesn't understand, maybe never will, and Sirius dearly hopes he never has to, that there's never a reason for his godson to look at this situation Sirius has found himself a part of, entrenched inside, and have even a notion of so that's what that was. He still searches Sirius out, urges him into play. He finds Sirius in his bedroom one afternoon while Sirius is waiting for dinner, for Remus to come, that wonderful distraction he craves and clings to like a man dying without oxygen until it's suddenly returning.

The boy climbs up onto the bed with sure movements, settling beside Sirius on its surface, staring up at the ceiling, Sirius watching him curiously. His expression is grave, green eyes pensive, small mouth twitching in deep thought.

"Hello, Padfoot," he says eventually, tone incredibly solemn for his four years. "Mummy says you're hurt again. Did you fall?"

Something in Sirius aches at the question, at the way Harry is still trying to make sense of the way things seem to have shifted around him. He shakes his head, still not moving it from gazing at his godson.

"No, Harry. I didn't fall."

Harry nods, looking a little more confused, mouth pinching up. "Where're you hurt? I can get my doctor bag, but Daddy said that won't work."

"Daddy's right, sprog," says Sirius quietly. "I wish he wasn't, but it won't work. But you can practice on my leg again sometime soon, just not today."

He expects Harry to brighten at the offering, but he doesn't, instead rolling to his side to face Sirius, his expression still far too dour for Sirius' liking.

"But if you're hurt, a doctor can fix it," argues Harry in growing frustration. "Mummy can take you to hospital. Kings can help you, make you feel better."

Sirius doesn't know what to do. What can he possibly say to calm the angry confusion mounting higher and higher in the boy beside him? He shifts to match Harry's position, gaze drifting over his frowning face, wanting to reach out and the lines away, knowing they have no right to be there or exist at all, Sirius the cause. He always is, for everyone, in everything. He can't escape it, no matter how hard he tries.

"Harry," he says on the breath of heavy sigh, "a doctor can't make this better." Sirius glances over him as Harry's face falls in front of him, and Sirius tries to find a way to explain. "Did you know there are different sorts of hurts?" Harry shakes his head, and Sirius tries to smile. "There's the type you can see, like when you hit your head on the table or scape up your knees sometimes, or like when I fell and injured my leg. Those are the types of hurt a doctor or mummies and daddies can fix. But there are other hurts, deeper ones. You can't see them with your eyes, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. They hurt your heart and your mind. And they hurt just as bad, sometimes more, but they aren't things that can be made better with a plaster and sweets. Does that make sense?"

Harry's eyes drop as he considers Sirius' words, his face pinching in further, mouth pulling at its corners. "What makes it better?" he finally asks, looking back up at Sirius.

Sirius' smile is sad, and he wishes desperately for it do be anything else. "I'm still trying to figure that out," he admits softly.

"Does Remus help?" And there's a bit of hope filling his green eyes now, shining a little, shifting Sirius' smile to something different, grateful. He's aware of how his godson feels about the other man, loving it when he comes round during the week, begging them not to leave when they do, Remus coaxing him from the house, the only one that's been successful so far.

"He's trying," says Sirius. "But it's not just him. Mummy and Daddy help as well, and so do you, just by being yourself."

"I do?" questions Harry, amazement filling him, drawing him from his well of confusion.

"Of course you do," attests Sirius adamantly, and before he can stop himself or think too much about what he's doing, he pressing forward, wrapping Harry up in gentle arms, pulling the boy close to him. "You always have, because I love you. You, Harry Potter, are one of the best things I've ever had in my life."

Sirius can feel the boy's smile against the skin of his neck where his nestled firmly. He squirms in his arms, a wonderful, joyful sound emerging from him, and Sirius thinks this is okay, this touch, this hold. He can do this. With Harry, he's okay.

#at the healing edge of broken #sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans potter #wolfstar #outtake #ask #answer #my writing #holli writes #send me your burning desires

[razzithold]

I've been running a homebrew dnd game lately using an alternate timeline of my main game setting and I've figured out two main ways to deal with overpowered players who all but one shot the big boss enemies: make the boss hit HARD, and make the point not about fighting the bosses anymore, but about dealing with the far reaching consequences of that boss's influence. I want my players to care about the world they're in and the people they meet.

Sure, my players nearly killed my planned big boss fight in one round, but that fight itself was just the beginning. Now? Now they're seeing how far that baddy's reach went in this city. Said baddy was a vampire mob boss with the midas touch who ran an extensive trafficking network, and the fight with him was honestly pathetic because he's a coward who tried to get out of dying by surrendering. They were able to interrogate him and discovered a way to reverse the vampirism he caused through blood magic. The vampire boss is dead, but his lackeys are still out there, hiding and regrouping.

First the party ran into a rogue death knight that was once under the vampire's control but has since gone AWOL attacking innocents, and to make that death knight actually a challenge to my overpowered as shit level 6 players I had it sacrifice itself with its big necrotic hellfire attack in hopes of it taking down the party with it. It hit hard, 20d6 of damage, actually nearly killed two players, if it had just a few more points of damage they would have died instantly.

The party was able to survive that, and in surviving they met a group of down on their luck npcs that were victims of the vampire and death knight. They found a timid little dhampir girl being raised by a barkeep dwarf, and the dwarf reveals to them the poor little dhampir is a result of that now dead vampire having his way with a woman in this part of town. If the party didn't hate that vampire's sleazy golden ass before, they Definitely hated him now.

The party went to the vampire's foreclosed estate to find seven vampire spawn guarding it who attacked the party. The party were able to intimidate the vamp spawns into surrendering and used their newfound spell to reverse the vampirism, and discovered these people were taken advantage of by the dead vamp boss because he lied about saving them from their plight and turned them undead instead.

I was able to get my players, who had already killed the vampire boss of this arc, to hate that bastard so much they want to drag his soul out of hell and kill him again for the suffering he's caused. One of my players was on the verge of tears when I described the little dhampir girl and the adopted dwarf dad's story. I got to elicit emotion for the scenes I set and that makes it so worthwhile for me as a DM/GM. And most of my game is improv DMing!

This party's not made of murder hobos, they've grown to care about helping the people of the city they're in, and hearing the description I've made of the conditions in this city pull at my player's heartstrings. One player gave that dwarf barkeep 5 platinum coins and another gave him 250 gold to help him pay for his business and all the damages caused by the death Knight's explosion. Usually I see players hoard their gold and be Hella stingy with it, but not these players, they cared about the npcs and wanted to build positive relationships with the world around them.

It warms my cheesy little heart to know I've created a world that my players grow to care about and enjoy, a world where my players want to stay beyond our usual allotted game time to play for more, because they're invested and enthralled in the intrigue. My players even if initially are not immersed have become entrenched in the setting I've made and find joy in learning more about it - one player who is usually very quiet and detached has had his PC join a law school within the setting so that he can help all these people in the game he meets by helping them write up a class action lawsuit. And doing so is engaging this player more, he's more willing to talk and interact with npcs, now that he's more a part of the world. Meeting new npcs and hearing their plights has him jotting down notes and asking the npcs for more information so that he can offer to help them sue the nobles encroaching on them.

Another player, who is playing an alien sent down to conquer earth invader Zim style, has defected from his prime directive and is helping this city bolster its defenses against his own people now. He was originally here to conquer the city, and is now an ally to the queen. He's helping invent an air filtration system to solve the city's smog problem. He's given me the plot hook of his people sending lackeys to retrieve him, and the hook of him helping the inhabitants of the city and learning it's culture.

Still another player worked with me to create a spy for the queen that is borne of the lore of this city. I love when players work with me as the DM to weave the characters into the world.

Are my players overpowered as shit because I let them use an anime 5e supplemental book? Yes absolutely. I mean they took down a death knight in two rounds at level 6! Death Knights are supposed to be a combat rating of 17! Combat rating is a lie, if your players can do 10+ damage in one attack, give your enemies more hp.

Weave your party into your world and give them a compelling scene and they will care about the world their characters live in, whether that be caring to help or caring to hurt the world they live in. Also helps if your group meshes well together, good group chemistry makes the game run way smoother.

Thank you for coming to my 4am ramblings about my ttrpg games I run, they're so much fun to play!

#my entire personality revolves around playing ttrpgs #i cant stop thinking about it #dnd #heart of atlantis #razz rambles #musings #ramblings #ttrpg

[n00h]

Wizard Hand

It’s only been a few decades since magic has been exposed to the commoner. This new class’  associated image has shifted so rapidly, so constantly, since their discovery, no single trend could entrench itself between regions or generations. Various legends and wives' tales have formed, each village developing at least one unique dubiously true tale of magic. Most know the legendary figures or learn of the most famous users of their time. All have some idea of their new magical reality, no matter how vague. 

Recently the perception of magic has begun another dramatic downturn. Thrown down below the dirt by a single magician looking down at magicdom from the top of his mountainous skill. No wizard now or recorded in magic’s history have had their stories become so ubiquitous, so large in volume, or as far-reaching. For no wizard has ever matched his raw power or level of refined expertise.

But there have been magical legends before him, new generations of master wizards piercing through what was once the absolute limit of spells.  There is something far more relevant that stands him out, something that has quite possibly made him the most momentous figure in the modern magic world. Truly it is only one simple trait that separates him from his peers:

He’s an asshole.

After years of searching for a magical consensus, all it took was one powerful prick to produce parents’ a misguided wisdom warning to avoid all wizards at any cost. More likely than not the average wizards are the ones avoiding non-magical entities. They are far more content enjoying their life in a society they know and built than spending it as a novelty to be shown to party guests. Those who are willing to crossover into our villages have self-serving interests and are wholly disinterested in the mundane world. Pedants and barons looking to prove their brand new spells are worthy of patent and certainly not redundant, ‘look how well I serviced these villages and travelers with this unique invention, no spell that already exists with two less steps could possibly have done it just as well.’ 

People such as former professor Falndai Larstrow, who made a grand introduction to the nearest village farmer with an explosion of suddenly grown crops and shining lights declaring “I will grant you any wish you desire no matter how difficult! Even should your wish have no associated spell my magnificence shall overcome this barrier to reward us with your wish satisfied.” As if the commoner understands the intricacies of spell-less magic.

The farmer looked up in horrified amazement. Larstrow allowed them the time to compose themselves, gathering their strength to stand before the power that unveiled itself to them before finally declaring: “No.” They then ran away, leaving their crops with a very confused magical professor. 

Larstrow spent weeks in that village, at first waiting for the farmer to claim their wish, but eventually devolving into harassing any random passerby until they speed-walked out of sight.

No, he wasn’t trying to deceive someone into believing they now had access to their heart’s desire only to turn their wish on its’ head into something they’d forever regret; he was just desperate for tenure. Of course, he could never just say that and reveal a mechanism of magic university without immediate expulsion, and it remains unclear why he believed anyone who accepted the offer would have something new to grant, and not the same vain requests for a few extra inches “just for the sake of rounding.”

But thanks to this envisioned all-powerful magician looming over magic users not even this much could be accomplished. Larstrow would proposition anyone who entered his vision and be responded with “Nay, I am no prisoner to my hubris! Find another fool to grant your false promises.” While Larstrow silently shouted to himself “They won’t let us unionize!”

Make no mistake, this magician isn’t interested in teaching lessons about hubris to his victims either. He doesn’t find someone wishing for more strength to be gawked at and grant them so much strength they crush everything they touch. He stumbles upon some poor village boy hoping to become strong enough to help work for his people, then enlarges their muscles and organs at random to the point of dysfunction.

It’s not a matter of spell difficulty or mistakenly cursing people with their wish because of an excited lack of magic refinement. His accursed spells exceed the skill one would need to grant any wish asked by entire lifetimes. Ask any magician how simple it would be to bless a woman with knowledge when they ask to be given superior knitting skill. Instead, he nonchalantly creates a spell anyone else would’ve assumed unstainable for more than a day, forcing the woman into a knitting frenzy for weeks on end, knitting away all her cloth and wool until she was forced to create clothes from the straw that made her house, and when there was no more straw, blankets made from the dirt beneath her, until she fell to exhaustion.

He has no obligations. He chooses to make misery for the sake of misery.

He’s not even creative about it! Once he was asked for better irrigation for crops and responded by launching a meteor at the farmstead. Why? What connection is there? As befuddled as his better-off victims are left it’s far more disorientating from afar. Watching this magician sometimes choose to hide behind this genie-esque trickster act when he’s just as likely to bestow an entirely unrelated curse after prompting a demand. Maybe he’ll try to relate his assaults, or maybe he’ll wait for someone to ask him to create a new cane, and suddenly transport a gang of bears to their home.

Their destruction has left magic behind with a shattered reputation, and an increasingly hostile public. The time had come to strike back. A reactive “magic council” had formed. Their explicit goal to foster a new reputation of magic through regulation and diplomacy. Their implicit goal to come for the magician before he came for them. Joined by some self-proclaimed masters and leaders looking for publicity, some actual masters and community leaders, and some who simply hated the magician. Gathered and created by Falndai Larstrow, just after discovering the magic of book deals and voluntarily retiring from his institute. It was unanimous that the council’s first action would be their preemptive strike. They debated the methodology, when and how many members to commit, whether their goal was to capture or kill, and how to prepare. Before a decision could be made a trio of glory seekers broke rank

Fergal and Aered Maordahn, two brothers recently confirmed as masters and searching for a path to solidify their family’s nigh-legendary status. Led by Zaraelto Mezex, a wizard just prominent enough among medical facilities to earn a seat on the council. She planned to attach her name to the wizard pantheon by being the one to cut through slow council planning and curing the magic world from the magician herself.

A “coordinated” strike was prepared. The trio infiltrated the forest that had become accepted as the magician’s domain. To their credit, how little credit they deserve, their preparation was successful in going unnoticed. Whether they could defeat him alone ‘vulnerable’ or not was never in question, but as they lay in wait, their plan was capable of accomplishing their first step. The magician wandered through and fell into place, and the ambush began

In an instant, the flat forest floor under the magician’s feet stretched down to tomb. Zaraelto transformed air into water plastering the crater. The Maordahns remained on stand-by: Fergal began a spell to freeze the water the second the flood entombed the magician. Aered prepared their contingency: charging lightning as dynamic as his ability allowed. 

The magician was quick to realize their attack. Even as the ground folded into walls while the grass under his feet descended, he was able to act with agility no plan these three could account for. They threw their arms apart and split the earth from pit to canyon. The tide meant to become a flood instead took form of a waterfall. The magician knew precisely how to turn ambush into tools for his own assault. He jumped to ride the waterfall back to the surface, each step turning water into a frozen platform.

The Maordahns acted in panic. Fergal’s transformation spell meant to encave the magician instead melted ice back to water. Water he used to whip into a shield against Aered’s fear-filled smite attempt, then again into an electrified hammer to slam Zaraelto into a tree.

He didn't provide a moment of recovery. The magician landed alongside an armada of fireballs raining down on his remaining two ambushers. The trio lost their advantage, became even less prepared to fight than their target was to be for their trap, but there was no room to retreat, only to stay and fight.

Each fireball avoided was followed by yet more waves of concentrated flame. Each near miss was a direct hit on the forest. No fireball struck their targets, but each dodged volley created hotter, larger walls of flame. The council members would have to prepare their counterstrike to avoid being entrapped by the forest fire. 

On the magician’s south, Aered created an army of levitating rocks and boulders he flung forward. To his side, Zaraelto recovered, gathered the water covering her surroundings, and directed a single pressurized string canon unto her opponent. To his north, Fergal created gusts strong enough to bring down homes in an effort to control the flames and return them to their source.

Once again, the trio created a plan with no hope for success. Once again the magician simply redirected their attacks into his own showcase of skill. Without a single incantation spoken, he created gales with more force than any storm has ever produced alone, gales that absorbed the attacking wind and caught the simultaneous barrages. He spun, and spun, and spun, and created a flaming monsoon brimming with meteors.

The council remained on the backfoot the entire battle. The battle that only lasted less than 20 minutes. The battle that destroyed environments with irrevocable, still ongoing consequences.  As much as their failed trap-turned-spectacle was an assault between wizards, was even more so an assault on the earth.  Alongside flaming boulders, the cyclone of fire ripped trees from their roots to become burning catapults. Animals were multiplied, enlarged to the size of mountains, launched, and landed miles away the size of pebbles. Villages became craters. Rerouted and contaminated rivers have reshaped ecosystems alongside the displaced wildlife. What was once the Iwon Forest” is now the “Bareige Plains” and the “Despein Canyon.” What’s left of the forest continues to burn alongside countless acres of farmland. 

Grass was made into rope was made into armor was made into ash. Smoke obscured acid rain that immobilized dirt golems. The battle ended with three wizards stricken down and a magician left free to retaliate,

He didn’t act out of anger, or some desire for revenge. Just as everything else to him, this was nothing more than a way to stay entertained at the end of a challenge.

Aered was ripped apart to become one with the wind forever haunting what were now plains

Fergal had their magical powers robbed, all but just enough to perform simple party tricks at a child’s birthday party, then transported a continent away.

Nothing was done to Zaraelto. She was allowed to recover from their battle in their unconscious state, and to awake to a missing magician. 

And a crowd of non-magic users staring at the wizard placed in front of a forest mutilated by flames.

In a show of unity, the remaining wizard council unanimously voted on the title Eldraiz Council of Magic. The solid unanimity to fight back against the wizard was shattered. The debates over how to fight became whether to fight at all. Whether they should simply accept the magician’s existence and do their part to keep their own image separated from him. Whether they could work to appease them and promise them an unimpeded rampage through allocated territory or to attempt to evacuate his current domain and hope they may remain isolated. Since the battle, no decision has been made. It’s obvious the decision should be made to strike again. For the first time, the magic and mundane alike have become cowering subjects to a single person’s will. The lost battle was the result of imperious buffoons breaking for their own poorly thought-out plan. Eldraiz has grown, both in number and quality of members. The lost councilmen weren’t even in the same league as the highest founding members. A properly planned coordinated strike could easily break this era of magical fear. While they fail to make any decisions they’ve made known this magician’s reputation to him, and he’s decided to embrace his infamy.

It’s difficult to assess this magician’s motives, or if he has any outside his own entertainment. It’s clear it wasn’t about becoming infamous or wanting to spread his name before. He never in the past took action to persuade his victims into spreading their stories. In most cases, they were never given the opportunity to tell anyone of their encounter. Nor were there ways uninvolved pedestrians stumble upon and learn their stories. Evidently, this magician has recently taken a dramatic turn, and become incredibly invested in propagating his image. Now there’s an effort to ensure all will learn about him. Knowing this, I shall leave you with one final cautionary tale.

In spite of the new distaste for all magic and the growing rumors, fools continue to seek out wizardry to grant them assistance. They hope the rumors are wrong. That they’ll be able to find the exception. They hope that their destiny is simply meant to be too grand for them to become another tale. 

Once such fool was a bard. Their village warned them dealing with magic will create torturous repercussions. The bard said that magic was not to be feared. They left their home to search the land. Their dream was for their voice to be heard across continents. That people all across the world, magic, farmer, or despot alike would dream of listening to their compositions.

Eventually, the bard came across this magician and made his wish known. The magician apparently sympathized with this request. He himself had become filled with a desire for fame and already begun a search for a bard to spread his tales and craft his image. The Magician informed the bard of modified, diminished tales of ‘trickery in good fun’ and claimed he was recently attacked by other wizards. 

“They have no respect for what I do,” He said “I understand if you want to back out of your wish after hearing my stories.”

“My people don’t respect me either,” the bard sighed “but I know I’m meant for so much more. What you’ve told me, no one deserves to be attacked for pranks. Do the other wizards claim ownership over the power you share? Do they think they can control who’s allowed to know you? I’m certain I want to be a grand storyteller. And now, I know I want to help you and tell your story. What’s your name?”

“I come from a long line of wizards, all of whom were granted the same ancient name of the magical world dating centuries. My name,” explained the magician “Is Smith.”

“Do-” stuttered the bard “Do you have a last name?”

“No. But, since my convictions to make myself a legend I have decided on a new name I want to be known by.”

The name he came up for himself doesn’t matter

The bard made his wish to have his voice heard across continents known one last time and the magician cast a spell.

At first, the spell created such bliss never known to anyone before that moment. I could feel my thoughts become clear. I suddenly had knowledge of stories I never could have learned on my own. I knew words never before uttered in my village. I knew how to find anyone in the world to tell my stories. All I could feel was pure euphoria.

And then I realized. All I could feel was euphoria. I tried to look down but I had no neck to turn, and no body to find. I tried to stumble forward and catch myself on a tree but I had no limbs. I could see but had no eyes. I could speak but had no mouth. My body was gone and I had no touch. I had ceased to be a person. He helped me spread my voice across continents, but he robbed me of any way to enjoy, of any chance to become known as a great storyteller and to revel in it. I was transformed, forced to be nothing but a disembodied voice, with no purpose but to spread the tales of this bastard of a magician.

#creative writing #short story #original fiction #writeblr #fantasy #wizard #comedic #first story I've ever posted online #If you're wondering why it's called that #I was thinking about the word 'hand' while typing the filler name 'wizard story' #And I've grown too attached to change it

[exchangevewor]

Gravity falls full episodes for free

#Gravity falls full episodes for free full

#Gravity falls full episodes for free series

But that is right and good! Monsters in genre stories can be allegories for bigger things, but if we always force them to signify more than what they are, we risk missing the stories that are being told without being dressed up in fangs and claws. It means so little that, to quote Wendy from another episode on this list, it is literally too dumb for anyone to care about. The Summerween Trickster (Jeff Bennett) is not terrorizing children every summer because its plight-being made up of “loser candy” that no one actively likes- means anything.

#Gravity falls full episodes for free series

She’s cheating at LIFE.” - Alexis GundersonĪside from letting Alex Hirsch sneak a Halloween episode into a series stuck forever in June and July, “Summerween” serves, to my mind, one purpose: To remind everyone (hi) who watches cleverly assembled genre stories (…) and spends hours trying to articulate the deep meaning behind it all (I mean), that sometimes a dumb monster is just a dumb monster. All that mattered was the tiny, tiny, adorably deadly turf war amongst Gravity Falls’ bloodthirstiest sports equipment, Mabel and Pacifica’s burgeoning respect for each other’s strengths, and Dipper’s pithy reminder of how failing to correlate personal achievement with generational wealth is a real mistake: “Pacifica’s rich, Mabel. This early in Season Two we didn’t know the degree to which deeply entrenched, deeply stupid rivalry would end up being one of the series’ Big Themes, but when Patton Oswalt’s Lilli puttian putt-putt ball avatar, Franz, rolled into Dipper and Mabel’s lives and gave tiny, unsettlingly toothy mini-golf shape to the well-established rivalry between our dear, doofy Mabel and rich kid mean girl, Pacifica Northwest (Jackie Buscarino), that didn’t matter. And be sure to enter our giveaway for the chance to win one of three Collector’s Edition boxed sets, including 18” x 24” lithographs. To celebrate the series’ legacy-and its triumphant return, in the form of Shout! Factory’s expansive Blu-ray/DVD boxed set, Gravity Falls: The Complete Series Collector’s Edition- Paste is proud to present our ranking of Gravity Falls 20 best episodes. The siblings’ loving rapport, which also features its fair share of frustration and hurt feelings, gives ballast to the series’ strangest interludes, as Dipper tries to find the truth behind an occult journal he discovers, Mabel tries to find true love, and Stan tries to find a way to keep his secrets hidden from the young ones. As Dipper and Mabel soon learn, despite the blasé attitudes of good-natured employees Soos Ramirez (Hirsch) and Wendy Corduroy (Linda Cardellini), Stan’s tourist trap, the Mystery Shack, is the epicenter of paranormal occurrences that’d make Fox Mulder weep. Still, at the heart of Gravity Falls’ many mysteries is the perfectly rendered relationship between Dipper and Mabel Pines (voiced by Jason Ritter and Kristen Schaal), 12-year-old twins shipped off for the summer to their great uncle, or “Grunkle,” Stan (Hirsch) in Gravity Falls, Ore. But it’s tempting to do so anyway: With its emphasis on familial relationships both healthy and broken, its heady admixture of sci-fi, horror, humorous pop culture references and profound emotion, even its central, ever-looming truth (“Summer ends”), Alex Hirsch’s short-lived beauty summons up thoughts of BoJack Horseman, Bob’s Burgers, Adventure Time, and Rick and Morty, not to mention live-action inspirations such as Twin Peaks, The X-Files, and Lost. The Forces of Evil, has acquitted itself well in the 21st century so far. No.Placing Gravity Falls in the animation canon doesn’t require drawing comparisons to series outside of Disney, which, from Kim Possible to Phineas and Ferb to Star vs.

#Gravity falls full episodes for free full

EmbedVideo received the bad id "Gravity Falls Season 2 Full Scores" for the service "soundcloud".

#Gravity falls full episodes for free

[hashtagartistlife]

IR hunger games AU

pt 4/???

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

bonus comics under the cut + some more exposition 

bonus cut 1: 

bonus cut 2: 

Recap of the story so far: yuzu gets picked as tribute for the hunger games. Ichigo manages to volunteer in her place. Rukia gets drawn to replace yuzu, and ichiruki end up being the tributes for district 12. 

Ichiruki then meet urahara, their mentor, on the train to the capitol. On this train they may or may not have a conversation regarding the fact that Rukia saved Ichigo’s life as kids, and that they have consequently been dancing around each other for years now. I reserve the right to add more to this section later. Either way, they are awkward at best and frosty at worst as they enter the capitol. 

At the capitol, they meet their stylists, uryuu and orihime. They are new stylists, who only graduated last year. This is their first official stylist job. This in itself is not that surprising, as district 12 was unpopular and often stuck with the inexperienced or not-quite-so-talented stylists. However, though uryuu and orihime are inexperienced, they are the furthest thing from untalented or unpopular - since they had been students, they have been somewhat of a rising star in the styling community. So, everyone is surprised when they both (separately) apply for the district 12 styling job, because they really could have had their pick. 

Ishihime were both born and raised in the capitol, but their childhoods were far from the lavish, glamorous lifestyle commonly associated with capitol citizens. If the capitol had a caste system (which they do — it’s just unspoken, is all), they would be on the bottom rung — orihime grew up under her brother in as close to poverty as what you can get in the capitol, dreaming of the glitz and glamour of the upper crust life. Ryuuken, meanwhile, is very rich, but for whatever reasons uryuu ran away from home young and has been surviving on his own since. The fact that they both clawed their way up the ranks to become hunger game stylists out of pure talent and tenacity was a novelty for everyone, and contributed to their rising stardom. 

Ishihime hadn’t met prior to their appointment as district 12 stylists, but they HAD heard of the other— it was a pleasant surprise to both of them that the other had also applied for the job. Though they only meet on the job, they click instantly and develop an easy working partnership to create a sensation with ichigo and rukia’s opening ceremony outfits. The outfits had a fire + ice theme, based on the fact that district 12 was a mining district (coal > fire, diamonds > ice). 

Orihime applied to the district 12 job because of Ichigo— she saw him volunteering for his sister on TV and maybe fell a little bit in love with him, with the idea of him— how romantic, how heroic of him, how noble to be able to volunteer for his sister like that— the same age as her, and so handsome, too, she wants to be by his side, she wants to help him, she wants to make sure he looks his best at the games so that he can maximise his chances of returning to his sister… as stated previously Orihime grew up entrenched in the capitol mindset so she is not yet aware of how fucked up the whole system is. Uryuu, meanwhile, nobody is particularly sure why he applied for the job… he said something trite about wanting to use his skills where it’s most needed, how he likes a challenge, but orihime wonders if that’s really all there is to it— outwardly, he’s the picture perfect new graduate, enthusiastic, happy, proud of his job— but there are moments when they are being applauded for their latest creations when she thinks his expression goes a little sour… it’s always fleeting and gone so fast that she can never be sure however 

Ichiruki, meanwhile, are the talk of the town. What with their stunning entrance at the opening ceremony and rukia’s public confession, all they have to do now is ride this wave of popularity all the way through the games for an easy win— unfortunately, they are both terribly bad at knowing how to manipulate this situation to their advantage. They both understand the gist of urahara’s plan — act like they’re falling in love— but neither of them understand WHY or HOW this will work. Why would the audience be invested in their falling in love? What exactly do they want to see? HOW do they act like they’re falling in love? (and, in Rukia’s case— how much of it should be pretend, how much of it is real?) 

Enter Rangiku, the previous district 12 stylist. She and gin grew up in one of the districts, both hating the games and the capitol, until one day at 14 yrs old, gin said to her ‘i’m gonna make it so that you don’t have to be afraid of your name being called at the reapings no more’, volunteered as tribute, won the games, and promptly disappeared from her life. 

Years later, rangiku sees gin on tv as the new host of the hunger games. She’s stunned and infuriated— she thought they both hates the capitol for what they did to the districts and now he’s WORKING for them? What the hell is he thinking? So rangiku packs up and moves to the capitol— her plan is to try to see him, to talk things out, surely there must be some kind of misunderstanding— but gin is all rich and famous now, and very heavily guarded, and she’s a nobody. There’s no way anyone will let her within ten feet of gin at all— so, rangiku decides she’s going to have to join the circus to talk to its head clown, and becomes a stylist. 

Unfortunately, even as a stylist, she can’t get a word to him edgewise— and she’s starting to suspect that maybe it’s not that she can’t get to him, but that gin is actively avoiding her. She COULD climb the ranks until he can no longer avoid her— she is very good at this stylist gig, much to her surprise— but she doesn’t have the heart to do the backstabbing and bribing necessary for that. She is constantly warring between ‘I cannot pour my talent into something this morally bankrupt’ and ‘but maybe if I do my best, I’ll give my district’s kids a fighting chance’. 

Eventually, by the time ichiruki step up, rangiku is so sick of having to dress kids up nicely for slaughter that she hands in her resignation, gives up on gin, and is getting ready to move back home to her district. That is, until she sees what an absolute record-breaker ichiruki are becoming, and start to hope again— that maybe, this year things will be different. That maybe, they will be different. That maybe, at least one of ‘her kids’ won’t go home in a coffin this year, will instead require outfits for a victory tour instead— a victory tour that is accompanied by their stylists… and the host. 

So, rangiku comes back in an unofficial capacity to help ichiruki refine their act a bit more. But with less than one month left till the games commence, will what they come up with be enough to carry them through the entire games? And, even if it does— what will happen if at the end of it all, the two people who remain are ichigo and rukia— when only one person gets to return home alive? 

Very unrelated point, but: ichigo apologised to rukia for grabbing her wrist post-tribute interview. Just wanted to clarify it is NOT alright to grab at people under any circumstances— ichigo did it in the heat of the moment, but when everything was cleared up he apologised for it. Had to mention this somewhere because it bothered me so much while drawing this installment— Ichigo you have NO room to be scolding the reporter for grabbing rukia, you did it not too long ago yourself! Having said that, that’s probably why he’s being very touchy about this— it was something that had been a sore point for him too very recently. 

To be continued! 

#bleach #ichiruki #bleach fanart #artist life #bleach art life #kurosaki ichigo #kuchiki rukia #hunger games au

[wistfulcynic]

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan)

SUMMARY: Emma Swan is a schoolteacher, respectable and respected in the small town of Haven, Wyoming. She does her job and minds her business, but she has a secret. One that brings meaning to her dull life and excitement to her restless soul. One that she knows could end at any moment. 

Killian Jones is a man with a powerful enemy and nothing to lose. He’s prepared to sacrifice every bit of that nothing for the sake of his revenge. 

Or, at least, he was. 

-

I am THRILLED to be here, kicking off the @cshistfic​ Historical Fics event! I’ve always loved reading romances set in the past and Westerns are a long-time favourite. Given how deeply entrenched the Western genre is in American culture, it’s funny to think about how a) most of it was made up for dime novels and, later, radio and television shows and movies, and b) the actual historical period that we call the Old West only lasted roughly thirty years—from the post-Civil War westward expansion under the Homestead Act to around the turn of the 20th century. This fic is set right around the end of that time—late 1890s to early 1900s—in the waning moments of the open range and the “lawless” frontier and the start of the modern era with its trains and barbed wire and cars and world wars. I’ve tried to capture a bit of that sense of transition in the story, mostly with the way it ends. 

Huge thanks to @shireness-says​​ for coming up with and running this event, and to @thisonesatellite​​ for Just Being Her. 

Words: 4.9k Rating: T Tags: Western AU, historical, outlaw Killian, schoolteacher Emma, all the historical detail, I did so much research for this 

on AO3

-

The Outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan): 

The hour was late, afternoon edging into evening in the town of Haven, Wyoming. ‘Town’ as a designation flattered it, this tiny settlement tucked back against craggy and striated formations of rock and nestled amongst ragged brush, being, as it was, scarcely more than a handful of rough-hewn cabins, a church, a general store, a blacksmith and livery stable, a saloon with its attendant whorehouse, and a school. 

The store and the smithy did the town’s most active business; unsurprisingly, seeing as they were the only examples of either within the radius of a good fifty miles. The residents—those who lived within the town’s scant limits—were certainly insufficient in their numbers to support either one, but the owners of those ranches that lay outside the town, they and their ranch hands, their wives, and their daughters, frequented both with pleasing regularity. 

The general store doubled, as such establishments generally did, as a post office, in which capacity it served as the sole tenuous link between this stark western land and the fashionable cities of the east. The Sears and Roebuck catalogue and that of Montgomery Ward, both prominently displayed beside the till, were tattered and well-thumbed, and the monthly mail delivery never came without piles of brown-wrapped parcels containing the latest in fashion and technology from the wider world—hints at the wonders promised by the new century. 

Very little of this prosperity touched the actual residents of Haven. The lives they lived were hard ones, scratched from unforgiving soil, but they were good folk, honest and hard-working. They lived simply and piously and for the most part happily. They tended their gardens and their livestock, read their Bibles, loved their children, and whenever possible sent those children to school. 

The Haven school, a single room with two windows, one on either side, and a disproportionate bell-tower on the roof—both this tower and the bell it contained were gifts from a local rancher, who considered them a better use of his money than blackboards or books—was located well away from the town’s main street. It had no fireplace, only a tiny, smoky, potbellied stove, and in the warmer months no breeze blew through the unglazed windows. The pupils sat on simple benches and copied their lessons onto slates that sold at the general store for rather more than their parents could comfortably afford; lessons their teacher laid out for them on a thickly-whitewashed wall with a piece of charcoal, the dust of which stained her fingers and her clothing, and embedded itself beneath her nails so deeply there were times she felt she’d never be free of it. 

This teacher’s name, the one she used, was Miss Emma Swan. A solitary and self-contained woman of about twenty-six, far too pretty for a schoolteacher most said, and if pressed these same would likely agree that teaching was not what folks might refer to as her calling. Though none could deny that she did her best and was kind to the children—a thing not always guaranteed from schoolmarms—she exuded such a restless air, an impatience with the tedium of her job and the pace of life in Haven which she did not trouble to conceal, that it was a subject of great curiosity amongst the residents why she continued to stay there. 

“I have my reasons,” she would say, whenever anyone dared to broach the subject, “and those reasons are my own.” There it was and there it would remain as far as Emma was concerned, and as the townsfolk knew her to be a courteous woman but one who never minced her words when riled, they declined to press the issue. 

By the time Miss Emma Swan had finished up in the schoolroom on this particular late afternoon, the floor swept and the board cleaned and lessons all prepared for the following day, the sun was already slipping behind the craggy rocks at her back and casting upon the town a peculiar sort of distended twilight—shrouded in shadows beneath a glaring blue sky. As she made her way the short distance between the schoolhouse and her own cabin—or rather, the schoolteacher’s cabin, perhaps the most compelling perk of her job—a brisk breeze ruffled the hem of her skirt and the few flyaway hairs that had escaped her tidy Gibson bun. The night would likely be another chilly one, and Emma wondered absently if she had enough wood left to leave the fire high for an extra hour or two or if she should resign herself now to another cold, dark evening spent alone. 

The cabin where she lived, she and sixty years of schoolteachers before her, was small and rough like most in Haven and comprised only two rooms: a small bedroom to the rear and a larger space at the front used equally for sitting, cooking, and dining. In this front room was both a fireplace and stove, the latter surprisingly modern and another gift from a different rancher, to the previous teacher. Near this stove sat a small wooden table and two matching chairs; a soft and generous armchair had pride of place before the fire. 

The bedroom was by far Emma’s preferred room. The walls in it were painted, in a pale and soothing blue, and on one of them a charming watercolour of forget-me-nots was hung. There was a white wardrobe with a mirrored door, a washstand and a vanity table, and a large bed with a sturdy iron frame. The curtains on the single window were of dotted swiss that Emma had sewn herself, and in the morning when she opened them she was greeted by the colours of the dawn. 

Emma removed her buttoned boots the moment she was through the door; they pinched her toes and she disliked wearing them indoors. She replaced them with a well-worn pair of carpet slippers then headed for the bedroom, there to change out of her school clothes and into the more comfortable, loose wrap dress she preferred at home. When she entered the room she had already undone most of the buttons on her high-collared blouse and so made straight for the wardrobe, without so much as a glance at the bed. 

The mirror on the wardrobe door as it swung open flashed the brief reflection of a face, just as Emma heard the sound of a chair leg scrape against the bare wood floor. She gasped and spun around, eyes wide and one hand pressed against her chest. 

There could be no question that the man currently in occupation of her vanity chair, sprawled in it with an air as casual as it was deceptive, was one who had followed quite a different path of life than that afforded to the residents of Haven. His untidy hair and the thick scruff on his jaw might not be especially remarkable out in this still-wild corner of Wyoming, but the narrow cut of his coat and the embroidery on the waistcoat beneath it, the silver chain of his pocket-watch and the ostentatious knot of his tie marked him as a man who knew his way around a gambling table for both good or ill and could likely acquit himself equally well in both scenarios. A man who dealt with the hardships of life by shooting rather than working his way out of them—as the gleaming six-shooter currently pointed straight at Emma would most certainly attest. 

Emma forced herself to breathe, slow and steady. Her heart was pounding. The man greeted her with a brusque nod, and cocked the hammer on his revolver. 

“Don’t let me interrupt you, love,” he drawled, in an accent that suited this town less even than his clothes or his gun. “By all means, keep going.” 

Emma swallowed hard and with trembling fingers undid the remainder of her buttons. Her blouse hung open to reveal the hooks of the corset underneath. 

The man gave his gun a menacing wave. “All the way now, there’s a good lass.” 

She shrugged off the blouse and let it fall to the floor. 

“And the skirt.” 

She unhooked her grey wool skirt and released it to pool around her ankles. 

His voice rasped. “Take down your hair.” 

Emma shivered.

Three pins and two combs held her hair in place. She removed them, dropped them into the pile of clothing at her feet; the bun tumbled down and over her shoulder. 

“Shake your head.” 

She did, vigorously. The bun unraveled further and strands of silky blonde fell across her face. 

He swallowed audibly. “Now the rest.” 

Emma hesitated, fingers hovering over the hooks on her corset. She wore nothing beneath it but a combination made of thin cotton lawn.

The man raised his gun and growled, “All of it.” 

She tossed her head back, jutted her chin out high in defiance. Her belly churned with a dark thrill of anticipation as she unhooked the corset and flung it away. He chuckled, low and rough. Emma fumbled with the buttons on her combination as he uncocked his gun and set it aside, then undid the belt designed to hold it. His eyes locked with hers as he stood, pale blue and profoundly tired, eyes that had seen far too much. 

She finished with the buttons but left the combination on, parted to reveal a thin strip of pale skin. Her heart thundered as he approached, her breaths short and heaving. He swaggered up and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell the dust and sweat on him, so close she had to tilt her head again to see his face. His hand slipped beneath her shift to curl around her waist, fingers rough on her soft skin. 

“I—” Emma gasped as he pulled her closer, flush against him. His voice was a rumbling growl in her ear.

“You what, love?” 

“I was expecting you yesterday!” she snapped, and then she kissed him. 

-

“Gold is dead.” 

Emma’s head shot up from where it had been resting on the bare and hairy chest of Killian Jones. The most notorious outlaw in three states, or so the Wanted posters would have folks believe. Train robber, bank robber, high-stakes gambler—but only the trains and banks and gambling dens controlled by one particular man. A man in whose side Killian Jones had been an exceptionally troublesome thorn for near to six years. A man whose wife Jones stood accused of murdering. A man who was, it seemed, now dead himself. 

Emma stared down at his face, at the sharp definition of his cheekbones and lines of strain around his eyes. Such heavy burdens he’d been carrying for as long as she’d known him, but now, despite the exhaustion writ plain on his face he seemed lighter. Relieved, in some intangible way. 

“He is?” she gasped. 

“Aye.” Killian nodded, grimly satisfied. “Shot him right through the place where his heart should be. That’s why I was late.” 

“Oh, Killian.” It wouldn’t do to feel happy about a murder, even that of a wicked man, but Emma found that she too was grimly satisfied. “You did it.” 

“Aye, it’s done. And now I have a price on my head so high I’d turn myself in if I could, and special team of bounty hunters hired by Gold’s son to bring me to him, dead or alive.” 

“Oh.” Her fingers flexed on his chest and his tightened where they curled around her hip. “What—what will you do?” 

“Leave the country.” He spoke as though the answer were obvious, and Emma supposed it was. “I’ve no choice.” 

“Will you go back to England?” 

“No. There’s nothing left for me there.” He paused and his hand slid up her back to tangle absently in her hair. “I was thinking South America. Argentina.” 

“Argentina?” 

“Aye. Land’s selling down there for cheap and I’ve enough saved to buy myself a ranch. I’ve never tried ranching before so it’ll probably be an utter failure, but the idea’s crawled into my head and made itself a nest there, so I think that’s what I’ll do.” 

Emma slipped from his arms and out of bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she took her house dress from the wardrobe and wrapped it around herself, as she tied it at her waist with jerky movements. 

“You must be hungry,” she said. 

“I could eat.” 

“Stew?” 

“Perfect.” 

In the front room Emma piled wood on the embers in her stove and coaxed a fire to life beneath the pot of stew she’d left on the hob. She swept the ashes from the fireplace, arranged the logs and the kindling, then struck a flint to light it. She could hear Killian in the bedroom washing and dressing in the spare clothes she kept on hand for him, and by the time she sensed his presence behind her the larger logs were catching nicely and the hearty aroma of stew had begun to waft in from the stove. 

“Shouldn’t be too long before it’s ready,” she told him without turning around. “There’s cornbread too. It’s a few days old, but—” 

“Emma.” 

“—it should still be good if you dunk it in the stew.” 

“Emma, love.” Killian’s voice was soft, full of the tenderness he showed only to her. “Talk to me.” 

“About what?” 

It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known this day would come, this one or another very like it. She understood the dangers of the life he lived, out on the edges of society, pursued by an influential man with a terrible grudge, and she’d done all she could to make her peace with it. Killian could have died any number of times in the three years of their acquaintance; she had always been aware that every time she bid him farewell might be the last. 

And now she knew for certain that it would be. Nothing had changed. 

She heard him pull out one of the dining chairs and sit down in it, and though she kept her back to him she he knew he would be leaning his elbow on the table and running a hand over his face. She could picture the gesture in her mind’s eye with perfect clarity, so often had she seen him do it before, and her heart hurt because she knew he only did this when he was deeply troubled. 

“Emma, you know—you know why I spent so long trying to kill Gold,” he said roughly. 

“For Milah.” Her voice hardly broke on the name. “To avenge her.” 

“Yes. That bastard hunted her like an animal, shot her right in front of me then framed me for the crime, and all because she couldn’t bear to spend another moment as his wife. He took her life rather than allow her to live it free from him, because he couldn’t countenance her finding happiness with another man. And I swore to her as she lay dying that I would make him pay for that.” 

“Because you love her.” 

“I did.” In the silence of the cabin, she could hear the rasp of his scruff against his palm. “I did.” 

Emma had been watching the fire, now dancing merrily in the hearth, and it took a beat or two for his words to register. When they did her heart gave a shuddering thump and she spun round to gape at him. “Did?” she repeated. 

Killian’s lip quirked and humour flared briefly in his eyes before they became solemn again, and heartrendingly soft. “It’s a funny thing, revenge,” he remarked. “It begins as a simple quest for justice but so easily descends into obsession—almost before a man knows what’s come over him, it’s all he’s got left to live for. That’s how it was for me, for years. Until…” 

He trailed off and Emma found she was holding her breath. “Until?” she prompted.

He looked up at her. “Until I met you.” 

She inhaled sharply as their eyes met, his own warm and such a brilliant blue, full of an emotion to which she didn’t dare give a name. “I kept after Gold because of my vow to Milah, yes, but also because I had to, because it was him or me. His life or mine. When that bullet pierced his chest and I saw him fall, I realised that it wasn’t about Milah for me anymore and it hadn’t been, not for a long time. I was fighting for my life, my right to have it and to live it in peace. That’s all I want, just peace and a simple life. And you.” 

“Me?” gasped Emma, blankly and ungrammatically, as she attempted to grasp what he was saying. 

Amusement coloured the tenderness on his face, alongside a hint of exasperation. “Don’t you know, Emma?” he asked with a shake of his head. “Why do you think I kept coming back here?”

She offered a weak smile and an abashed shrug. “My cornbread?” she ventured, and he laughed. 

“I don’t know how to tell you this, darling, but your cornbread is dry. Try again.” 

Emma elected to ignore this ungentlemanly slur on her culinary skills. “Well… I suppose the town is quite secluded, good for hiding out,” she observed.  

“It is that. But that isn’t the reason, love.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“You know it isn’t.” Killian stood and moved towards her, slowly as if she were a baby faun he was apt to startle, or possibly a sleeping mountain lion. “It’s you, Emma Swan,” he said softly. “You are what I will always come back for. You are the reason my soul is hale and unconsumed by hatred. Because it wasn’t revenge I was after, in the end. It was the future I wanted with you.” 

Tears clogged Emma’s throat and pressed insistently behind her eyes. “Killian,” she choked, “I—”

“Shh.” He closed what small distance remained between them and folded her in an embrace to which she clung tightly, face pressed against his shoulder so the soft flannel of his shirt might absorb her tears. “Emma, I know I have next to nothing to offer you.” Killian stroked her hair soothingly as he spoke. “A tenuous existence in an unfamiliar country, backbreaking work that likely won’t pay off, a struggle for everything we have. I shouldn’t ask this of you. I should have the decency to walk away and let you find happiness with a better man than me.” She could hear tears in his voice now, and when she looked up she saw them glistening in his eyes. “But I won’t,” he continued gruffly. “I can’t, because I am a selfish bastard and I love you. I love you so much, Emma.” His voice broke. “So much. And if you could see your way clear to coming to Argentina with me, I would spend every day I have left on this earth working to make you happy.” 

A rush of joy filled Emma Swan then, joy such as she had never known before. Her tears fell freely and unheeded as she tightened her hold on the man she loved and pressed her forehead to his own. In that stance they remained for some considerable time, until Emma became aware that the silence had drawn out far too long and she must speak. There were words he needed to hear from her, crucial words, and yet Miss Emma Swan, despite being quite a competent schoolteacher in all respects including her vocabulary, had always found words failed her when in the grip of strong emotion. 

“Did I ever tell you I grew up on a ranch?” she blurted, then shook her head. That wasn’t what she’d wished to say.

Killian’s brow wrinkled. “You’ve mentioned it.” 

“My daddy’s place out near Casper,” Emma pressed on. “A thousand acres of cattle, mostly, and some horses.” 

“It sounds nice.” 

“It was.” She snuffled and shifted until her head was resting on his shoulder and she felt cradled in his arms. This wasn’t the speech she’d planned but now she found herself determined to give it. “I was his only child, his only family after my mama died, and he reared me all my life to take over from him,” she continued. “But then when I was nineteen he got married again, and had a son. And suddenly ranching was ‘no job for a woman,’ or so he said, and I should look into teaching instead. Or better still get married and become some man’s pretty possession. Preferably the son of a neighbouring rancher, ‘for the future of our family’s land and legacy’.” She paused, remembering, and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “I told him to go fuck himself.” 

Killian’s laugh rumbled through the both of them. “That’s my tough lass,” he said, with a pride in his voice that warmed her, and made her desperate. 

“But you do know what I’m saying, don’t you Killian?” she persisted. “You hear what I’m telling you?” 

“What I hear is that in addition to being beautiful and brilliant and tough as old boots, you also know how to run a ranch. Which would be bloody useful I must admit, as I haven’t got the first faint clue where to start. Is that what you wanted me to understand?” 

She nodded in relief. “That’s it.”

He brushed the hair back from her face with fingers gentle as the wing of a butterfly. “And is that... all you have to say?”

She felt caught in his eyes, and like to drown in them. “There may be one more thing.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It’s that I—I—” Emma drew a steadying breath. “I love you too, Killian, and of course I’ll go to Argentina with you.” A smile broke across his face, that rare and brilliant smile of his that set her heart to soaring and broke the dam that held her words in check. “I’d go anywhere with you,” she declared, laughing as he squeezed her tight. “To the moon. To hell itself, and then back out again.” 

“Let’s hope that won’t be necessary.” 

He leaned down to her and she swayed up to him and their lips met in a kiss that sang of love and of hope and of a most solemn promise, if something of a dramatic one. He dipped her back and kissed her until she was dizzy and overcome with laughter, and then swung her up again and into a dance. 

Emma put her head on his shoulder and leaned into him as they danced to music they alone could hear, all around the cabin with the aroma of stew in the air and hope for the future in their hearts. 

-

The disappearance of Miss Emma Swan, schoolteacher and respected resident, shook the town of Haven, Wyoming as nothing had before. Even the escape and subsequent stampede down Main Street of Mr Murchison’s pigs had caused less consternation, since, as the residents all agreed, for that at least there was an explanation. A rusty gate hinge, investigation later revealed, had been the culprit behind the Spectacular Pig Hullabaloo of 1893, whereas Miss Swan had simply vanished, with no explanation given or obvious method of egress. She owned no horse and had not boarded the stage; no one matching her description had been observed at the train station in Casper or anywhere else that a woman alone on foot might reasonably have been expected to turn up. She had taken nothing with her save some clothes and a few books and left nothing behind but a brief letter hastily scrawled on a scrap of paper—her resignation from her position as schoolteacher effective immediately, and a recommendation for her replacement. 

Haven residents were thoroughly baffled, and for many months afterwards the Fantastical Vanishing of Miss Emma Swan was the number one topic of conversation amongst them. Theories were dismantled nearly as quickly as they had been constructed, replaced by newer and ever more fanciful speculations, and each resident had his or her own pet notion as to how and why the trick was done. Rarely had they felt so stimulated or enjoyed themselves so thoroughly, however time, as it inevitably does, soon began quite noticeably to pass, and the town’s attention moved on to other happenings. For although new events in such a quiet place may never again be as deliciously sensational as the mystery of the vanished schoolmarm, they do possess the not insignificant advantage of being new.  

And thus Emma Swan passed into Haven legend. 

Some years later, on the eve of her wedding, Miss Mary Margaret Blanchard—soon to be Mrs David Nolan—sat at the very table where Miss Swan’s letter had been left and composed a letter of her own, to an old friend she’d first met at the State Normal School of Colorado. In her letter Miss Blanchard informed her friend of the imminent blessed day and thanked her for the recommendation that had not only brought Miss Blanchard many years of enjoyable work as schoolteacher to Haven’s children but also led, in that roundabout way life sometimes takes, to her current state of blissful happiness. 

This letter travelled by mail coach from the Haven general store—where Miss Blanchard posted it to the care of a P.O. Box in San Francisco—to the main post office in Casper. From there it went via train to Cheyenne, where it was loaded onto the mail car of the Union Pacific Railway and thence made its journey to the west coast. In San Francisco its fortunes underwent a curious change, for it was redirected by a clerk there, in accordance with instructions, and placed back on the Union Pacific, headed this time for Denver. From Denver it voyaged onwards to Kansas City, then Chicago, and finally to New York, where it abandoned train travel forever in favour of a steam ship bound for Buenos Aires. 

Upon arrival at port it was placed in the charge of a courier who carried it along with a scant handful of others over the rough roads of the Argentinian coast to Puerto Santa Cruz and then inland, where it finally, many months after its departure, came to rest at a tiny, dusty outpost in southern Patagonia. And it was from this inauspicious locale that the letter was collected, at long last, by its intended recipient—a woman none of the residents of Haven nor indeed the erstwhile Miss Blanchard herself would be likely to recognise as Emma Swan. 

The clothes she wore were utilitarian in design and plain in colour, liberally coated in fine brown dust. Her pale hair hung loose and wavy down her back, and her face beneath her wide-brimmed hat was tanned and marked around the eyes with the fine lines characteristic of those who spend a good deal of time squinting into bright sunlight. But these were superficial changes. The woman who collected the well-travelled letter and rode with it back to her ranch, who sat at the table in her kitchen and read it with a wide smile and sincere pleasure at the news from her friend—this woman was happy, as Emma Swan had surely never been. It was a happiness born of deep contentment and the satisfaction of a life lived on one’s own terms. And it was the happiness of a woman who is loved. 

Emma was reading the letter a fourth time when the sound of boots on the porch alerted her to Killian’s arrival; she looked up just as he came through the door with a smile on her lips the like of which neither Mrs Nolan nor any other in Haven could ever imagine her smiling. 

Killian hung his hat on a hook and met its brilliance with a smile of his own. “What are you thinking about, love, that has you so radiant?” he inquired. 

“A letter from Mary Margaret.” Emma indicated the sheet of paper in her hand. “She’s getting married. Is married now, I suppose.” 

“To a fellow worthy of her, I hope?” 

“A rancher, but not one of the arrogant ones,” Emma replied. “I think he is. Worthy of her, I mean. I think they’ll be happy.” 

“That’s good news indeed.” 

“It is.” She set the letter aside and went over to him, tucked her head beneath his chin as he enfolded her in his arms. “But that’s not why I’m radiant, as you say.” 

“I say it only because it’s true, darling.” 

“It’s because I’m happy,” said Emma softly. She nuzzled her nose against his neck; he smelled of sweat and dust and horses. “For Mary Margaret, of course, but also for me. It struck me just now, reading her letter, how happy I am. I’m so happy, Killian.” 

His arms around her tightened and she felt him stroke her hair, and when he spoke his voice was gruff. “No regrets then, about abandoning everything you’ve ever known to live out your days on the lam with me?” 

“Nope.” Emma pulled back just enough to look up at him, to caress his cheek with her fingertips and press her forehead to his. “No regrets at all.” 

-

Historical Note: Emma in this fic is based loosely on a woman named Etta Place. Very little is known about her, but she is thought to have been romantically involved with Harry Longabaugh, a.k.a. the Sundance Kid, and to have accompanied him and Butch Cassidy to South America. However, verifiable details about her are scarce—even her real name is uncertain—and only one photograph of her remains. Some believe she may have been a prostitute but in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid the writer chose to make her a teacher instead, and honestly I have always found that such a compelling tale. A “proper” schoolteacher having a secret affair with an outlaw, then running away with him to another continent? The romance, am I right? 

And thus the inspiration for this story. 

-

@ohmightydevviepuu​ @thisonesatellite​ @katie-dub​ @kmomof4​ @killianjones-twopointoh​ @mariakov81​ @stahlop​ @optomisticgirl​ @spartanguard​ @shireness-says​ @snowbellewells​ 

#cs fic #cs ff #cs ff au #cshistfic #captain swan #western au #historical fic #historical romance #Emma is a teacher #killian is an outlaw #many many historical details #like so many #i make no apologies for this #it's more of a warning #the outlaw Killian Jones (and the legend Emma Swan) #profdanglaisstuff

[olivish]

Okay so I wrote down some of my thoughts on 3.10... got a bit long... below the fold

I loved this episode :) It should have been two episodes, but I won't dwell on this season's pacing problems because I don't see the point. Instead, I’m going to flesh out what I think are three big-picture wins from the finale. (Sorry to those of you I've already messaged about all this - it might be redundant at this point but I really wanted to just put it all down in one place!) So -

We got some train politics that make sense! Kicking off the episode, the show paints a plausible picture: Melanie the technocrat has the support of first class and the professional guilds, including ag-sec, which was looted by the tailie army after the rebellion. Layton the man-of-the-people retains the tail and the third-class passengers who suffered under the old system. Wilford the legend has a cult following that will stick with him no matter what. From what I can tell, the breakdown is something like 35% Melanie, 20% Wilford, 45% Layton. So, the only way for Melanie to have a majority over Layton is for her to join forces with Wilford, a pact with the devil that she rationalizes by telling herself she can control him (a truly delusional supposition but hey, that's our Mel!). This alliance further entrenches Layton – he is willing to go to war to prevent a return to the old ways. The result is a tense standoff and diplomatic crisis where the stakes are high and both sides have legitimate points of view. Although it was predictable that Melanie and Layton would work together to find common ground, it was still deeply satisfying to watch it play out. Maybe that's because we don't see enough political compromise in real life?

Snowpiercer is a character in the story again! Maybe it was inevitable that when Melanie disappeared, the train itself faded away, too. The real-world constraints of the environment take center stage in this episode as Melanie finally admits to the passengers that the engine is not, in fact, eternal. Alex reiterates this in her heart-wrenching goodbye, “Mom, the train is falling apart. The track is deteriorating.” And Bennett even quantifies the problem: they’ve got a decade, maybe two. This gives me hope that Season 4 will return to the show’s roots of using the train itself to create tension. Can Snowpiercer find its balance as they jump from crisis to crisis? And what will their new, “science and truth”-based society look like? (I have no idea, but I really want to find out!)

A breath of fresh air, literally! I’m glad New Eden is habitable. Although it’s difficult to believe that a temperate zone could exist on a planet that is 100 below everywhere else, Alex offers some degree of explanation - it’s a microclimate due to an “inversion,” or an atmospheric pocket where the temperature is higher at altitude than at sea-level. Putting aside whether this actually makes sense from a climatology point of view, it paints New Eden as a sort of accident of nature – a chance convergence of geography and weather patterns that is as serendipitous as it is delicate. The question remains: can it support life long-term? With no means of escaping the valley if things go wrong, the reward of Layton’s gamble is effectively balanced by the dire circumstance of their being stranded up there.

Some thoughts about the cliff-hanger/ closing sequence:

Can I just say, I'm happy Melanie and Ben got a three-month honeymoon before everything inevitably went to shit? These two had a long road to finding each other again, and Ben finally telling Melanie what he needs from her emotionally felt like a turning point. I only feel sorry for Miles, who has to share the engine with them. Maybe the engineers can set up a system where every time Melanie and Ben get touchy in public, they have to put a dessert token in the "PDA jar". (If nothing else, Miles will be well fed!)

3 months is roughly the amount of time it takes Snowpiercer to complete one revolution. So they're back near the turn to the horn.

I love that at the start of the episode, Josie notes, "Melanie dropped a bomb," and then at the end of the episode, Melanie watches in horror as a literal bomb is dropped in her path. As ever, what goes around comes around on Snowpiercer!

The choice of music is interesting* . Patsy Cline laments, I fall to pieces… each time I see you again. In 3.09 and 3.10, Josie and Ben each talk about losing pieces of themselves. One of the reasons the finale is so satisfying is that it sets all our trauma-shattered characters on a path to being whole. But of course, nothing so good can last. In the final 30 seconds, there's an ominous musical reference to pieces falling apart at a reunion. Hmmm… is anyone thinking what I'm thinking?

If it is Wilford, I don't think we'll get confirmation of that straight away. He might be pulling the strings, but this show is ripe for new characters and Snowpiercer's cut of the cast is notably lean compared to New Eden's. I hope this means Melanie finds survivors.

* Sorry, just one more note about the music - I think the song was changed at the last minute in editing, because the Netflix captions don't read "I fall to pieces...", they read "If I could see the world through the eyes of a child," which is another Patsy Cline song. Although the latter choice might not be as foreshadowing as the former, it would have been a poignant selection given the context and I'm kind of sad they changed it. Melanie might sometimes wish she could be a dreamer, like Alex, but her nature and her responsibilities keep her firmly planted in empirical reality. It's what makes her such a great engineer, but it's also true that her gift comes at a cost.

#snowpiercer #effortpost #snowpiercer spoilers

[discount-romantic]

Imagine Barbatos...

Coming to comfort you.

Tw: mild binge drinking, ch 16 spoilers, implied self harm, reckless reader, this was a vent story

Its two in the morning, and you should be at the house. But you aren't. You're walking through the city without giving a damn where you end up. Satan has taught you enough spells to blast anyone weaker than Belphegor to ashes, and everyone knows it.

Asmo told you about every bar that serves drinks fit for human consumption, and, more importantly, the ones who won't go calling anyone about you. You've hopped in and out of about three, now. Its reckless and makes you feel sick with yourself...but there are no 'healthy' coping mechanisms that can help you deal with the memory of being murdered.

Insomnia, hypersomnia, binging alcohol or  caffeine, even punching brick walls just to feel the pain, to know you're alive. None of it works for long, but what else is there? Normal coping methods have even less of an effect on the trauma now entrenched in your mind, body, heart, soul.

It's been two weeks, and you're still a wreck. Just the sight of the youngest demon brother makes you feel like your throat is closing. The panic is damn near all consuming. Sometimes the house itself- any house- feels too close, too hot. Constricting your freedom and ability to run for your life.

Cobblestones pass underfoot as you enter the shopping district proper. It's still busy, even at an obscene hour. Your feet are tired, your eyes are tired, but you'd rather keep walking than go back 'home.' Go back where Belphegor is in the same building, able to break down your door if he so damn well desires. 

An hour later you've at least stopped to get food and an energy drink. Sure, the alcohol is still kind of in your system...but what does it even matter anymore.

"(Y/N)?" You're about to throw the drink remnants into a bin when a familiar voice startles you badly enough to swing on whoever's behind you.

Barbatos ducks under your fist without looking bothered.

The sight of him somehow makes your eyes hurt worse. "Barbs. Sorry." Your face flushes, you didn't mean to try and hit him...violence is just the easiest answer. Rather, it's the answer that keeps you safe from any question.

He clears his throat, "No apology necessary, you've been through quite an ordeal. Lord Diavolo hoped you would recover on your own."

Lividity shoots through your psyche. "I died. I felt the life leave my body. How the fuck do I 'recover' from that? I cannot cope with the psychological pain I am in." 'Hoped you would recover on your own.' What bullshit. Recovery is more than difficult when the object of the trauma lives in the same house! Sits at the same breakfast table!

"I will not pretend to know your pain, but I will do what I can to help. So, how can I help you in this moment?" Barbatos reaches forward to hold your hands, and you let him. Nobody has had the courage to touch you in two weeks. The brothers all walk on eggshells now, not knowing what to say or do to comfort you, or even how to return to the 'normal' routines you spent months forging with them.

Luke, Simeon, Solomon, and Diavolo are the only ones acting the same. Being around their genuine friendship is refreshing, comforting...but you can't cling to them all the time without arousing suspicion as to your emotional well-being.

And your boyfriend, Barbs...has been worried. But his duties keep him away the grand majority of your waking hours, so there's no reassurance to be found in him, usually.

Barbatos' gloves are soft on your dry hands. The feeling holds the attention of your wandering mind.

"I'm so tired. But I can't go back to the House." You can't meet his eyes, but someone finally wants to help and you wont turn him down entirely. "I feel like I'm suffocating in the House of Lamentation."

Barbatos almost smiles, "I can fix that. Come to the castle, and sleep in my bed. There's more than enough room." 

His eyes are gentle, as they always are when he looks at you. "Would you like a hug?" As soon as you nod Barbatos' arms encase you. It's warm, and he whispers to you, "You'll be in my arms all night. I'll keep you safe."

With that you let yourself be tugged along next to your boyfriend. He supplies you with pajamas, and makes you sit while he scrubs the night's sweat from your face, your arms...anywhere you'll let him.

Then Barbs pulls you into his arms under the blankets, holding you close and whispering that you're safe now.

Finally safe.

#barbatos #obey me barbatos #obey me shall we date #obey me #fluff/comfort

[orime-stories]

Camaraderie

Aurelle Silmontier - Final Fantasy XIV

-

The Warrior of Light presses on into the Churning Mists with Ysayle, Estinien and Alphinaud, and muses on how close the group are getting despite themselves. Full story below the cut. (1075 words) Previous Story / Next Story / Read on AO3 / Tumblr Masterlist

-

“You need not fear us so,” Ysayle spoke gently as the pair picked out ingredients for the night’s stew while the boys fetched the firewood.

Aurelle continued on with her task, swallowing against the dryness that always tightened around her throat when she found herself under scrutiny.

“We stood together against the Gnath god,” Ysayle continued. “Surely that marks us as allies in common cause. And while the dragoon ever thirsts for blood, ‘tis most assuredly not yours he seeks.”

“I know,” Aurelle managed, even as her throat constricted itself further around the words.

“Then what is it that makes you so fearful?”

“Everyone’s watching me,” she whispered in answer, if only to reassure Ysayle that her long entrenched nature was not the woman’s fault by any means. “They’re always watching, and they want things from me, but I… I’m pointed at things, problems to fix, but I’m getting things wrong and people are dying and I never… I never claimed to know how to…”

“The world holds you aloft as their champion. Many would call this an honour.”

Aurelle’s gaze sank as she winced under the chastisement.

“But I see the crushing weight that has been placed on your shoulders with it. The burden of it. The necessity of walking a path none have walked before, even should it mean clawing the trail open with your own bloodied hands. The many people following your banner, whose survival depends on the choices you make… I understand some measure of these things, for my own part. And so I do not envy you your loftier station.”

Aurelle’s eyes tentatively lifted again to meet Ysayle’s soft pity as she registered that she was not being scolded after all. A loveliness had been shining out from the woman more and more now that the group were bickering less, having grown accustomed to each other’s presence. Passably pleasant chatter filling the space around the campfire, in contrast to the glowering and sniping they had started out with.

“I won’t always be so quiet,” she offered. “It just takes time.”

“I welcome your company on the road regardless,” Ysayle assured, and then returned her attention to camp preparations as Alphinaud and Estinien returned with their gathered bounty.

Estinien was another one showing more sides of himself as their adventures together continued, especially in the curious bond he seemed to be forming with Alphinaud. Looking at the pair of them in conversation, one might be forgiven for assuming Estinien to be an exasperated older brother trying to wrangle a younger sibling into line. An image that was certainly helping to soften her own perception of the abrasive man. Alphinaud seemed to be doing well under the man’s fussing too, taking his words to heart, grateful perhaps for the guidance in this time where he was so deeply contemplating the kind of man he himself wanted to be in the wake of the disaster at Ul’dah. He was still so young, after all. A fact that Aurelle often found herself forgetting with the assurance he carried himself with and his ability to hold his own in any conversation.

When Estinien had scolded him for so thoughtlessly sending her to her potential death in that battle with Ravana, Alphinaud had adjusted his behaviour immediately, taking more opportunities to check in with her, expressing his appreciation and apologising each time he needed to ask more of her. That he was asking at all was a pleasant change in and of itself, in truth. And she found herself feeling an odd kind of familial pride when she looked back at how far he’d come from the arrogant boy assuming he knew all she had first met, and how hard he was trying out here in the wilderness despite everything he had endured, determined to help the new home that had adopted them. She half wished Estinien would give the world at large a talking to on her behalf, if it would yield such potent results. Scold them all into loosening off on the cacophony of assumptions and expectations always choking around her, and to fully appreciate the toll of what they so often asked of her.

And on this particular night of pleasant chatter, the group drifted towards sharing stories of home. Alphinaud telling tales of his grandfather and of growing up in Sharlayan, of the man that had so inspired him and the place he hoped to see again one day. Ysayle speaking of her own village, now lost to the snows that had closed in around Coerthas when the red moon had fallen. And of how Hraesvelgr had saved her life when he had found her alone and lost in the cold. They were even drawing stories out of Estinien, though he was always quick to make his limits and boundaries clear. Offering snatches of his own childhood in Ferndale, the final village Nidhogg had razed during his last campaign of terror and that Estinien was sole survivor of, losing parents and a younger brother and uncountable others. And Aurelle found herself beginning to understand more of the single-minded obsessions of those present — Estinien’s to see the great wyrm’s life ended, and Ysayle’s devotion to dragonkind.

The flames that had engulfed the Twelveswood in the wake of the calamity had been a traumatic enough experience, even with her house and immediate family emerging from it all alive and whole. She could barely imagine the pain her two wounded companions must be carrying with them. Even Alphinaud, whose home yet stood but remained so far out of reach.

Listening to their tales, she had found stories of Gridania forming in her mind and dancing on the tip of her tongue, a genuine desire to actively engage in the conversation swirling so easily around her. But it did not feel right to share her happy endings here, to intrude upon the grief and regret the others were sharing and bolstering each other through.

So she held her tongue, and she listened. Trying to convey with her face what her words would never do justice. Her sympathies for their many losses. Her appreciation for their increasingly welcome company. Her growing certainty that this ragtag group might just be able to achieve something here in this place where no man had walked for centuries. Here at the fringes of the very heavens, where man and dragon had once stood united.

And might soon again, should all go well.

#final fantasy xiv #heavensward #ysayle dangoulain #estinien wyrmblood #alphinaud leveilleur #oc: aurelle silmontier #orime's stories

[pizzazz-party]

Part 3: Ring’s Biology and Possible Origins

In the world of Ring Fit Adventure, there exist monsters, ghosts, cyborgs, robots, gods, a curious array of animals, human beings of enormous size…and Ring. Ring—a creature so entirely unique, he fails to fit into any of those categories.

Everyone has their own idea as to what Ring is, and as to where he came from. So here’s mine.

(Spoilers for the end of the main storyline. Various postgame dialogue spoilers beyond that.)

If we’re going to talk about where Ring might have come from, it makes sense to look for clues in what he’s presented as. Physically, and subtextually. So let’s take it from the top.

Stepping away from the confines of the game, Ring’s shape is based off a Pilates ring, a piece of exercise equipment who’s history dates back to nearly a century ago, as of the game’s release. It was invented to help rehabilitate wounded soldiers through physical therapy following World War I. Design-wise, though…Ring’s face draws heavy inspiration from depictions of Ancient Inca art. Specifically, he looks a lot like the figure atop this ceremonial tumi knife.

The prominent nose. The familiar jawline. A headpiece bisecting the brow. The blue commonly set into the eyes of the art. The ears—heavy earrings were unisex among the Inca nobility, resulting in long, stretched lobes. But most importantly—the statue is gold. And in the ancient Inca Empire, gold was revered as being sweat from the very sun itself. Metal nowadays is often associated with machinery, with invention. But raw metal has always been a fruit of the earth, as natural as any wood or leaf. The Inca took it a step further. They thought of gold as mystical.

Likewise, Ring’s design is meant to invoke these traits. Despite being made of metal, Ring visibly lacks gears or wiring or nozzles or hatches. His mouth may have a hinge and his flaming little hair piece may spin around. But in terms of “build,” Ring (the magical metal donut) has more in common with Pinocchio (the magical wooden puppet), than with an actual machine.

On a surface level, Ring really is best described as a “magical creature.” He’s obviously not made of flesh and blood. But he’s alive in a way that the closest comparison—sentient robots—just aren’t. Ring sweats, breathes, sleeps, eats. He ages. His metal face flexes and grows and shrinks as he speaks. Ring wields exercise energy, much in the same way that humans do, and more. He crafts, enhances, and stores things with it. Its raw essence flows through him like a fiery kind of lifeblood.

Ring’s not a human or a cyborg. He’s not a monster or a ghost or an animal. He’s made of metal like a robot, and that’s about it. And while Ring may (presumably) have the long life of a god, he lacks everything else. Right down to the proper shape and abilities. Ring, whatever the specifics, is a “magical creature” that exists in a class of his own. We never ever meet another being quite like him.

…At least. That’s what I used to think.

———

The thing with Ring is, it’s hard to tell whether he’s actively omitting facts or just forgetting them. He’s got a terrible memory. But he also as good as lies to us in the beginning, pretending as though Dragaux’s just some enemy to him.

So here is what I understand.

We meet Ring, and he and Dragaux are positioned as these perfect opposites, as perfect enemies. Ring builds others up, and Dragaux tears them down. Dragaux is flashy, an eyesore, the purple to Ring’s yellow, and yet he steals the stage every time. He’s a jerk, but he’s Ring’s jerk. We show up to every boss fight because we are invested in his story, his opinions, his downward spiral.

And that’s our first mistake, really. Because Dragaux’s accent color isn’t purple, it’s pink. Because Dragaux’s opposite isn’t Ring, it’s Trainee. And Ring’s real foil was never Dragaux, but Dark Influence itself.

———

Have you ever thought about how strange it is, this particular parasite. From a narrative standpoint, I mean. As much as it’s referred to as “Dragaux’s influence” or “Dragaux’s aura,” Dragaux is only its latest meal, not its source. And that meal has been lasting anywhere from decades to a century, at least. Dark Influence is, by nature, negativity incarnate. It could be as old as the hills. Older, maybe.

Dark Influence is voiceless, faceless. A parasite composed of pure negative exercise energy, it can theoretically exist on its own. But it thrives best when entrenched in the heart of a host. Its host—a physical creature that, once ensnared, starts exhibiting traits that belong to the Influence: like great swathes of flame in its signature color.

Does that not sound. Familiar.

Because Ring and Dark Influence? Fulfill eerily similar roles, in regards to their syncing partners.

Both of them harness their partner’s exercise energy. Both of them augment the abilities of their partner. But unlike Ring, who’s always actively helping Trainee in precise and creative ways…Dark Influence doesn’t care. I’m not sure if it can give a care about anything that doesn’t include “amassing power” and “spreading itself.” (And I think those are just instincts. I’ve yet to see proof that this thing has anything approaching a complex personality.) But whether or not it cares about Dragaux, it’s fully anchored within his body. It shares its strength with him because there’s nowhere else to store it.

Because unlike Ring, Dark Influence lacks a physical body of its own.

And that thought. How it “lacks” a body. Just sort of stuck around in my head. Because it’s funny, isn’t it? That Ring speaks and this thing doesn’t. That Dark Influence, this wildfire, is so strong and potent and infectious while Ring’s inner flames are so small and orderly and self-contained.

And then I started thinking about coins. Isn’t it funny, that they’re shaped like little rings. Isn’t it funny, that they sometimes just. Spring out of the ground.

How does a free-to-play gym turn a profit. How do all of these gyms, turn a profit.

If NPCs canonically collect coins on their travels just like Trainee… If someone isn’t just throwing away buckets of money into the mountains and rivers and skies… if golden little rings can just spring into existence alongside someone as they’re jogging…

What if it’s not a quirk. What if it’s not just a game mechanic.

What if everything—the coins, the EXP medals, the treasure chests with Ring’s face on them—what if they’re all byproducts that occur when a physical place is saturated with high amounts of foot traffic. With high amounts of exercise energy. People in Ring Fit Adventure constantly expel this stuff as they jog or work out or engage in fit battles. They don’t really direct it anywhere after its release. It just kind of gets absorbed into their surroundings. I always assumed that it helped make the land so lush and pretty, but what if it doesn’t stop there. What if, when large quantities of it gather, exercise energy naturally builds up and condenses itself into permanent, physical solids.

And I thought of Ring. Of the coins that are shaped like him. Of the medals that eerily share his face. Of the treasure chests especially, the way they scream and run and flex as though alive. (And I thought about Dragaux, who’s canonically brilliant, and how even his best statues fell short of capturing that same quality of animation.) I thought about how all three of these byproducts are golden. Just. Like. Ring.

Something like “dark” influence should have a natural counterpart. It’s a tale as old as time; perfect opposites, perfect enemies. But we never meet the Influence’s other half, do we? Just Ring.

Ring, our buddy, our pal. Ring, who’s a person in every way that matters, with hope and dreams and insecurities. Ring the “magical creature,” who, despite all of this, has more in common with Dark Influence than with any other creature in all of Ring Fit.

———

So here is the heart of my crazy theory.

Ring isn’t “partially” made of energy. He’s all energy, all the way down to his every last piece, whether it flows like a river or shines like a stone. And it could be that a long, long time ago, he existed much in the same way as the Dark Influence we fight in the game: as an unrestrained and formless entity. Not as a ring, but as a bright and brainless swathe of flames.

(Because if Dark Influence is insecurity and self-destruction and decay, balance would dictate its opposite be positivity, self-improvement, rebirth. A dangerously Bright Influence.)

And maybe it was just a natural process that got triggered when the conditions were right. But either way, somehow, someway, this particular Influence reincarnated into a shape that could better interact with people, without overwhelming or eating them. And that most natural shape condensed itself into Ring.

A baby Ring.

———

Even if you don’t buy into the existence of “Bright” Influence, Ring fully being some sort of life energy incarnate answers too many questions. It would explain why Ring is so good at manipulating exercise energy; it’s the most natural extension of himself. It would explain why Ring has the unique ability to sync with people; it’s how he originally used to exist, as life energy drifting in and out of living creatures. It would explain the aging. It would explain why Ring never mentions a parent or creator watching over him during childhood; because he came into this world totally alone. (Baby Ring belonged to no one before he belonged with Baby Drags.)

But Ring’s theoretical past life answers a few more questions. It could explain parts of Ring’s personality, his interests. (His dream of spreading positivity across the land.) It explains why there aren’t ten million Rings floating about, when coins and medals and chests are so relatively common. (Because there’s a key ingredient missing). It actually explains his five special powers. (Because I’m betting Influences have human-related origins. It’s either that, or “live humans being consumed” was part of the “perfect” conditions surrounding Ring’s birth. Which, cringe.) But more than anything, it addresses the sheer power imbalance happening between Ring and Dark Influence right now.

Dark Influence lacks boundaries and spreads itself like a virus, thoughtless and instinctive. Ring’s natural weapon against this thing should be to “infect” it right back. (I would expect some sort of sick light show to dance across Dragaux’s body during battle; yellow flames squaring off against purple.) But it doesn’t work that way. Ring the Person no longer works this way.

If Dark influence is a forest fire, then Ring is a fireplace set behind glass. At their core, these two are both energy. But the modes in which they exist divide them into separate skill sets entirely.

Dark Influence is wildfire of brute strength. It’s got range—in the spatial sense. It can spread to as many secondary hosts as Dragaux directs it to, so long as it’s fed well enough to reach for them. Compared to Ring’s measly one syncing partner, Dark Influence can sink itself into whole regions, can simultaneously feed off of so many people. It doesn’t have outright mind control powers; it’s more subtle than that. But its presence as negativity incarnate naturally works like a magnet to draw out the worst in people. There is nothing it enhances in a person that wasn’t already there, no matter how small the weakness. Coupled with the rush of power it imparts in its vessels, it makes bad decisions feel right. Even to good people. It’s, quite simply, a bad influence. (And then it consumes them.)

But other than that, Dark Influence doesn’t really do much.

Our bud Ring may only be able to light one house at a time, so to speak. But as contained as he is—Ring’s powers are more varied and nuanced, because Ring is more varied and nuanced. He’s always actively (and thoughtfully) applying energy to construct, convert, and amplify. For all its fearsome strength, the only thing Dark Influence can seemingly do on purpose, is feed.

———

(If Ring was once a being like Dark Influence, then that solves the final mystery of synchronization. If Dark Influence “infects” its host by sinking into the body, then Ring syncs with a partner by “planting” a piece of his essence inside them. This is why Trainee’s energy signature changes to mimic Ring’s; because she now carries a part of him in her beating heart. This is why Ring can freely access her energy; because this makes her a part of him now, too.)

———

So. Let’s pretend I’m not crazy. Say that all of these little details I’ve collected were intentionally laid out by the game developers. Say I’m correct, and that Ring really is, essentially, the child of Dark Influence’s greatest natural enemy.

The real question is: how self aware is Ring about all of this.

Because unfortunately, Ring not knowing his own backstory could be pretty on-brand for him. I love Ring, but from his point of view, it really could be that he just appeared one day, somehow—as an entirely clean slate. “Dark” or “bright,” these entities are brainless. Literally. No body means no brain. They can’t store memories, so they don’t have memories. Just energy.

Ring must know that he’s made from energy, too. He might even think of himself as one very lucky byproduct. But if this is really what Ring used to be (if there’s even a shadow of a chance that his predecessor used to eat people), then he might not know the full extent of his own story.

And maybe that’s for the best. I can’t imagine him choosing to get close to people otherwise. He loves people, cares so much about every single silly soul that he meets.

This would hurt him.

———

Whatever Ring’s origins may be, whatever he might have once been (if he’s ever been anything else at all)… I do know one thing. And it’s that I prefer him prefer him just the way he is.

Weird comments about my sweat aside, I wouldn’t have him any other way.

———

TL;DR: Our bud Ring has more in common with Dark Influence than with any other creature in all of Ring Fit.

If a flaming entity of negative energy can exist, then why not one made of positive energy? If positive energy condenses into permanent solids naturally and often…if Ring is made of positive energy…if Ring has more in common with Dark Influence than with anything else in this game…

Who’s to say that Ring himself, wasn’t once a flaming yellow mass of energy.

———

This marks the end. I could run wild with all the implications this theory leaves in its wake. But I’ve made my point. I’ve found every answer I was looking for. And they may not have been the answers I was expecting (or even wanting), but they’ve satisfied me all the same.

I’m done. Believe what you will.

Thanks for reading, and for sticking with me all this way. It’s been real.

-

-

-

-

-

-

DISCLAIMER: My name is Pizzazz and I take this game way too seriously. This is all for fun! At the time of this post, I am on World 36 of the post game. I feel pretty strongly about my conclusions, but I’ll go back and edit this if/when/where applicable.

-

-

-

RING ANALYSIS

Part 1: Synchronizing—How it Works and What It Tells Us About Ring

Part 2: Ring’s Powers—And What They All Have In Common

Part 3: Ring’s Biology and Possible Origins

#read at your own risk #ring fit adventure #pizzazz post #ring #Nintendo #dark influence #pizzazz meta #part 3

[avatar-news]

The Fire Nation Awaits 🌺 An in-depth look at the ever-elusive islands in the era of Korra and when we will finally pay them a visit

[Artwork by Avatar News; not official.]

Note: This article was published before the official announcement of Avatar Studios at the Paramount+ investor day.

“Water. Earth. Fire. Air. Long ago, the four nations lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Fire Nation attacked.” We’ve all heard those words a million times. The four elements, and the power to control them bestowed by four subspecies of giant lion-turtles, are at the very heart of the world of Avatar. The balance between them was once upon a time broken by one of the four, the Fire Nation, forming the main conflict of Avatar: The Last Airbender. For much of Aang and the Gaang’s quest at the close of the Hundred Year War, the Fire Nation was a forbidden, far-away location, until the curtain was finally drawn back in the aptly-named Book Three: Fire when our heroes entered the inferno, undercover behind enemy lines. A dramatic tropical destination! New outfits! Culture shock! Needless to say, it was a big deal.

→ 🌺 The big reveal of the Fire Nation in Book Three: Fire had its own marketing push, matching public anticipation.

When the Hundred Year War ended, the newly-instated Fire Lord Zuko dedicated his life to righting the wrongs of his forefathers and working with Avatar Aang to bring the Fire Nation back into the fold under peace. By the time Aang’s successor debuted as the next Avatar in the titular The Legend of Korra, Zuko had abdicated the five-pointed crown and his daughter, Fire Lord Izumi, took the stage leading a reformed, rebalanced Fire Nation.

There was no more war, no more enemy lines, yet the Fire Nation became more distant and mysterious than ever before.

Korra’s close encounters with the land of fire

To this day, Korra has never visited the Fire Nation, nor has it been seen at all, nor do we know anything about it in her era. In fact, practically the only thing we do know is that its leader is a noninterventionist, which conveniently gets it out of the way of making an appearance in Korra’s journey as the Avatar so far.

The closest we have come to seeing the Fire Nation in The Legend of Korra was in Book Two: Spirits, Chapter Five: Peacekeepers. In the midst of the Water Tribe Civil War, Korra sets out across the sea to get help from the royal family, however, she is intercepted by a dark spirit and never makes it to her destination. In the next episode, she washes up on a secret island home to the Bhanti sages, which probably technically counts as Fire Nation territory, but as we know from The Shadow of Kyoshi (more on that later), this faction predates the Four Nations themselves so it doesn’t really count.

→ 🌺 Korra washes up on the beach of Bhanti Island in Book Two: Spirits, Chapter Six: The Sting.

No, as cool as that location and the events of the Beginnings two-parter that happened there were, it wasn’t the main draw of seeing the Fire Nation that we’re still waiting for: seeing how the Fire Nation, which was already industrializing in Aang’s time, changed over the decades, compared to places like Republic City and Ba Sing Se; meeting new characters; visiting new and familiar locations; worldbuilding both new and expanding on what we already learned.

After this aborted tease in Book Two, we never come close to the island country again (at least not with this Avatar and in her era; yes I’m leading up to something...). Instead, the focus turns strongly to the Earth Kingdom in the third and fourth Books, and beyond.

Keep in mind that The Legend of Korra aired for about two-and-a-half years total from 2012 to 2014. Since then, the story has continued in comics. The comics era has lasted from 2015 to present-- seven years to the animated series’ two. In that time, there have only been two comic trilogies due to various production troubles, and neither have touched the Fire Nation. Instead, they directly continue the Earth Kingdom-focused threads started in Books Three and Four of Korra, both originally airing in 2014. Or, in perspective: we had a focus on Republic City in 2012, the Water Tribes in 2013, and the Earth Kingdom from 2014-2021.

Will we finally see the Fire Nation in the next graphic novel trilogy?

This question comes to mind every time new Korra content is supposed to roll around, and the powers that be know it-- it’s a pretty obvious gap in the world of Avatar right now. This franchise is iconically built around four elements and the Four Nations based on them, so one of them being MIA is quite glaring, and for that reason everyone is understandably always asking about it.

The most concrete confirmation we’ve gotten was this AMA answer from franchise co-creator Michael Dante DiMartino in 2016, two years after the show ended and a year before the first graphic novels did come out:

“Yes, hopefully in the [Korra] comics, we’ll have a chance to go to the Fire Nation and see how it has changed since A:TLA.”

Since then, as previously discussed, two comic trilogies have come and gone, obviously not getting closer to the Fire Nation-- and I would actually argue entrenching themselves further away from it.

I want to make it clear that I’m against fan entitlement. Creatives telling the tales they want to in service of the story and the artform is how the industry should run. I’m just hoping to offer some perspective on how we got to where we are almost a decade into the era of Korra and the metatextual pacing of the franchise itself.

Either way, the next Korra comic trilogy has been official confirmed by the editor for Avatar at Dark Horse Comics in this informal statement on Twitter:

We’re not ready to announce any details yet, but we are working on the next trilogy. I really appreciate your patience and hope it’s worth the wait! ✨

There’s currently some kind of holdup for which we really have zero context or information, and we of course have no idea what this next trilogy will be about. (I do speculate a bit on what it could be a few paragraphs down.)

But, like what turned out to be Ruins of the Empire before it, I faithfully made a mockup graphic for my post announcing the confirmation of the next The Legend of Korra graphic novel trilogy. And like before, I chose to completely speculatively and blindly make it Fire Nation-y, as if the next comic could/would(/should?) feature it. This is mainly because I feel like that’s what most people’s eyes would be caught by and thus result in the most successful post (hey, at least I’m honest), but also because it’s just fun.

Here are both images, from 2018 and 2020 respectively:

→ 🌺 Speculative edits I made for my posts on the announcement of previous and upcoming Korra comics before we knew anything about them.

In both cases, the response was huge, and people were super excited about the prospect of Fire Nation content just from my quick speculative mockups. I am of course hoping that the new artwork I made of the Krew for this post will have a similar effect (it’s the first time I just straight-up drew it instead of editing existing images) but again it’s really mostly just for fun.

Anyway, until the next trilogy is properly revealed, we’ll just have to wait and see.

However, that’s not the only place this could happen.

Are they saving the Fire Nation for an animated movie?

With Avatar’s HUGE success on Netflix last year, interest in the franchise rocketed to an all-time high. The streaming wars have begun, and Avatar’s owner and its parent company, Nickelodeon and ViacomCBS, have finally started to notice.

ViacomCBS is launching Paramount+ on March 4th, a relaunch of its existing streaming service CBS All Access. Paramount+ is meant to be a big expansion and refocus to compete with the big hitters: Disney+, HBO Max, and, yes, Netflix. (There’s quite an entanglement there, with Netflix being the home of Avatar’s big year and the upcoming live-action series.)

One of the keys to a successful streamer today is high-profile originals to drive new subscribers. ViacomCBS knows this and they know Avatar has just become among the highest profiles a property can have, breaking records and going toe-to-toe with other big-hitting sci-fi/fantasy/genre franchises. This knowledge goes right to the top of the food chain: the CEO of ViacomCBS mentioned Avatar by name when discussing potential originals for Paramount+.

I have previously discussed how The Search relates to this. The Search was the second ATLA comic trilogy, focused on the search for Zuko’s mother in the thick of the Fire Nation, and if you didn’t know, it was originally pitched by Bryke as an animated movie after the original series ended.

I just want to be clear that what I’m discussing here is purely speculative, but this is the only other piece of the Avatar franchise that we know was optioned for animation besides the shows themselves. It’s possible they would be interested in going back to this idea as a Paramount+ original (and it would certainly be popular among audiences), but it is of course set during the era of Aang and thus covers both a time period we’ve already seen, and also by nature of already being released as comics, events we’ve already seen too.

However, the whole point of this article is that there is one major, huge thing we haven’t seen yet, with massive anticipation building for a decade behind it: the Fire Nation in the era of Korra. So, again, this is just speculation, but it’s also possible that they could return to the very smallest seed of the original idea for a The Search movie, and do a Fire Nation-focused Korra movie now.

→ 🌺 ATLA’s Fire Nation-focused The Search was originally pitched as an animated movie.

You can skip this next part if you don’t want to see me embarrassingly promote my fan idea 😆 but this is where the artwork I made for this article comes into play. The general idea for it, and the reason I tried to replicate the show’s style as much as possible, is that it’s what a Fire Nation-focused movie could maybe look like. Something as standalone and unrelated to Earth Kingdom drama as possible, with fresh new looks for the Krew to get people excited for something fresh and new! I really feel like the Avatar franchise has so much potential for expanded content like this, that’s why I have high hopes that Paramount+ will make the most out of it! You can see the individual characters’ artwork in larger size here. Ok I’m done back to business.

If the idea of a movie seems too impossible to you, we can also take a deeper look at Bryke’s involvement with upcoming comics instead.

After Korra ended, they officially each went their separate ways. They vaguely consulted on Avatar stuff, and Mike of course wrote the Korra comics, but Bryan was planning on writing and drawing his own original non-Avatar comic series and Mike was releasing his own non-Avatar novels. This all appears to have come to a stop when they signed on to showrun the live-action retelling of ATLA at Netflix, officially reuniting the partnership and committing to Avatar again in a big way. Of course, they ended up leaving that project over creative differences, but it did result in a big, lasting change: this time they remained official creative partners and have indicated they’re still working on Avatar now, together. This is a far cry from the official breakup after Korra, so it begs the question what exactly they’re working on. I of course have my fanciful predictions of a sprawling expansion of the Avatar franchise at Paramount+, but what if it’s actually a combination of the ingredients from before the live-action series...

More speculation, but what if the reason for all the mystery behind the next Korra comics is because they will be made by Bryke, with the two of them co-writing and Bryan doing the art for the first time? If that’s the case, they could want to make them a bigger deal than the other Avatar comics have been so far, and maybe that’s why it’s taking so long to iron everything out, have a more significant story, have more of a marketing push, etc. If they’ve been saving the Fire Nation for something big, this could be it.

I personally think this is less likely than a show or movies or something, but it is possible. Anything is possible right now since we know so little about the large-scale direction of the franchise moving forward, just that it’s gonna get big.

⛰️🌋 The Fire Nation in the era of Avatar Kyoshi

We’re not done! Despite everything I’ve written here, believe it or not, the Fire Nation was actually the star of the show in the last year.

With the debut of the Avatar franchise’s first original novels, Kyoshi made a huge splash (in a way only she can). If you haven’t read them yet, you NEED to-- they’re some of the best Avatar content EVER. The Rise of Kyoshi hit shelves in 2019 and The Shadow of Kyoshi followed in 2020. The latter is of particular interest here, because it was almost entirely set in the Fire Nation and featured practically everything and anything you could want from a visit to elusive islands. Though obviously set in a historical period some four hundred years before Aang’s time, Kyoshi’s sojourn in the Fire Nation gave us a huge amount of new information, a depth and breadth of worldbuilding, culture, and character we’ve never really seen in Avatar before. It truly makes the most of the literary medium, so hats off to author F. C. Yee for the passion and effort he put in.

In The Shadow of Kyoshi, we learn about the era of the previous fire Avatar before Roku, Avatar Szeto. Through Kyoshi and her own Team Avatar, we learn about the different clans and islands of the Fire Nation, as they experience the fraught early reign of Fire Lord Zoryu and the conflict between the Keohso and Saowon clans, culminating in the Camellia-Peony War. We get a multitude of fleshed-out perspectives from the upper crust to the flea-bitten underworld, matching the heights of the worldbuilding quality of Republic City. It’s such cool, intricate stuff, and really shows Avatar’s potential (and that’s all just the worldbuilding-- the character work is also top-notch).

That’s not the only place the Fire Nation has shone recently. One of Insight Editions’ awesome scrapbooks, Legacy of the Fire Nation, gave us a tour through the royal family’s history, including never-before-seen looks at young Iroh and Ozai and much, much more.

All this just goes to show that the Fire Nation has been a hot ticket throughout the ages and there’s one conspicuous gap in that history: the era of Avatar Korra. With so much recent expansion and development of the Fire Nation in our world, it would be perfect to see the culmination of it all in the current time period in the world of Avatar too.

If this made you excited for the potential of what the Avatar franchise could look like in the coming years, same boat!

The next concrete date where something could be announced is February 24th, when ViacomCBS will host their investor day and present their streaming strategy, including Paramount+ originals. There’s no guarantee Avatar is mentioned, but I’m keeping a hopeful eye out.

As for comics, Dark Horse’s schedule marches to its own beat, so there’s no way to know when the next drop of information is coming our way.

Could this finally be the comics that take us to the Fire Nation, or could the much-anticipated visit be in another medium like animation? Stay tuned-- as always I’ll post as soon as we learn anything new!

#korra comics #paramount plus #the fire nation awaits

[hsmtmts-justsomewriting]

Not to be your stereotypical second semester senior but EJ Caswell is a bit too busy to be thinking about sports metaphors...

(Alternative title- overcommitted..sounds like a Caswell)

Senior year was insanely busy. Being so overwhelmed EJ had been slowing down over the last couple weeks, but he was brushing it off just fine.

EJ has arrived late that day, which was unusual in itself, as he prides himself on being on time. Holding a half eaten packet of Oreos he shuffled into the rehearsal room slumping on the bleachers away from his chattering cast mates.

“EJ honey great you could join us, you’d think a senior couldn’t get lost in the halls!” Miss Jenn giggled at her own joke as the cast were suddenly alerted to the older boys presence. EJ absentmindedly nodded and grabbed out his script.

“Yeah...sorry..um...where are we at?”

“Page 63” “Cool... thanks”

Flipping to that part in the script, he looks up to take in the scene. Kourtney, Gina, Seb and Carlos are clearly half way through blocking a castle scene- Carlos complaining his arms are tired from ‘staying in character’, Kourtney and Seb working out where they are going to come in from and how to negotiate Sebs big box costume (although it’s proving very difficult considering the rehearsal room is about a quarter of the size of the stage) and Gina is animatedly discussing the scene choices with Miss Jenn.

Within an instant, EJ is startled from the scene as Natalie is beside him rambling something about ‘needing a fill in for cogworth’ ‘went home sick’. Sauntering up with his script, EJ’s vision goes spotted as he gets up from the bleachers. But as soon as it comes it’s gone.

He just needs to get through this rehearsal, then he can; go home, finish his debate speech, go over the plays for Friday’s waterpolo match, study for tomorrow’s maths assessment, start his exam notes, memorise his lines, work on his college applications, and maybe even get some sleep.

Joining the cast he tries to hide in the back corner. Following the basic blocking directions seemed harder than usual, his head had began to pound and fatigue hit him like a wave.

However he continued on, sluggish but present helping them to finish blocking the scene.

Walking back to his place on the bleachers EJ trips over his own feet. Catching himself before a big splat on the floor he is able to avoid the attention of his cast mates. Well mostly.

“EJ are you ok?”

EJ didn’t need to look up to know that his cousin had definitely seen his little trip.

“Yep fine”

“Ok try again but this time make it the truth”

Ashlyn was caring but firm, she definitely wasn’t going to brush it off. EJ could feel his facade fading under her concerned gaze. His voice drops low.

“I-i just don’t know... Ash, I’m trying-“

“ON TO THE NEXT SCENE Gaston and Le Fou, I need you boys to start down stage right”

EJ got up slowly, subtly steadying himself against a chair not to lose balance.

“Nevermind it’ll be fine”

EJ walks off, with that any vulnerablity on face vanishing, leaving Ashlyn’s stomach to churn in a pool of worry.

Being an after school rehearsal, most of the cast heads off after they start rehearsing the next scene as it only has Gaston and Le Fou. Leaving the rehearsal room with just Miss Jenn, Big Red, EJ, Ashlyn and Gina (the latter two who were waiting on the senior for a ride home).

EJ and Big Red slowly work through the dialogue, the scene is about as smooth as a clunky old railway track. After running it twice EJ feels like his words are melding into one. But pushing through, based off his poor entrenched habits, EJ made it through another run through of the scene.

“Um can we take a five?”

Miss Jenn looks at the senior perplexed, he’s never asked for a five. Ever.

“EJ honey is everything ok?”

“Hm, yeah just need a sec”

EJ’s exhausation catches up with him, the light seems to highlight the bags under his eyes. He drops onto the bleachers, resting his head in his hands he closes his eyes for a second.

“Miss Jenn, EJ doesn’t look so good maybe you guys should wrap this up for today-”

“Ash I’m-“

“No. You look exhausted! You barely have the energy to stand up for 10 minutes”

Ashlyn moves to grab him his drink bottle but runs into his iced coffee and Oreo packet first. She flinches. Her cousin never drinks coffee unless he purely needs the caffeine.

EJ freezes she moment he realises she’s seen it.

“When was the last time you slept?!”

All eyes are on him.

“James” His head snapped up. But he couldn’t look his cousin in the eye. Because then she’d see his eyes are glassy with unshed tears. His overwhelmed thoughts race through his mind.

“Ok I think we’ll pick this up next rehearsal, please be safe getting home and get some rest”

The four students start to pack up their bags, Ashlyn asking her boyfriend to give them all a lift. Turning to her cousin, helps him finish packing his stuff.

“You can stay in the guest room, we’re having lasagna tonight”

EJ too tired to protest, walks past his Jeep in the parking lot to get in a smaller orange bug car. He’ll have to come back for it tomorrow because there’s no way he could drive safely in his tired state.

The car ride home was eerily quiet, Ashlyn day in the passenger seat next to Big Red. He drove to Ashlyn’s house like a routine he knew by heart. Gina keep flicking worried glances at EJ but the senior didn’t even notice, having closed his eyes and resting against the window the moment he entered the car.

“Thanks for the ride Biggie”

Gina gentley nudged EJ and his eyes were open in an instant.

“Thanks Red” He mumbled as he got out of the car.

“No worries, take care guys”

As the orange car was disappearing into the distance, Ashlyn unlocked the front door. Gina and EJ follow her into the house.

“James lets go the living room”

EJ follows Ashlyn to the couch, and Gina continues past to grab a drink of water from the kitchen.

“What’s going on?”

Ashlyn puts a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes it, grounding him and reminding him that she’s here to listen. He looks at the faded colourful rug and his words begin to vomit out softly.

“I’m just trying to get it all done ...and um.. for weeks I just never seem to have enough time, and I still have to do my study notes and finish my assessment and college apps tonight... but I’m just so tired...”

His voice cracks and the wall behind his eyes begin to break.

“I have to stay up so late, to get everything I have to all done...and then polo practice at the crack of dawn... i don’t know.. I just can’t... let anyone down..”

Ashlyn pulls EJ in tightly. His body wracked with sobs, her heart breaks as she hasn’t seen him like this in a long time. Gina initially freezes entering the room just as the senior had begun to cry but soon shifts over beside them engulfing them both in a hug.

Grabbing some tissues and a sip of water he’s able to stop his crying but his tense shoulders give away his overwhelmed mind.

“it will be ok, we’ll work this out. Everyone else will understand if everything is not done right now. You’ve got to take better care of yourself, what matters is if you are ok”

Gina nods in agreeance with Ashlyn as she comforts EJ.

“But for now you need to take a break, just have a quick nap before dinner in the guest room-“

“But I have to-“

“No James you need a rest, all this stuff can come later”

He sluggishly gets up heading for the guest room mumbling a “thanks Ash” as he retreats to his long awaited rest.

After he closes the door, Ashlyn lets out the breath she had been holding. She was convinced they would have to put up more of a fight to get him to go to sleep, but the fact that they didn’t was almost more concerning.

“He did seem a little bit off earlier in the week but yeah I had no idea that this was under the surface”

Gina says to break the silence created by her and Ashlyn’s shocked worry.

“Yeah he’s always been pretty good at bottling this stuff up, definitely a Caswell skill”

Ashlyn starts to pick up the tissues heading to the bin in the kitchen. Both the girls enter the kitchen to finish heating up the leftover lasagna they made yesterday.

While cooking the veggies the girls trade stories of earlier in the day and discuss the spotting of Miss Jenn and Mr Mazzarra at Sliced on Valentine’s. Just as they’re plating up, EJ reappears. He looks somewhat disheveled, wearing sweats and his usually spiked hair is messy like a 2012 Bieber hairstyle. His contacts are long gone being traded for his wide framed glasses.

“Feeling any better?”

Bringing the plates to the table they all sit in their usual seats.

“Yeah a little...thanks guys this looks amazing”

As if on cue his stomach grumbles with excitement and they dig into the food. The three teens continue to tell stories of their day. Although exhausted, a goofy smile makes its way onto EJ’s face while telling the girls about his classmate in English that tried justify his argument quoting spark notes, instead of the actual book.

Once they’re finished, EJ stacks and clears away the plates. Grabbing her laptop, Ashlyn creates a new copy of one of her old timetables modified with all EJ’s stuff. After cleaning the dishes, EJ plops down beside her and together they start to work out.

Half an hour and a warm hot chocolate later, they manage to finish a schedule that looks like it fit a bit of time for everything while keeping a heathy amount of rest time.

“Thank you so much Ash... I really appreciate it”

Ashlyn smiles back at her cousin.

“Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself, or at least you’ll let me know if you need help”

EJ engulfs her in a hug.

“Yeah I will, thanks”

As they both move to join Gina in the lounge room, EJ grabs his laptop to start completing his speech. Flopping down onto the couch, the tv is turned onto a Brooklyn Nine Nine halloween heist episode.

Taking EJs laptop at 9:30, the older boy fell asleep within an instant. Keeping to his promise, he followed the schedule he made with Ashlyn (most of the time at least) and finally learnt how to ask for help when he realised he couldn’t do it alone. And when he asked for help, Ashlyn and Gina were always there with an extra mug of hot chocolate.

Thanks for reading! I’m open to write prompts or suggestions

(...Also if anyone can think of any better names for this please comment because all my thoughts were low key trash😂)

#high school musical the musical the series #hsmtmts #hsmtmts season 2 #hsm the series #ej caswell #ashlyn caswell #gina porter