#the last time i stared at the wall in delight and despair over a fictional romance was clara and 12 i think. which was a while ago | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dexiao · 3 years

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Craving (m)

Synopsis: Jeno goes dumb for Jaemin’s cock for a full-scheduled day.

Pairing: Lee Jeno x Na Jaemin

Words: ~2.3k

Genre: boyfriends!au, smut

Warnings: oral sex, himbofication, himbo!Jeno, slightly softdom!Jaemin

A/N: So, I thought this wouldn’t take SO LONG, but seems like translation isn’t such an exciting activity as I thought. Let me know if you find any mistakes :)

This is a work of fiction. It does not portray the real personality of the members.

He hadn’t been awake for even half an hour, but Jeno already knew he was screwed. He and his bandmates would have a day packed with comeback-related activities, with no forecast on going back to the dorm in less the sixteen hours.

To increase his misfortune, he wasn’t the only one who chose to wake up earlier and have a greater breakfast than the usual – after all, their others meals would be just snacks, coffee drinks and fast food in waiting rooms or in their van.

Jeno was sitting on the kitchen table still in his pajamas, lazily chewing on a fruit when is boyfriend entered the room, carrying on his face a sleepy expression that matched his own. The younger opened a coy smile as he walked towards Jeno.

By that time, Jaemin was even more attractive than his normal self. His platinum hair blended with the shape of his perfect features, making him look as if he was made of timid rays of sunlight. Just like Jeno, he was still wearing his sleeping clothes – a pair of gray sweatpants hanging onto his hips for dear life, and nothing on his upper body. The imprints of the bedsheets were still visible on his pale skin under the artificial light that engulfed the kitchen.

Jeno returned the sweet smile, shifting his head up to keep gazing at his boyfriend’s face when as he got closer and closer. He closed his eyes waiting for a chaste kiss, inhaling Jaemin’s soft and comfy scent. Besides his expectations, he only felt a warm touch on his right shoulder, making him open his eyes again and release a frustrated whine.

Before his gaze reached his own shoulder, Jeno noticed how Jaemin didn’t even lean in give him a kiss, although his smile was wider and expressed some delight. His hips pended forward and the blond softly took his boyfriend’s jaw between his long fingers, slightly pressing his face and brushing Jeno’s lower lip with his thumb.

The older’s dark brown eyes screamed in confusion. Did he misunderstand anything between him and Jaemin?

Finally, Jaemin leaned and left a peck on Jeno’s lips, standing still for a few seconds.

“Good morning, my love” he murmured as he got away. The large smile went back to his toothpaste flavored lips.

The brown haired boy whispered a quiet “good morning” as well, the mess in his mind showing through his face and voice. He stared at the kitchen wall, trying to reason. On the background, he could listen to Jaemin searching for something on the fridge and coming back to the table. The silence was usual between them, it was ok to not be talking.

It was just when Jaemin stood right in front of him drinking water, letting a fillet of the cold liquid escape his lips, that Jeno got to understand what was going on. His dark eyes followed the string of water that ran across the pale body, his gaze tracing the same path through Jaemin’s naked torso until his erection – which moments ago was pressed against Jeno’s shoulder.

Realizing the shiver that crossed the younger’s body and the involuntary contraction of his ab muscles, Jeno was struck by a mix of feelings. First of all, he began salivating a lot, his mouth watered at the sight. Second, he shivered; his body unwillingly imitated Jaemin’s. Finally, his face heated up, the warm sensation spreading quickly and flowing in his body – especially to his cock.

Over the day, there were various moments where Jaemin noticed (curious, to say the least) his boyfriend carrying a blank expression on his face. Jeno stared at nowhere, his eyesight out of focus and mouth hanging open, as if his jaw weighted a thousand pounds. It seemed to Jaemin that a string of saliva was about to drain from his mouth at any moment.

At first, he thought that maybe Jeno only hadn’t got enough sleep the last night. However, older was already used to having packed schedules and usually wasn’t insecure about his body and image. So Jaemin decided it was best to check on him.

Jeno remained distracted while Jaemin got closer, hence he slightly trembled when Jaemin spoke, holding his breath without realizing.

“Jeno, is everything ok?” He stopped in front of his boyfriend just after the photographer announced they were having a short break. Jaemin brushed the older’s cheek with his right hand. Jeno murmured an assent, nodding positively. “Really? You seem to be spacing out a lot today…”

“Really baby, I’m just distracted, that’s all” he reassured, leaving a soft kiss on Jaemin’s hand before taking it in his hand and intertwining fingers.

Far from being convinced, Jaemin kept an eye on the dark haired boy for the rest of the day. He wanted to make sure that Jeno would eat well and take any chance he could to rest. Strangely, the younger realized an atypical pattern in his boyfriend’s behavior.

During the breaks in which they could eat, Jeno went for a pack of instant noodles and tanghulu (basically, a candy that consists on fruits on a stick, covered in hard caramel), besides the popsicles and candies that he devoured as time passed by – it’s pertinent to emphasize that the last ones were eaten in a much superior quantity than his usual. Jeno used to keep his diet under pretty tight limits, aiming to maintain his body in the physical shape the company imposed and that he even liked to sustain. Nevertheless, in this specific occasion, it was like he needed to have something inside his mouth all of the time, with no intervals.

To the other members, the only impression Jeno showed was tiredness; they read the constant brush of hands on his thighs and legs being squeezed against one another simply as attempts to stay awake.

Except, of course, for the moment when Jaemin perceived him dazing off and stole the lollipop Jeno had in his mouth. Imediately, Jeno felt his ears becoming hot. He swallowed dry, incapable of maintaining eye contact with the boy who just took his candy.

By the end of the day, when all schedules were over and the boys could head back home, Renjun suggested that they had dinner in a new restaurant near the dorm they shared. Jaemin instantly refused, claiming that Jeno was too tired to not go straight to their apartment. The very boy was totally out of the discussion, just watching the view through the van window.

What was left of the ride to the apartment went on in silence. Jaemin spared the older from having to be in a conversation.

Closing the door before himself after both boys had entered the apartment, Jaemin watched as his boyfriend jumped onto the red couch that sat on their living room. The blond boy released a nasal laugh, dropping his backpack on the floor and unbuckling his belt at the same time as he walked towards Jeno. The older sat facing Jaemin, his dark eyes gazing his boyfriend with a pleading shadow.

“You’ve been craving for my dick the whole day, haven’t you?” Jaemin teased, pulling his penis out of his pants and starting to make back and forth movements with his closed fist.

Jeno, now more than any other moment of the day, felt as if he was about to explode, to involuntarily burst into flames. His mouth already hung open again, without his permission or acknowledgment. The dark brown eyes wandered through his boyfriend’s body – wobbling especially between Jaemin’s face and the hardening cock in his hand. Jeno could feel the drool pooling under his tongue, the situation in his own pants becoming more bothersome as his cock twitched inside the layers of cloth.

The older nodded and murmured affirmatively, sticking his tongue out and low while he stared at Jaemin in a silent beg for help. The sight of Jeno sitting there so needy brought the younger’s nerves to the skin, to the point he could feel his boner grow harder by the second the brown haired male kept staring at him.

Releasing a sigh, the blond crossed the distance between the two and lightly rubbed the tip of his cock against his boyfriend’s hot and wet tongue.

In a silent agreement that came since the beginning of the relationship of theirs, Jeno waited for the younger’s avail before engulfing the tumescent member inside his mouth. Jaemin took advantage of that, dragging the head of his penis all along Jeno’s lips in a slow circular move that got both of them sighing.

Incapable of fully tasting the blond, Jeno felt the despair grow inside himself and tears suddenly filled his eyes. His hand reached out to touch Jaemin’s thigh, hoping that the younger would have pity on him. There was already a wet spot on the couch because of the drool that drained from Jeno’s mouth.

Pleased at the older’s reaction, Jaemin realized how Jeno could barely think due to how badly he craved to have the other’s cock in his mouth. Jaemin nodded.

“You can suck it, baby.”

Instantly, Jeno closed his lips around Jaemin’s cock, finally able to taste the blond on his tongue. He felt desperate for this moment since early that morning, so he took everything deep inside his mouth. The head of the blond’s cock hit the back of Jeno’s throat, moaning in an involuntary reaction. He closed his eyes in order to totally concentrate on the cock laying on his tongue, making the tears from moments ago shed down his red flushed cheeks.

Jaemin stared at the scene with full attention, capable to feel his pleasure being built up as Jeno moved his head, mouth and tongue. His fingers automatically rushed to the nape of the older’s neck, intertwining them with the brown hair and using his hand to help with Jeno’s pace.

“Is this what you wanted?” Jaemin asked between moans of complete pleasure and encouragements whispered with his raspy low voice. Jeno muttered around his cock without letting it out his mouth, the sole vibration bringing another moan to Jaemin’s lips.

Now with open eyes, Jeno attentively gazed at his boyfriend’s delighted expression, speeding up the pace of his back and forth motions, sucking the cock vigorously and hollowing his cheeks. Going as deep as he could, Jeno choked against the blond’s groin, so he had to back off in order to regain his breath. A string of salive still connected the brown haired boy’s mouth to Jaemin’s penis.

The blond cupped Jeno’s face in his head, giving him a loving stare.

“You’re so beautiful sucking me off like this, you know that?” he stuck his tongue out and pressed it on his boyfriend’s lips before beginning a wet and slow kiss, tasting himself on the older’s mouth.

He got away with the same look in his eyes – full of care and love –, stroking Jeno’s cheeks as he straightened his body.

“Can I fuck your mouth, baby?”

“Please…” Jeno whispered before swallowing the younger’s cock once again.

Holding the sides of the brown haired’s head, the blond began thrusting his hips quickly against Jeno’s face, moaning at each move. Jeno hollowed his cheeks again and pressed his tongue on the cock, making bubbles of drool collect on the sides of his mouth and go down across his pale chin.

When he felt the taste of Jaemin’s pre-cum on his tongue, Jeno tapped lightly on the younger’s arm, getting him to stop moving. The blond’s expression changed to concern as he moved away and faced Jeno.

“Is everything okay? Did I hurt you?” he soon asked, visibly worried that his actions could have hurt Jeno.

“No, no… It’s just… I want…” he hesitated, timid. “I want you to cum here, not on my mouth” he completed, pointing at his own face. Jaemin grew a dirty smile, happy with his boyfriend’s wish.

“So you want me to make a cum mess on that pretty little face, huh?”

Jeno felt as the floor had been removed from under his feet, opening his mouth for Jaemin to start fucking it again. Fitting the member on the older’s mouth, the blond began moaning even louder with the expectation to the next moments.

“Can you imagine it anyone come back and see us like this… see you like this… swallowing my cock like a popsicle…”

The words had effect on both of them, bringing the younger to his climax. Frenetically, he took his cock out of his boyfriend’s mouth and keep stimulating with his hands. The spontaneous contraction of his glutes made him bend his hips furthermore while he came. The strings of semen fell spread on the older’s beautiful skin.

Jeno watched the other’s climax full of joy and triumph, rubbing his left hand on his own clothed bulge. By the time Jaemin’s orgasm was over, the brown haired boy stuck his tongue to collect the cum near his mouth, feeling the taste even stronger. With his index finger, Jeno gathered some semen that dripped from his chin, taking it into his mouth right away. Jaemin contorted his body with such an erotic scene in front of him, while he himself was still out of breath from climaxing.

The blond bent forward to kiss his boyfriend, purposefully spreading the cum even more on Jeno’s face, but invariably smearing it in his own skin. He made the kiss as dirty and vulgar as possible, rubbing their faces on one another.

When he backed away and stood up again, he pulled Jeno with one hand and grabbed his backpack from the floor with the other. Then he faced the brown haired boy again.

“How about we continue this on the bedroom? I want to help you in another way now.”

Jeno smiled as he followed his boyfriend. Even though he remained rock hard, at least now he could think cleared than at any other moment that day, and he knew exactly what to ask Jaemin in the bedroom.

#na jaemin #na jaemin smut #jaemin smut #lee jeno #lee jeno smut #jeno smut #nct jaemin #nct jeno #nomin #nomin smut #nomin fic #jaemin x jeno #nct smut #nct dream smut #nj #lj #masterlist #nct fic

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itslmdee · 4 years

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Fiction: The Imprisonment of Daniel Watkins

In a dystopian future Dan is arrested, not for committing a crime, but for a computer’s prediction that he might somehow cause deaths if left at liberty. mentions of selfharm/suicidal ideation

“Weekly visitation, Watkins.” The masked guard rapped the long stick against the bars.

Dan got to his feet and waited as the guard opened the door. He exited the cell, the guard following, the stick hovering behind his back the whole way there, another two guards armed with Tasers waiting near the end of the corridor.

As Dan approached the guards moved backwards, never letting him get too close. They made their way to the cubicle where a large TV screen was waiting for him. Dan sank into the plastic chair and the image of his wife appeared on the screen.

He longed to touch her, to see her in person even, but even face to face visits were forbidden. Sarah gave him a weak smile but he knew she’d been crying again.

“How are you?” he asked.

She nodded as if to reassure him. “I’m okay.” She was wearing a blouse with long sleeves and he had to take her word for it that she hadn’t reverted to self-harm. “You?”

“Still alive,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. This was existing, not living. “I haven’t heard from Bryan.” His lawyer was usually better at keeping him updated.

“I called him this morning,” Sarah said. “He’s still waiting to hear from the judge.”

Dan’s heart sank. The judge had demanded more evidence and who knew how long that would take.

“I put some more posts on social media,” Sarah said. “Most of them got taken down but a few were allowed to stay up and even the censored ones got some attention before they were deleted. There are people out there on your side, and Tamara’s video channel has gained another thousand followers. No luck with the TV news.”

The television news delighted in their preferred narrative. Daniel Watkins was a potential murderer, not an innocent victim in their broadcasts and his indefinite incarceration a matter of public good.

“What about that journalist, from the Galaxy Eye?” Sarah asked. “Did he write back to you?”

“Yes. Heavily redacted by the time it got to me. He’s interested but he needs to convince the paper to publish my side of the story. He’s been writing short pieces on his blog but his employers aren’t ready to challenge the mainstream story yet. I’ve asked him to send you hard copies of any further letters.”

Sarah nodded. “I love you,” she said, lip trembling. She placed her hand against the screen. Dan hovered his palm near hers.

They talked a little more but soon Dan was told to end the call. It was automatically cut off mid-goodbyes. He got to his feet and began to walk back to his cell. Rubber gloved cleaners moved to scrub the screen and the desk and the chair behind him.

Dan sat on his bunk, head in his hands. He’d been on his way home from the office when two police officers had dragged him off the street and into a cell. He’d been confused, asked for a lawyer, denied one. This was a matter of public protection and the normal rules did not apply.

He’d been allowed to phone Sarah after he said she’d be reporting him missing. She’d promised to get a lawyer but, as she later told him over a video call, they’d been prevented from contacting Dan during the first phase of his interrogation.

He was held for 48 hours initially, was forced to give blood and hand over his social media passwords. He was told an emergency extension had been applied. After 72 hours he was allowed to speak briefly to his lawyer, who was forced to sit across the room from him.

“It’s the new ICM software,” Bryan Fairfax said. “It’s been running models for a while now and making predictions. Enough of those predictions came true, according to police records, that they moved from using it to confirm perpetrators to catching them. We’ve been following the legal implications closely. But last week they moved further, to attempt to use it to prevent crimes. You got flagged as a potential murderer.”

Dan stared at him, mouth agape. “What?” he said at last. This was like that old movie with the ladies who sat in a bath predicting crime.

“It’s classified data but we’re filing motions to try and get access,” Bryan said. “We have no idea what they’re basing their assumptions on. They’re claiming everything from terrorism to domestic violence to spreading disease. They say you’re at risk of killing anywhere from one to one thousand people.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Bryan nodded. “Because this is considered a matter of public protection most of your legal rights have been suspended. My firm is doing its best and I’m looking at every angle here. We’re pretty sure this is a test case to see how the public reacts before they fully roll it out, and we’re going to represent you pro bono here. Rollins senior was a great believer in personal freedoms and the firm is keen to be seen upholding civil liberties.”

It sounded like a wonderful opportunity for Rollins, Rollins, and Fairfax. It was less exciting for Dan, treated like a criminal though he’d done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to court in half an hour,” Bryan said. “I’m certain we won’t get bail though I’ll ask for it. You won’t be allowed to attend. They’re treating you as a high security risk.”

So Dan sat and waited. Bryan returned later that afternoon, standing across the room again.

“They’re keeping you for another two weeks,” he said. “I’m sorry. They’re asking for more data from the ICM. And they don’t want me seeing you again. Video calls only from here on out. I protested it was a violation of privacy but the government minister for health said it was, according to the model, too much of a risk to allow you too near any other person. The guards will be keeping their distance and you’ll only be allowed a half hour outside your cell when no other prisoners are in the yard, and to take a brief shower each morning after everyone else has used the facilities.”

Dan had been in solitary confinement ever since, meals pushed through a slot in his cell, his cell hosed down while he showered, only ever seeing masked guards delivering his food or escorting him to the showers or the yard. Two weeks had been extended to four, then six, then nine.

Sarah was frantic and Dan was terrified for her. She’d come a long way in the last few years, from anxious and suicidal to a self-confident woman who’d left her self-harming behind. He was proud of her and told her how it was her own strength and her renewed faith that had made the difference, though she gave him significant credit. She said he’d given her something to live for, someone who loved her and would never belittle or hurt her. He feared a return to her previous state of mind.

After the six week extension, with Bryan sadly certain that nine would again be extended without major new evidence, Dan was, for the first time in his life, feeling helpless enough to wonder if living was worth the pain. He truly sympathised now with Sarah’s despair.

If he killed himself however it would prove the model right; the media would spin it as him being a murderer, albeit of himself. He was getting desperate but he didn’t want ICM’s programmers and those funding the software to win.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Dan wrote on the old, tiny tablet he was allowed to use in his cell, the only entertainment he had, frowning at the cracked screen as he typed. “I am innocent yet presumed guilty. I have had my civil rights violated because of a computer programme that no-one outside of the ICM thinktank has been allowed to analyse. I am kept isolated from human contact for 23 hours a day, every day. I am not allowed to see my wife aside from on a computer screen. I am not allowed to talk to my lawyer except on a video call which is monitored by the prison and, I believe, the government and representatives of the ICM. My name is Daniel Watkins and I am not a murderer.”

He sent the message out via email to the newspapers, the TV stations, various bloggers and vloggers and anyone else who might listen. The email might get intercepted by the prison or redacted; he’d copied in Sarah and Bryan and vlogger Tamara Maina (who’d been outspoken in his defence, the first social media influencer to take his side) so they could confirm receipt. Even if it went out intact the message went against the media hysteria: “Mass Murderer Prevented”, “Murderer Jailed BEFORE He Could Kill”, “Innocents Saved by ICM software.”

His professional social media accounts had been frozen after the waves of hatred began, accusing him of murder and wishing him dead.

Dan had voted in every election since coming of age. He knew politicians lied and exaggerated and he knew there were some corrupt cops but he’d always had an overall trust in and respect for his government and the law, and had largely believed people were decent and kind at heart. No longer, not after this.

He lay on his bunk and stared at the stone walls, remembering a time he’d been allowed to lie next to Sarah and hold her hand, to kiss her cheek, and to suggest they shower together before a lazy breakfast and a walk by the river before getting Sunday lunch at their favourite pub. He would probably never get to do any of those things ever again.

ICM was the villain here, not Dan. No, ICM was a machine, and those who had programmed it were at fault. But they’d never face justice even if, somehow, Dan could be freed. ICM’s predecessor, the ICA, had wrongly predicted an outbreak of a disease spread by horses. Millions of beautiful animals had been slaughtered, whole stables razed to the ground by public health officials and a panicked public alike. When other scientists proved with their own models and a battery of tests, that the ICA had been utterly wrong, people had shrugged and said better safe than sorry and the ICA had supposedly been retired, only to reemerge as the ICM, based on the same faulty code.

Dan was collateral, like those poor horses, or a test case, as Bryan suggested, for a sinister move to punish people on mere suspicion of future misdeeds. Both. Neither. It was the same result. Dan was a prisoner and would remain so, possibly for the rest of his existence.

#fiction #my fiction #dystopia #short fiction #writing #short stories #danielwatkins #reblog of writingwednesday

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a-stone-world-saga · 4 years

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“Senkuu? Are you busy?”

Senkuu glances up from the melting contents of the test tubes he’s been waiting on. Ruri is standing in the doorway, one hand pushing the curtain aside, half-turned away like she’s unsure of her welcome. Haloed behind her, the moon hangs heavy and full in the clear night sky.

“Nah,” Senkuu shrugs, setting his latest experiment to the side. “I have to wait for these to defrost first, so the next step can wait until morning. Chrome will complain if I start without him anyway.” He considers her for a moment. “It’s late. Did you need something?”

Ruri’s chin dips into the fur of her coat but her gaze remains on him. “I couldn’t sleep,” She admits. “So I thought I would go for a walk.” She pauses, eyes darting away, then back. “Kohaku told me you don’t sleep much, so I wondered if you would like to come with me?”

Senkuu stares at her, more than a little surprised. He must take too long to answer though because she winces like she’s committed some horrible offense, and in the next second, she’s already apologizing, “I’m sorry, I overstepped, I just thought-”

Senkuu snorts loudly, and then has to hide a wince of his own because he always forgets to be a little gentler with Ruri the way everyone else naturally seems to be around her. It’s not really in his nature though, to be careful with people, except maybe Suika, sometimes, since she’s a child. But Ruri... Ruri’s somehow always registered as tough in his mind, when he thinks about her, and so it never occurs to him right away that she’s technically more delicate than all the other people he usually interacts with.

Ah well, too late to take it back now. Onward and through it is. “Don’t be stupid, why would you be overstepping?” He grumbles, pushing to his feet and stretching the stiffness out of his muscles. “Besides, I don’t have anything better to do right now, and I could do with some fresh air. Let me just get my coat.”

He fetches it from the wall hooks in the corner, and then rakes a critical eye over Ruri before grabbing an extra scarf as well.

“Jeez,” He grumbles, sparing a moment to blow out the oil lamp on the table before joining Ruri at the door. She’s still blinking owlishly at him, like she fully expected to be turned down in the first place. Senkuu just sighs and loops the scarf around her neck, knotting it loosely before tucking most of it inside the collar of her coat to make sure it does its job. “I know you’re not sick anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get sick again. It’s almost winter; look after yourself a little better.”

He pulls on his own coat, and when he glances up again, he finds Ruri smiling at him, faint and softly delighted the way her sister’s brashly confident grins almost never are. Sometimes, Senkuu looks at them and can’t believe they’re sisters. But they have the exact same steel in them, straight down to the core; they just show it in different ways.

They don’t need words as they set out for the surrounding woods, although Senkuu does smirk a little when he spots the bridge leading to the village in the distance. “How’d you slip past your guards?”

Ruri tips a secretive smile up at him this time, something just shy of mischievous. “I just told them I had important priestess secrets to impart to the village chief right away because it’s a full moon. Same with the guards on bridge duty.”

Senkuu barks out a laugh. “You’re lucky it’s not Kinrou and Ginrou’s shift at the moment; they’d never believe that anymore.”

“Why do you think I didn’t come earlier?” Ruri retorts lightly, and for a moment, they grin at each other like old friends.

The days have been getting shorter, the nights longer, and the woods feel extra quiet as they walk through them. The trees whisper with the night breeze all around them, and it’s peaceful in a way Senkuu’s modern world probably never could be. He misses it of course, but the longer he lives in this Stone World, the more he thinks that it isn’t so terrible, even if a lot of everyday activities he once took for granted aren’t so convenient anymore.

As if reading his mind, Ruri peers over at him, eyes bright with curiosity as she asks, “Kohaku and Chrome have caught me up on much of your modern world, but was it so very different? Were there still places like this in your time?”

Senkuu makes a considering noise as they step out onto the grassy bank of one of the nearby rivers. The water is clear enough that in some of the calmer parts, he can see right to the bottom like there isn’t even anything there.

“Some,” He says to Ruri. “In some parts of the world, there were still a few pockets of civilization similar to Ishigami Village. And lots of places still had natural wildlife and vegetation, although if you compare it to now, you could say there weren’t nearly as many.” He grimaces a little. “I suppose that’s one issue with civilization advancing as far as it did. The planet can only produce so many resources at a time, and we humans always wanted more. Pollution was a pretty big problem too - our species tend to generate a lot of garbage, and nature had to pay for that.”

They stop right by a mostly smooth spike of rock that juts out over the water, and once Senkuu’s hoisted himself up onto it, he turns to offer his hand to Ruri, who takes it firmly and lets him pull her up as well. They sit right by the edge, legs dangling above the river, and the moon is low enough on the horizon that it almost looks like the water is pouring right into it.

“But you made incredible things too,” Ruri says, sounding a touch wistful, imagining a world that Senkuu knows won’t ever be exactly the way reality was, no matter how well he tries to describe it.

Humanity’s legacy, forgotten by humanity.

“We make incredible things now,” He says out loud, flashing a smirk when Ruri looks up at him again with a startled expression. “We’re all humans, even in this world, and we’re still alive. We’ll go on to make more and more incredible things, and it won’t ever be the same, but it’ll still be pretty exciting.”

Ruri’s eyes widen, and for a long minute, even after Senkuu turns to stare out at the sprawling woods in front of them again, she doesn’t look away. Senkuu lets her at it, content with the silence between them. It’s comfortable, somehow, even when he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She looks away, at last, but she also sways to the side, her shoulder knocking gently against his, and when he glances down, she’s smiling again. Perhaps it’s Senkuu’s own occasionally whimsical imagination, but somehow, Ruri has a way of smiling that radiates a quiet sort of inner joy now that illness and impending death no longer plague her, as if every breath she can freely take these days is something that makes her happy.

“Tell me something,” She says, her words fogging the air at her lips. “About your world. Something I would like.”

Senkuu’s eyebrows go up, and then he chuckles. “What, electricity and ramen not good enough for you?”

When Ruri only peeks up at him, tentatively expectant, Senkuu sighs and hums in thought for a few seconds, casting his mind back to a childhood lived a lifetime ago.

“Libraries,” He finally says.

Ruri blinks. “Libraries? What’s that?”

Senkuu lifts his hands, outlining the vague shape of a square. “I told you guys what books are, right? Stories and information, knowledge, all written down on paper, recorded for everyone to read. Now imagine a whole building of them, lined with shelves, containing hundreds of books, a place where people can go to read them for free. Libraries were a thing all over the world, at least one in every city, dozens in just about every country.” He drops his hands. “The library nearest my house was three floors high. It wasn’t the biggest, but it still had tons of books on every subject you could imagine - fiction and non-fiction, fantasy and adventure stories, physics and chemistry texts, books suitable for everyone from children to adults. It opened early and closed late, so you could spend the whole day in there and read as much as you want. Most of the walls were floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and you know that couch we made for your birthday? Imagine rows of them, right by the windows, where you could sit in the sunlight and just read from morning to night. The third floor had a balcony too, with chairs and tables and umbrellas over them, so you could go outside on nice days and sit in the shade and enjoy a drink and read a book.”

He stops for breath and rubs the back of his neck as he checks Ruri’s expression. “Eh, I don’t know if I’m describing it very well, but I think it would be something you’d like.”

Because Ruri has the same thirst for knowledge as Chrome, as Senkuu himself. It isn’t as science-oriented, but she’s taken to asking him about the Tales. She’s memorized them all from her mother, like every priestess before her, but now that she can, she also wants to know what they mean, and that led to questions about other old-world stories, about fairy tales lost to time, romance novels that are more up Taiju’s alley than Senkuu’s, even old theater plays and the famous names that wrote them. Ruri was the first to ask Senkuu for lessons on the written word. It’s slow-going, but Ruri wants with a passion that Senkuu knows very well, and he thinks that in the modern era, they would’ve had to pry her out of the library every day.

“It sounds wonderful,” Ruri announces, drawing Senkuu’s attention back to the present. She claps her hands together, then spreads them, palms up. Her father despairs of the broken skin and new callouses she sports these days, but she insists on helping with their science, now that she can, and she’s just as stubborn as Kohaku when she wants to be.

“One day, I want us to build our own library, in this world,” She continues, gaze focused on some point beyond her hands, a vision of her own in her mind’s eye. “I want books of our own that we’ll be able to write ourselves, good enough to be passed on to the next generation, and the next, and the next.” She folds her hands together and smiles up at him. Her hair glows almost white in the light of the moon, and the determined steel shining from her face is... incandescently captivating. “I think it would be just as exciting as your science, Senkuu.”

Senku huffs a laugh. “Well, why not? I’m not planning on leaving this world without writing down everything I know, and a library’s not complete without a decent science section.” He leans back and grins up at the sky. “A library’s not any harder than everything else we’ve done so far. And one compiled by all the weirdoes we have in our Kingdom of Science? It’ll be one hell of a library!”

It’s not entirely science-oriented, but Senkuu thinks he could see it anyway. Glass is not an impossibility for them anymore. And if Ryuusui can lead the construction of a ship, then a building wouldn’t be difficult.

A library, three stories high, with floor-to-ceiling windows. Why not?

He pushes off his hands, suddenly itching to do, to make something, to create. He hops off the rock, then turns back to Ruri, and maybe it’s infectious because she looks just as alive as he feels in this moment. When he holds out his hand, she grasps it, but she also half-leaps off the rock after him, and her laughter spills out into the night - silver-bright and free - when he spins her once before setting her on the ground again.

“Tell me a story, Senkuu,” Ruri requests, cheeks flushed, a little breathless, and so, so alive.

What can humanity not do, so long as they live on?

As they begin making their way back towards the village, she slips one hand around the inside of his elbow, fingers light with unspoken question.

Senkuu bends his arm and tucks her hand more securely into the crook of his elbow. Ruri takes a half-step closer, settling into his side as her other hand comes up to join the first.

"Ever heard of old man Homer’s Iliad?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“It’s a long one.”

“I have time. Tell it to me, Senkuu. I want to hear it all.”

#dr stone #senri #ishigami senkuu #ruri #cross writes #oneshot

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nofreelunchquotes · 4 years

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W.I. Whiting, Hardscrabble: or, Ballad of the Free Lunch Bar, 1891

“This world is like a crowded car; Some favored few, perhaps, Can get a seat, but most of us Must hang on by the straps.” — Manhattan Idylls.

We may live without poetry, music, and art, We may live without conscience, and live without heart, We may live without friends, we may live without books, But civilized man cannot live without cooks! — Lucile.

Give ear to my story, for now do I find A saying of Sancho’s in memory’s keeping: “May blessings attend him, the best of mankind, Who was first the inventor of sleeping.”

Tho’ my saying, like Sancho’s, may never endure, Yet in loud, thankful strains I will sing it afar; Every blessing be his — he deserves them, I’m sure — The saint who invented the free lunching bar.

When the glory of earth’s great inventions grow dim, To the weary and worn it will shine a fixed star, This genuine blessing that cometh from him — The saint who invented the free lunching bar.

O Holy St. Peter! when this life-saving mortal, Or sooner or later, leave this world of sin, And seeks for admission at thy sacred portal, Suspend all your questions and pass him straight in.

When everything’s “busted” on which we have “banked,” And to our own down-sinking there cometh no rally, When our “ready” hath been by the pool sellers “yanked,” Who nightly do business in Beelzebub alley.

When “bucking de tiger” with clock automatic, Whose fast-holding hands scarcely err in their mission, Our ventures are “knocked” by its movements erratic. If “puts,” “calls,” or “straddles” straight away to perdition.

When “long” of the market, if slaughtering bruin Doth level our castle with speedy disaster, If “short,” when the bovine doth show by our ruin No sweat pity lives with the merciless master.

When those who loud boasted of friendship’s strong tie, Declaring our welfare was big at their heart, But who only had on our pocket an eye, And played in their dealings a shysterer’s part.

When the specie, it once was our pleasure to share, Like friends in rejoicing, has wandered afar, When smote by the cyclone of want, and despair, How sweet to our vision the free lunching bar.

When pursued by that vixen, a stranger to pity, Whose only delight is to torture and tear, An oasis remains in the big bustling city. It blooms, where a free lunch the stranded may share.

When struck with religion, the truant wife goes To howl hallelujah at camp of salvation, The breadwinner wanders where garish light throws A glory around this bright spot of creation.

The knife that hath pierced the strong breath of the eaters, When tramps in their greed drove it in to the handle, The food where have circuss’d the flies and mosquitoes, Looks tempting when viewed o’er by gaslight or candle.

Ye writers of fiction, why journey afar To people your pages in distant locality? Like sere leaves of autumn, here characters are, In motley profusion, and somber reality.

When “pulpit drum” beating, the preacher no more Exhorts fallen man to forsake his wild ways, When loose from the moorings that held him of yore, To the sweet saving grace of a free lunch he strays.

When the doctor hath seen all his patients laid low, Who his medicine took as the label directed, Ten to one you will find him augmenting the “show” Where the “lay out” of poultry is quickly dissected.

When lawyers no more are expounding the laws, Some bogus to assist, others guarding from harm, Nor judges “stand in” with a fraudulent cause, “As aforesaid” goose-picking to them hath a dream.

He hath shone as a star and won plaudits from all; He is now a “back number,” alas! the dark day! No more head and shoulders above like King Saul! Here, star, stock, and audience all equal can play.

Let poets wax warm as thy sing of the glory That classical Greece in her infancy knew; But search all the pages of Homer’s great story, And not a free lunch bar doth is to our view.

When from the Imperial her eagles did soar, With the swiftness of lightning, the strength of the gale, Search the eloquent pages of Gibbon all o’er, No free lunch is there to adorn the great tale.

With Virgil, and Dante, seek Pluto’s domain; What horrors they picture, what wonders they tell! Admit it you must when you view earth again; In the way of free lunches Chicago beats h—ll.

Go read with attention his wonderful pages, Who Hamlet created, Macbeth, and Iago; The peer of all poets, the king of all sages, But Falstaff ne’er knew the free lunch of Chicago.

When that sturdy sea captain, brave Christopher, came And the veil drew aside that concealed half the world, Deep writing on History’s page his great name, And the cross-bearing standard in triumph unfurled.

To that power low-bending whose strong arm defended, Through days of long watching and peril’s dark night, But with addd fervor his thanks had ascended. Had the “spread” of our day cheered the wanderer’s sight.

Talk of sentences silver, and words that are golden, They all have some dross, here and those purest gold When spoken to on who hath scarcely beholden A good square meal lately, “fall to,” or “lay hold.”

The silver-tongued orator charming mankind, Ne’er made a more eloquent speech, tho’ ’tis brief, Than when the bartender asks, are you inclined For more chicken salad, boned turkey, and beef?

Demosthenes, Cicero, Sheridan, Burke, In that world-renowned trial where spell bound all sat; Lord Chatham, great Webster in his grandest work, Are all idle ravings when measured with that.

When the swift wheel of time finds the race-runner stranded, For fortune not always on turf-banners perch, But if in his fall at a free lunch is landed, Tho’ left in the “soup” h’s not left in the lurch.

Whatever goes up is as sure to come down — A saw, politicians find out to be true; And those who have ruled o’er the country or town “Thank the Lord” for free lunches, when ballots are few.

When Wall Street no more is a wellspring of “boodle,” Gay brokers who erst washed their dinners with punches, When each lamb is sheared, and there comes no new noodle, Inspired by schooners now joy in free lunches.

When the jury and court both sustain the fraud deal Of shystering brokers’ bas, bogus transaction, And scoop, sweat-stained specie to square the sure steal, The lunch bar then blooms with an added attraction.

When society’s darling — but some might think dude Would fit that rare specimen very much better, But here I would mention nor wish to be rude — They both are evolved from identical letter.

So be it, but where he no more leads the mazy, When favors are often nonsensical trash, And the season has made him for cash almost crazy, Hocks his dress suit with “Huncle” and comes here for hash.

Of all sights that show to the dude’s vacant stare, When his chronic shortness of rhino appeals The brightest, when he doth perambulate where Aloft in their glory flame forth the three balls.

When his back load of gold has been all dumped in ‘Frisco, On wining and dining, and all pleasure there; When on chasing and racing his last dollars risk O, Not forgetting the summer, nor midwinter fair.

When the “lay out” at “Grand” fills the miner no more, No more their gold toothpicks all proudly doth flourish, Ere trudging again to the “diggings” of yore, For the long tramp his system at free lunch doth nourish.

How suave is the manner, how smooth is the such, Of the bubble promoter, he’s here without doubt; Unchecked by refusal, he’ll stick like a leech, If you have the “yellow” and he finds it out.

With millions in sight for himself and all those Who invest in his fancies, but yet, Oh, but yet, When naught but the briars are left of the row, The floater’s fair form is found filling this set.

Behold the inventor! whose anticipation Shows horses, and houses, and treasures so vast, When time, the accoucheur, brings a still-born creation, Like all patent failures he comes here at last.

Far and wide o’er the world it had been his to roam, All sciences knew, and all tongues and all people; Ring the bell when you would the sage always was home — His classic attainments rose high like the steeple.

“Au fait” in all customs that govern each “lay out” At home and abroad, and with lore and sincerity The same could unfold; but this game can “play out” With swiftness amazing, and wondrous dexterity.

When forth from God’s country the Canuck doth roam, Allured by big dollars that fancy doth show — But finds not the three meals that cheered him at home, The lunch bar abridges his measure of woe.

When the old homestead kitchen no more glads the eye, Nor the deep-laden table can bring a relief; When thoughts of the past start the tear or the sigh Here is found by the exile a “joy in his grief.”

How often the dailies, our pleasure and pride, The world’s great promotes of knowledge and right, Would fail in their good — as the universe wide — Did the free lunch no more glad the editor’s sight.

The joy of the poet, ah! little we think! As we read and yawn over his freshly ground numbers, How oft he was rescued when nearing the brink From sinking untimely to silence and slumbers.

The “bust” banker’s stay, he who knew not denial Ere her shadows black fortune did over him fling; The tramp’s sweet Elysium in his dark day of trial, And hence all this folly I gratefully sing.

And let fate do her worst, she can ne’er “knock us out,” While the lunch bar is blooming with cold cut and splendor; The saint knows it well, who goes homeless about, And the sinner who’s ben on a jolly old “bender.”

Ho! tramps of Chicago, of every degree, Each one without money, and some without worth, Let big thanks go upward, all fervent and free, For “striking” the greatest food center on earth.

In song let it rise, ye conglomerate sinners, For music, says musical Moore ne’er betrays; And when in sad wanderings we come short of dinners, Remember the free lunch will cheer our dark days.

[Footnote: Thus that delightful Irishman, that sweet singer of the Emerald Isle, Tom Moore:

“Music! oh, how faint, how weak, Language fades before thy spell! Why should feeling ever speak, When thou canst breathe her soul so well? Friendship’s balmy words may feign, Love’s are e’en more false than they; Oh! ’tis only music’s strain Can sweetly soothe, and not betray.” ]

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terryblount · 5 years

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Resident Evil 2 Review: Gruesomely Gorgeous

Ah, Resident Evil 2, the 1998 survival-horror classic adored by millions! And now the 2019 survival-horror classic-in-the-making adored by ever growing multitudes. Two games, both excellent, but how does this new RE2 compare? Thankfully, it retains the original survival-horror charm while also delivering a modern experience. Unfortunately, a bit too much outdated design causes it to occasionally stumble and fall like a clumsy zombie. Read on to discover the joys and bugbears of 2019’s RE2.

Atmospheric Horror-Delight

By far the most brilliant thing about RE2 is the stunningly immersive world built for you to slowly explore and unravel. There’s a palpable feeling of despair mixed with hyper-focus on graphical detail making every room, passageway, and crevice a wonder to discover.

The famous S.T.A.R.S. room. So much 1990s detail! Much pretty!

The moody vibes of the abandoned city and desperate plights of the few survivors meshes perfectly with a spectacular visual presentation. Get ready for one visual and aural treat after another.

Setting Up the Story

You begin on the dark, rainy city streets outside Raccoon City, a fictional US city with a disturbing history. By way of one ill-fated event after another, you go from surreal police station, to the sewers, and beyond. Thanks to the cutting-edge graphics engine and superb game direction, delving deeper and deeper into this twisted underworld is gruesome, gorgeous, and mesmerizing.

Never before has such an iconic and impressive survival horror world been crafted, and RE2 exudes character and personality from the very floors, halls, and walls of its macabre locations.

Just another pleasant stroll through zombie-infested sewers. It’ll be fine! (Run!)

As far as the actual story goes, it’s best you discover it for yourself. There’s zombies, an evil corporation, corrupt authorities, and experiments gone wrong. All the usual stuff.

The story is presented through excellent cutscenes with extremely detailed characters and facial animation combined with smooth motion capture and top-notch voice acting. There’s some standout performances here, but just know there’s only handful of story cutscenes. RE2 gives you just enough plot to make sense but not enough to sink your teeth into, just like the original 1998 game. That’s not a fault per-se; it’s just its style.

Bloody Zombie Survival-Horror

Besides the immaculate RE2 world, the enemy design is absolutely incredible. The attention to detail in each shambling zombie, ferocious dog, and other creature is best in class. Particularly impressive is the zombie dismemberment system that keeps you finding creative ways to eliminate, outmaneuver, and overcome the undead underlings found all across the environments.

This zombie’s just been hit by an acid round. He’ll be fine…feel the burn.

These ghastly and imposing enemies sometimes seem too much to contend with. At first, you often don’t have enough ammo and perhaps question how you can survive. After a while, you learn how to think quickly and overcome RE2. This empowering feeling of increasing mastery is just like how I felt when I played the original back in the day. Speaking of which, let me address this topic.

Disclaimer: RE2 is Special to Me

I should disclose that 1998’s RE2 was my first Resident Evil game. This was back when 3D graphics were young, and I adored this “realistic” PlayStation CD-ROM work of art.

I remember going over to a friend’s house and playing late at night, slowly inching forward through scary hallways on the edge of our seats. It was creepy, scary, and fascinating. I have wonderful memories of playing and replaying the game, finally unlocking the extra weapons and modes, feeling like such a pro.

Even to this day I consider RE2 one of my defining video game experiences. Just keep in mind that a new player to this remake might have that same “revelatory” experience I had in 1998, while I may be more critical of this remake than someone who doesn’t know the brilliance and joy of the original game. Back to the review!

Third-Person Puzzling Exploration

The heart of RE2 is a puzzle-like level design that sees you exploring, discovering, unlocking, backtracking, and going around in circles as you attempt to piece together the mysterious reason for all this horror. The game is quite cerebral in how you must pay very close attention to what items you need, where to use them, and how to make the most of your limited resources.

Fortunately the game provides a very helpful map, without which you’d probably go insane. The map does an excellent job of indicating which rooms are unexplored or still have items left in them.

You’ll be spending quite a lot of time deciphering the map. At least it’s a nice map.

At this point, a large warning should be issued: this is not a typical third-person shooter where you are pushed forward from one set piece to another. No, RE2 retains the sometimes obtuse 1998-style item and level design that seems to revel in hindering the player.

Each item has a specific and often unclear purpose much like an old point-and-click adventure game. For example, you might find yourself going to the lounge room to find a metal tin you must examine to find a film roll to develop in the dark room to reveal a puzzle about a lion statue that unlocks a key to a door to a secret room. Because obviously that’s what the metal tin is for! Duh!

At least the items all have wonderful detail! I love shiny medallions! I want to bite it hard!!

Some players will love this esoteric puzzling retained from the original game, but there will surely be times you’ll leave an essential item back in storage and find yourself out of ammo, isolated, and possibly very dead. Speaking of items and storage space…it’s time to discuss one of RE2’s more tiresome aspects.

Inventory Woes Like It’s 1998

For all the graphical and controls modernization in RE2, what’s confusingly archaic is the inventory and item design. For those of us who played the original PlayStation era Resident Evil games, we all remember the massive headache of organizing a far-too-small inventory with far-too-many items. Sadly, this headache is back in a lesser but still frustrating way.

Sorting through items is way more fun than actually playing the game! NOT!

Most bizarrely unforgivable is how RE2 does NOT bring forward all the excellent quality-of-life changes included in the last 14 years of RE games (over six titles). Faithfully recreating what people loved about RE2 makes sense, but purposefully taking us back to the bad-old-days of Resident Evil inventory design is not cool.

Irksome Item Issues: A Story

So what are these serious inventory issues? Let’s start with an easy one: you can’t use items directly from the pick-up screen. Think this is no big deal? Let me take you on a very scary true RE2 story that’ll have you weeping and gnashing your teeth by the end (or not).

Picture this: you’re one hit from death as you finally limp to a First Aid Spray (fully heals you). So glad to have finally found healing, you attempt to use the item immediately. Sorry, you can’t! Your inventory is full! You confusingly exclaim, “Um, I don’t need to put it in my inventory…just pick it up and use it!”

Being an imprisoned zombie is how it feels to engage in full inventory item management.

The game smiles and patronizingly says, “Nope, sorry, we didn’t build ‘Use’ into our interface…you’ll need an empty inventory slot, you pathetic player.” As the game mocks you, you attempt to find a solution. Every second gone by you can feel the dehumanizing horror of 1998 item management coming back to haunt you.

Suddenly a brilliant idea sparks your mind. You guardedly ask, “Ok…well, can I quickly drop another item to make room and then pick that item back up from the ground?” RE2 begins boisterous, unnerving laughter… “No, silly player! Feel free to drop an item but it’ll be PERMANENTLY deleted as punishment for your full-inventory sins!”

Now you’re livid. You shout furiously, “What about RE4, RE5, RE6, and Revelations 1 & 2?” [Deep breath…] You begin to speak in a low, quivering tone: “This idiotic conundrum was solved years ago in 2005 with a simple ‘Use’ prompt upon item-pickup! How do you not know that?! How, RE2?!”

You continue and defeatedly plead, “Heck, Resident Evil 0 Remaster from 2016 even let us drop items and would display them on our map to be picked up again later! It was the best feature ever introduced to Resident Evil!”

Claire is repulsed at RE2 removing all the inventory improvements from prior RE games.

But RE2 doesn’t respond. It merely smirks, knowing that you’re going to have to PERMANENTLY sacrifice one of your items just to immediately heal yourself…and then you’ll have to stare at that newly created EMPTY inventory slot because “this is old-skool survival-horror.” More like “this is real bad design.”

Item Woes Continued

Ok, maybe I went a little off the rails in the last few paragraphs. But seriously folks. RE2’s inventory system is obnoxious, and I’m not done yet describing the issues!

Did I mention you also can’t use items directly from the storage transfer screen? Then there’s times the game isn’t smart enough to automatically combine the same ammo types when using gunpowder. Just weird.

Another bizarre design choice is how the game forces you to manually discard items with no further use. Past games like the RE0 and RE1 remasters would do this for you because why waste the player’s time? It’s strange that RE2 is so polished overall but has these dumb, rough inventory edges.

This is engineer Claire. She loves trains. Let’s be happy and forgot our item woes!

Some players will defend these design choices saying all this is “part of the experience” and it “builds tension” and challenges you. Yeah, it builds artificial and nonsensical tension. Maybe you’ll disagree, but I feel all these issues do nothing but frustrate and slow-down the actual playing of the outstanding game.

All this dubious design needlessly complicates what should be simple player-to-game-world interactions. They damage immersion and anger players. RE2 would be a VASTLY better game if it included all the excellent inventory improvements the series has seen in the 20 years since 1998’s RE2! Enough said on that.

The Stylishness of RE2’s Story: Multiple Playthoughs

Exactly like the original RE2, this modern incarnation keeps the same story-framing style: multiple playthroughs. Most modern games try to fit everything in to one playthrough, perhaps having a New Game Plus mode just for fun. RE2 defies this approach and asks, nay, dares you to play over and over to unlock the full experience.

Let’s explain RE2’s campaigns real quickly. RE2 is broken into four main campaigns, each telling the story from a slightly different angle with modified items, enemies, locations, and puzzles. Upon first playing, you have the choice of two main campaigns: Leon or Claire. Leon’s campaign is what 80% of players have chosen to begin with, according to Capcom.

The game nicely tracks your various playthroughs, urging you to go faster next time!

Upon completing Leon’s campaign, the game abruptly ends and you unlock a “2nd Run” mode, which is a slightly shorter remixed version of Leon’s original campaign that must be completed to reveal the true ending.

However, most players will want to play Claire’s campaign after finishing Leon’s first campaign, in order to break up the Leon-monotony. Claire’s campaign features a large amount of unique content, including important characters and entire environments not found in either of Leon’s runs.

Getting confused yet? RE2 doesn’t do a great job of explaining these four campaigns, and the menu system isn’t so helpful either. It makes sense that some players will get confused as to the “proper” order to play everything. Basically, the most common pattern will be Leon, Claire, Leon 2nd Run, and then you can choose between Claire 2nd Run or Extra Mode 1.

Will you be able to unlock the secret “Tofu” mode? Do you even want to try?!

Speaking of Extra Modes, if you complete the campaigns fast enough, you unlock two semi-silly modes that each take about 10 to 15 minutes and are pure run-and-gun/survival modes. There’s no saving, and you either die or reach the end. Honestly, most players will attempt these modes a few times and quit in frustration because they’re not particularly well-balanced and rely on memorizing enemy locations and behaviors.

All told, it’ll take you somewhere between 13 to 20 hours to unlock the true ending, at which point what’s left is completing optional objectives, speedruns to get that coveted “S” rank, and Achievements if that’s your thing. So RE2 is definitely a premium title, giving you short but memorable gameplay as opposed to the larger, more expansive action/adventure/RPG/sim games.

I’m so proud of my “S” rank. Let’s celebrate, Resident Evil style! (Just don’t invite the Tyrant.)

Audio: Crisp Creaking and Much Moaning

On the aural front, RE2 deserves special praise for the atmospheric audio touches placed all over the locations. From creaking floorboards, flickering and shorting electrical panels, pouring water, shattered windows, and other horrific matters, this game builds a wondrous world for your ears. It all works extremely well, although the combat sound effects aren’t quite as good as the world sounds.

And the music is very forgettable…you can buy DLC (yuck) to unlock the original PlayStation soundtrack and effects, which some may enjoy for nostalgia reasons. Regardless, RE2’s music isn’t a highlight.

Technically Near-Perfect

On the technical side, RE2 is a dream. The load times are often just one or two seconds even on a non-solid-state drive install. Seriously, how does this game load so fast?! Overachieve much? Please also note I never once had a crash or glitch, and the game alt-tab’s like a champ. Basically RE2 is too legit to quit (working).

There’s only a few slightly odd graphical shimmering effects with the lighting engine, but that’s very minor. Occasionally the game will freeze for a split-second upon entering new areas or finding collectibles, but it’s not a huge deal.

For new players, who could this mysterious lady be? For fans of the series, look who it is!

The game also features a very robust graphical customization menu. It’s wonderful to see the robust configurability that the PC platform deserves. Being able to adjust the FOV, motion blur, depth of field, lens flares, and chromatic aberration is much appreciated. So kudos to Capcom for creating such a native PC experience!

Zombie Bullet Sponges & Damage Issues

Another contentious point is how unexpectedly tough zombies are. It’s clear RE2 is trying to be a “hardcore” survival game rather than an action game, but there’s something profoundly unsatisfying when you put six to nine bullets directly into the head of a zombie and it still gets up again.

As detailed as the zombies are, they’re heads don’t realistically deform when shot with bullets. They simply have blood textures applied instead of starting to cave in and lose parts. This is an unfortunate lack of detail. Also missing are blood pools around some dead zombies. Fans of the original game will lament this omission.

Especially galling is how occasionally you can pull out your shotgun and directly blast a zombie in the head an arm’s length away and sometimes still not kill it! In this shotgun case, you only can truly count on a one-hit-kill with a fully upgraded shotgun. This makes sense in “video game progression land” but it’s contrived and unsatisfying. Watch the GIF below in abject horror.

https://media.giphy.com/media/3NxgDeGa7iQEcWPK2Z/source.mp4

When a shotgun at point blank can’t explode a zombie’s head on Normal difficulty it brings to mind the meme: you had one job, shotgun, one job! Zombie’s head should go boom.

What’s also missing is the satisfying (but unrealistic) blood spurting when you decapitate a zombie with a powerful weapon. The original RE2 was so enjoyable in this way, and RE2’s “head split” animation is just not nearly as enjoyable as the original. Oh well…

Dinky Combat & No CQC

What makes the zombie bullet sponges even more unfortunate is the little sense of power and lethality of most combat engagements, which is perhaps intended to once again “heighten tension” but doesn’t feel very good to play. Your aim is inaccurate. Bullets hitting zombies can feel more like foam darts. Your knife slashes are imprecise and feel like you’re attempting to slather butter on the zombies rather than expertly slash and murder them.

Sometimes scripted sequences override player actions, which is a big sin. At one point several zombies were around me, and one grabbed me. I used my equipped flashbang to stun it, but another zombie grabbed me a split-second before the flash detonated. Despite a flashbang going off right next to it, the zombie played its scripted grab animation and badly damaged me. These conflicts between player input and scripted results happen too often.

Another huge issue is the player has zero close-quarters-combat (CQC) skills. You would think you could at least have basic self-defense moves when your ammo is gone. Nope. You can’t kick, punch, push, or otherwise repel zombie attacks. You just stand like a fool as zombies lunge at you. They’ve artificially limited your ability to respond to threats, which makes the game a lot less fun to play.

Claire was never taught to KICK when a zombie chews your leg. Another poor education.

It’s just too jarring to have Leon and Claire, both fit and athletic young people, be unable to duck, weave, roll, dodge, and quickly outmaneuver zombies…unless it’s in a cutscene when suddenly they stop being movement morons. I personally hate when games have characters do things in cutscenes that are taken away from you when you actually play. Not cool.

So once again some of the combat improvements in the more modern games have been stripped out…an unfortunate design decision perhaps done because Capcom was too afraid to deliver “an action feel” after the utter disaster that was RE6.

Some Kind of Tyrant

I’m not going to say much, but during the game you’ll encounter this one guy who follows you around and tries to kill you. You might enjoy these segments. More likely, you’ll find them a bit annoying by the end. I personally found these segments to be fairly brief, so I’m not knocking or praising the game in this regard.

This guy is not the Tyrant, but this guy is also disturbingly scary. He needs serious therapy.

Keyboard and Mouse Issues

If you’re using a controller, you can move very slowly by barely pushing the analog stick (like nearly every third-person game). Sadly Capcom forgot to include a keyboard binding for this “slow walk” style, so if you’re playing with keyboard and mouse you’ll be unable to avoid detection in certain important areas. All it would take is a menu option to press down “Ctrl” or whatnot to get your creep on and safely avoid serious consequences. Needed more PC testing.

DLC Costumes, Unlockables, & Promised Content

On the very negative side, one thing they haven’t kept from the old days is quality unlockable costumes. Rather, they’ve opted to modernize things with unacceptable DLC outfits. You only unlock the original 1998 outfits by playing. The interesting outfits…you need to pay for them. I will never condone this practice in a full-price release.

No! Charging for what used to be free unlockable costumes is NOT cool! A terrible practice.

Also sad is how much more annoying it is to unlock the good infinite ammo weapons in this modern RE2. It’s just silly to lock the best stuff behind modes about maybe 2% of your players will finish.

On a brighter side, Capcom has promised three mini-stories to be released for free in the future. They’ll probably be very short, but free post-release content is nice.

Other Minor Annoyances

There’s a 20 save-game limit for some silly reason. This means you won’t be able to keep all your save games from the four different campaigns (eight counting the Hardcore modes), which makes hunting down missed Achievements or unlockables a bit more tedious. I don’t see why the game couldn’t keep separate save “folders” for each playthrough…this isn’t 1998.

Here you play as a little girl. It was the most terrifying part for me. Play it to find out why.

While you can skip all the major cutscenes (thankfully), for some bizarre reason you cannot skip other short cutscenes such as certain item placements and death scenes. When you’re playing the game for the fourth time you really don’t need to sit through a 10 second sequence seeing yourself torn to shreds…just let me load my game already.

It’s also too bad that RE2 lacks a photo mode since this would be a perfect fit for a game as visually attractive as this one! Oh well.

Overlooking Faults: Yes or No?

In reading the overwhelmingly positive Steam reviews and mostly glowing critic reviews, I think it’s fair to say most players are choosing to overlook the larger issues of RE2 perhaps out of nostalgia or relief that Capcom mostly delivered. These issues chiefly are the less-than-stellar combat, lack of CQC, muddy maneuverability, and the tedious item management.

Another gorgeous, breath-taking scene. Amazing what 20 years of technology can do.

As a critic I can’t just overlook any issues, even if I also love RE2. Therefore, what we have here is a faithful and gorgeous remake that retains the original’s mood but lacks the fluid and intelligent modern gameplay it truly deserves.

If you can overlook the faults, RE2 is as perfect a recreation of the 1998 survival-horror experience as you’ll ever get. I still love the original RE2 and the remake brings back all that I love, even if it also drags in a bit too much less-lovely archaic design.

Perfect atmosphere & mood

Optimized & efficient engine

Gorgeously detailed world

Balanced survival-horror

Super-fast loading times

Immersive locational audio

Extremely faithful remake

Free content updates

Inventory annoyances!

Lack of any CQC defense

Some flimsy/quirky combat

Bullet-sponge zombies

Some obtuse item puzzles

Semi-short campaigns

Pointless 20-save limit

Good costumes are all DLC

Playtime: 26 hours total. Nick completed Leon’s “scenic” playthrough in 7 hours. Next was Claire’s in 4 hours. Leon’s 2nd Run took 3 hours, and Claire’s 2nd Run came in at a quick 2.5 hours. Nick proceeded to unlock Achievements and collectibles for a good while more. He’s looking forward to maybe attempting Hardcore mode someday…maybe.

Computer Specs: Windows 10 64-bit computer using an Intel i7-3930k CPU, 32GB of memory, and a nVidia GTX 980 Ti graphics card.

Also read the Resident Evil 2 PC Performance Analysis.

Resident Evil 2 Review: Gruesomely Gorgeous published first on https://touchgen.tumblr.com/

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