#and I need to convey more than just a visual disturbance

[mellounir]

are you too going mad over the fact that you cannot put smells, sounds and textures into art, or are you normal?

[nalyra-dreaming]

hi there! :-)

i’ve been seeing a lot online lately about louis hallucinating lestat’s presence while he and claudia are in europe. i’m reading the series at the moment (just finished qotd) and i don’t recall anything in the books about it? i was just wondering if i missed something somewhere 😊😊

Hey!

.... Maybe?^^

It's in "IWTV", during Louis' and Claudia's travels through Eastern Europe:

"And in despair the recurring fear that we had killed the only other vampire like us, Lestat. Yet it seemed unthinkable. Had he possessed the wisdom of a sorcerer, the powers of a witch...I might have come to understand that he had somehow managed to wrest a conscious life from the same forces that governed these monsters. But he was only Lestat, as I’ve described him to you: devoid of mystery, finally, his limits as familiar to me in those months in eastern Europe as his charms. I wanted to forget him, and yet it seemed I thought of him always. It was as if the empty nights were made for thinking of him. And sometimes I found myself so vividly aware of him it was as if he had only just left the room and the ring of his voice were still there. And somehow there was a disturbing comfort in that, and, despite myself, I’d envision his face—not as it had been the last night in the re, but on other nights, that last evening he spent with us at home, his hand playing idly with the keys of the spinet, his head tilted to one side. A sickness rose in me more wretched than anguish when I saw what my dreams were doing. I wanted him alive! In the dark nights of eastern Europe, Lestat was the only vampire I’d found."

Louis thinks of Lestat often through the second half of the book, just a few examples here:

"Flee to that, I thought, flee all that is pulling you. And again came that thought: I have wronged Lestat, I have hated him for all the wrong reasons. I whispered it now, trying to withdraw it from the dark, inarticulate pool of my mind, and the whispering made a scratching sound in the stone vault of the stairs."

----

"How would Lestat have found it? Had he been here? What had caused him to leave?"

----

"And I could remember the night Lestat first came to me, how his eyes seemed to burn, how his white face gleamed."

----

"And yet through this sadness, this confusion, came the clear realization: Why should it be otherwise? What had I expected? What right had I to be so bitterly disappointed in Lestat that I would let him die! Because he wouldn’t show me what I must find in myself?"

---- "I allowed myself to forget how totally I had fallen in love with Lestat’s iridescent eyes, that I’d sold my soul for a many-colored and luminescent thing, thinking that a highly reflective surface conveyed the power to walk on water. “What would Christ need have done to make me follow Him like Matthew or Peter? Dress well, to begin with. And have a luxurious head of pampered yellow hair."

----

These are all pre trial. :) (There's more, where he recalls his voice, for example.)

The show heavily builds on that, and the later evident yearning, as well as the religious imagery that permeates the books.

The show as a visual medium of course makes some things only hinted at in the book literal.

But I still think it fits very well to give us the frame of mind Louis tells of in the book.

[natikoko]

I really want to hear more about Marlon. She seems like the one in the relationship that suppresses her own traumas in order to act as an emotionally supportive rock for Tilly and Adrian.

um,,, gonna rant

She is really, really bad at emotions. it teeters between emotionally withdrawal and just extreme privacy. It comes from a sense of responsibility and guilt, and from a genuine inability to express herself naturally.

Marlon feels responsible for what happened to Tilly and Cuttlefish. If she hadn’t became hostile, Tilly wouldn’t have had to confront her and they wouldn’t have ended up attacked and sent into the Metro

Okay onto her Hellish Brain. her mind is,,, um. well. its really strange, but interesting! Its layers of shapeless blobs of people she used to know, and indescribable pieces of memories clipped together into a distorted and twisted vision.

She is prone to auditory and visual hallucinations when paranoid, and they’re usually of either someone resembling her or just someone saying, “hey, what’re you doing here?” and she’ll say “I’m sitting here/i’m just relaxing” etc throughout the day (because it’s what Tilly said when they first met, on mount nantai, all those years ago) (she could use some help) I draw in different art styles to convey this

Compartmentalization is a her coping mechanism. She puts up her untouchable, standoffish front to repress the Horrors she’s processing and currently working through— it’s a childish mindset, but she feels most comfortable separating her conflicting thoughts than dealing head-on with the anxiety that arises from them. She thinks that if she appears as a solid foundation in her relationship with Tilly and Adrian, it’ll become actuality, but it could be any further from the truth.

Adrian and Tilly knows something is up, but they don’t know how to approach the situation without coming off as pestering or invading her privacy. especially Tilly.

It disturbs her, to an extent, because Marlon just acts as if… the deepsea metro never happened. As if they didn’t meet because of it. As if they didn’t spend weeks down there together. She acts as if being buddy buddy with Adrian and Tilly and having Off the Hook basically adopt her was just… something that happened, and it wasn’t directly connected to the Metro.

She finds it overall easier to just be there for others. being supportive isn’t that much of a emotional struggle for her as deciphering her weird and uncomfortable thoughts. why do that when Adrian and Tilly need the help much more? It comes from the repressed feeling of “I caused this, so I’ll repent” and it’s like… How can you repent for something you don’t even remember?

sorry I kinda started rambling a little but I rly like dissecting her thoughts and feelings because she’s my resident scrape goat and I can do whatever I want to her,,, I love you marlon mwah

[naughtsimpossible]

 i put this into hemingway (that one thing that's magical for editing) and it said it was VERYYY not readable

hence, i subject each and every one of you to it

This universe is an odd one. I don't just mean the physical space we prefer to fancy that we live our significant lives in; I also mean to reference the thoughts of it. The thoughts are, after all, what created it's concept in the presence of us humans. Our minds and consciousnesses decided to dub it an idea. And I serve no purpose other than to convey to you a few tales from that universe.

        I've never thought of myself as a present being, for I see all. I believe the human conception of the present is the closest we've gotten to realising what it means to live, while being so far from the overall idea at the same time. There are few lives lived on this Earth, in this universe, that obey the simple bequests of the present: That one thinks not of the past as something to change, but as presents given us and spent just as so; That one look to the future presents to deem what may and what can and what should; and that it is advised one should grace others with one's present, as a gift of love. I can understand your confusion, dear reader, of my mention of being human and tearing down their premature ideals of the existence of time. I am a being incomprehensible to even my own kindred, so I oft dub the name upon myself, for the humans appear to be the species I most closely resemble.

        We, the omnipresents, are a tortured creation; We are cursed (called blessed by those who live a different life than us) with the potential to know all that the world of the present has to offer. We cannot visit the begone present, nor the one to come; only the one the aforementioned universe has to offer every moment. We may recall, but not gaze upon, the past, for our cruel nature begets it so.

        It may seem odd yet again, now, to the reader, that I am here writing to you; I shall relieve you of your unfathomable curiosity, but not yet. No, now is the time I have allotted for the first of our tales I have witnessed in this universe. It was a present in which the world was a disturbed place. There was an unrest among nations, albeit an incessant one, simply raised and braised in the confines of emotions. It had caused a mass of tears to fall, of shock to be had. It wrought its wrath throughout even the safest havens, though a safe haven is just as likely as a perfect utopia, as I have witnessed. Those who dreamed, the favoured ones, were dreaming of a safer tomorrow, of a clearing of the skies, of the docility of the day at long last. The natural world was disrupted to the point of an extinction, not of a species, although there has been plenty of that, but rather, of an ecosystem. So much of the Creation's intricate beauty was grinded beneath the boot of peace through conflict, yet another of the universe's cruel oxymoronic ideals. Trees, materials, scrapped for terror's sake; landscapes, flattened, by that same terror. Mankind's own integrity, lost in the drift of the stream; a stream filled with screams of agony grafted into what was dubbed history; nightlike hawks of omens, flying and swooping upon the innocent; death, the cease of life, the lacking of movement, the brevity to the fire deigned so to bring news; the unity of darkness and the souls of those who cherish it.

        Oftentimes humans dub it dark times, but I prefer a more visual term. It was a time in which humanity dropped its sense of good on its own foot, causing it to fall over in agony, landing upon those who despise affiliation with such a disaster, forced to be affect of it.

        I could very well be more specific, but that resides beside the point I stand to make. The driving factor I pose is that I need not be more specific. Humanity drops its sense of good so much I myself am surprised they have a foot to drop it on. There is no one circumstance I am recalling for you; I want only to post the so called innocence of man up on a thumbtack board for review by the sensible.

[make-mine-movie]

Fantasia (1940)

Fantasia is a Disney movie unlike any other, which is likely why they had to make it twice. The following segment addresses the 1940 version of Fantasia from Disney’s Golden Age, which will strictly be referred to as Fantasia. If discussing the 2000 version of Fantasia, I will say “Fantasia 2000.” Fantasia has received a 95% score from Rotten Tomatoes.

Fantasia is an absolutely beautiful film that perfectly captures music as a visual concept. It evokes such a raw myriad of emotions with every piece. My personal favorites were the “Russian Dance,” “Rite of Spring,” “Dance of the Hours,” and “Ave Maria,” in order of performance rather than favoritism. Despite the paleontological inaccuracies, “Rite of Spring” was exceptionally entertaining, shifting from joyous whimsy to tragic mourning with just a swift scene change. Overall, the animation of the entire film was beautiful. Sadly, though, I think the extended introduction as well as some of the scenes may be boring for small children or even some adults with little care about the beauty of fine arts. If you are picking a movie for the background of your family board game night, this is probably not it. Additionally, it is hard to ignore the frequent art style changes which are both simultaneously bothersome but also very impressive. That being said, the extensive use of flashing lights to convey loud sounds, specifically percussion is rather unnecessary, and even somewhat uncomfortable. Fantasia, like many other Disney films, also features some harmful imagery. The small lines on the mushrooms, assumably for eyes, during the “Chinese Dance” was an upsetting addition, especially considering that they other plants did not rely on stereotypical facial features to express their source material or represented nationality (for those plants that did have one during the “Nutcracker Suite”). It should also be mentioned that in the original production of Fantasia there were some exceptionally racist portrayals of a young Black girl in “Symphony No. 6” that have since been erased on account of how disturbing they are. She is presented as a servant to the older, white centaurs and repeatedly mistreated. That being said, the only Black centaurs still remaining in Fantasia are also servants (to Bacchus) but they are not shown in as much of a demeaning light.

In conclusion, beyond the racist microaggressions and questionable usage of special effects, Fantasia is a gorgeous film that perfectly blends the visual art of animation with a well-composed orchestra. While it might be difficult for those of little interest in the performing/fine arts field to enjoy, or younger audiences, it is definitely worth watching, especially if you find yourself needing to feel something (or many, different, conflicting things). Overall, Fantasia receives 8 out of 10 stars from me, an amazing score. The points removed were influenced by the harmful stereotypes portrayed in the film I watched, not including the deleted scene of the young Black centaur, as well as the flashing imagery, which I did not enjoy. However, due to its obviously fantastic music, Fantasia scored an additional point. This movie was not tested on whether or not it passes the Bechdel Test because none of the characters have speaking roles.

Summary of the film under the cut.

Fantasia has no distinct plot, but is rather a compilation of classical musical pieces performed by a live orchestra and brought to life with animated segments. Some of these segments have a determinable plot, but none of these “plots” are exceptionally distinct. In order to summarize I will list the name of the song along with a short summary of what happens while it plays. Some of these descriptions will be more in-depth than others depending on the piece. The movie begins with an introduction from the conductor, Leopold Stokowski, and the Philadelphia Orchestra, who performs all of the songs. The first song is “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” which is the only one unaccompanied by a specific animation but rather shows the orchestra performing in the foreground while surrounded by generalized scenery such as a sunset or clouds. The next six pieces are part of “The Nutcracker Suite,” starting with the classic “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy,” which features none other than fairies. They fly around, lighting up the flowers around them with their sparkling magic. Next is the “Chinese Dance,” which is performed by several mushrooms dancing in a circle. Then, the “Dance of the Reed Flutes,” which features flowers dancing off a waterfall. Afterwards, the “Arabian Dance;” fish swimming gracefully. The fifth is the “Russian Dance” in which thistles and orchids dance together. Finally, the “Waltz of the Flowers” in which fairies once again appear, this time changing the seasons. The most notable scene from Fantasia follows this introduction, “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” featuring the infamous Mickey Mouse as the sorcerer’s apprentice. Out of his laziness, Mickey creates helpful broomsticks with his magic abilities, but things get out of control and the sorcerer has to help stop the madness that ensues. Another popular piece from Fantasia, as well as one of the longer ones, “Rite of Spring,” tells the stories of dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures coexisting (or at least trying to?). The next three scenes all play “Symphony No. 6,” showing off unicorns, pegasi, fauns, puttos, and centaurs celebrating spring and a festival honoring Bacchus. After everything gets out of hand, they are punished by Zeus. Another very notable piece is “Dance of the Hours,” which features a variety of animal dancers, including ostriches and elephants, but focusing predominantly on the tensions between hippos and alligators. The movie begins to conclude with the final most notable scene, a terrifying demon called Chernabog summons spirits and turns them into his underlings: “A Night on Bald Mountain.” Fantasia finally ends with “Ave Maria,” where the aforementioned spirits return to their town and form a line of lights as the sun slowly rises. Then everything fades to black.

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

The sound of miniature droplets plummeting against the thin window glass disturbed the fantasy your mind had fabricated to ease your inebriated senses. As the noise gradually increased in volume, you were no longer able to sustain the blissful amnesia that came packaged with the state of dreaming. With your mind slowly registering the reality you sought to escape, a gentle groan vibrated in your throat, prompting your enflamed esophagus to sting. When you sought to lift your heavy eyelids, your lashes, still marked with the mascara from last night, stuck together with invisible glue and dried liner.

The disastrous evening with your new Brazilian friends could easily be traced from the smudged makeup clinging to your pillow, to the sweet liquor that lingered on your lips. There were dozens of physical reminders, and the ache rippling through your temples was simply the cherry on top.

Surely, your actions may have cost you a favourable impression with your potential colleagues, but you could care less about that. There was only one thought – one inquiry, that was plaguing you…

Did he call?

A calculated glance was tossed in the direction of the bedside table where your phone was laid. The unlit screen mocked your increasing heartrate, wrongfully labelling you as a coward. Peering down at the device, you quickly tapped the screen to see if there was a notification from your fiancé.

There wasn’t.

To label your reaction with one descriptor would be to downplay the concoction of emotions currently eating away at your stomach. You did threaten him, so why would he respond? Maybe after hearing the message, he presumed you would be far too angry to speak with him. Or maybe… he just didn’t care. The questions continued to sprout, even as you went to the bathroom to tidy yourself up.

What you despised the most about your current predicament was the insecurity your fiancé’s deceitful behaviour had planted inside you. Questioning his love was foreign to you, but after discovering his supposed relationship with the blonde and the lies that were used to conceal it… the seed of insecurity bloomed into a monstrous weed.

After brushing your teeth, you secured your hair with an elastic, allowing a few strands to remain free, and framing your face. At least now you appeared collected on the outside, even if there was a battle ensuing on the inside.

An elongated sigh parted your lips as you exited the bathroom connected to the guest quarters. What you needed now was a pain killer and maybe a hug.

“Tooru, can you believe this little shit? He didn’t call me … back.” The final word of the sentence was barely audible, as you struggled to comprehend the visual ahead. Sat at the small dining table, accompanying the former captain was no one other than Miya Osamu. The pair appeared to have been engaged in friendly conversation before your arrival. You had never considered them to be friends, and yet in this moment, they appeared to be the closest of comrades, sipping away at their lattes, with gossip keeping them occupied. “Wow. I don’t know which one of you I should fight first.”

“Hi, y/n. You know Miya, right? He’s that guy from Japan, owns that little onigiri shop that everyone is obsessed with.” Oikawa flashed an innocent beam in your direction, his caramel irises twinkling with confidence. The threat that was posed did not elicit a reaction, rather he was satisfied by the relief he instantly saw register on your features when you spotted the cook. Your reaction had confirmed that he was right, and he fully intended on gloating about this later in the group chat.

Beside him, Osamu nervously shifted his gaze from the mug snug against his palms to the one person he was frantic to see. A small smile draped along his lips as his heart thrashed against his ribcage. God. He missed you.

“Oh no. I have never met this guy in my entire life.” Crossing your arms over your chest in a protective stance, you mentally scolded yourself for displaying any signs of happiness. But the sarcastic edge to your retort only brought your best friend to expel a chuckle.

“Oh, well then I guess I should leave you potential lovebirds to get acquainted.” The volleyball player brought the ceramic piece to his lips, finishing the remainder of the drink before lifting his weight from the seat. His job was complete, what happened next would depend on the two of you. “I’ll be back later in the evening. Be good kids.” Before stepping away from the table, Oikawa shot Osamu a quick glance, communicating a silent warning - “good luck, and don’t fuck this up”.

In hindsight, if you were tactical enough to not fall prey to your insecurities, you would have realized what your friends were hiding. The signs were all there – your best friends had never let you down, they were always there, prioritizing your happiness. Guilt hovered over your chest as you watched Oikawa fetch his keys and exist the apartment. The instability of your romantic relationship should not have bled into your friendships.

“Y/n.”

The sound of your name on his lips mimicked a physical blow, it was a reminder of just how much you missed him – how much you loved him… and how much he hurt you.

It appeared that while your attention was on the dramatic exit of your best friend, Osamu had seized the opportunity to approach you. He was now stood fairly close, and the sudden change in proximity surged electricity throughout your nervous system. Naturally, your first impulse was to wrap yourself around him, it was the same impulse that was cursed upon you after you both shared a kiss all those years ago. But the circumstances today rightfully compelled you to restrain yourself.

“Still want to fight me and my stupid face?” He proceeded another cautious step forward; the hesitation in his movement, evidently grounded in his fear of upsetting you.

The teasing remark from the former volleyball player brought your eyelids into a questioning squint. A gentle smile could be traced along his mouth, prompting a sea of butterflies to enter your abdomen. To combat the sensation, you reached out and captured his face with your fingers. But to your dismay, even with his features squished, the younger twin’s face was stupidly adorable. Frustrated with the result, a little growl was given to the male, and when he blinked down at you curiously, the sound morphed into a suffocated squeal.

“Annoying!”

How could you fight him when all you could feel was love? It was pointless.

Releasing his face from your hold, a string of curses were mumbled under your breath as you sauntered past him, before launching yourself onto the couch. Once situated comfortably, a decorated pillow was dragged onto your lap. It served as a distraction from the conversation you were dreading to have.

“You know, I miss you too.” Osamu exhaled the confession, turning himself to face you. He anticipated some hostility, and he certainly deserved it. But his torment laid in the fact he could not console you, knowing that he was the source of your pain.

And little did you know that he too was struggling to fight the same invisible force that always led you back to each other.

“No shit.” Two fingers were pressed against the bridge of your nose as you sought to untangle the web of emotions his presence had created. How were you to react? What were you to say? What was appropriate under the circumstances was ridiculously unclear.

Osamu, who was battling with similar mental inquiries, abandoned his anxieties seconds after hearing your response. Advancing closer to the couch, he crouched down in front of you then began vocalizing the apology that he owed you weeks ago.  

“Y/n, I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I lied, and that I hid things from you. I wish I could take it all back. I love you so damn much.” Tilting his head just the slightest, he sought to secure your gaze to indicate his sincerity, but you tactically avoided it, continuing to pick at the fuzzy fabric of the pillow.  “I want to fix this. I want to fix us. I don’t care about anything else. I just need you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove that to you.”

The promises spilling from his lips were surely enticing, but what did they mean now? When you could no longer trust them?

“This isn’t something you can just fix. I trusted you, I trusted our love and you… showed me that was a mistake.” The ferocity behind his words compelled you to rip your attention from the decorative piece, and once it landed upon him, your chest constricted uncomfortably. How could loving someone hurt this damn much? “And all of a sudden I’m here stuck with all these worries because you couldn’t be honest with me, ‘Samu. I don’t know how many times you lied to me. Or if there were other girls.” The latter half of your response contained a small crack, demonstrating a level of vulnerability you had instructed yourself to conceal. This wasn’t like you. It wasn’t. “I don’t know if you even really love me. Or if this is just something you got comfortable with, and you’re afraid to let go.”

But you hoped it wasn’t that. Oh, you really did hope it wasn’t the case.

“There weren’t any other girls, y/n. I fucked up and I’ll apologize for the rest of my life if I have to. But you couldn’t be more wrong.” He knew you were hurt, but the consequences of falsehoods had only dawned on him now. It destroyed your confidence in him, and in his love towards you.

His resolve to maintain distance no longer stood as a barrier to claim your hands in his own. Lacing your fingers together with his, he shook his head, hoping to dispel your insecurities. “I could never not love you. I don’t care how many years it’s been. I loved you then, and I love you now. If you will only believe one thing, I need you to believe this. I knew you were my soulmate the day I kissed you in the classroom. I never doubted that since then, y/n. I’m so sorry I hurt you.” The apologies were conveyed in a pleading manner, even if you chose to reject them – he needed you to understand that he meant every word. “If you’re not ready to come back home, it’s okay. I’ll wait. But I won’t give up on us.” Without severing eye-contact, he brought your hands to his lips, applying a few kisses to your knuckles. “I love you, y/n.”

“Shut up.” There was no denying his sincerity, and right now, in your hungover state, you could no longer command yourself to dismiss his apologies. Removing the pillow from your lap, you curled your arms around his torso, transferring your weight from the couch onto him. Osamu quickly adjusted, carefully settling into a seating position on the ground as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. He instantly tightened his grip around you, placing one hand at the back of your head and the other on the small of your back. The warmth emanating from him, served as a remedy to the pain infecting your heart. You knew there was much more to be discussed, as you stated before - there was no easy fix. But his apology was a starting point, and right now, what you needed more than a fight was his love. 

Let’s do it again, shall we - insecurity 

Masterlist - Previous - Next

A/N: I am so sorry this took forever!! 

taglist: @idiot-juice-enthusiast @vicassa @yourstarvic @bringmelily @newfriendjen​  @hikarichannn​ @anime-simp @tsukkismamagucci @laughingismorefun​ @astronomyturtle​ @shegrewupwithoutafather​ @hyskoa1998​ @deephumandragonperson​ @pretty-setter-bois​ @raenebalgaire​ @sugawarabby​ @justanotherfangirl2​ @keijisworld​ @90s-belladonna​ @momoinot​ @sempiternal-amour​ @cherryblosom111​ @yqshirov​ @haikyuufairy​ @volleybloop​ @bloody-bella​ @4fterh0urs​ @seikamuzu​ @namyari​  @toaster-stick​ @coconut-dreamz​ @roseestuosity​ @prcttylittlcthing​ @uzumakioden​ @nerdynstoned​ @kenmasgameboy​ @unstableye​ @ouijaeater15​ @aquariarose​ @fandomtrashpandasposts​ @helloalex80​ @stfucanunot​ @envyusshades​ @cuddlesslut​ @seijohiseliterambles​  @meiikuki​ @cuddlejeongin​ @tchalameme​ @ditu-m9​ @elianetsantana​

Taglist continued in the comments from my personal  ❣️

[choco-mark]

One Day Closer (2)

pairings: soulmate!jaemin x soulmate!oc

genre: fluff | smut

warnings: language, explicit sex, oral (fem. receiving), breeding kink, somnophilia, unprotected sex (stay safe!!), loss of virginity, basically absolute filth that i’m proud of hehe

summary: in a world where soulmates can hear each other’s thoughts, you slowly fall in love with your soulmate, though it takes you an eternity to realize who it really is.

words: 2.3k

parts: one | two

note: jaemin and y/n’s thoughts are written in italics

a part of the You Are Me series!!

19 July

It had been a few days since Jaemin and you had found out you were soulmates, and for the first time in so long, you had called your parents, who were currently half way across the world, to inform them of your news. They were glad to hear that you had finally found the boy you had been looking for.

Your dad took extra measures, having a personal ‘conversation’ with the boy (you were sure he was activating his protective measures, but you didn’t say anything out of happiness), but Jaemin had returned with a huge smile on his face that made you double over from his butterflies.

It was currently late at night, and it was past midnight when Jaemin awoke from his slumber, disturbed from the events of his dream. Almost every single day after the two of you found each other, his mind had been playing tricks on him, making it harder and harder for him to control himself around you.

You were next to him, sleeping soundly as you weren’t too affected by the hardening of his member. He cursed softly to himself, his eyes grazing over your soft figure as you turned in your sleep, facing him.

The two of you hadn’t touched yourselves since that day in the tent, and you two were far from even talking about the situation without turning flustered from the way you both had earned so much pleasure from each other. Jaemin looked at you now; your shirt that was thin enough to show your perked nipples, hard against the fabric.

As much as he didn’t want to wake you up, his eyes shut tightly from your small groan, the arousal increasing. “Fuck, Y/N,” he whispered, placing a hand on your waist.

And then an idea flowed to his brain, a dirty thought that he hoped didn’t convey to you for the element of his surprise, and he shifted slightly in his position. Glancing down at the shorts that were loosely placed on you, he licked his lips, his fingers dancing their way down to the waistband.

He moved as quietly as he could under the covers, moving your legs slowly apart as he pulled down your shorts. Jaemin could just imagine it, the way you’d lace your fingers into his hair to keep him to your pussy, and your face when he nipped at the skin of your thighs. Oh, that was definitely something he wanted to see.

Your panties were finally exposed to him, the light cotton covering your most private parts perfectly. His fingers latched to fabric, pulling it down your legs slowly enough that it wouldn’t wake you up. His hands trailed up your legs, stopping at your inner thighs when you stirred, taking a shaky breath before continuing your sleep.

“So fucking pretty,” Jaemin mumbled into your skin, placing a kiss to your thigh as his eyes never left your pussy. His eyes nearly drooled at the sight of it, never having seen one before in his entire life; but god, he could’ve sworn it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And he couldn’t wait to taste it.

He played with your folds carefully, feeling the way your breaths shortened at his movements, but not enough to wake you up. Jaemin’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest at this point, so filled with arousal and the need to pleasure his soulmate that he was sure it would be strong enough to intrude your thoughts.

After staring for so long, he finally gave in, starting to kitten lick at your clit. His tongue dug in deeper almost immediately, tasting your juices as his lips met your skin. He sucked softly, moving himself almost against you as perfectly as he did when he was kissing you.

Jaemin felt you stir, moaning quietly at the feeling you were getting from him, but he didn’t stop his movements, only increasing the pace of his lips. Your eyes finally fluttered open, only to roll back into your head, letting out soft sounds that pleased your soulmate.

J-Jaemin.

Your mind swirled from the haze of your slumber, still not awake enough to process everything at once until you heard the lewd sounds coming from between your legs due to his sucking. Fuck, Jaemin, fuck, fuck, that feels so fucking good.

The whines going through his mind made him groan, the vibration making you widen your eyes. They focused on the pink hair brushing against your thighs, moving side to side as he made out with your clit. Just the sight of him looking up at you from your legs had you crying out loudly, maybe a little too loud, but it was perfect for him.

You like it, baby? Tell me how good it feels, scream for me. Say my name, I want to hear you moan my name. Louder for me, louder.

Jaemin’s voice was in your head, but they didn’t fail to send waves through both of your bodies. Just as you felt yourself get closer and closer to your release, your hands grabbed onto his hair, keeping his lips to your pussy.

He could feel his breathing becoming restricted from your hold on him, but he couldn’t possibly let you get away without cumming all over his face. You tugged on his locks, your back arching off the bed for a moment before a hand pushed you, keeping you down. “Stay still, baby, I want to make you cum so well.”

You couldn’t help but writhe under his grasp, loving how much control he had over you while he continued to eat you out. His mouth moved south, and his tongue teased your hole mercilessly before he thrusted it into you. Jaemin’s hands grasped your hips, angling them towards his mouth to allow the wet muscle to enter your walls deeper.

“Jaemin, Jaemin, Jaemin,” your mouth chanted his name like it was the only thing you could remember, everything else being lost to the buzz of his mouth. Jaemin, Jaemin, Jaemin.

There was a burst of color in your eyes, leaving you crying out loudly as you finally released. Jaemin shuddered, pausing briefly to allow the the familiar wave pass over himself before lapping you up.

Your juices dripped down his chin, decorating the skin of his legs so nicely as he hummed into you, relishing in the taste of you. “Fuck, baby, you taste so good.”

There were tears streaming from down your face as Jaemin finally looked at you, hovering over you as he caressed your face. Pressing a kiss to your lips, you tasted yourself from his tongue, groaning from the taste. Baby, do you think you can take me?

You whined from his words, feeling his erection hard against your abdomen. With a shaky hand, you moved down to his bulge, palming it carefully. He nearly fell over you at the feeling, biting down on his lip.

I’ve never—had sex b-before.

He chuckled at your soft thought, looking down at you with loving eyes. Neither have I, baby. It’ll be a first time for both of us, hmm? He could sense your hesitation, watching you dart nervously between his eyes.

“We don’t have to—”

“N-No,” you snaked an arm around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “I-I want to. I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Jaemin’s hands tugged at the end of your shirt first, only removing it once you nodded, discarding of it somewhere on the floor. His mouth met your nipple almost immediately, nursing it carefully.

The only issue right now, you thought as your fingers tangled in his hair, was that you were completely naked and he was still completely clothed. You wanted more than anything to see him, but the words never formed, leaving you only in your mind.

But your mind was his mind, and he let your nipple go with a pop. Undress me, baby. Don’t be shy. He sat back, pulling you up slightly before pulling your hand to his chest, leaving it there for your own motion. I’m yours, baby, you don’t have to be shy. Take it off.

Your hand trailed to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head quickly. Hands grazed over his heavily toned body, the heat beteeen your legs seeming to increase from the visual you were getting. Jaemin noticed you were moving extra slowly, but from your thoughts, he found out you were trying to feel all of him, which he definitely could tell from the painful arousal he already had.

You finally reached the band of his shorts, and you pulled them down before your focused on his boxers, dark and filled with a package you were waiting for. Jaemin watched you, your eyes lingering on his face for a moment longer before pulling down his boxers, watching his cock spring out in front of you.

Now both of you were unclothed, sitting in anticipation as your eyes widened at your soulmate’s length. Fuck, will it fit?

He chuckled from your statement, peering into your eyes. “I promise, baby, it’ll fit. I’ll fill you up so well; I’m made for you after all.”

You whimpered from his words, your innocent expression catching him off guard as he pushed you back down against the mattress. His fingers found your folds, pushing past them to feel how wet you already were from both the previous activity and the arousal coming back to you. I’ll go slowly, okay?

The tip of his member gathered your juices before he positioned himself in front of your hole, looking up at you in approval. You nodded slowly, trying to brace yourself, but nothing could’ve really prepared you to what you felt.

He entered you slowly, your hole stretching for him so wide than they had ever done for your fingers. Your breath hitched from the sharp pain, which doubled as he filled you up completely. Tears gathered at the ends of your eyes, spilling slowly as you couldn’t seem to find anything other than pain.

You’re so tight, baby. Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby, I promise it won’t hurt in a few seconds. Wait a little bit, just a little longer, okay?

Jaemin’s lips were everywhere, kissing your neck and face to distract you from the pain, whispering sweet nothings to you as he stayed still. You could tell that he was having trouble keeping still, but he focused on you first, waiting until you were comfortable enough to continue. Okay.

He moved slowly, pulling himself out completely before pushing back in. It was a slow motion, and with each thrust the pain started to fade, being replaced by the pleasure instead. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pressing into his skin as he increased his pace.

Fuck, faster. If Jaemin wasn’t controlling himself with every single cell of his body, he probably could have slammed into you senseless, but now that you asked for it, it was exactly what you got.

Your eyes were screwed shut as he pounded into you, but he kept his open. The sight of your mouth gaping from the lack of oxygen due to how fast he was going made him topple over himself, nearly cumming. His lips mashed over yours, pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

Your thighs were shaking, his cock hitting deeper than you ever thought was possible. “Jaemin, Jaemin, I—”

“Cum all over my cock,” he said breathlessly, his pace faltering slightly as he felt himself getting close. “Cum for me again, baby, show me how good you feel.”

The last thrust he gave was your breaking point, and you scratched down his back, leaving long streaks of red that made him groan. Your scream was loud, loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood with your soulmate’s name at the edge of your lips.

Jaemin came right after, moaning your name deeply into the crook of your neck as you felt your walls coat in his essence. You felt him fill you up, and then ride out his high before he pulled out.

His eyes trailed to your pussy, however, watching his cum spill out of you so beautifully that he thought he would cum again just at the sight. He wasn’t sure if it was just a carnal instinct, or the way he felt like he was marking you, but his fingers gathered the liquid, pushing it back into your hole. Fuck, that’s so hot.

Jaemin plopped down beside you, pulling you against him as he stared into your eyes. You look so hot with my cum inside you, baby. That could possibly be the most attractive thing I’ve ever seen in my overall existence.

You giggled at his comment, snuggling closer to him. You do realize that you just ruined my sheets, right? And there’s a possibility I could get pregnant now, right?

He hummed. I don’t really care. I can hand wash your sheets personally if you want, and I can deliver our child with my bare hands. You smacked his chest at the words, and he let out a laugh.

“Go to sleep, baby. We’ll worry about all that in the morning.”

And it was safe to say that everything was dealt with in the morning, along with the very spontaneous statement of Jaemin’s that truly intrigued you considering they went along the lines of ‘you’d look so hot with my kids.’ Let’s just say, you thankfully did not get pregnant from his fun this time.

previous | next

[ankkalinna]

I apologize for disturbing, but I would ask one question. Given that you comment on the Ducktales reboot, the last episode I watched was pretty disappointing for me. I don't understand why they changed Donald's voice. Is it okay for you to change his voice in unnecessary moments or not? Somehow his change of voice is unnatural, I like him with his duck voice. Somehow it seems to me that the Ducktales reboot crew somehow do not respect Tony Anselmo as far as I can see.

My opinion is that the dt17 crew is very uncomfortable with the duck voice.

It feels very much like they’re stuck with it because it’s Donald Duck and his voice in animation is iconic but they want to write for a ‘normal’ voice.

Now, I am someone who grew up with the Duck comics, not the cartoons, so I never considered Donald to have a ‘duck voice’. But-

If they had to use it they should have put more thought into it. It feels very much to me like they just hate it and can’t think of a way to fit the duck voice into the scripts they wanted to make so they just get rid of it or mock it and write Donald as incomprehensible.

They want Donald to speechify about his family but can’t make it work with the duck voice so they just remove it, instead of figuring out how to make the character convey these sort of things with the voice he has. You need to adapt your writing for the duck voice, but they weren’t prepared to do that. Anselmo has spoken about how he was willing to go through the scripts and help them to be more fitting for the voice, telling them where it would be good to change phrasing for example to remove sounds that made Donald harder to understand but people making DT17 weren’t interested in that, and instead did stuff like sped up his performance.

(the most relevant bit is at 14:45. he does also talk about the legend of the three caballeros, a show where they allowed him to go through the scripts to see if he approved them, which is why Donald is easier to understand in that show)

There are several ways they could have approached the duck voice issue and the one they decided to go with was writing it as a speech impediment and then mocking Donald over it.

Now, the duck voice isn’t necessarily a speech impediment, even if the audience can’t understand Donald properly. It can be just… A duck thing. He has that because he is a duck, and if everyone understands him (like in the Mickey Mouse shorts) then it’s just. he’s a duck, he go wak wak

But in DT17 he is the only person with it and it very much impedes his life in universe. And depicting it as that could be fine but then you neeed to actually be aware that’s what you’re doing and the way DT17 is written really doesn’t feel like that to me.

People not understanding him is the joke and his family doesn’t care. There is no attempt to communicate, it’s just sad. Even tho they point out he has anger issues because he feels he can’t be understood?? Well then the issue is there’s no communication but okay him punching things because he loves his family is good too I guess.

Now, changing his voice could work. From a meta perspective you should try to use different methods imo, by making scripts that support the character (by for example giving context to what he is saying through the dialogue of others) using the visuals to communicate etc. DT17 wants it emotional speeches like in the quack pack ep, but is it really impactful coming from a voice actor who isn’t the usual character?

Donald’s voice being changed in the quack pack ep could have easily worked, as him wishing he would have a ‘normal’ voice, (this does happen in a classic animated short) but within the fiction of the episode, it wasn’t a thing that came from Donald in the first place it was a change that came from the genie.

And even if it came from Donald it’d be depressing because it’s not like the ep ends with his family working to communicate with him, or telling him they like his voice or anything. so

I guess if you’re charitable you could say the ep shows they can just punch stuff together as a family and that’s enough so… no need to talk about things? It does seem to be the go-to solution to Donald’s problems in the show.

Also Don Cheadle is a problem. He isn’t a voice actor! Being a voice actor demands a different skillset than being a movie actor does. But they want the big names whether it is a good fit and there is lot of disrespect for voice actors. Tho this is more a problem with the casting in general and lot of it presumably comes from higher up…

[littlenekosfan]

Friend - visual narrative

this is going to be a long thread bc i have a LOT of panels, so read under the cut!

since im reworking with Friend chapters panels, i paid attention to the details more than ever before.. and wow, the way these chapters are narrated is absolutely amazing

lets start off with my one of my fav panels

if there is a theme between these two that keep recurring it’s “duality” (whether when it comes to their character or the way their story is told) we will also find a lot of parallels with it.. this panel above starts it very well, one left, one right, they both call each other’s name, the expressions completely different, even the background is reversed

there we go again, all this in one chapter, i simply love how they have the same pose/image but reversed, its a really nice contrast with how different they are and yet are at the same level also, look at their speech bubbles, most of the time, jugram has a round one while bazz a sharper one, its the case here and the previous panels aswell

AGAIN! kubo gives us each’s pov with the same image/paneling, i love that method bc he treats them the same, even if one is stronger than the other and ppl will most likely root for/side with one more than the other, they both get the same treatment, also, we get to see how both lives the same struggle, it both conflicts them this whole fight considering the past they had together

the transition is also really nice, the black background outside the panel and the partial grey shading that matches with it inside the panel.. we will get to see that technique again, but here?? lovely.

a whole page not showing their face even if you guessed who they were, you get that little surprise with the face reveal which comes out really nice

the chapter reveal!!!! its so pure and empty (no dialogue and it’s only one panel), it perfectly empathize on the title and its meaning

i love how discreet bazz motive to help out jugo is shown here, obviously none of them would speak about it (jugo is pretty closed and bazz despite being loud, he isnt obnoxious and he’s smart) so it had to be shown without any words and these panels do it so well!

the first panel is just so beautiful and you can tell how jugo is just, happy. and then, the moment his uncle speaks, his face drastically changes, from white to black, kubo loves to work with that contrast of b&w (just look how the ritters/espadas are dressed vs shinigamis.. there is also the sun/moon theme and so on... its not called bleach for nothing lmao) kubo uses contrast very often and we can tell he loves to do it (and he does it super well!!)

i know we dont have any colour on these pages, but both pages are from the same chapter, first one (right) being their fist meeting on a normal day (probably an evening so the sky is orange ish) and the second page is again a jump to a flashback but this time it’s not the sky that we are shown in the last panel, but rather flames, the same colour as the day they met... the two last panels look the same but arent....

there is also the absence of facial expression in some panels, which imo conveys the mood much better, we are not left up to interpretation, we clearly know what kind of feelings that are expressed yet they didnt need to be shown...

again with the parallels (left/right) and using the same image from younger to older to show their growth? nice.

the built up with the grand reveal... wow, love it, also, that panel was such a surprise to me when i first read it... still give me goosebumps today ngl..(if you are a manga reader to likes to have the book, well, this the end of vol69... what an ending :))) just look at the build up, the bg is dark and you get that white and empty panel right after like, wow 

AGAIN WITH THE SUPRISE AND WOW IT HURTS, also the title being in capital... OOF, im going to loose it

ppl like to call kubo lazy with his titles, but is it?? i mean, here, i really cant think of a better title, remember how the first chapter friend was introduced? so sweet and smooth and then you get this... the fact friend is written here is a good call back to their relationship, what it is, what it really means, and the current situation

the way bazz recalls all the things he had heard about this.......th-that hurts (we’re like in his mind, we’re just as shocked as he is) also, it shows well how bazz recall all these moment in silence and does all the realization without saying a thing, bc no, he didnt say a thing ever since yhwach started to talk..

the left panel is yhwach talking (as he was for like the whole chapter) and there is no dialogue going on, the two boys didnt say a thing... as the slience was taking place, bazz breaks is with a shrieking voice, just looking how the letters are written in japanese, we went from pure, clear panel to a messy and dark one....

jump back to present, with both jugrams having the same pose but they both don’t convey the same feeling, with the shading and how cut it is (not being able to fully see jugo’s eyes) you can tell the first one is more disturbing/devastating than the second one

there we go... we get to see both of their expression at the same time and it change within the following panels,.. (im telling you, kubo love both of them, not just one.., both.)

this is one of my favorites moments, the way know bazz has lost his fight and how HE is self-conscious about it..., the way he monologues about jugram is really depressing, and how we are only given images that illustrates his struggle...the images are so strong, desperate and yet, his words are so empty, powerless, he knew he lost.. (the moment i start reading it, i cry on the fucking floor)

i mentioned earlier how i loved kubo’s choice in not showing the face, well we have it here again in a flashback and the end of the fight... jugram turning his back to bazz, he did it in the past and did it after bazz’ death..  it’s his way to avoid to face his feelings. (the fact we are shown he did it in the past and the reason to it, let us know why he did it again even later)

here again with empty panels, the fact it’s only bazz who is talking.... feels really heavy and the way he clings to jugram with burning hands....... you really need to look at every panel carefully to feel that heart wrenching moment,, there is no crying or screaming, he just softly admits his defeat and that’s it, like, im sorry but that’s fucking sorrowful

here again with kubo choosing to not show the face, but in this case, it’s harder for us to tell which expression jugram has (since he’s so closed about showing emotions or his intentions) but the fact kubo deliberately chose to hide it proves jugram has something to hide from us, something he didnt want us (readers) to see.........

these panels? concludes their story perfectly you have jugram walking up the stairs leaving bazz-b alone laying behind, being reminded of the day they met where bazz was the one standing high while jugram is on the ground the setting: the cold empty castle during nighttime vs the warm summer day met in a forest at daytime bazz reached to jugram and jugram left him behind, they met with touched hearts only to leave with empty ones, bazz used to look down on jugram and now, jugram does, they used to be so different and still do but only now, their role are inverted...

thank you @equipollency​ for that remark! i think your post does it much better if yall wanna read it !

i mentioned earlier how the background (outside the panel) would change from black to white, we know the black means the past,  but i love how its broken here, going back and forth from the past and present (within the same page) to show how things are still the same between them, the same struggle, the same fight over and over

also, the “not yet” is just so perfectly placed, i cant, it just emphasize even more on my point earlier (how things between them never changed on that matter)  and it finally concludes the flashbacks (with the way it’s presented: the b&w,, and the words themselves, how they weight so much)

the black shading like that is rarely used with kubo but when he does, you know it conveys extreme emotions (we didnt get to see it with bazz bc it wasnt as intense as jugram has it but also)  the trigger to these emotions for jugram are related to trauma, the first one being his uncle and the second being his friendship (im not calling his relation with bazz traumatic, its how important this relationship was to him and how ended up broken that triggers him)

but NaKi ThErE iS ThiS pAneL wHerE baZz Is ShaDeD bLacK! yes i know, but it’s not about bazz expression nor emotions, its about the scene, the situation (the white bg vs the black silhouette: perfect), so no it doesnt count, but its still a very nice panel just like with the jugo’s reveal with everyone “kneeling” to him.. white bg was The way to go

i forgot to talk about how i like their fight, how there is so little dialogue and how there are a lot of empty pages just to let place to the fight... it lets you enjoy their fight while we suffer with their flashback, anyways, im not a fan of endless dialogue in fights unless it really changes something, here, they both already know each other and they know what they want, so it was a good pick to just, us reader, witness their story through their mind instead of them narrating/recalling it to us

i know kubo uses that technique outside of these chapters, but the grey shading... i love.. he also has a LOT of close ups with eyes bc we all know how expressive eyes are;... i love that too

i know i talked about some facial expressions, but really, kubo’s art is amazing, the way he can convey certain expressions that are so precise... here, have some panels that i think are underrated naki your boys are underrated.. bc i love kubo’s art so much

i had the chance to see the colored version only once, and to be honest, the black and white is just, Amazing. nothing close to that, kubo’s use of b&w and how he keeps his panels pure is MADE to stay that way

anyways, im really in love with how Friend was made and thought out in it’s visual narrative (and story wise too ofc), kubo didnt just do a side story, these chapters are fucking amazing and ppl often ignores that sadly..

[imnobodyuknow]

Surpri--  Oh...

So, a few weeks ago, I shared a Vocaloid drawing entitled “Life is Good,” which showed four different Vocaloid characters enjoying the good things in life.  That phrase, “life is good,” while true, is a bit of an incomplete description of life, as I’m sure you know if you’ve lived it long enough.  For that reason, I decided to do something I don’t usually do, especially with characters I like -- draw them experiencing some of life’s more difficult parts.

In the top-left corner, Hatsune Miku is dealing with a sudden burst of anxiety:

In the top-right corner, Megurine Luka is sobbing under a deluge of depression:

In the bottom-left corner, Kagamine Len is showing frustration with himself as he deals with shame:

And in the bottom-right corner, Kagamine Rin is grappling with one of the most insidious (and destructive) emotions ever to be grappled with -- anger:

What inspired me to draw these depictions of some of the ugliest parts of the human experience, you ask?  The human experience itself.  While I don’t like to dwell on negative emotions (or think it’s even a good idea), I find it very helpful to acknowledge and study them in order to have better control over them.  One of the best ways to do so, I’ve found, is to describe them in as much detail as possible.  As someone who is no stranger to all four of these emotions, I decided to describe them in a visual way, using these members of the Vocaloid family to illustrate them.  Not surprisingly, I found it to be somewhat cathartic.

I did have some context in mind for the Vocaloids, however.  In Miku’s picture, she just made a startling discovery that left her disillusioned; the lightning in the background represents this sudden shock to her system.  In Luka’s picture, she recently broke off a loving relationship with someone, which left a deep wound in her heart; the pouring rain symbolizes the sorrowful state of mind she’s in.  Appropriately, she’s also wearing pajamas with weeping willows on them.

In Len’s picture, he found himself doing something he knew to be wrong, and is now struggling not to hate himself for it; the spotlight shining on him represents the harsh criticism he faces from his conscience.  And finally, in Rin’s picture, she is attempting to push an angry memory out of her mind, only to have it replaying over and over again and burning her up as much as it did when she first experienced it, which is illustrated by the fire in the background.  I hope that life hasn’t this unpleasant for you, but if it has, know that you’re not alone.

And also...rejoice that you’ve made it through those unpleasant moments!  If there’s anything good about them, it’s that they’re in the past, where they belong.  And when the good times arrive (and they will), you’ll have all the more reason to celebrate them.

(Art by Miku_tap_jp)

Besides wanting to project some of my negative emotional experiences onto paper, I also wanted to try drawing characters with some different-colored lighting -- purple for Miku, blue for Luka, and red for Rin.  It turned out to be a lot easier than I anticipated, especially since they each only needed a few different shades of the same color.  I also wanted to see how well I could convey strong emotions realistically with pencil and colored pencil.  As I often do, I looked at my face in the mirror to get some of the details right -- the wrinkles in Miku’s forehead, the pattern of teeth in Luka and Rin’s mouths, and Rin’s hands.  For the last one, I took a picture of myself just to make sure her hands looked believable.  Here’s what that looked like:

Making the flame background behind Rin, on the other hand, was a bit more of a challenge than I anticipated.  It ended up looking only kind of like the picture I used for reference:

Colored pencil has its limits, unfortunately...plus I didn’t think it through all the way.  X |

Interestingly enough, this picture was partly inspired by a similar one I once found of the Doki Doki Literature Club characters dealing with their own specific struggles.  It’s a little too disturbing to share here, but it reminded me of what made me enjoy that game -- the harsh reality that was injected into its otherwise cartoonish characters.  As unpleasant as it was (not to mention being overexaggerated at certain points), it made them that much more relatable.  You could say it was a helpful reminder of something I already mentioned: None of us are alone in our struggles.

An interesting thing happened as I was finishing up this drawing -- I’ve been reading a daily devotional called The Upper Room, and the reading that day included these words:

“Life is hard.  Loved ones might die despite our faith and prayer.  We may get divorced even when we trust.  Diseases can be incurable or fatal.  We may pray, live faithfully, and trust God, yet still face unthinkable tragedies.

“But even knowing this, we can continue to pray and live for God -- to believe that God is good, right, and lovely, and that God’s ways are peace.  Even when things go wrong, God is still by our side in the struggle.  And we can find joy in knowing we are never alone.”

This bit of insight seemed to go perfectly with this drawing’s message, so I thought it was worth sharing here.

Another interesting coincidence(?) -- Easter is coming up in just a week from today!  I don’t know about you, but I’m about ready to see some light in the darkness, and what better way to celebrate it than to remember the new life given to us by Jesus’ death and resurrection?  Whether you’re someone who celebrates it or not, I hope you’re able to handle every trial life throws at you, and that you won’t forget to focus on the good times.

Life’s still good, after all.  ; )

[ba-hons-film-blog]

Film Genres - Genre Short Script

1st Draft Script

Conception:

This idea was inspired by the gothic horror still my group made for the master shot exercise. Whilst looking at the still, in which the character is looking over their shoulder at an unscreen presence the audience can assume has just disturbed then, I wondered what the presence could be (if it was indeed her late husband who she was trying to summon, or something else). Whilst the actual nature of the script somewhat differs from this, that is how the idea came about.

I had initially considered doing a script in a different genre, such as crime, as this was something I was more used to and I thought this gave our group an alternative route if we felt we wanted to do something else for the actual film exercise. However, I ultimately though it would be more interesting to try my hand at a genre I was less familiar with than staying in my comfort zone.

In writing this, I found myself deviating away from the gothic horror genre, and writing something that was more of a supernatural drama/tragedy, focusing on a couple parted by death. The husband has passed away three years prior (for reasons that are not made clear) and his grieving wife, who has been visiting him on a regular basis, is making efforts to move on with her life. The spirit of her late husband is distraught by this news, as he is trapped in a sort of purgatory state, and all he has to look forward to in his existence are the visits fork his wife.

There is one particular moment which is inspired by our genre still, in which the husband (Robert) calls out to his wife (Eleanor). This somehow causes her candle to flicker dramatically, and leads to her turning around to see what caused this. The character in the still is doing a very similar thing, although the context for both is very different.

Script:

Anaylsis:

I am happy with what I have done but have some issues I want to tackle for the second draft, which I hope the feedback will give me some guidance on how to do.

What is the backstory to his death and why is he stuck here, in this purgatory state? I considered several ideas like poor choices in his past (such as being involved in a criminal lifestyle), neglecting his family and infidelity, but I felt none of this worked, or could be addressed properly in three pages. Additionally, I felt by doing this I could allow him to atone for this past mistakes, which could make for a nice character arc, with both characters being able to ultimately move on. Again, however, the issue would be doing this in a satisfying manner in only a few pages. Perhaps it doesn’t need addressed, and the film works fine as a tragedy in which he is unable to speak to the women he loves, and can only watch his family’s life go on from afar, unable to move on like they can.

Additionally, the dialogue is a bit too modern. I wanted to avoid any steorotype “ye old time”-y dialogue, as I felt this would detract from the emotion, but there is surely a middle ground where the dialogue can feel accurate to the period without being distracting. Another idea could be to change the setting of the story, but I feel setting it in the Victorian era works better than the present day.

Also the script does run slightly over into a fourth page, and there are some very large paragraphs that could do this being trimmed down. The heavy focus on dialogue with two characters sitting down also means this runs the risk of not being overly interesting film wise, but this information is something that would be difficult to convey purely through visuals. I could still work in some cases, if the sound were to be silenced and you were to only see the characters expressions, although while you could convey the general nature of this information, this wouldn’t work for certain specifics.

[srbachchan]

DAY 4428

Jalsa, Mumbai                       Apr 21/22, 2020                 Tue/Wed 12:30 AM

Talks and discussions take a prominent location in the minds of them that conduct such topics .. the expectations and the worries .. the planning ahead .. conduct and bearing .. 

All come under one blanket of the disease that has brought on a war on humanity .. the War which the learned and the ‘brain bank’ of the World had ever stood by that there shall never be another WW3 , are beginning to rethink .. for the WW3 has already begun .. I do hope that this is wrong and humanity prevails its presence in the World which has now been subjugated and made servile to an invisible virus .. may better sense prevail .. may the unexpected be the expected and vice versa .. may the understandings of mankind be on level ground .. may disparities parry .. may all our beings be in consonance with them that do not have .. 

It is disturbing .. some have and have in excess and some have none .. lamentation among them that have , varies with what they feel is a ‘profit mein loss’ .. a common trader idiom .. you had wanted and worked for a business of  +2X .. got +1X .. ‘profit mein loss’ .. its still + its still 1X, but no the desire for the 2X has been defeated so there is defeat rather than a lessening in the profits .. 

.. perhaps the business minded shall give better explain ..

Many wish, anticipate and desire, a dream that they plead for .. dear Lord give me the wish of my dreams that may prevail and conduct themselves, with the audacity of the lesser ... I want mine .. I want to to be for me and me alone .. do it .. just do it dear Lord ..

SO .. So .. so when it happens , the heavens open up and the divinity blesses it upon us in droves .. then as suddenly as it had arrived it disappears and disappears for long .. until ..

In this day and age the documentation that had been desired for long has found its destination .. its keeping has become more personal in its orientation .. my application can store an entire lifetime on my little ‘h’, why should I give it away for another, or to another, to exploit .. what is mine shall remain mine .. for far too long the minds that designed content and the philosophy of storage and documentation has superior thinkings than ours .. and so a few , a very few, knew exactly what needed to be done and did it .. 

Wars have given rise and opportunity to the makings of billionaires .. genuine in some , a sense of guilt in another .. but there ..

shortcomings of essentials has ever been the bane of market behaviour, but inane though it may sound , has give opportunity for progress - the progress individually .. and that is what many anxiously wait for .. or speculate and hope .. with prayer in servile kneel, to the Lord Almighty .. 

ahh .. enough intellectualism .. 

.. the picture within the picture .. as often seen on the WhatsApp video presentations .. 🤣 ..

.. distant sounds of the tone .. the heart beats in the drone of the music that strings along in melodious backing .. within and around .. giving impetus and reason to be alive at this hour to convey, to be with all , to feel their presence about .. in the absolute silence of the dark hours .. here in the sound of silence , I hear the form within as the just constructed musical notes of written music , a rarity, envelope me .. grabbing me by the collar .. drifting apart .. repeatedly .. 

.. it plays again and again .. and again .. cannot live without it .. haunts .. builds images about .. sends the mind to the imagination of visuals and .. bliss .. the purity of the note .. the dexterity of the musician .. the regret of not in the learn of it .. teach me teach me teach me oh Lord .. give me that is not mine , but needs to be .. 

blessed are they that exist in the heavenly sounds of sonorous notes .. developing them themselves in the play, sending the ecstasy of its enveloped grasp in strong waves of inseparable beings .. 

.. it has stopped .. the rewind pauses .. time stops , as does the writing ..

Amitabh Bachchan

[zaph1337]

Monster Hunter Rating 37: Red Khezu, the Charging Wyvern

TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD

I don’t normally talk about the monster’s qualities in the introduction, but I have to here to make sure that no one’s gonna get hurt because of this. This is a monster that’s veiny and blood red, and combined with Khezu’s design, it’s pretty disturbing. The weapons, however, are probably worse, as they have a cracked, fleshy aesthetic that looks like it could start bleeding at any moment, and I’ll put the trigger warning a second time once we get to talking about them in case it slips someone’s mind. Might seem overkill, but with a situation like this, you can’t be too careful, which is also why I’m gonna put this review under a “Read More” so anyone who doesn’t want to see it doesn’t get an eyeful while trying to scroll past it. Now, let’s talk about Red Khezu proper, shall we?

(How it appears in Monster Hunter Freedom 1)

(How it appears in Monster Hunter 4)

Appearance: See what I mean? This thing’s made to look like it had its skin ripped off, which is not a look you want to have unless your intention is to scar someone or their children for life. The MHF1 render conveys the skinned appearance better than the MH4 one, in my opinion, because it’s a deep red, like the kind you’d see in gore in PlayStation era games. The MH4 render reminds me more of a particularly red worm or lamprey...well, until you get to the body. Then it looks like someone plucked a chicken and painted it red. It probably looks more visceral in-game.

I think I prefer the standard Khezu design, to be honest. The pale complexion combined with everything else gives me Silent Hill vibes, and even though I haven’t played any of the games, I’ve watched videos on them, and I appreciate all they’ve done for the horror genre. Red Khezu, on the other hand, doesn’t give me that same impression, and I don’t know of any horror series’ I’m interested in where such a vibrant red on a fleshy-looking monster is part of the aesthetic. Still, it does its job well. 7/10.

Behavior/Lore: So, here’s something interesting: Red Khezu aren’t a subspecies. They’re what Khezu are supposed to be like; the Khezu everyone views as being “normal” are actually albinos who likely only got more populous than the red ones because they spend most of their time in caves, where anything that would want them dead likely wouldn’t be relying on visual cues to hunt anyways. That said, both types of Khezu leave caves to eat non-cave dwelling monsters and, surprisingly, mushrooms, which Red Khezu have been seen feeding on in the Swamp region. Unfortunately for them, being so fatty means that once they leave their cave, they put themselves at risk, ‘cause a lot of monsters want to eat them, including the Rath pair.

For some reason, Red Khezu are much more aggressive than the albino variety, and they even have increased muscle mass, which allows them to not only visit cold regions (which white Khezu can already do), but even stay in them during the winter months (which white Khezu can’t do). I don’t know why albino Khezu aren’t like this, ‘cause I can’t see how albinism would affect your muscle growth and temperament, but I don’t make the monsters, I just critique them.

I’m really glad that this is more interesting than “Khezu+.” The fact that Red Khezu aren’t a true subspecies is a neat idea, and considering that the Ecology page on the common Khezu doesn’t mention any omnivorous tendencies, it’s likely that Red Khezu even have a different diet than their pale cousins, which is something that I don’t think the previous G monsters had. While making them more aggressive than albino Khezu is to be expected at this point, it doesn’t take away from anything, so I’m not going to gripe about it. When you combine all of this with the qualities they likely share with albino Khezu, you get an interesting counterpart for what was already an interesting monster. 8/10.

Abilities: If you thought that keeping warm was the main benefit of having more muscle mass than a common Khezu, I have to question your educational history; Red Khezu are physically stronger than the albino variety, and their electrical organs are superior as well. Not only are their electric attacks stronger, they can also use electricity to incapacitate prey in ways common Khezu can’t. Also, their skin seems to be very elastic, as Red Khezu can stretch their necks out much farther than their pale brethren can. I think more needs to be stretchier than just the skin, but whatever. As a final note, for some reason they’re immune to fire, but this apparently comes at the cost of being weak to water.

Red Khezu do what I wish more subspecies’ do, which is take the basic abilities of their weaker forms and mix them up, not just make them more powerful. The new ways they can manipulate electricity and the extended reach of their more elastic necks likely make battles with them stand out more than the ones you have with some other G monsters. 7/10.

Equipment: Like I said at the beginning, TRIGGER WARNING FOR BLOOD. These weapons look just plain nasty, which, while potentially being part of their appeal to some people, will likely make others very queasy or worse. I’ll start with the least disgusting one, the Hunting Horn called the Blood Horn:

“Red Hunting Horn made from wrapped Red Khezu hide. Its color is very unsettling...” The color is unsettling? Not the fact that it literally has a mouth? Okay, in all fairness, the color of the wraps makes it more gruesome than the Khezu Horn, which just looks like it’s covered in bandages; these look like bandages that were soaked in something, and they were probably white before they were applied. Make of that little observation what you will. Now, here’s where things start getting nasty--this Long Sword from MHO:

...I can’t say I know what that implement is, but I do know that the Red Khezu skin is wrapped around it in a very unsettling way; until I saw the little bit of metal that was exposed at the sword’s base, I thought that those spikes were independently attached to the flesh instead of being the teeth of a full blade. And speaking of unsettling, the sheathe looks like it’s bleeding. That comparison to cracked flesh I drew earlier makes more sense now, don’t it? I’ve got one more weapon to show you guys, and it’s probably the nastiest one of the bunch: the Red Khezu Sword and Shield from MHO. If you’re already uncomfortable after looking at the above weapons, you might wanna scroll past this:

The reasons I find this the most gruesome of the weapons I’ve shown are A: the “sword” is a surgeon’s saw, which adds to the whole “twisted hospital” vibe that Silent Hill likes to use, and B: the shield literally has the Red Khezu’s “face” stretched over it, and the mouth is...what are those black things holding the mouth shut? They’re not sewing lines, ‘cause they’re way too big. Wait, the way the two on the left are angled, it looks like they’re 3D and not flat--are those things made of metal, like the shield? ‘Cause there are a few implications for that, and they’re all unpleasant. Moving on to the armor, the only renders the wiki had are the men’s sets from MHO. Here’s the Blademaster set:

This isn’t as vibrant of a red as Red Khezu normally are, but it does look like raw meat or exposed flesh, so that’s...cool? The fact that there’s nothing obscuring or darkening the face like in other games with Khezu armor makes it look kind of silly, though; it’s like a fleshy raincoat, which is equally parts disgusting and hard to take seriously. As for the Gunner set, it’s very different from the Khezu R Armor I showed off in the Khezu review:

To be fair, this does look a lot like the normal Khezu Gunner armor, so expecting it to look like the R Gunner armor is silly. There are a couple of neat things here--the arm guard has a spine embedded in it, and the right arm has a glove with claws (or at least long nails)--but for the most part this doesn’t stand out too much to me. It does look like someone cooked the meat for a few minutes, though, so it’s probably not violating any health codes.

Honestly, I prefer the standard Khezu equipment to this, but that’s mostly because there’s much more of it than Red Khezu equipment. Plus, outside of the ones from MHO, the weapons the devs recolored for Red Khezu don’t really look that unnerving. The red’s a bit too vibrant, so it doesn’t really fit the filthy hospital aesthetic that made Khezu weapons so eerie, and the armor looks gross, sure, but that’s all it has. Still, the MHO weapons are their own kind of disturbing, but the fact that the majority of Red Khezu weapons are in a game that most people don’t even consider a real MH game is depressing. 6/10.

Final Thoughts and Tally: After sifting through so many monsters that did so little, it’s nice to get something that stands out like this. Don’t get me wrong, I still prefer normal Khezu over red ones, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like Red Khezu at all; I just think that the albino ones have more going for them. 7/10.

[xpouii]

Analogical E4 sensory deprivation Thanks!

Hello! Ask and you shall receive! This was much longer than a drabble--I think--but I loved writing it!

Warnings/Tags: NSFW, Analogical, sensory deprivation, bondage, gagging, sensory play, mentioned rough sex, love bites and bruises

           The room was dimly lit, but it didn’t matter much to Virgil, thanks to the blindfold secured carefully over his eyes. He was comfortable in darkness, and soon even his mind’s little panicked flashes of light and color stopped, and he could stare comfortably into nothingness. He was wearing his headphones, noise-cancelling and familiar, with a soft, deep white-noise playing. He sniffed lightly, and the glistening peppermint oil on his top lip lit up his body with the smell of ice, of tea and of medicine, Patton’s Christmas sweets and Deceit’s winter skin cream for his scales. Memories abstracted and skewed in sweet ways like saltwater taffy, stretched and folded again and again. As much as his nose gave him, his mouth tasted only silicone from the gag, the plug kind that filled his mouth and kept his tongue more or less pinned down. He certainly wouldn’t be breathing that way, and he wouldn’t be tasting the salt of his own sweat or tears. It wasn’t unfamiliar, though, and even the most uncomfortable things become sweet and calming when they’re routine.

           As interesting and vibrant as Virgil’s little world of darkness was, far more important was the other person in the room, removing his silk tie and draping it over the back of his desk chair lest it drop onto Virgil’s skin and give him more sensory input than Logan intended him to have. He looks over his tools, set out in order on heavy black velvet; adjusting his glasses, Logan picked up the first of them, and he moved to the bed where the stretched canvas of his lover’s perfect body waited, still and poised on the edge of a precipice only Logan could see. A tight, satisfied smile pulled at his lips as he leaned in, careful not to disturb the bed.

           The white feather was more fluff than substance, a whisper of artifice that gave less sensation than even a breath, but Virgil felt it like a zap of lightning. He jumped as it travelled up the inside of his leg, stopping to swoop over his thigh to his hip, carefully avoiding anything substantial as it burned its way along. Virgil hummed, his husky voice inaudible to him over the white noise. It jumped to his stomach and he arched up against his restraints, but Logan was strict, and the movement was carefully restricted, soft cuffs and short, tight chains. He wanted to implore Logan, speak his name and taste it on his tongue, but so was the game, and he was left wanting.

           The aching softness crawled up the outside of his other leg, all the way to his ribs and then inward to dust over his nipples that instantly hardened at the tiny tease of sensation. He sucked in a deep breath as it moved up to his neck and curled down along his shoulder to his armpit—freshly shaven just like everything else, per Logan’s orders—and Virgil whined, giving a real, proper broken sound so early. It was something beyond tickling, almost intrusive in places that rarely felt such bare-skin contact.

           Logan stepped away, sudden and smooth, and the feather was replaced on the table; next he picked up the sable fanbrush, a wood-handled paintbrush with bristles from the tail of a sable martin, given by Roman when Logan inquired about the most luxurious type of paintbrush. It was easier to control, allowing precision and speed, although just as achingly soft for Virgil, and that alone made it the perfect tool. Logan swept back in and moved the brush down between Virgil’s legs, just along the rim of his extremely sparse and revealing underwear. Virgil tried to snap his thighs together, but he couldn’t, and he squirmed helplessly as nerves along the sensitive swipe of skin lit up and screamed arousal and discomfort at the same time. Logan smiled, and moved to do the same on the other side, then stepped around the bed to brush up Virgil’s sternum, painting an invisible landscape over his lover’s cream-smooth skin. Rivers along his stomach, a dark forest of pine down his thighs and billowy clouds all around Virgil’s nipples, only flicking the sensitive buds once in the fifteen minute he spent painting.

           Virgil was starting to grow accustom to the paintbrush when Logan took it away, and if he wasn’t gagged, he would have begged for it back. But the next touch started just south of his navel, and Virgil recognized the turkey feather; It was an entirely different sensation from the airy nothingness of the down feather, and was instead sleek and sharp, firm as Logan dragged it down—oh. Virgil’s hips bucked up, chasing the sensation as it danced along his clothed cock, but the feather was lifted away and he groaned at the loss, rewarded with a tickling along his throat and clavicle. Virgil could imagine the warmth of Logan’s hand, only about six inches away from his skin, real, firm pleasure so close, and yet so far away, but swimming in the black milk of Virgil’s world was nothing but a cruel feather with only the vaguest interest in touching his more erogenous zones.

           Logan moved away again, setting down the feather and circling the bed as he took in the sight of Virgil, his skin flushing pink and his body was almost visually humming with anticipation. As fun as Virgil’s snarky bedroom talk could be, and as sweet as the bites and scratches were, this was better sometimes, and Logan loved taking things apart to see how they worked. Nothing was easier than Virgil, and when he finally tired of watching his quarry tremble and squirm, he reached, letting his fingertips touch a small bruise just below Virgil’s knee where he’d collided with the desk last time Logan had taken him there, with a handful of Virgil’s hair and a mouth full of cold praise. Virgil jumped just barely, like a horse annoyed by a fly, the tiniest shiver of skin and muscle. Logan smiled, slipping his touch upward along the smooth flesh of Virgil’s thighs, over old love bites and fingerprints. Virgil muttered around the gag but it was nowhere near discernable, and Virgil probably wasn’t trying to make words in the first place. Logan lifted his hand and quickly moved around to Virgil’s throat, fingertips playing at his Adam’s apple and up to his chin, taking it with some gentle authority. Virgil swallowed and Logan wrapped his hand around his lover’s throat, no pressure, just warm contact, and Virgil moaned.

           Logan’s fingertips were dry, but not calloused, more like the hands of a man too busy to moisturize more than once a day, and Virgil would recognize the touch anywhere—even without his sense of touch heightened so much. Nobody touched him like Logan. Logan came to him without pretense, without ceremony, without deception unlike the other four who—good or bad—always had a reason to touch him beyond the desire to. Patton to comfort, Roman to command, Remus to startle and Deceit—Deceit’s intentions weren’t something Virgil had ever cared to discern. All of this made Logan’s touch heaven to the anxious side, no thoughts or promises or questions, Everything Logan did was a statement, reaction not needed, although Virgil always did react. He hissed, or purred, whined or growled and Logan loved the animal in Virgil as much as Virgil himself hated it.

           When Logan’s fingers found their way between Virgil’s legs, the anxious side sucked in a sharp breath through his nose and pressed up into the touch, whining like a begging child. He sobbed softly when Logan moved away, the touch leaving Virgil’s cock throbbing for more, and he reached up to thumb away a small line of drool that was glistening at the corner of Virgil’s mouth. The same thumb then returned to rub the leaking precum into the head of Virgil’s cock, already darkening the fabric of his underwear. Virgil nodded his head, desperate to convey something, though he had no confirmation that Logan even saw. He slid away again and Virgil growled around the gag. The next sensation was nothing short of shock, cold, sharp metal as Logan cut away Virgil’s underwear with a pair of scissors. Virgil held deathly still, always uneasy around sharp things, and even the blunt side of the blades made him quiver. The discomfort did nothing to staunch his arousal, and as soon as the fabric was cut, his cock sprang free. Virgil exhaled deep and slow, just short of a relieved sigh at the newfound freedom. When Logan’s hand wrapped around his cock, he turned his head and rubbed his face against the silk pillowcase beneath him, expecting it was nearly over. Logan stroked him slow and soft, and Virgil wanted to scream, but he held his composure until the touch left again. He keened then, cursing and spitting in his head, and he was glad for the rough drag of Logan’s fingers along the flesh of his thighs, and the rough grip that would leave new bruises, because the rough handling gave him something concrete to focus on aside from his throbbing cock.

           Logan reached up and pulled his hair and Virgil mewled, eyes rolling up into his head beneath the blindfold, and Logan kissed the corner of his mouth. His weight left the bed then and moments later something cold and slick was running down over Virgil’s taint to press against his entrance. He tried to spread his legs further, but the bonds didn’t allow for even that. Just as the fingers playing at his entrance applied pressure, Logan laved his tongue along the underside of Virgil’s cock, and the anxious side cried out, heat surging through his body like he was being electrocuted all over again. He tightened around Logan’s fingers and his cock jerked. Logan had driven him to the wonderful spot where each real touch made him moan like the perfect whore—and Virgil was perfect, really, for Logan. Logan took Virgil into his mouth and fucked his fingers into the anxious side, expertly teasing his prostate with every other thrust, his lips tightening around the head of Virgil’s cock as his tongue swiped at the free flow of precum. Virgil responded in a perfect symphony, whines and moans and the cold sound of metal on metal as he struggled against the chains. Logan sat back up on his knees and added a third finger into his lover before taking his cock and jerking him without mercy.

           Virgil reached yet another level, sobbing, screaming, hiccupping as his body squirmed and jerked under the assault. Logan watched the muscles in his thighs, his stomach, his arms as they jerked, tension gathering and then snapping like a rubberband as he released. Virgil could barely managed to suck in air through his nose as his thick, black world became screaming white pleasure and hot streaks of cum laced his stomach. Logan didn’t stop until the last, lazy drop of cum rolled down Virgil’s spent cock. Logan’s touches returned to his thighs then, slipping down to uncuff his ankles and then back up, Logan’s weight shifting as he released Virgil’s wrists. The headphones came off first and the ringing quiet of the room cut only by his own sobbing gasps tickled Virgil’s ears. The gag was next and Virgil worked his jaw a bit, licking his lips, “Jesus, L.”

           Logan smiled and removed the blindfold then, gazing down into Virgil’s eyes that squinted even in the low light, “You did well. No tapping out this time.”

           “I thought about it once,” Virgil said. “But I think I’m getting… better at waiting.”

           “I’ll add the vibrator next time,” Logan said evenly, and Virgil whined.

[firstagent]

Review: Digimon Adventure: (2020) Episode 24: The Final Stage, DoneDevimon

In this episode, in need of true power, Taichi and MetalGreymon discover the darkness and go beyond it. That’s a lot uglier when it’s your auras doing the fighting!

Playing with fire would be the appropriate cliche for this one. It doesn’t just apply to the situation itself, although the visuals of Taichi and MetalGreymon essentially going feral to stop the Devimon form that already had counts. It also applies to how tradition and character applies to what’s going on here. Do we know or care enough about Taichi to get invested in what may or may not count as a dark evolution? Is the aura of WarGreymon acceptable enough to avoid calling it a cheap copout or premature evolution? The answer to both of those is yes, but only barely. The execution ends up a success, but in an unsettling way where you expect it to trip over its laziness again.

One of the recurring themes of the episode is that its success comes in spite of everything that came before it rather than because of it. DoneDevimon is a great example, abandoning all the intriguing suggestions we’ve been spoonfed regarding the depths of Devimon and going for a mindless beast of pure rage and chaos. There’s plenty of opportunity for his manic distortions to come back into play, and there’s a weak argument that his disdain for Tokomon bore itself out here (you’d freak out too if you knew he was capable of all that). We may have to put a pin in the stuff that made him interesting before, but there’s nothing wrong with the unsettling monster we’ve got here. The feral screaming and extra arms made of miasma are disturbing enough to enjoy.

Another simple thing they get right is conveying actual danger. Last time the lack of any consequence to getting hit by Devimon’s attack made it tiresome to watch. Here there’s no ambiguity about Taichi and Yamato getting their asses kicked. While their lack of depth has been a hindrance, they at least have enough of a camaraderie to care about each other and be concerned when the other goes down. Taichi shoves Yamato off knowing things would get dicey. Yamato responds to MetalGreymon taking a nasty hit, driving WereGarurumon to attack and take an even nastier one. DoneDevimon’s strike looks bad on sight, and sure enough, Yamato goes down and WereGarurumon turns back into Gabumon. We’re affected, so we buy that Taichi and Takeru would be too.

But is Taichi so worried about Yamato that the darkness would consume him and MetalGreymon to the extent is does here? That’s debatable, but it doesn’t really matter because it’s not entirely about Yamato’s fall (or even Tokomon barely clinging to a light barrier). That’s because we do know Taichi is worried about this crisis and is hell-bent to stop it, enough to ignore common sense and rush blindly into danger whenever necessary. To him, Devimon is responsible for this disaster, and now it looks like no matter what they throw at him, he comes back more awful. Think of Yamato going down not as the moment, but rather the last straw. What we’re seeing here is two dozen episodes of stress manifesting into an aura of twisted brutality.

You have to refrain from wondering if this counts as a dark evolution along the likes of SkullGreymon or Megidramon. The imagery of Mugendramon and the visceral fight with DoneDevimon that ensues evoke one, but it’s more appropriate to call it an aura borne from the dark miasma enveloping both Taichi and MetalGreymon. And the worst of it only emerges as MetalGreymon’s reaction to DoneDevimon consuming Taichi. That part’s on him. Distance yourself from history and you can better appreciate this nasty clash of two forces of evil. Like the Megidramon fight in Tamers, it’s uncomfortable to watch, riveting stuff regardless of context.

Tokomon’s response should be approached along the same lines. All he sees is MetalGreymon getting consumed by darkness, and registers that nothing good can come from that. If there’s one thing Devimon’s hatred of Angemon has provided, it’s the belief that Tokomon has game-changing powers. So appearing as Angemon in front of Mugendramon and talking him down into channeling that aura into MetalGreymon’s eventual Mega form and using that to defeat DoneDevimon and save Taichi? Sure! It’s a victory that doesn’t feel definitive or rewarding, and at the rate we’re going might not even be the end of Devimon. It doesn’t even reassure us that the show’s going to make an effort to fix its perpetual problems. But it was compelling, gripping, and filled us with anxiety the whole way through. On its own, that makes this episode work.

My Grade: B+

Loose Data:

The series is getting wide praise for showing the kids always riding their Digimon into battle. The need for Taichi to push Yamato off to avoid taking serious damage shows why that is and always has been a bad idea. Showing unity with your Digimon partner is nice once in a while, but do it too often and someone’s bound to get hurt.

We love the situation in the network as a check on this being the climax of the arc. With that swarm of Algomon and the tanker crisis being not quite dead, there’s more to resolve and that’s good to know. We hate the situation in the network because it now looks like a carbon copy of the first three episodes, and with none of the participants adding anything new it’s just sort of tiresome. What I would have given for one of the others to ask Koshiro how they stopped it last time to watch him die inside.

DoneDevimon may be a mindless shell of himself, but he seems delighted and amused that Taichi is reacting the way he is. It’s a good look for the abomination.

Patamon’s cute little transformation sequence at the end came out of nowhere and added something to smile about after such an exhausting fight. One of the few times the show recognized the need for some levity and brought the right tone in doing so.

See reviews of every Digimon episode at Digimon: System Restore! Support the site by joining our Patreon!

[mangobilorian]

hide ‘n seek | (gen)

Pairing: Toddler! Ahsoka & Plo Koon

Genre: Fluff

Words: 2952 

Summary: “No more questions! Wanna play with Mastha Plo.” She beat tiny fists into his chest. When he had first found her, she had been too shy to even speak. It took her a while to even hold his hand. But now she was pounding her little fists in indignation at a High Council member.

Or: Plo talks to Ahsoka about boundaries, and Mace wonders about the danger level of toddler Togrutas.

As soon as Plo Koon leaves the High Council chamber, he sees a group of younglings anxiously standing. He pays them no mind. After all, they were probably waiting for a glimpse of their favorite Council member. Maybe it’s part of a lesson about the High Council even though there is no teacher present. Whatever the reason is, he does not expect the younglings to ignore Mace or Agen or even Yoda. No, they zeroed in on him .

“M-master Plo?” A young Twi'lek asks, staring up at him. The Nautolan next to her nudges her aside.

“Sorry to disturb you, Master Plo, but we need your help.” The group of five children fidget under his gaze.

“Is that so? Tell me, younglings, why do you need my help?” At this point, the other Council members had stopped, eyeing the spectacle. Mace raised his eyebrow at Plo before heading off to either intimidate Knights or drink tea. Shaak had smiled at the children, but they didn’t even look at her.

“One of our crèche mates keeps asking for you.” The boy says.

“And she cries all the time and won’t stop.” The Twi'lek butts in.

“We tell her she can play with us, but she doesn’t wanna,” a Human girl says. Plo can tell that they have sincere sympathy for their crèche mate, but they’re also on the breaking point of exhaustion, which is understandable. Not being able to console a friend is stressful enough. Having to live with said inconsolable friend is another matter. Plo already has an idea of who the crying girl is…

“Who is this girl, younglings?” The children glance at each other and peer up at him.

“Ahsoka Tano,” they say in unison. Ah. The small Togruta girl Plo had brought to the temple two months prior. She is the youngest in her crèche—her speaking abilities weren’t as mature as everyone else’s yet—and Plo had wondered if she was settling in. It seems like he got his answer.

“Where is she now?”

“The Room of a Thousand Fountains,” the Nautolan says. “We said that you would meet her there.” The Wookie next to him growls in confirmation.

“Will you be able to help her, Master Plo? We just wanna play with Ahsoka without her crying for you….” The children look up at him, hope shining in their eyes. Or was it sleeplessness?

“I will try my best, little ones.” Plo tries to convey a smile, but the anti-ox mask (and his lack of lips) prevents him. Plo is used to kids shying away from him. After all, he was tall, masked, and taloned. Yet, out of concern for their friend, the children sought him out. Plo reaches out to the Force and- yes, there it is. Nervousness and worry but no fear from the younglings. “Hurry along now. Don’t cause any trouble.” He means it half-heartedly. Plo always enjoys it when the little ones start something chaotic. It’s a welcome break from his job on the High Council.

He’s met with a chorus of “Yes, Master Plo,” and the children scurry off. Plo sighs as he watches them and starts the trek to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Despite it being the first time a group of younglings waited for him outside the Council chamber, it wasn’t the first time a youngling did. He chuckles at a memory from a few weeks ago.

Plo had exited the chamber alongside his friends and fellow members. He was brought into a discussion about Wookie architecture—a topic that didn’t particularly interest him, but he wanted to show respect for Master Tyvokka even though it had been years since his death—when something small collided with his legs.

Startled, he looked down to see the tops of white and blue montrals. Shaak, who stood beside him, crouched down to her fellow Togruta’s eye level.

“What are you doing here, child? Shouldn’t you be in your lessons?” The young girl looked at the older Togruta then buried her head further into Plo’s legs. She mumbled something that sounded like his name.

“Master Ti, Master Koon.” The two Council members turned to see a Temple Guard. They gestured at the little girl. “We told her to wait and return to the crѐche, but she started crying for Master Koon.” Shaak stood up.

“Well, Plo, since you’re the one she wants, I’ll be leaving.” She gently rubbed the girl’s shoulder and nodded at Plo before departing.

“Thank you, guards. But I don’t think we’ll be needing your help for now.” The Kel Dor reached down to the little girl and hoisted her in his arms. “Why are you here, Ahsoka?” She averted her eyes, content to play with the folds of his robes. The girl didn’t respond, but Plo was patient. He walked down the hallways, taking the long route to the crѐche.

“Wanna to see you,” Ahsoka mumbled.

“And why, Little ‘Soka, did you want to see me?” She scrunched her face in frustration.

“Missed you.” She kept playing with his robes.

“Why did you-”

“No more questions! Wanna play with Mastha Plo.” She beat tiny fists into his chest. When he had first found her, she had been too shy to even speak. It took her a while to even hold his hand. But now she was pounding her little fists in indignation at a High Council member. Plo sighed with mirth.

“What would you like to play, child?” She bit her lip for a second then her eyes lit up with an idea.

“Tag!” She wigged out of his grasp and ran in the opposite direction of the crèche. Oh Force. Ahsoka giggled down the hallway, and spared one glance behind her to see Plo still standing. She stopped then proceeded to stomp her feet with all the anger of a miffed toddler. So Plo did the only thing he could do. He chased after her.

He had the memory catalogued in both Cutest Ahsoka Moments and Devilish Ahsoka Moments . However, his arrival at the Room of a Thousand Fountains forces him to leave the memory. As he wanders deeper into the room, he reaches out for Ahsoka’s force signature. There, shining like an excitable bubble of energy, sits his Little ‘Soka. Plo follows the beacon, letting the Force flow through him.

Just as he’s about to speak, the Togruta spots him and jumps from her seat on a bench.

“Mastha Plo! They were right,” she grins, showing all her teeth. It reminds Plo of a baby shark—not because Ahsoka looks like one. Rather, she is equally predatory.

“Yes, your crèche mates said you were here. I need to talk to you about something important, Ahsoka.” She peers up at him, and Plo has enough strength to resist swooning.

“Was I bad? I’m sorry, Mastha Plo,” she bows her head in genuine sadness, and Plo’s heart squeezes at the display.

“No, you did nothing wrong, child. But we do need to talk about boundaries.” He sits next to her, and Ahsoka seizes the opportunity to settle into his lap. Such an opportunistic little toddler. Maybe this memory would be filed under Ahsoka Not Respecting Personal Space .

“What are boun-dar-ees?” She asks, spelling out each syllable in the hopes to impress him.

“They’re like limits. Rules.” Ahsoka scowls.

“I don’t like rules,” she huffs. Plo laughs, stroking one of her lekkus. The girl purrs, and Plo stores that tidbit of information in a separate folder containing interesting facts about his little foundling.

“I know, Ahsoka. But there are some you need to follow.” She tries to retort, but Plo places a taloned finger on her lip. “If ‘Mastha Plo’ tells you to follow the rules, would you do it?” She nods eagerly. Plo has the feeling that Ahsoka would do anything for the Kel Dor, and the thought is troubling. If she grows too attached to him, that defeats the whole purpose of taking her away from her family in the first place. “Tell me, Little ‘Soka, do you play with your crèche mates?” The question seems to bother her because she curls tighter into his chest.

“No….”

“Why is that?”

“Because I wanna play with you.” Hmm… the girl is already too attached.

“Ahsoka, you need to play with your friends rather than seek me out.”

“Why?” She’s genuinely confused, and Plo considers how he’ll break the rules down for her.

“Because they’re your family now.” Her eyes shoot up to his goggles.

“Family? But you’re family.” He continues to stroke her lek soothingly.

“That’s right. You play with me because I’m family. So you should play with your friends because they’re family too. The Temple is one big family, Little ‘Soka.” She lights up in realization.

“So I can play with Mastha Ti and Mastha Yoda and Mastha Windu?” Plo has to stop himself from choking. He can easily see you with Shaak, and Yoda teaches all the younglings, so you’d be comfortable around him. But the visual of his little Togruta climbing the robes of esteemed champion Mace Windu is… both horrifying and hysterical. Maybe one day, if Plo is in the mood for mischief, he’d unleash the adorable terror that is Ahsoka Tano on the purple-lightsaber-wielding Master.

“You’d have to ask them first if they want to play. And,” he thinks back to previous encounters, “you can’t skip your lessons to see me. If you miss out on learning, I would be sad which means-”

“No playtime,” she finishes off, frowning.

“Yes, no playtime. So, little one, don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ahsoka shakes her head.

“No class. Now is Mastha Plo time.” The Kel Dor sighs. He could indulge the Togruta in this one instance—as if he hasn’t given in to her charms a million times before—and engage in a game.

“Well then, how does hide and seek sound?” Plo is met with Ahsoka’s blank face. He starts explaining the concept of the game, and the girl catches on quickly. At the end of his explanation, she’s already out of his arms and bouncing on her feet.

“Why don’t you hide first, Little ‘Soka, and I’ll find you?” She nods and dashes away before he can start counting. He places his hands over his goggles—no one could tell when he closes his eyes, but the girl would surely say he’s cheating unless he covered them.

Plo counts to twenty before uncovering his eyes and looks around. All he can see are the fountains and greenery. No sign of his troublesome youngling. He debates using the Force to find her quickly—there are important duties to finish—but he wants to find her on his own. And because the little girl is a Togruta, she’d sense Plo before he could sense her. Plo has to be fast and, more importantly, smart.

He peeks behind a bush then a bench then a fountain. Yet there is no Ahsoka. He sighs loudly—loud enough for other Jedi in the room to look over at the Kel Dor Master. Plo places his hands on his hips.

“I wonder where my Little ‘Soka is. She is very good at hiding.” He exaggerates a hum, placing a finger on the bottom of his mask where his chin would be if he had one. Plo doesn’t lose hope and continues his search for the elusive hunter. Of course, her little giggles absolutely did not give away her proximity to him.

The Kel Dor peeks under a bench, twisting his body to get a good look. With no sign of Ahsoka, he is inclined to give up. Then, out of nowhere, someone launches themselves on his back. Tumbling forward, both Kel Dor and Togruta fall to the floor in laughter.

Jocasta Nu, visiting the Room for a meditation break, shushes Plo with a finger. “Please be quiet and respect the ones meditating, Master Koon.” Plo rolls over so Ahsoka sits on his belly. The Jedi Master raises a hand in acknowledgement.

“We will try our best, Master Nu,” he says before picking Ahsoka up and plopping her down on the bench next to him.

“You’re very good at hiding, Little ‘Soka.” She giggles and pokes his cheek.

“Now is Mastha Plo’s turn to hide!”

“I don’t think-” Plo starts, but the girl is already pushing at his chest.

“Go, go!” She insists.

“Fine. But stay quiet, alright? There are people meditating.” Ahsoka nods, but Plo can tell she does it to hurry the game not out of respect for the other Jedi. Plo stands up and takes the girl’s hands in his much larger ones. “Close your eyes and don’t cheat. No Force powers either.” Ahsoka pouts but obliges him.

Sparing one more glance at the girl, Plo walks away to find a suitable hiding spot. As a tall Kel Dor, there isn’t much in the room that could hide him. Maybe the plants? His orange skin would stick out though. Plo eyes a large plant and considers hiding behind it. But it seems like twenty seconds are up because he hears little hums.

“Going to find Mastha Plo,” Ahsoka sings from far away. She keeps repeating the saying in a jaunty tune. Plo settles down behind the plant, making sure to have part of his face exposed. Just as he moves around to adjust in his seated position, Ahsoka enters his periphery. Her montrals must have registered his movement.

He watches the girl scrutinize her surroundings, ducking below benches and around fountains. It’s cute. Too cute. She even assumes a hunting stance, arms outstretched, head darting back and forth. Her eyes pass over his hiding spot, and Plo holds his breath, but she seems to have missed him. Or so he thinks.

The next moment, Ahsoka leaps at him through the bush. A repeat of their previous entangling occurs, and Ahsoka sits on his stomach once again.

“Found you!” She whispers at a volume too loud for whispering.

“Yes you did. I am very proud of you.” Ahsoka beams down at him, raising her arms in a stretch.

“One more… one more round?” She yawns, eyes already closing.

“How about you take a nap instead?” Ahsoka gives a tiny nod and lays across his whole torso. She closes her eyes and snuggles deeper into his robes.

Plo knows he should get up before she truly sleeps. He has responsibilities, and increased interaction with Ahsoka will only worsen her attachment to him. Favoring his presence over other council members is one thing, but crying out for him, skipping lessons, or even foregoing playtime with her friends is another matter entirely. But the little Togruta doesn’t give up. Even if he does try to sever her attachment, it would only end in her mistrust of the Jedi. She would also cry a lot more, and Plo wants to spare the ears of everyone in the crѐche.

He settles for rubbing gentle circles on her back with one hand and stroking her lekku with another. Plo is careful to not scratch her with his nails—he keeps them sharp for a reason. After a few minutes, he hears little snores. Plo basks in the moment and organizes it under Ahsoka’s Sleepy Times .

The room is warm and pleasant, and Plo starts to succumb to the dreamy energy as well. It’s a far cry from his own chambers (the lack of oxygen there is a big difference), but the calm atmosphere is just enough to push him to sleep. Until the Force presence of Mace Windu wanders into the room and heads straight for him.

“Mace.”

“Plo.” The man stares at Plo and the little girl on his chest. “This is why you haven’t submitted the reports of your last mission?” Plo throws a hand out in mock defeat.

“Would you be able to resist an adorable youngling?”

Mace scowls. “Yes. I definitely could. Now get your Kel Dor ass up and finish those reports.”

“Don’t make me release Ahsoka on you.”

“Me? What could she do to me ?” Mace scoffs, slightly offended at the idea of the youngling being ‘released’ on him.

“She said she would love to play with ‘Mastha Windu’ because you’re her family.”

“Now who told her that?”

“Me.” Plo says with as much cheekiness as he can. Mace sighs.

“Fine. You can submit your reports later. But please return the youngling to the crѐche or else they’ll send temple guards to look for her.” The image of the masked guards running around in search of a troublesome Togruta makes Plo laugh.

“I will return her now, Mace. And I’ll get those reports done.” Mace raises an eyebrow. “Later.” Plo wraps an arm around the girl and uses the other to stand up. Together, Plo and Mace exit the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Plo dutifully carries the sleeping Ahsoka in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. Younglings, Knights, and Masters alike gawk at the sight in the hallways. The great Kel Dor Jedi Master with a sleeping toddler Togruta. Who would have thought?

He eventually reaches the crѐche, and places Ahsoka in her bed. The Twi'lek from before watches him and mouths a silent “Thank you.” As Plo releases her, Ahsoka starts to mumble something. It sounds a lot like his name and the word ‘family’.

The time to end the girl’s attachment to Plo will come eventually. But that time is not today. Plo needs to consider his growing paternal feelings for the little girl as well.

“Sleep tight, Little ‘Soka,” he says. Plo exits the crѐche with Mace at his side, but not before sparing one last glance at his foundling.