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sasheemo · 2 days ago

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When we collide

Chapter 11

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Chapter Summary: Agatha sneaks into your house, and an already risky plan takes an unexpected, and even riskier, turn.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I know this update took forever and I am so sorry, work and life in general have been crazy lately. Writing has been such a slow process, and finding the time to sit down and focus has been hella hard.

That said, I’m so grateful for your patience and support—it truly means the world to me. Every comment, like, and bit of encouragement keeps me motivated to push through, even when things feel overwhelming. I hope this chapter was worth the wait and that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed crafting it.

Thank you for sticking with me through this journey. Your love for this story keeps me going 💜

It feels like you’ve been hiding in the shadows of your garden for hours. You have no idea how much time has passed or how long Agatha has been inside.

Seconds stretch into minutes, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve been waiting an eternity.

The night grows colder and heavier with each passing second, the chill creeps through your dress, your eyes fixed on the darkened windows above. The faint glow of the kitchen light spills onto the ground, a subtle but constant reminder of your mother’s presence inside.

You clench your hands into fists at your sides, trying to still the growing unease coiling in your chest. The plan had seemed straightforward at the time: get Agatha inside, have her pretend to be you, and wait for her to open the window. But now, as you stand in the biting cold, the enormity of the risks begins to gnaw at you.

Agatha doesn’t know your mother. Not the way you do.

She doesn’t know the sharp edge to her voice, the way her words cut deeper than her glares. She doesn’t know the little tells, the moments when her mood shifts and it’s better to stay quiet than risk provoking her. And most importantly, Agatha doesn’t know the intricate, tense dance you’ve perfected over years of enduring her.

The weight of it all suddenly feels crushing. You shift uneasily, your breathing shallow as your thoughts spiral. What if your mother notices something’s off? What if Agatha hesitates or says the wrong thing? What if she tries to talk her way out of something and slips up?

You bite down on your lip, forcing yourself to breathe slower, deeper. But the thoughts don’t stop.

What if your mother catches her before she even reaches your room? What if she figures out the truth? What would she do - to Agatha, to you - if she realized the extent of this betrayal? Your mind conjures up a dozen worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.

A sharp gust of wind pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, and you glance down instinctively at the small bundle of fur near your feet. The rabbit, Agatha’s rabbit, sits quietly in the shadows beside you, its nose twitching as it sniffs the night air. Its presence is steady, calm, almost indifferent to the storm raging in your head.

You crouch down slightly, your fingers brushing against the creature’s soft fur. It doesn’t flinch, simply shifts closer as if it senses your unease. There’s something grounding about the animal, something simple and reassuring. Agatha had brought it here with her, and for some reason, the thought that something she clearly cares for is by your side soothes the sharp edges of your panic.

You take another breath, steadier this time. The faint glow from the kitchen is still there, unchanging, and the stillness of the house seems both unnerving and hopeful.

She’s inside. She’ll make it.

And then, finally, you hear the faint creak of the window above.

Your head snaps up, your pulse quickening as you watch it ease open. Your own face peers out from the shadowed wooden frame, tense and searching the garden below. It takes you a second to remember that it’s actually Agatha.

The sight pulls at something strange in your chest. You know the spell you cast has served its purpose, that she’s safe now. That realization settles over you like a wave, and you exhale slowly, steadying yourself.

Closing your eyes, you draw on the lingering energy of the spell, your magic buzzing faintly under your skin. You picture her, not as a reflection of yourself, but as she truly is: darker, undeniably powerful, magnetic. With a flick of your wrist and a soft breath, you send the magic out, releasing it.

When you open your eyes, the figure leaning out of the window has changed. Her true form has returned: wild, dark hair framing her face, sharp cheekbones catching the faintest glow of the night.

Agatha’s gaze catches yours, steady and knowing, as if she’s fully aware of what you’ve just done. She tilts her head slightly in acknowledgment, a silent signal to come up.

The tension in your chest doesn’t fully ease, but you let yourself glance at the towering tree at the center of the garden, its ancient branches stretching out in every direction like a great, unmoving sentinel. The bark is thick and weathered, furrowed with deep grooves that speak of countless seasons endured.

Its lowest branches bow slightly under their own weight, but higher up, the limbs grow stronger, sprawling outward with a defiant strength. One of its largest branches curves close to your window, not enough to block the view from your room but near enough to serve as your path inside.

The tree has always been there, a quiet companion through your childhood. Back then, its lower limbs had felt like a sanctuary, their rough surfaces welcoming and steady beneath your hands. You’d scramble up effortlessly, laughing as you dangled your legs and let the world blur into your own imagined wilderness.

But tonight, the tree looms above you, its branches no longer inviting but daunting, like a puzzle demanding perfect precision. Your gaze fixes on the thick branch that leads toward your window, and doubt creeps in uninvited.

You exhale, trying to calm the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach. The branches look sturdy, thicker than they seemed when you were younger, but you know they’ll need to hold more than they ever have before.

You step closer to the tree as you prepare to hoist yourself up. But as you look upward, plotting your path, reality snaps into focus.

One of your hands is clutching the rabbit, its small body shifting slightly against your palm, leaving the other useless for climbing. Both hands will be needed to grip the bark and the branches, to steady yourself as you ascend.

You can’t climb like this.

Your jaw tightens as you glance down at the animal, then over your shoulder at the satchel pulling against your back. The weight of both feels suddenly oppressive, a barrier between you and the safety of the window above.

Your breath is clouding in the cold air as you glance up at the towering tree again. For a moment, you stand frozen, your mind racing for a solution.

Then, an idea comes to you. Maybe it’s reckless, maybe it’s not perfect, but it’s all you’ve got, and it’ll have to do.

Kneeling carefully, you place the rabbit gently on the ground beneath the tree.

“Stay.” you whisper softly, as the small creature sniffs the grass, its twitching nose brushing against a fallen leaf. You shrug the satchel off your back, unfastening the flap with fingers that tremble slightly from the cold.

You glance down at the contents of the bag and let out a soft sigh of relief. Agatha, it seems, is a light packer. There’s enough space, you think, and without hesitation, you scoop up the rabbit again, cradling its small body close for a moment.

“Alright, you’re going in.” you whisper, angling the bag carefully to create a safe, snug space.

The rabbit shifts, its ears flicking in mild protest, but it doesn’t wriggle too much as you tuck it in among the folds of Agatha’s clothing. You adjust the fabric gently, making sure it’s secure, and offer a quiet, almost reassuring murmur. “See? Not so bad.”

You hope the familiar scent will keep it calm during the climb. For a moment, the faint smell reaches you as well - earthy yet sweet, rich and layered - and it stops you in your tracks. The briefest flicker of distraction pulls at you before you shake it off, focusing on closing the satchel and readying yourself for the climb.

You glance up at the window to check for any sign from Agatha, but what you see halts you. She’s leaning out of the darkened window, her features clear despite the shadows, and her expression… well, if looks could kill, you’d be flat on the ground.

Her glare is direct and unmistakable, her lips pressed into a thin, irritated line. It doesn’t take much to realize why.

She’s staring straight at the satchel slung over your shoulder and the rabbit inside it. You’re frozen, caught mid-motion, her piercing gaze making you feel oddly small, like a child caught red-handed. Your irritation flares before you can stop it, the sharp edge of it cutting through your nerves.

‘What exactly does she expect me to do?’ you think, sarcasm practically spilling over. ‘Carry it in my teeth?!’

You bite back a laugh at your own thoughts, the absurdity of the situation tugging at the corners of your mouth. You glance away from the window, shaking your head with a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“As if she’d have a better idea.” you mutter quietly to yourself, the words more a release of tension than anything else.

The bark digs into your palms as you grip the trunk, pulling yourself up onto the first branch. It creaks faintly under your weight, but it holds, as it always has. Your breath comes slow and deliberate, each movement measured as you reach for the next handhold.

Even so, the awareness of Agatha’s eyes on you gnaws at the edge of your focus. Her gaze feels like a weight on your back, amplifying every misstep and every slight tremble in your limbs. The idea of her judging your clumsy climb, silently critiquing each slip of your footing, sends another wave of irritation coursing through you.

And yet… there’s something oddly reassuring about it too. As if her presence, no matter how frustrating, guarantees that someone will catch you if you fall. Not literally, of course, but the thought lingers, steadying you more than you’d care to admit.

You shift your weight carefully, reaching for the next branch. The satchel presses against your back, its weight a constant reminder of your responsibility, and of the sharp eyes above you. You resist the urge to glance up briefly, focusing instead on the climb.

You move cautiously, gripping the bark tightly as you climb higher. The tree groans faintly under your weight, and you freeze, holding your breath.

The sound seems impossibly loud in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the quiet hum of crickets and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. For a moment, you glance toward the kitchen window, half-expecting to see your mother’s silhouette appear, but the glow remains steady, undisturbed.

You grit your teeth, focusing on your balance, careful to distribute your weight evenly. Every move feels agonizingly slow, the need for silence making each step a deliberate act of precision.

As you near the branch that curves toward your window, you reach out with one hand, your fingers brushing the rough bark. It’s close, close enough that you can almost imagine the feel of the window frame beneath your palm.

But as you shift your weight to make the final stretch, your foot slips against the trunk, the bark giving way beneath your boot.

Your stomach lurches as your balance wavers, your free hand scrabbling desperately for a hold. The satchel shifts sharply, throwing you further off balance, and for a terrifying moment, you’re certain you’ll fall. Your breath catches in your throat, panic blooming in your chest.

From her vantage point at the window, Agatha tenses instantly. Her eyes widen, and for a split second, she shifts forward slightly in a reflexive, almost involuntary motion, as if she could somehow close the unbridgeable distance and reach you. Concern flickers across her face as her hands grip the windowsill tightly, knuckles paling with the pressure.

But then your hand finds purchase, gripping a knot in the bark just in time to steady yourself.

You hang there for a moment, your heart pounding in your ears, your body frozen as the satchel settles back into place. The rabbit stirs faintly inside, and you murmur a soft reassurance under your breath, though it’s as much for yourself as for the animal.

The faint creak of the tree subsides, and the night seems to hold its breath along with you. You force yourself to exhale slowly, the tension in your chest loosening as you steady your footing once more. Carefully, you reach out again, this time gripping the branch firmly before pulling yourself up onto it.

The window is finally within reach, a threshold to safety.

As you glance up, Agatha is there, her figure sharp and still against the faint shadows of the room. She’s waiting, her presence a silent promise that the plan is almost complete. The sight steadies you and, for the first time since the climb began, relief flickers at the edges of your thoughts, fragile but real.

As you near the window, Agatha leans out further, her gaze flicking to the satchel slung over your shoulder. She lifts a hand, gesturing for it with a slight wave of her fingers, her expression calm and maddeningly smug.

You pause, blinking at her.

“Really?” you mutter under your breath, incredulity practically dripping from your tone.

She tilts her head slightly, arching a single brow, her smugness somehow amplifying as she gestures again, clearly waiting.

For a moment, you consider ignoring her, but then you glance at the satchel. She has a point, giving her the bag would mean the rabbit is safer, and, without the extra weight on your back, you’ll have an easier time pulling yourself through the window.

With a dramatic sigh, you shrug the satchel off your shoulder, the strap sliding down your arm before you lift it toward her. She stretches downward, her fingers brushing the edge of the leather before she grips it firmly and pulls it from your grasp.

For a moment, you watch her, half expecting her to disappear entirely now that the bag is secure in her hands.

And that’s exactly what she does. Agatha retreats, vanishing from the window’s edge with the satchel in tow. You roll your eyes, your mind instantly jumping to the conclusion that she’s probably fussing over the rabbit.

The thought irritates and amuses you in equal measure, but you shake your head and steady yourself for the final push.

The ledge is close, and with the satchel gone, the climb feels marginally easier. You stretch your arms upward, gripping the edge of the window frame as you shift your weight onto the thick branch beneath you.

Carefully, you pull yourself higher, your knees brushing the frame as you begin to hoist yourself inside.

For a moment, it seems like you’ve done it. Your body halfway through the window, balance steady enough to keep going.

And then your foot catches on the edge of the frame.

The jolt sends you stumbling forward, your grip slipping as the momentum drags you into a clumsy, uncontrolled tumble.

Agatha moves instantly, appearing as if out of nowhere, her reflexes instinctive and precise.

You barely register the sudden shift before her silhouette is in front of you. One of her hands darts out, gripping your arm with surprising strength, but it’s not enough to counter the force of your fall. Her other hand slides to your waist, firm and steady, trying to catch you, but the momentum is too much.

There’s no time for either of you to adjust. The pull of gravity drags you forward, and you both tumble into the room in a chaotic, ungraceful heap. The impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you land tangled together.

Agatha is half-sprawled over you, her weight pinning you to the floor, grounding and overwhelming all at once. The world seems to fade, narrowing to the soft rustle of leaves in the night and the rhythm of her breathing.

Her face is unbearably close, so close that her breath brushes against your cheek, warm and uneven. Untamed hair spilling over her shoulder and grazing your arm, strands scattered haphazardly from the fall.

There’s a stillness to her expression, but the faint parting of her lips reveals a hitch in her breathing, as though the shock of the tumble hasn’t fully left her.

Both of her hands remain where they caught you, one curled tightly around your arm, the other pressed firmly against your waist. The heat of her touch burns through the fabric of your dress, rooting you in place even as your pulse races wildly.

Those sharp blue eyes, piercing even in the dim light, are locked on yours. The intensity of her gaze makes your breath catch, as if she’s not only seeing through you but searching for something at the same time.

For a moment, nothing else exists. Your chest tightens and your pulse hammers in your ears as the space between you feels impossibly thin, a fragile thread stretched taut and trembling.

And then, fleetingly - so quickly you almost think you imagined it - her gaze drops, flickering to your lips. The motion is so subtle, so brief, that it vanishes almost as soon as it happens. But the imprint of it remains, sharp and electric, making you shudder.

Your mind scrambles for something, anything, to say, but the words won’t come. All you can do is stare back at her, your chest rising and falling as you struggle to make sense of the moment.

The silence stretches, thick and almost suffocating, until Agatha breaks it. Her voice is low, threaded with dry amusement but carrying an almost daring undertone that sets your nerves alight.

“Are you always this dramatic,” she murmurs, “or am I just special?”

The words pull you out of your daze, and your cheeks burn instantly, the heat rushing to your face.

“I— I didn’t—” you stammer, scrambling to find words, but every coherent thought scatters.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips twitching as if she’s about to say something else, but instead, she pushes herself up abruptly.

The cool night air rushes in as her warmth leaves, and you’re left on the floor, heart still pounding in your ears.

She brushes off her skirts with deliberate ease, her expression once again smug and composed, though there’s a flicker of tension in her movements. She extends a hand to you, her sharp gaze watching you carefully.

“Come on, get up.” she whispers, her tone calm but firm. “Your mother might have heard that.”

You glare up at her, your pride stinging, but you take her hand anyway, letting her pull you to your feet. Her grip is firm, steady, and as she helps you up, her fingers linger just a second too long before she steps back.

The sensation is fleeting but familiar, a ghost of what had happened only hours earlier by the lake. She’d done the same after you healed her burns, offering her hand with that same deliberate calm, as though her touch carried no weight. But it had lingered then too, just like now, and the memory ignites a warm spark in your chest.

As you rise to your feet, your balance feels oddly unsteady, not from the fall but from the moment itself. You linger there, caught between embarrassment and something heavier. Your fingers twitch at your sides, as though still feeling the echo of her grip, and your gaze follows her as she moves away.

She crosses the room, moving toward the satchel she’d placed on the floor earlier and crouching down.

You turn toward the window, reaching for the frame to shut it. The cool night air still drifts into the room, carrying the faint scent of the garden below. Your fingers curl around the wood, and just as you push it closed, a sound freezes you in place.

A creak. Faint, but unmistakable.

Your heart stops, and you glance at Agatha, who has gone still beside the satchel, her hand hovering over the flap. Her sharp eyes meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you breathes.

Another creak follows, heavier this time, accompanied by the low groan of the wooden stairs shifting.

Panic flashes between you in a silent exchange, the weight of the moment sinking in with brutal clarity. Agatha straightens slowly, her hand dropping from the satchel as her gaze darts toward the door.

Well, shit. Your mother definitely heard.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x you #agatha x reader #agatha x y/n #aaa #aaa fanfic #agatha harkness fanfic #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos #agatha all along fanfic #when we collide #agatha harkness

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aziraphales-library · 2 days ago

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I saw my first ballet and fell in love! Do you know of any Ineffable fics centred around ballet, or dancing in general if ballet isn't an option? Any rating, although I do love the smut 💛

We have a #dancing tag with loads of recommendations. Here are some ballet fics to add...

An Adagio For Two (A Pas de Deux) by CynSyn (E)

Crowley is a famous dancer. Aziraphale is a renowned choreographer. Despite the fact that they're both divas, they somehow manage to fall for one another when working on the same project.

Taking flight by Sani86 (T)

Aziraphale is a first-year fine arts student with an eye for beautiful people. Crowley is a professional ballet dancer with the most perfect body he'd ever seen. A story about art, self-expression and friendship through thick and thin.

Erect as a dancer by Joseph_Amadeus (E)

"And how long have you been limping?" Crowley sharply moved his head. "The way you walk, dear boy, implies that either your pelvis is not attached to anything at all or that you're doing your best to hide the fact that you just can't walk they way you'd like." "I think I might hate you, Dr Fell." "I think I might be aiming for it." "Whatever for? I can hardly imagine anyone hating you." Crowley used to be a promising ballet dancer, but after an accident he has to become a choreographer. Eli Fell is a scholar in Oxford, twenty years his senior. They have nothing whatsoever in common, they don't even like each other (they doooo).

Dance Me to the End of Love by Black_Bentley (E)

In general, Crowley would very much like to see the ones who hurt her grovelling at her feet, experiencing her pain and fear. But Lucifer’s plan is... well, it far surpasses what she considers ‘getting a revenge’ falling wildly into wreaking complete havoc and destroying innocent lives as collateral damage. Most importantly, that puts her dearest friend in danger. And she is to bring the proverbial cuckoo into the Celestial nest. OR: Aziraphale is a ballet dancer for the British Celestial Ballet Company, which grooms its perfect 'angels' from childhood Crowley used to dance for them too, but after they literally kicked her out, she took on pole-dancing for the Nine Circles of Hell Nightclub Its owner, who used to be the Celestial Ballet's star, is ready to take his revenge on the company's Director (referred to by its 'angels' as Mother) and chooses Crowley to enact it by forcing her to deal a brand new drug among the ballet dancers.

The Accompanist by MostDismalFeldsparkle (E)

Crowley is a principal dancer for a ballet company, approaching retirement. Aziraphale is the new pianist hired to play for the rehearsals and the academy.

Of All the Stars by Cardinal_Daughter (E)

Anthony Crowley knows that his career at the Morningstar Ballet Company is hanging by a thread. But when he and famed theatre & dance critic Ezra Fell cross paths during a critical moment in his life, Crowley starts to wonder if his possible fall from grace might not be such a bad thing. Especially if Ezra is there to catch him.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #adult omens #human au #dancing #ballet au #mod d

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better-than-sleeping · 21 hours ago

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A part of Richard's isolation from the group that I would like to put forward is this:

I truly do believe the group care for Richard as a friend, even when their relationships start to spiral out of control near the end. But that care isn't always present throughout their lives, the same way most people aren't constantly obsessing over their friend's feelings 24/7, and he cannot understand it.

It's not just the stuff you would typically think of that proves this to me, like the twins going out of their way to include him, companionable rambles with Bunny, making food with Francis. The most obvious instance of this is Richard being excluded from the Bacchanalia, and yes, this obviously sucks as someone trying so desperately to be included and a part of the group, but also makes so much sense from their perspective.

If Richard had been normal, he would have been so weirded out! This could be a convenient excuse, but it could just as easily be the group showing their own desires to be accepted by HIM, in a kind of reverse of roles that Richard naturally doesn't want to pick up on, because that would be seeing them human, and fallible, and SIMILAR TO HIMSELF. Unthinkable!

Something I've not seen discussed is the little aside when he first falls in with the group proper and relates that they had found him just as aloof as he had found them. Their inviting him to Francis's house was simply an urge to impress him, and I can't see any other way of reading it than that. If they had simply wanted to include him, but didn't care about how he saw them, they could have simply kept inviting him to their houses and out for lunch.

But, it's the moments that also double as little instances of ostracism that really interest me: Camilla saying Henry didn't want to do another pig ritual because he thought it would upset Richard, the group telling him they've already involved him enough and that he shouldn't participate in Bunny's murder. The general reading of this (that I've seen so far) seems to be that Henry did these things purposefully to keep Richard apart from the group, he didn't know him as well as the others, an unknown quantity, someone he didn't care for as much since he hadn't known him as long. But there's a lot of ambiguity there as well, and I think what makes things so compelling is that uncertainty. It could be purposeful, or unintentional, or some inextricable combination of the two.

(As an aside- ironically, I believe Henry may care about Richard the most out of anyone in the group. Helping him while he was sick, worried about seeing Richard drunk during the day, it's all rather sweet, and I don't believe it was entirely some machievellian scheme.)

However, I like to see the isolation as mostly, if not entirely unintentional, because that makes it so much more cutting to me. It's subtle. They don't put any special thought into doing it, they just…don't even think how these things could make him feel.

The worst part is, as far as I remember, Richard never fully engages with his feelings about this, but they are felt so much through the story and his actions within them. They are moments that sunk deep within his psyche like a stone that's dropped into water and swallowed immediately without a trace. It sits very still inside him, unmoveable.

His acceptance of these moments as they are happening to him is likely a result of his history of loneliness and being apart from others. There is nothing unusual to him about this, that it would require further thought from him within his narrative.

A large part of Richard's isolation is due to his glorification of the people he deems worthy, which continues even after he begins to see their flaws. Despite them, he still can't bear to see them torn down to his level, people he can relate to instead of glorify or look down upon. I think there is an element of self destruction to this, not wanting to understand so he has an excuse to punish himself for self perceived deficiencies.

It's very intriguing, this uncertainty of how much of Richard's isolation from the group is imagined, or perhaps even self imposed in a kind of feedback loop, where he feels pushed away and so pulls himself away from them, to anonymous parties with people he professes not to care about, takes pills and sleeps for days, to numb himself from the pain of their rejection.

And in the process, this feeling of isolation is enforced, becomes more a reality through the concrete evidence he has produced by himself. Maybe the group see his behaviour and think he needs space, they give it to him. He feels lonely, he says nothing. Because he would rather freeze to death than ask for help.

#the secret history #tsh donna tartt #donna tartt #long post #richard papen #henry winter #This is such a ramble #but I stayed up until 3am to finish the book and am absolutely sick with obsession right now

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applebuttercringe · 16 hours ago

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Pre-finale Arcane thoughts

I'm so glad we are getting more Arcane content tonight, I am so sad that we are never getting Arcane content ever again.

The writers have revealed that Act 3 will be the longest act by far, with the final episode being much longer than the average episode. It isn't specified how long, but it will be longer.

Despite this extra runtime, and the S2 pattern of getting multiple music video segments per episode, this Act has by far the least songs. Most of the songs have already happened. We only have 3 songs on the soundtrack that haven't happened yet. Then again that assuming the Blood Sweat and tears song will not make it into Arcane. This might be a good sign that they are going to use that extra time for more detailed plot. I know too much music was a big complaint of the first 2 acts.

Also there will be a Viktor song ♥️

I am hopeful for more Jayce and Viktor content, I am excited that they will have another confrontation and Viktors final transformation. I am of course sad about the figurative death of Viktors humanity. It seems from some leaks like the show will put immense emphasis on Viktor and Sky's relationship. It is still unclear to me if the Sky Viktor see's in the Hexcore is really Sky. From what we saw in S1 Viktor and Sky didn't have a very close relationship, we are only ever shown him brushing her off. His grief over her death is more a general guilt and grief of having taken a good persons life, not a personal loss because of a significant relationship between them. My interpretation is that Viktors visions of Sky are a manifestation of guilt. After finding out how much she looked up to him he wished that he had gotten to know her when he could. Believing she is with him now is a coping mechanism to avoid the guilt that he is grieving someone who he went out of his way not to give a chance. Maybe the show will take it in this direction, maybe she will be revealed to be the Hexcore controlling him, maybe they go all in on SkyVik as the new doomed romance.

I like Jinx and I look forward to the show furthering her recovery. If they do. Inevitable because of the death of Isha Jinx is going to spiral, we will get way more sad Jinx content. She will try and kill herself again, she will be absolutely destroying and isolating herself. It's the same thing we have gotten from Jinx for the entire show, she is just forever on the pain train. I am hopeful however that the show will focus on a recovery and that Vi and Jinx's relationship will stay intact despite Jinx's intense grief. I hope Vi will in some way be able to stay and comfort Jinx through the loss of Isha, and through Jinx's self blame. Both Vi and Jinx blame themselves for the death of their younger sibling (powder's emotional death) and perhaps they can both find solace in each other.

Caitlyn and Vi will get back together. Fingers crossed that we get a Cait/Vi sex scene. though honestly the hope is mostly for the memes. After their devastating breakup I am not sure how well the show will be able to just get them back together and make the relationship ok. From both characters perspectives the other has betrayed them in every way, gone against their deepest morals. Vi is in a close family relationship with Jinx, the woman who killed Caitlyns mother, after she promised she had no more sympathy for Jinx. Caitlyn betrayed Vi's trust and tried to shoot a child, then she attacked Vi and gassed the streets of her home. I really hope Arcane doesn't just gloss over this and get them back together. We know from the trailers that they at least argue about it, but most of the blame seems to be shifted to Ambessa, which is kinda weak.

Obviously we will get the Ekko/Heimerdinger Time travel plot. My only concern is that we will not get enough time for this. Even with the extra long act, time travel is an insane element to include this late in the story. Time travel as a plot point is infamous for creating massive problems for the story, it's almost never done well.

Overall I think episode 7 will start with a cold open flashback to Jayce's time in the Hexcore and show us both what happened to him that caused his turn against Viktor, I think this will be a flash forward to a future where Viktors commune has spread and the people don't really have free will. This flashback will also show us what happened to Ekko and Heimerdinger. This is where time travel will be introduced.

The next episode will focus on Jinxs grief, she will have another attempt on her life and be stopped by Vi. Vi and Caitlyn fight over Jinx's involvement in Caitlyns mothers death, but Caitlyn will see Jinx's grief and how it mirrors her own and come to the conclusion that war destroy all. Caitlyn and Vi will fight about Caitlyns involvement with Ambessa. Ambessa and Singed will be bringing Vander back to life as well as Viktor. Singed will strip Viktor of his remaining humanity so the "mutation" will survive. Viktor in some way will agree to this motivated by his witnessing how emotions tore down his commune and the betrayal of his best friend, accompanied by The Line song.

Jayce returns and finds out that Viktor is being resurrected, he once again wants to stop him in order to stop the Arcane from spreading. He will explain the Hexcores spread to Vi and Caitlyn to explain his action sagainst Viktor.

In the final episode they all team up to fight Ambessa, Jayce goes separately to fight Viktor. Ambessa will have revived Vander, except he will have lost his humanity and no longer contain Vi's father. This breaks Vi's heart, but she ultimately has to fight and stop him. Caitlyn and Ambessa will have a showdown that mirrors their training fight on the boat. This fight will take most of the episode and have a banger soundtrack. At some point in this Piltover v.s. Noxus battle Jinx will show up having made the choice to move forward and redefine herself, here we get the haircut and new design. Maybe she will rename herself.

I'm not sure how Mel fits in, her plotline seems so separate to the rest of the story. My assumption is she somehow makes it back to Piltover and confronts her mother about being the mystery child with magic powers. She will also side with Piltover against her mother. Being forced to fight against her daughter will shake Ambessa's resolve, as in her mind she is doing all this for her daughter.

I have the sinking feeling this will all end with the characters solving it with the power of friendship. It seems obvious that they will team up to fight Noxus, but there is no way they kill Ambessa, she is too profitable and promoted by Riot. Her status as a badass is being promoted on all the games and she has a tie in book coming out. I doubt they kill Vi or Jinx, too central. Caitlyn has to live to end up with Vi. Killing Viktor for a third time would be cheap. Jayce's arc hasn't led up to it.

I have a lot of ideas for cool things that could happen, and where it feels like the story is steering, But I can't see how these plot threads come together for a satisfying conclusion in just 3 episodes.

So much discussion about Arcane S2 ends with "but we'll see where it goes" this is the shows last chance to prove if it really was going somewhere with all of this, if the last few episodes were just set up to something great, like how so many people found season 1 act 1 boring/generic. or if the show is just fumbled. If these episodes suck then it will retroactively make these characters arcs all feel like they ended up going nowhere. In a heavily plotted show like Arcane where everything has always ended on a cliff hanger, where it finally goes will make or break the show. These character arcs and little animation details people have been obsessing over were either genius or a bunch of fluff that ended up amounting to nothing.

I am excited, a little worried. Mostly excited.

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #viktor arcane #jayce talis #arcane jinx #arcane theory #vi arcane #arcane jayce #arcane predictions #predictions #arcane discussion #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #caitvi

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breadlover64 · 11 hours ago

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BINGQIU VS LIUSHEN/ANY OTHER SHIP WITH SQQ PART 1

BEWARE I HAVENT READ SVSSS IN A WHILE AND I MIGHT’VE MISSED SOME STUFF! Feel free to correct and give your opinions about this.

Theres gonna be two parts to this bc tumblr can’t take all my writing sooooo 😛

In the SVSSS fandom, I’ve noticed that compared to other mxtx’s novels, the mc gets shipped with half of the cast more often and is more widely accepted in the fandom compared to the tgcf and mdzs fandoms (if you ship Hualian or Wangxian with anyone, it will get you death threats, istg 😓). However, with Shen Qingqiu, while of course he gets shipped with his love interests, another really popular one is him with Liu Qingge and many other characters in the novel. I do think this also has to do with the fact that the fandom is more chill than the other two fandoms. Shen Qingqiu in general is just VERY shippable. But why? Why do some people like liushen more than bingqiu? Obviously, I know this is simply a preference, but why do people prefer it more than the canon couple? Well, I have some speculations. First, while I love Bingqiu, I can admit that their relationship is not for everyone; even for me, they’re my least favorite main couple of the three (it's just my opinion, DONT ATTACK ME🙏) because their dynamic can be seen as somewhat toxic. Luo Binghe is very obsessive and kind of yandare like in the novel, and yes, he does have character development and regrets his actions and never really wanted to hurt Shen Qingqiu. I personally don’t feel like we see as much of this development until the very end. At least for me, I feel like we should’ve spent more time with a changed Luo Binghe, and I KNOW he was influenced by Xi Mo. I still didn’t feel completely satisfied with the Luo Binghe arc. I do think we see more of his development in the extras, which is what made me like Bingqiu a lot more, but I just wish we could’ve seen this in the main story instead of optional extras because I think the extras really show Luo Binghe’s growth and his love for Shen Qingqiu in a healthier way. I am aware this boy is very mentally ill. While I’m not a writer, as a reader, I think mxtx could’ve done more for him because he can end up more dislikable for some people and just less appealing of a love interest. I personally LOVE Luo Binghe and how chaotic he is, but again, that is not for everyone, so I can definitely see why some people don’t like him as much. With Shen Qingqiu, this is a bit different. I felt that by the end of the novel he had massive progress and huge development for his character; even if he still has his flaws, you can really tell he has changed and grown throughout the story, but he’s still himself if that makes sense. I felt wayyy more satisfied with his arc than Luo Binghe's; however, I will say that Shen Qingqiu has this sort of shame. While I wouldn’t necessarily call it internalized homophobia, he does have this sort of stigma towards gay people and him being gay himself. And while it can be funny, if you really think about it, even by the end of the novel and in the extras he still has this shame of sleeping with Binghe and showing basic affection, but I won’t really criticize this much because he does improve in this a lot by the extras. By that point, it really feels more like shyness than the shame he felt at the beginning when he first discovered Luo Binghe's feelings. So I will argue that Shen Qingqiu arc is pretty well done and concluded by the end of the book; at least to me, it really did feel like he changed. Okay, so the second reason is because Bingqiu got together when they were both still ‘not at their best’. What do I mean by this? Well in tgcf Xie lian had to endure a lot of torture and experience several traumatic situations and almost released face disease and killed a bunch of people with it. He was clearly very mentally unwell! And for Hua Cheng, he also went through a lot of trauma with his mom dying when he was young and the abuse he went through from his father and the kids who made fun of him to the point where he wanted to end his life, and then later he became a ghost with his parasocial attachment to a god. We see these characters at their worst, but when they get together, they are already 800+ years old and have lived a long life and matured and learned from their experiences.

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beevean · 2 days ago

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I understand the miscommunication now. However, there is a difference between saying "I never played the 2000s games that gave closure to ShTH, and I like how SXSG handled things" and

I think what I appreciate most about Shadow Generations is just that it gives Shadow ACTUAL, CANON closure for his struggle between good and evil.

If you missed out on the games, fair enough, it happens. Personally, I played Heroes and ShTH some years before Adventure 2, and it shaped my perception of Shadow. But if you put it in an objective way, as in, "Shadow never got proper closure before", then I would say "no, he did, multiple times, here's proof - you may not like the writing, but it still happened".

I didn't even talk about '06 itself because I am not going to think about its place in the canon timeline lol. But in a meta sense, it counts for my point: we players experienced Shadow's story and how it precisely exists to show us "look, he has moved on, he can no longer be swayed or manipulated, he knows who he is and what he's fighting for". Sure, the events with Mephiles didn't happen or he forgot, but that game still counted as closure to us after playing ShTH.

I really like that Shadow Gens doesn't emphasize his promise to Maria - he's not doing this out of obligation, but because he chooses to.

It's true that Shadow doesn't talk about his old promise, it's good and shows that he has grown. To be fair, though, another reason for this could be that the story is much more focused on Shadow's biology and ties to Black Doom than his relationship with the world (plus, it wouldn't make sense for him to tell Maria he had promised her to make people happy when she hasn't died yet lol). And, this is an issue I have with the part where Shadow briefly contemplates to stop Rouge and use Chaos Control to freeze Maria and Gerald in White Space: the fact that he has to be told to let them go is still, conceptually, Shadow needing Maria as moral guidance.

As for the mandate bit, I'm aware Boom isn't canon and Forces shows Shadow cares about his team (shout out to their banter in Team Sonic Racing for backing it up as well); I was more referring to the general 2010's vibe. Once you get past 2010, Shadow appears in Generations, where he just wants to "finish" Sonic… And then nothing until Forces, with everything extracurricular from Boom and IDW (while not being strictly canon) pointing to Sega and the writers… not treating his character well.

I disagree. I don't think it makes sense to talk about "general vibe", when the list of Shadow's appearances in the 2010s is so small they can be dissected one by one. Once you remove Boom, which again doesn't count at all as Boom Shadow is a different character from main Shadow (or you might as well argue that the 2010s as a whole turned Knuckles into an illiterate Kronk-like idiot or Eggman into a softie who is frenemies with Sonic), his portrayals in the games are generally decent, with perhaps the one exception of Free Riders where everyone was a dick for no reason lol. Speaking of Gens, sure Shadow challenges Sonic out of nowhere, but then he cheers for him to defeat the Eggmen and then even sticks around for his birthday, so he's not just "the Vegeta" as he has been described since then.

We can argue that Shadow was used very sparingly in the 2010s, which is true. The 2010s were a response to the backlash of the 2000s, and one of the complaints was precisely that Shadow stole the spotlight, along with all the "shitty friends", so they all took several seats back. The reason I insisted that Boom and IDW don't count is that they aren't canon, they shouldn't be used as proof to talk about the character, and they aren't proof of how SEGA sees the character - although they certainly didn't have an iron grip on the external writers except for some basic guidelines, and maybe they should have. I think we are still feeling the consequences of the series stumbling 10 years ago (that 2013-2017 gap was painful), and the fandom growing sour because of it.

I don't think SXSG is a bad game. I have a couple of complaints with Shadow's writing, but they mostly stem with how the story uses him, other than that I can see they tried to make him sound like he did in '06 and he works. My issue is wider: I would like these characters to move on and stop clinging onto games that are by now older than the average fan. We had Frontiers which mostly retreaded character arcs that we have seen in Sonic Adventure, way back in 1998; and now we got SXSG, which was a long, long way to tell us "hey remember ShTH? Now Shadow is tired of BD's shit. Here's a reminder of that game's twist regarding Shadow's biology, but he doesn't care. Also he still misses Maria." So I'm here like... the older games are there. Shadow's multi-game arc is there. Couldn't you have just re-released them? Couldn't you have announced a sale for SA2 on Steam? Or ported Heroes and ShTH, which would have been appreciated by a good chunk of the fandom? SXSG may be fun to play and a testament of ST learning lessons on level design and gameplay style, but the game itself was not the point of the experience, right? It's for newcomers attracted by the incoming movie to get an idea of who Shadow is. I understand and respect that I am not the target audience here. But that doesn't mean the older games are suddenly invalid or should be forgotten.

i guess tl;dr please port shth and battle and then let's write new scenarios for the cast

(Spoilers for Shadow Generations)

I think what I appreciate most about Shadow Generations is just that it gives Shadow ACTUAL, CANON closure for his struggle between good and evil.

By the end of Adventure 2, he remembered his promise to Maria and made his choice to save the world, but then he "dies".

When Heroes revives him, he doesn't remember any of that.

His namesake game (and I say this as gently as possible), as cool as the multiple endings were, feels so unsatisfying. We get to see Shadow's potential for good and evil, sure, but then the true canon ending comes, and it doesn't specify what he did (or even what exactly he remembered about his past) to get there, and then he just decides not to let his past control him. Which isn't a terrible direction on paper, but the symbolism of him literally throwing away a picture of his family just seems... Like the opposite of what made this character appealing in the first place?

And from there, the games kept giving mixed signals. Sonic '06 shows how deeply he and Team Dark come to care for each other, but then its events get literally removed from the timeline. Sega begins to pretend that Team Dark aren't even friends in their mandates for a while (despite the fact they clearly care for each others' wellbeing before anybody else's). Shadow becomes practically a popsicle stick puppet for "angry, serious, violent rival", and they never feel a need to explain his motivations or reactions beyond waving at that four word character description again.

Shadow's appeal (at least to me) was never that he was a character who didn't care about anything - it was that he cared very deeply, actually. (Someone who nearly lets the world be destroyed as revenge for losing his family is the exact opposite of someone who doesn't care!) He may not be cheerful, he may be quiet and stern, he may have a temper and be capable of terrible things if he isn't careful, but he isn't heartless.

And Shadow Generations FINALLY got it right, I feel.

There's now no doubt that he remembers his past, and that it did matter to him. It still does, in fact, and we're dropping the idea that he'll move on from it like it never happened. That's not how tragedy works.

But he will be able to move forward.

He has finally, WITHOUT GETTING AMNESIA, IN THE CANON TIMELINE, gotten to become the hero Maria wanted him to be.

That doesn't mean his story's over: I'm sure they can still find adventures to send him on. And that doesn't mean he needs any kind of complete personality overhaul, either. He can still be more aggressive than Team Sonic, and more stern, and maybe even more willing to resort to questionable methods to fight next week's bad guy.

But all of Team Dark has gotten to acknowledge that they do, in fact, care for each other, even if their attitudes aren't as chummy as Team Sonic.

Shadow has gotten to hear from his family that they are proud of him, weird alien DNA and all, and that even though he will have to go the rest of his long life without them, their love will always go with him, and give him the strength he needs to overcome any of his darker parts.

Shadow having a darker edge than Sonic and Shadow being a hero are things that can and SHOULD coexist, and I'm so glad we finally got to see it for him without it getting wiped from canon or his own memories again.

#sonic the hedgehog #long post #naturally nothing against you and i'm happy we can discuss civilly :)#i obv didn't mean to attack you or ruin your enjoyment for sxsg #i just noticed some things in your original post that made me go 'no wait this isn't right'#and i guess any occasion is a good occasion to gush about shth lol #i do wish they'd port the 2000s games now that the fandom is yearning for them #it's still clinging onto the past but it's different than going 'hey remember this? good times right?'#we went through the nostalgia era in the 2010s but for the classics c'mon

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cheemscakecat · 21 hours ago

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A slight opportunity missed.

So, there’s not a whole lot that I’d change about Hank and Connor’s storyline in Detroit Become Human, but that being said.

The story takes place in 2038, and Hank is a Millennial.

Millennials don’t have that Gen Z knowledge of new technology, but they do have a pretty decent understanding of it and some have healthy skepticism. They aren’t like Boomers, who struggle to adjust to using new tech and fall for more scams. Like AI generated photos and scam emails.

There are Millennial parents that buy IPads for their literal infants and let them get brain rotted, but Hank doesn’t strike me as the type to do that.

I think there’s a missed opportunity to make Lieutenant Anderson the type of Millennial who doesn’t blindly trust new products in tech. He’s like the sensible Millennial who thinks linking your house up to an Alexa to control the lights, appliances, and doors, is dystopian. Literally does not see a point in doing all that.

Bro probably took one look at the Metaverse trailer, knew it was gonna be dog water, and laughed at its failure. Hank probably used to mess with phone scammers like this Officer:

youtube

Another change I talked about previously is having Conner be in use before the first deviant case, helping with unrelated cases. That way it feels like the Police have a reason to trust Conner enough to include him in the Cyberlife related cases. It’s highly suspicious for them to insert a police Android during an investigation that could make or break their company.

I would write Hank as still having reservations about using Connor, since he’s skeptical of Cyberlife’s intentions. He thinks Cyberlife is using this walking, talking recording device to mine information from the Police department [Which is true].

You know that scene where Connor scans Anderson’s desk to figure out his interests and break the ice? That would literally just make Hank feel like he’s right about the data mining. I’d have him sit down, not stoked about the android but resigned to deal with it, then get progressively more frustrated by Connor’s attempts to act friendly.

Then Hank stomps to the chief’s office and starts refusing to work with the android. Only to be told he has no choice. Lieutenant Anderson disliking Connor, not just because of what happened to Cole, but because he’s smart enough to think Cyberlife is using him as spyware, would be an interesting factor in their relationship.

I think the turning point where you can actually befriend Hank would be when you show up at his house and sober him up. Because a regular machine would probably just stand in one spot and call an ambulance. But Connor very stubbornly moves Anderson to his bathroom and starts briefing him on the mission once he’s sober.

One would assume this android is programmed to wait for an ambulance and confirmation that Hank’s okay, then request a different human cop to help with the investigation that night. But Connor’s actions are much more human and “illogical” than that.

He’s impatient and stubborn, two traits that Cyberlife androids aren’t programmed with. Maybe the Traci Models, but 9 times out of 10, impatient and stubborn androids are bad for business. Any adult should know that, Hank included.

The meaner interrogation could have been written off as Cyberlife programming a bunch of dialogue into Connor based on cases and movie scenes. That was at work, and for all Anderson knows, Connor was always programmed to be able to intimidate criminals. But it’s a lot harder to write off an Android dragging you to the bathtub and refusing to take no for an answer about investigating that night.

That’s human. Illogical, stubborn, overstepping his bounds… and human. Leaving the car at the murder scene, despite being commanded to stay, could have been written off as Connor’s spyware programming too. Not attitude or impatience. But in retrospect, it would make sense as part of his personality too.

#Youtube #Detroit become human #connor rk800 #dbh #hank anderson #not shipping #ramblings #Hank the type of guy to never allow Siri to use his microphone #he will type out a misspelled google search if he has to

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 24 hours ago

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🪓 Hewn and Sewn 🪡

I’ve been thinking a lot about Háma’s death again lately and started this fic for Tolkien Horror Week. And then I both failed miserably on the timetable for that and realized that what I needed for myself was to find a way for his horrifying end (it’s there in the books, and it’s not pretty) to not be totally devoid of consolation. And so it maybe wasn’t right for a Horror Week event anyway. Your mileage may vary on whether you find anything remotely consoling in it. I just love my guy, my #1, and want him to be happy. I don’t know if this accomplishes what I want, but I tried.

CW: canonical character death. He met a brutal end, per Tolkien, and that’s here, along with a fair amount of battle/war reality, incl. some blood and guts and general violence/death.

Art by @ rinthecap

**********

A body is surprisingly hard to kill.

The first thrust of a spear may bring a man to his knees, the second fills his mouth with blood, the third can barely be extracted again from the depths of his chest, but only the fourth brings mercy at last. Until then, the body clings to its life like a sailor adrift in an ocean storm, scrabbling after any tiny scrap of floating debris and clutching with bloodied nails and broken fingers to the last vestiges of a smashed and splintered ship that somehow hasn’t yet totally disappeared beneath the roiling waves. The body finds its greatest strength at the moment of its greatest vulnerability, stubbornly refusing to relinquish its desperate hold on survival and rallying to endure unimaginable suffering for just a little longer — one more boot to the skull, one more arrow through the gut, one more blade in the back, one more, and one more, and one more — to see whether the body’s will to live can outlast the enemy’s will to kill.

Háma knows all of this now.

He knows that the great tales of history have left out much of the truth, that the epic songs of invincible riders who slice through enemies like a scythe through wheat are more fantasy than fact. They have left out the hard work of dealing death, the sweaty, gruesome, arduous labor of cleaving into skin and muscle, hacking through sinew and bone, splitting open hearts and stomachs and lungs. They have left out the vomit and the blood and the entrails, the slippery gore that loosens grips and unsteadies footings, sending blows wide of their marks and into places that deliver pain rather than ending it. They have left out the soul-deadening horror of looking another man in the eye and realizing the only way to end his misery is to first give him more.

These realities are seldom spoken of, threatening as they are to the necessary project of war. New soldiers each discover them on their own, and Háma was no different. He came to the army while still hardly more than a boy, an idealist raised on stories of grand, heroic campaigns and aspiring to the honor of being one of the king’s own guards. None but his mother had tried to warn him of the cruelties he was sure to encounter, for she knew well the gentle heart that beat in her son’s chest. Always the first to smile, to extend a hand of welcome, to offer quiet encouragement, to assume the best even of those who had done him harm, she knew how such a heart would rebel against those inevitable cruelties. But he had so little experience of all that was vicious and foul in the world that he couldn’t truly comprehend the warning, no matter how carefully he listened, and in the end her bleak, abstract prudence was no match for the vivid potency of his dreams. He kissed her farewell and went off in trusting pursuit of all that was noble and righteous, blissfully innocent of the ugly truth behind the fantasy.

It took only one battle for him to realize that the valiant and glorious contests of poetry were neither valiant nor glorious but rather panicked, messy slogs where nothing was simple, nothing was clear and nothing was as he expected it to be. The shock of it nearly got him killed, frozen fast in horror amidst a raging squall of bristling spears and glinting blades and hearing nothing but the echo of his mother’s words, suddenly so palpable and so obvious. Only the panic and the mess and the general disorder saved him from meeting his fate before he was able to rouse himself at last to the grim necessity of action and do what was expected of him. He waded into the carnage, he added to it, he turned aside from suffering that he couldn’t relieve, he tried not to look at suffering that he had caused. And somehow, by the grace of Béma, he survived to see the victory, though the word itself now caught in his throat, devoid of meaning.

He cried after that battle, hiding alone in a darkened corner of a stable and wracked by huge, shaking sobs that both embarrassed and reassured him, proof that the day’s bloody brutality had exposed his naive ignorance but not taken his humanity. He wondered whether that humanity could endure even one more such pitiless trial or if it would break him, changing the very core of who he was. He wondered if he was already broken in ways that he couldn’t yet understand, ways that would be revealed to him only later in the long dark of a sleepless night or the cold grip of a relived memory. He wept for the man he had been and for the man he had wanted to be, someone who might now be a stranger to him forever.

He may have quit that very day had an older soldier not stumbled upon him and his tears, pulling him to his feet and tossing him a scrap of cloth to dry his face. We have all felt what you’re feeling, the soldier said. Anyone who is untroubled by taking lives should never be trusted with a sword. The soldier walked him over to a nearby field where neat rows of villagers were laid out to await burial — old men holding canes, young mothers in bright dresses, a few girls and boys with skinned knees or milk stains on their upper lips — all caught unaware by the enemy before the forces of Rohan had arrived to drive them back. Remember that you have killed so that people like this might live, the soldier said, and he left Háma to keep watch among the corpses, to contemplate death anew.

It seemed a simple reminder, a basic truth so obvious that it need not be spoken, and yet he had needed to hear it all the same. To be a guardian, using his strength and abilities to protect others, had been his earliest aspiration, and now perhaps that dream could protect his own heart as well, offering him the sense of purpose that would help to make the suffering feel worthwhile. He walked slowly from the silent field and back into the center of the village, where water was being drawn, animals fed, children minded, lives lived despite the tragedy to befall them. He rejoined his éored with a brief nod to the older soldier, and when they rode out again, he did so with the rent in his heart not healed but at least knit loosely together again, mended with stitches of duty and honor.

*****

Since that day he has killed many times, never unprovoked or with wanton disregard and never with the overpowering horror of that first battle, but also never with the clean, simple ease that he had once been led to expect. Each time he is forced to inflict pain on another, he feels it in his own limbs, and though he hates no man, he comes closest in his despair over those who fight him the hardest, who persist through blow after weary blow and refuse to yield or retreat. Do not force me to do this to you, his mind pleads silently, and sometimes, though it means the same thing, do not force me to do this to myself. In direst conditions, compelled to keep defending himself from an opponent with the white glimmer of bone shining out from mangled red flesh or with a dark, empty space where an eye had just been, he cannot keep these thoughts contained to his own head. Barely audible amidst the clash of metal and the thunder of hoofbeats and the groaning of the injured and maimed, he speaks the words aloud. I am sorry.

Many of these men linger in his memories, images of them emerging suddenly and unbidden from the depths of his mind while in the middle of doing other, more benign things. The man who stared up at him from a puddle of gore, tears streaming from eyes that were the same pale green as those of Háma’s youngest sister. The grievously wounded man who had spit in Háma’s face when offered mercy before plunging a knife into his own throat. The man who whimpered one word over and over as they grappled for control, a word Háma later learned meant ‘please’ in the tongue of the Easterlings. These memories tear at the stitches in his heart, testing their strength and threatening to sunder him anew.

One man in particular haunts his thoughts, lurking always in the shadows of his waking mind or the hazy, fragmented mirages of his dreams. Part of a company of Dunlendings who crossed the Adorn without leave, this man was a talented warrior, and had he only been taller or slightly larger of frame things might have ended differently. As it was, it took three heavy strokes of Háma’s sword to bring him down, and the battle-notched edge of Háma’s blade caught on something as he sought to pull back the final stroke. Forced to lean in close, to brace his foot by the dying man’s chest as he struggled to free his weapon from whatever barbed hook of metal or bone had trapped it, he found something he did not expect on the haggard, shivering face that was now only inches from his own — a smile, small but clear, and growing only wider as the man pulled in his last rasping breaths and the light slowly dimmed from his eyes.

The memory of that smile never truly leaves Háma. It follows him everywhere, as attached to his mind as his shadow is to his feet. He sees it when he stands long, lonely hours on watch in the cold and when he sits in a crowded tavern that swelters with the heat of a hundred bodies pressed side by side. It creeps up on him in the quiet wandering of his thoughts while his hands perform some common, repetitive task, or it appears with startling suddenness in the middle of pressing matters, insisting on claiming a share of his focus with the urgency of its unknowable mystery.

He dreams up a thousand different reasons why a man would smile through such agony, somehow finding happiness in the moment of ultimate despair. Perhaps the man hated his life and was glad to be rid of it at last, or he felt honor and pride in the idea of dying for his cause, though that cause was repugnant to Háma himself. Perhaps the smile was brought on by a delusion or hallucination, a vision of pleasure or comfort that shimmered with false loveliness for that Dunlending’s eyes alone. Perhaps it wasn’t even a smile but rather a spasm or tic, an arbitrary contortion of muscles masquerading as a familiar emotion and torturing Háma now with a futile search for meaning in the utterly meaningless. The only man to know the answer has taken it to his hastily dug grave.

Háma lives these years balanced on the knife’s edge between revulsion and understanding, doubt and certainty, heart and gut. But with each battle, he learns better how to fight in a way that feels true to himself, anchored to his decency, and he learns better how to strengthen the parts of him that quail at the task, reinforcing those weak spots so that they prove all the harder to wound a second time. He patches himself with reminders of all that he fights for, and, in time, life gives him more and more to add to that armor. A beautiful wife who brings warmth and light into all of his days. A daughter who owns him, body and soul, from her first breath. Hard won respect and admiration, first from his commanders, then from the men entrusted to him, and finally from his king. He will never be a battle-hardened veteran, numb to the business of death, but he finds his way forward, refusing to let the sharp edges of those old memories and doubts carve and pare his spirit until it is shorn of all that is hopeful and joyous. Instead, he embraces the business of life, of being a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a friend, a King’s Guard, a captain, a doorward, all of his selves linked together like the rings of his mail and bringing him just as much strength. He is happy, and he is whole.

*****

And so it is that he finds himself strangely at peace on the ride to what will prove his last battle. He has spent a lifetime preparing himself for this moment, this challenge, and he will meet it with honor. The hand of fate has landed on Helm’s Deep, an unexpected turn but one that he welcomes. He knows this place, its gate, walls and keep, unbreached by any outsider in all the long years of history. A fortress and a refuge at once, it is everything that he holds himself to be: strength and shelter, protection and not aggression. If the Rohirrim are forced to this step, with the point of a sword at their backs, there is nowhere else he’d rather make their stand, defending the inviolable.

They have been warned that this fight will be unlike any other in the lifetimes of this army. This is no skirmish over the placement of a border, no periodic flare-up of ancient, simmering tensions. This is existential, a contest that will decide whether Rohan endures a little longer or falls entirely, and among their old enemies of Dunland there will be new enemies as well, orcs of Isengard that are taller, stronger, unafraid of the sun, more desirous of blood. They drink in the joy of death like a cat laps up cream, he is told. Show them no mercy, for none will be shown to you. He sees the logic of this advice even as he has no plans to follow it. He has worked too hard to keep the cruelty of the world from making him cruel in turn. He will do what must be done, but he will do it as himself, from goodness, and not in imitation of those he deems wicked.

Final commands are given. Théoden sends him to hold the gate, and though he feels ill at ease to leave the king, his one and only charge, he knows it is the greater need and he goes willingly. The ragtag assortment of defenders at the gate are his charge now — cavalry riders preparing to fight from foot, farmers of the Westfold, teenage boys whose beardless faces catch the moonlight — and he assures them that it is alright to be afraid. They will face the fear together. He feels some of that fear himself, more aware than ever of his captain’s uniform that will distinguish him among the masses, drawing attention in the one place where such attention is least welcome. But he would sooner die in this symbol of all he believes in and all he has worked for than to hide in common disguise. His uniform clothes him in courage.

The fighting itself, once it begins, passes quickly, as do most things that overwhelm. There is scarcely a second to take in what is happening before it’s happened, and things grow only more chaotic as the late night stretches into earliest morning. Fear keeps him moving, because to give in to the exhaustion, to stop for even half a second of stolen rest, is to expose yourself to the heavy stroke of an axe or a sword or a pike or any of the other tools Isengard has devised to sever the loose connections that hold a man’s body together. Fear keeps him on his feet, and courage keeps him pressing forward, unwilling to give ground toward that precious gate.

He fights this battle his way. He leaves those enemies who are injured beyond the point of threat to be collected by their countrymen. He dispatches mercy to those whose injuries have already guaranteed death, bringing an early end to their suffering. He takes no action from anger, only necessity. He kills, many times over, but always as a last resort and each time with a heavy heart, for even the orcs are living creatures, once descended from elves if old tales are true.

He is not unscathed in the struggle. Bloody weals, red and shining, cut across his cheek and throat, and his left arm hangs dead now at his side, the muscles needed to raise it severed by the point of a spear. But he is undaunted and rallies, again and again, as men and boys, soldiers and herders, guards and merchants, fathers and sons, fall all around him to the seemingly endless waves of new opponents. His luck holds, until suddenly it doesn’t.

The first sharp blow slides neatly into the narrow band of exposed leather near his shoulder, where a piece of his armor has been forcibly pried from his body. It slices cleanly through the layers of hide and cloth, cleanly between ribs, cleanly into the center of him. It stops him in his tracks, not from the pain, which is strangely delayed, but from the abrupt sensation that all the air has gone from his lungs, which leak uselessly now into the hollow of his chest. He is still standing, struggling to pull in delicate half breaths that each slice like a blade of their own, when the second blow lands, a sword at the knee that sends him to the ground. The third, a heavy, percussive jolt from a bludgeon, shivers the bones that don’t shatter outright and leaves him sunk helplessly in the muddy grass, surrounded by a pool of blood that started out as someone else’s but is soon more his than not.

A burst of flame to his left draws attention away as both sides rush toward the noise and light, and he is left for a moment on his own. Above him hangs the black, blank sky, the stars now blocked by clouds and haze and smoke. Beside him are an elderly man with no helmet and a split skull, eyes fixed open in unseeing horror, and a teenage boy, face gone grey and breathing shallow as the contents of his veins empty steadily from a gaping hole in his side. Háma would comfort him, take his hand and bid him a swift journey to the halls of his forebears, if he could only lift an arm or force a word from his lips. But there is no strength in that arm and no air to carry the sound. He manages only to inch his hand next to the fading warmth of the boy’s fingers, and he hopes the boy will feel it and know that he is there, that they are not alone. It isn’t enough, but it will have to be.

A burning pressure builds in his chest, pushing out against his broken ribs and mangled muscles with a force that could tear apart whatever is left of him that is still intact, and somehow, above the screaming and the thunder and the clang of weaponry, he can hear a wet, bubbling sound each time he tries to inhale, as though he is drawing breath through a sopping cloth. He wonders if he might drown, miles from any river or lake or tide except his own blood that is rising in his lungs, and he uses his last gasp of energy to weakly raise his head, eyes searching desperately for a friendly face that might be able to drag him to help. But the eyes that meet his are instead cold and cutting, and they sparkle with sharp malice when they recognize the fine armor and burnished insignia of the captain of the King’s Guard.

A voice calls in a tongue that Háma cannot understand, but he needs no translator to know its meaning or that of the answering calls. Fingers are pointed in his direction. Grips are tightened around axes and knives and clubs. Lips curl into wicked smirks as many feet advance toward him, the defenseless prey whose brutal end will send a message to no less than the king of Rohan himself. No mercy will be shown to you.

The crushing realization hits him in an instant, though perhaps he should have known it all along. This is the end. There aren’t enough allies left standing to save him, even if his wounds could be healed. The gate, the one object of his focus, is being torn now from its hinges, riven with deep fractures and fissures, and these men and orcs will pour through the gaping rupture just as soon as they are done with him. It will matter to none of them that he is as good as gone already, slowly choking to death on his own bile and blood, because they mean not just to kill but to destroy. They mean not to leave him in one piece, not to keep him recognizable even to those who love him best. They will take his life, but they will also take his identity, his dignity, his grace, his chance to be mourned over by those who would hold him, stroke his hair, kiss his brow, touch his cheek.

He turns his head again to the young man at his side, to see one last Rohirrim face, but it has gone stony and lifeless, an unmoving mask of arrested youth. Háma studies this face, the soft down of a first beard, the skin unmarred by old scars or new wrinkles, and his heart trembles at the thought of all that this boy never got to do or have. A whole lifetime that was yet to be lived, with loves to be found, achievements to be celebrated, misfortunes to be endured, contentment to be earned. His death is a tragedy of lost hopes, of all that might have been had the boy been given even the twenty extra years that Háma himself has had. And that is the thought that brings a sudden and utter calm to Háma’s spirit, quietly reassuring despite the looming specter of gruesome execution treading closer and closer each second.

He cannot see his own imminent death as a tragedy like this boy’s, for Háma has lived — not as long as many men, but fully and well. He has loved and been loved. He has made himself and others proud. He has laughed and cried and grinned and gasped. He has seen great beauty, heard words of great kindness, tasted much that was sweet, felt hands of true tenderness. He has served a land he reveres, one that he knows in his heart will prevail and find a way off its knees to stand tall once again. He has joined himself to people worth dying for, people that he would weep to leave if not for the knowledge that he was more fortunate than most to have ever had such people in his life, no matter how briefly. A wife who was the love that made all the others irrelevant. A daughter who was every bit as perfect as she adoringly believed him to be. Another baby that would arrive in four months’ time and bring consolation and joy to its mother when she’d need it most. They will be pained to lose him, but he trusts their strength, the kind that isn’t sharp and brittle like iron but binds and flexes like thread.

Amid all the suffering of the world, he has been blessed, his fate woven together so tightly with filaments of gladness and fulfillment and favor that those things can never be sundered from him, even now at the very end. When the first axemen crowd around him at last, he doesn’t feel fear or hatred or regret. He feels only gratitude for all that he’s been given. When an enemy first takes his leg at mid-thigh and then his arm at the elbow, he isn’t thinking of the pain. He is thinking only of how one man could be so lucky, how he had somehow managed to claim not only his share of good in the world but many times that much. When a blade takes his ear and iron-toed boots prod where his ribs no longer provide resistance, he hears Brytta’s sweet voice calling his name and feels Hálwinë’s soft cheek rested against his chest. And when the last rattling breath leaves his battered lungs, sighing softly from his bloodied lips, he looks right at the man above him and smiles.

#háma #my beloved #kind of dark and definitely has some blood and guts #which seems appropriate to the mood lately #but i swear i tried to find the uplift #he’s my number 1 favorite guy #and i just think he’s neat #lotr #rohirrim

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maleyanderecafe · 1 day ago

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Jimi-Kare: My Quiet Boyfriend (Mobile)

Created by: SEEC Inc.

Genre: Otome

This one is the last of the SEEC Inc games that I'm aware of that have a yandere in it (though only in one ending). Personally out of the three games, this is probably the one I like the least, though I do really like one of the cross dressing endings. Still though, it's a fun short otome mobile game that has a nice story. If you don't want to play the game, you can view the game and all of it's endings here.

The story starts with a flashback of Nao being teased for being girly as a child. Fir protects him from the bullies and promises to always protect him no matter what. However, when they reach middle school, the two of them went to different schools and thus were not able to see each other until they went to high school. Nao has changed into a more gloomy and shy person as a result. During this time, Nao and Fir are recruited to be the class's representative for a beauty competition. To get back at an annoying classmate Ryu, Fir gets Nao to change his appearance for the contest, starting out with changing his hair, taking his glasses off and wearing his clothes differently. Fir, though a bit pushy, is able to get Nao to look more presentable for the contest. As the two of them prepare for the contest, they hang out more, reminiscing about their past, going to play at a claw machine.

As the story plays out, Fir can get Nao to decide what he wants to wear for the competition or make the decision for him. This can result in him becoming kind of like a play boy, him dressing up more cool like a prince or crossdressing as a princess and of course him becoming a bit of a yandere.

For the yandere ending, Fir forces Nao to crossdress and even walk around outside of school while crossdressing. This leads to Nao seeing on the TV that when another lady felt a bit jealous of the attention that her male friend was getting when crossdressing, leading Nao to question what he and Fir's relationship is like. When asked if Fir is just doing it to kind of make fun of him, Fir apologizes stating that she had gone too far. Nao gets annoyed, pinning Fir down and stating that he is a man and doesn't like crossdressing. Nao ends up disappearing for a while, leading to Fir getting worried and going to his house to check in on him. She seems relieved that Nao is there, though in a more depressive state than normal, wearing his hair back to the way it was and a hoodie. After bringing Fir into his room, Nao ends up pinning Fir down, believing that Fir doesn't see him as a man and therefore that she should have known it was dangerous to go into a man's room. The scene ends ominously with Fir unable to escape due to Nao's strength and Nao stating he won't hold back anymore.

SEEC Inc usually makes some pretty good but short mobile games as seem with The Search for Haru and My Puppy Fiance, but I honestly am not the biggest fan of this one. There are some good scenes in this one, especially the cross dressing ending, but there's also a bunch of things I just can't really vibe with. Fir, like the female protagonists of the other two games, is generally a pretty proactive female lead, but while the other two have a more likable personality, Fir is... very pushy. Granted, she does hold back on a lot of her pushiness as it goes on, but I feel like she often pushes Nao into things he doesn't really want to do, like change his appearance or in one branch force him to crossdress. Although Nao does consent to doing these things, it does feel like he just did them because he was pressured to and not so much because he wanted to. He does later admit that he did want to change his appearance and that he was trying to find an opportunity to, but it doesn't really seem that way when we are pushing him around. The other thing I'm not a fan of is mostly just a me thing that happens a lot in otomes, but the entire "Look at me as a man" and "You should know now to step into a man's room" kind of thing. Again, this is something that happens a lot in straight media, but I always found it pretty annoying since it implies that the guy is going to do something bad to you if you're not careful, which... don't do that? Why do we have to assume that? Anyways, Nao's entire yandere/dark route has this kind of vibe, which is partially why I'm not the biggest fan of it.

That being said it is interesting seeing how Nao's insecurities and envy basically consume his being in that ending. I think during the entire route where Fir gets Nao to crossdress, he more or less feels uncomfortable, not only because he feels awkward about it but also because he feels like she doesn't see him in a romantic way, something that eventually escalates when Fir apologizes and apparently when she goes to his house and doesn't feel awkward while in his room. Though this is a small event and we don't get to really see what happens after this encounter. I do think it is a nice setup for what could eventually come to be.

Personally I really like the Princess Ending (because of course I do), though I admit that the Prince Ending is also one that is pretty good. I think the idea of the two crossdressing and eventually confessing afterwards for the contest is pretty good and fairly cute.

Overall, My Quiet Boyfriend is a good game, even if it's not really my favorite of the series. While the yandere actions of this game are pretty light, it's still a fun thing to watch through to see just what will happen with Nao as the story goes on.

#Jimi-Kare: My Quiet Boyfriend #male yandere #yandere #yandere boy #recommendations #completed #mobile

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canmom · 2 days ago

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you must have this many dead friends to ride

it's TDOR (well, it was). unable to sleep, i read through all the deaths reported in the 2022-23 trans murder report (a year out of date, I don't think they've released this year's one yet.)

I'm not quite sure why i felt i should do this. if it's a gesture for the victims... well, if someone murders me one day, i don't think it will mean much one way or another if someone in faraway country reads a brief two sentence report that a 30-35 year old trans woman with 'other' occupation was found tied up with burn marks or something. nevertheless, it is the time of year for this ritual.

most of the deaths are reported in central and south american countries, largely due to reporting bias, though there's more reporting now from countries like India and Pakistan - almost nothing from east asia though, probably due to language barriers. it's hard to draw much of a conclusion about anything since many of the reports don't say much, the stats are subject to extreme sampling bias, etc etc. but the general types of story are: "her partner murdered her", "she was killed by gunmen on the street/in her house", "there was an argument and the other person decided to kill her over it", "the mob killed her for extortion reasons", 'her body was found in some awful condition", "the cops killed her" (including Tortugita, who they shot 57 times at the 'cop city' protest), and of course good old "explicitly anti trans hate crime" (which covers Brianna Ghey, the one death from my country, and several from the US).

my murdered sisters are in most cases very young. younger than me.

the statistician in my brain wants me to acknowledge that i don't know the degree that trans women are specifically subject to murder for being trans women or by abusive partners etc, and how much it's "just" about being poor and racialised and living in a place where paramilitaries, gangs etc routinely murder people. sex work is a dangerous line of work for many reasons, but it's also going to be the case that a lot of us are sex workers so even if we were all equally likely to be murdered, a huge number of the dead would be sex workers, just as many of them were beauticians.

but honestly, even bearing that in mind, a whole lot of sex workers were killed.

there is something particularly ghoulish in talking so drily about death statistics; the website uses the painful phrase 'concerning trend' in regards to the demographics of people killed (overwhelmingly trans women, sex workers and not white), as if a perfectly proportional series of murders would be less 'concerning' somehow, but what exactly are you supposed to say? it is of course a window into who a society is comfortable getting rid of, but we already knew that. there's a reason that a sex worker is the go-to plot-inciting murder victim in fiction.

collating death reports like this... in part it is done as a matter of political advocacy, saying 'look, we are being murdered by the hundreds [multiplied by some nebulous but significant underreporting factor]'. but of course, if that's our goal, we are holding our deaths up against, for example, the tens of, likely hundreds of thousands of people killed by violence in Gaza, Sudan and Ukraine in the last year - events which have already divided the world into people who can't stop it, and people who can but don't care to. and what do we want done about it? to beg the state to come down and apply its monopoly on violence more stringently? often the police are the ones killing trans women.

so what remains is ritual. we light candles, and read out the names of strangers who nevertheless have this one important thing in common with us, the ~global community~ of trannies and such - this was a person who refused to take the awful role they were given, asserted their own will to change their body, managed to live a life at least partly on their own terms, and then got killed over it.

but we don't have time to tell the life story, no time to describe the mess of relationships and aspirations that drive a life; there is no time to imagine what feelings we shared, what they enjoyed, what stories we might have laughed about if we'd known each other...

we have time for 'found dead in a car'.

if that.

in my country, we face a very different threat distribution - i don't really expect anyone i know to get murdered (though it's not impossible, there are people I'm close to who have been viciously attacked and there was little to do to stop the attacker coming back), but I'm sure Fall won't be the last of my friends to die by suicide. if we are 'fighting like hell for the living', our project here is more about trying to build lives that are worth living for, and weathering whatever fashy deluge is coming down the political pipes. what does fighting like hell even mean here? i think i used to think i knew.

but this night at least, I'm remembering my friend Fall, who we lost back in 2022. I made this page about her, and the feelings that came up from her death, with writing from friends who knew her better than me. I'd be grateful if you read it and helped some part of her memory live on. (apparently they wrote a little memorial for her in the recent translation of Shōnen Note: Boy Soprano which she worked on.)

I never got to ask what Fall thought of all these TDoR rituals - it's one of many things I didn't get to talk to her about and I bet she'd give me something unexpected to think about, formed some ingenious connection. or maybe she didn't think much of it! but it's as good a reason to think of her as any. she was awesome, she should have been given a much better hand by this world, and it is more shit for not having her in it.

I bet the friends of any of the 321 people on that list, and everyone on this year's list, would be able to say something pretty similar.

entropy always gets its way. but I'll hold onto what I can of her, my fragment of her ghost, for as long as we can. i guess that's the point of the ritual. hold onto our ghosts. tell each other that, one day, they'll stop accumulating so fast.

#tdor #trans day of remembrance #introspective nightposting

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therealsaintscully · 2 days ago

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Thank you for the tag, lovely @crepesuzette2023! It's been nice to take some time to think about my fics!

How many works do you have on ao3?

20; 18 are Johnlock (BBC) and two, the most recent ones, are mclennon.

What’s your total word count?

306,378 (I was stunned to see this, I had no idea).

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

All are Johnlock: Mark Your Calendars, my beloved Erosion, Detours, Plus One and Turned - Part I : Queen and Country.

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I try to be very good about it and respond as often as I can, but the truth is I'm a bit of an emotional wreck so when there's a rush of comments I get overwhelmed and over emotional about them, and tend to put it off for a while. I read them ALL, and I often go back and re-read them.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I had to refresh my memory but it's def Every Other Universe ("What if in every other universe John Watson leaves?"). It's one of my very earliest ones and I cringe a little reading it, but it's a very neat idea. Gretna Green Waltz, a mclennon fic, is very devastating if I may say so myself, and was written as such knowingly. It only reflects reality, though, and that's just as devastating.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

I think Mark Your Calendars has the happiest ending, judging by the numbers of kudos, but for me as the writer, the cosiest, most joy-bringing ending was that of Simon (or: Love Calls You by Your Name).

Do you write crossovers?

The sadly abandoned Turned series is a crossover with Homeland.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate, but some less-than-considerate "when's the next chapter???" comments. I don't bother with them.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes I do :)

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Don't think so!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

I remember being asked, but I'm not sure what happened with it! Some of my fics got podficced, though: Mark Your Calendars is available as podfic, and so is I Have not Lingered (thanks to the lovely @helloliriels)

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, I'm so neurotic and particular I don't think I'm cut out for that.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Mulder and Scully are DEFINITELY the mothership and always will be. I still sigh about them in a special, exasperated way about three times a week. I'm still here with Johnlock of course, but I'm pretty sure mclennon has been in the back of my mind for decades, but I was too haunted by other ships to fall down that rabbit hole. Look at me, though, here I am.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Turned, very sadly. So much so that I've considered taking it off AO3 but I'm so proud of what I did achieve with it.

What are your writing strengths?

I think my best writing moments are the ones that hook unto my real, personal experiences, not just a general idea of life situations. Erosion is based on my own personal grief and family losses, and Gretna Green Waltz is a retelling of my biggest heartache. I have noticed readers can tell when you're really putting your heart into a story.

What are your writing weaknesses?

English isn't my first language, which means I have to rely on betas which for me sadly slows me down - I want to be able to just write them and post them otherwise I overthink. I'm also a screenwriter irl, and I noticed a pattern that is another weakness - I always have banger openings, or first acts to my stories/screenplays, but sometimes I don't know the ending and I get lost and hesitant. That's why Gretna Green Waltz was SUCH a surprise - much like Junk, the song that haunts Paul throughout the fic, came to him in one piece, GGW landed in my head as a full story. I wrote it in TWO WEEKS! That NEVER happened before!

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

It really depends on how it's done. If it's 2-3 sentences and they're simple I assume the readers will Google Translate it. Jinglebell stands out as someone who did it really well in multi-chapter fic that's all about Sherlock discovering that John is a polyglot, so it can be done well.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Johnlock (for which I started writing during covid in 2020), although as a reader it was TXF, back in in 90s and early 2000s.

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

The X-Files. I've had a Scully character study in my head for years that I just can't get right.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

With Johnlock it would have to be the now-abandoned Turned, and mclennon it would be Gretna Green Waltz. I am very proud of both.

Tagging @menlove, @discordantwords, @saint-mona, @totallysilvergirl @m1ssunderstanding @slippinmickeys @kettykika78 @agrlsname @arwamachine @calaisreno @aggressivewhenstartled and anyone who sees this who wants to participate :)

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perseus-oh-my-perseus · 11 hours ago

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Exactly My Thoughts [Mostly Directed At The Tags & Comments :))] So Here’s Some Book Thoughts/Ideas I’m Having For My Myth of Perseus Book

It’s not going to be a retelling because I know far too many people who hold these myths dear—including myself to Lord Perseus—and the general idea that surrounds the modern interpretation of this whole situation that it feels wrong to “pin it down” to one thing. Instead, it’s going to be an AU of sorts that will help pin down all the thought-invoking questions Ovid’s Medusa brings with how women are treated and their stories.

The “AU”s gonna be Blind!Danae who was blinded at some point during her pregnancy & Perseus’s childhood—perhaps through some sort of illness she suffered during one of the many tragedies of her life. With this AU, it will be able to emphasis Perseus’s “momma’s boy” characteristics along with being the “man of the house” once they’re on their quest and he is left taking care of the both of them. It will allow for a lot more of the story to be shown of their dynamic because it is such an intimate thing that even showing Perseus’s yearning for alone couldn’t properly show. It will allow for their culture to show through Danae telling Perseus stories as they made camp, and her struggling with the fact that it’s not her taking care of him anymore, it’s him taking care of her out there. It will also lead up to an intense or perhaps quiet scene with Medusa and Perseus trying to protect his mother but also being in mortal peril.

Pertaining to what we’re actually talking about, Medusa would probably adopt the two and travel home with them, Danae telling embarrassing stories while Perseus acts like the teenager he is trying to make his mother not tell them how he ran across the entire beach naked before someone could catch him. Poseidon already has a relationship with the two of them, and so there will be some fond moments of him being referenced and sprinkled in there as Medusa rolled her eyes as his dramatics because she’s entirely fond of him.

Them picking up Andromeda bc Perseus needs his arc again /lh. But it shows once again his need for helping others which stems from always being with his mom. Even with the fisherman—Polyductes, right? Or is that the asshole—, it was still always just him and her, at the core of it. Perseus and Andromeda having their cute awkward teens falling in love while they probably pick up other stragglers on the way back to kill the king

The gods are going to be portrayed a lot more through their Worshipped Aspects than their Storytelling/Myth Aspects like we see in a lot of other media. Such as the help of Athene and Hermes being shown through Altars and Signs rather than them appearing to also show another beautiful aspect of mythology that is rarely portrayed which is the Gods as they are worshipped

And a bunch of other stuff that are definitely more clear than this but I wanted to get over the awkward phase of knowing if ya’ll actually care or not, and then I’ll put effort into organizing and rambling, but yeah. My Myth of Perseus Book thoughts :))

Okay but when am I getting my non-Ovidian Medusa/Poseidon retelling huh

#*tries not to fidget awkwardly*#i speak; you tolerate #you speak; i share #ancient greek mythology #greek mythology

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thedramaticduke · 2 years ago

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Soo, because I'll otherwise loose my mind, here my ranking for the eight stories (of course, big spoilers follow, also for the endgame)

1. Osvald

This was pretty much a safe card to get into my favourites. A broken science man, who first starts out with wanting to avenge his wife and daughter, but then realises that his daughter is alive and saves her? That's good shit for people with father issues right there.

But what really got me with him was... everything around him. How he slowly warms up to the other travel companions, how he lets other close to him again. In the last travel banter with Partitio he talks about how he realizes that he managed his journey only because of his companions, and how he finally sees the sense behind small talk and. It's so great. He was my starter and even though it was really funny at the beginning how that lone wolf suddenly was surrounded by five children, Temenos and Castii, I could see him lead my squad at the end against Vide. That's what I call character development.

And I know that after the epilogue the first thing he did was run back home, confronted his fear and hugged his daughter. Trust me, I'm Square Enix.

2. Ochette

I'm sorry, but I couldn't put her lower. Ochette's story was so nicely put together - I love how all three legendary Pokémon beasts have separate stories, but one element that unites them all: how humanity destroys nature without reason or remorse. But still Ochette stays strong and kind and has hopes and... God, that was great to see. That moment when she befriended Glacis and the other companion was honestly beautiful.

The only thing that annoys me is the fact that the dark huntress was so... irrelevant at the end. I expected a plottwist around her, something like 'haha, this character from story X was actually her!' but... no. Shes just an evil fanatic who has only one appearance when she gets killed by the other companion. A little bit lackluster tbh.

But yeah, Ochette is my daughter and I would kill for her.

3. Castii

That third chapter. God damnit.

I'm really surprised how much I liked Castii at the end. Once again, family issues and all, but also... her story is so dark. She could save the day, but so many people had to pay for it and it was so brilliant how you could go into the empty village from the beginning (it was even part of the demo) and ask yourself "what the fuck happened here?" before all becomes clear. Its so bittersweet and I'm all here for it.

4. Partitio

I know, his story is not the most... logical one. But sometimes you want to live in an indulgent fantasy where you beat capitalists up and then they see the errors of their ways and where a rich sugar daddy aristocrat gives you 80 billion dollar because you inspired him enough. But yeah, he's just so fun and I love how, even though so many people change throughout OT 2, he always stays the same idealistic optimistic moron who inspires the people around him. And how Ori pretty much confirmed that the reason she saw hope again was because of Partitio? Whoof.

Also my head canon is that Mister Roque and Pepe had something going on while they built Orerush. I mean... come on. Two single men, with no woman by their side but really close, and Partitio even calls him uncle in german? Thats sus right there.

5. Throné

Technically, this story is right up my alley. I don't know what it keeps from being higher up except the fact that the Claude twist came a little bit out of nowhere. But there are so many small scenes that I love, how the girl in Mothers Garden swears revenge and still gets a happy ending, how happy Father is that he still got to be a father (his whole story was fantastic btw), how you're not thrown into Lostseed but travel there throughout her last chapter and then are met with such despair. And yeah, the end was similarly bittersweet as that of Primrose from the first game, what I love. At the end, freedom reeks of blood, but... it was worth it.

6. Agnea

The step up for the fluffy stories from the first to the second game is insane.

But yeah, I talked about it once already, but what makes this story special for me is the journey in her mother's footsteps. When her father gave her her dress at the beginning it nearly teared me up lol.

But yeah, her whole story is just so sweet and cute and anti-capitalistic (she kinda has Karen-energy but in a good way) and how it all tied together at the end with all the people from the different chapters coming together at the festival of graces was great. And this story has easily the most background lesbians (the traveling group, Dolccinea and Victoria...), it's amazing.

7. Temenos

...yeah. This is my biggest unpopular opinion from this game xD

But yeah, what really annoyed me about Temenos' story was, similar to Cyrus' story from the first game, that it tries to be a detective story, but... it's the most predictable story of all lol. From the beginning I was like 'yeah... the sacred guard was responsible, wasn't it?' and it kinda took my investment in that story out of it. Also I like Temenos and Crick, but not as much as most of the fandom, I'm afraid - there was something that didn't click with me, I guess. Even though the Stormhail-Route was still pretty sad ngl. And even though Kaldena was my third to last end boss, she still nearly killed me, so here's that.

8. Hikari

Hikari is really a sad case because his story could have been even more tragic and sad. But he suffers the most from bad writing - Mugen is such an 'evil for the sake of being evil' antagonist while being the stupidest person ever (that moment when he killed everyone because 'they could be vengeful later!' made me literally facepalm) and I still don't understand why Ritsu hates the emperors and their war mongering so much, but then ends up working for the biggest war monger of them all. I lowkey expected him to betray Mugen but... no. He's just vengefulTM and randomly turns good two seconds before dying.

But I liked Hikaris arc and turning the shadow hold into the light hold was a great idea. Generally his first and last chapter were pretty atmospheric and I really grew to like Kazan as a mischievous, but sympathetic ally that his betrayal really stung. Generally, the second game had much better written and more engaging stories than the first, it didn't have any Tressa-like story where I didn't particularly care about anything. But still, Hikari kinda deserves better.

#octopath traveler #octopath traveler 2 #octopath traveler 2 spoilers #octopath traveler II spoilers #octopath spoilers #generally I liked all stories in some way or another #but as always i have thoughts lol

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impidimp · 7 months ago

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I keep seeing people say they want Edwin and Charles to stay just friends and like I would have been fine with that if they hadn't queercoded the hell out of Charles and their relationship

#if you didn't want people to ship them you could have written the exact same story in a way less queer/romantic way #just referring to charles' side of things and general hints towards it #dead boy detectives #dbd #painland #or whatever #(don't worry I will still be fine if they never go canon and that's if by some miracle we even get another season)#all I'm saying is that man is a walking talking bi flag and I feel like it could have been avoided if they wanted to

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xxplastic-cubexx · 15 days ago

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sorry if you've already mentioned but what (re?)ignited your love of comics/x-men/cherik? curious because there are so many different adaptations of them

i think im gonna speak for a few (or a lot of) people when i say that TL;DR the wolverine x deadpool movie that came out this summer is what pulled me back into comics and i COULD leave it there but i will go into excruciating and unnecessary detail instead because i love an origin story and i love oversharing.

under the cut tho because im nice sometimes (there's also wxdp doodles in here. if you want to see that)

ironically (and probably commonly), growing up i was more of an avengers kid. Kinda. Loosely <- binge watched the cartoons and movies and read copious amounts of comics and fics and i am hoarding fanart in my old dresser as we speak ok 'loosely' is a modest lie.

embarrassingly i remember getting into discus cause of captain america LMAO so yeah needless to say i was a Humble Fan- me joining my school's comic class/club didnt help either (shoutout to my teach from that she was the realest one out there for. A Multitude of reasons). she definitely is was inspires me to even draw still and make comics and i often think bout the tips i learned from her class tbh she was great

back to the movies t and comics tho, i got into em because my brother would offer to take me and that's how we'd hang out (i rarely saw movies in theaters and i even more rarely went anywhere as a teenager. still kinda like that today tbh ooops) and yk. it just snowballed after that.

my brother and i have always liked comics- he just more than me for a while (though he still very much loves comics and As We Know From My Posts we still talk about them whenever i see him To An Exhausting Degree)

durin then i was really into stony and i have a few surviving doodles i made but those are between me and god. and anyone who asks tbh LOL

'snap can you make this related to x-men again this is long' ok so fast forward to This Summer again I Still Don't Really See Movies but my brother offered to take me and this was the first time i'd actually seen an x-men movie in full

as a kid i only remember seeing the 'perfection' scene between erik and raven in first class while i was channel surfing. pretty sure i changed the channel after seeing mystique naked cause i was scared my parents would get mad at me if they caught me watching it LOL

BUT MOVING ON As A Kid i think it's also natural you'll sometimes watch 92 if it's on And I Did though evidently it didn't stick too hard (i do remember really liking beast and gambit though.... still do really): my knowledge of x-men was. INCREDIBLY sparse. like diabolically so so i didnt have too much expectations (aside from the fact i vaguely liked deadpool beforehand).

tbh i dont know why my bro never took me to see any of the x-men movies. it's not like he doesn't Also like x-men (90% sure nightcrawler's his favorite but my brother will be caught dead saying he has absolute favorites like that)- he owns a bitch load of deadpool comics/omnibus sets too (of which ive read over the years and reread this year) but Shrug moving on

Much Like Most Of The Internet i fell down the rabbit hole that way. i have some doodles i made a couple days after seeing WxDP that i now have an excuse to throw at all of you Look And Perceive

and so. As I Do. i got curious and told myself i'd binge watch all the x-men movies the week before i went back to school And Then I Did ft. My Brother Sometimes and then i said i'd binge watch all of '92 and And I Did That ft. My Brother Sometimes But Less So and now we're here. currently watching Evolution...

once i got to school i realized i lived near a comic shop and started getting into the comics that way (the first ones i got since going down this rabbit hole was Magneto Was Right!, The Resurrection of Magneto, and The Trial of Magneto. if you were curious !!!!! clearly i didnt care too much about context i just needed to see My Guy jelvejlkvj i have no regrets and Evidently ive read more since)

i'm pretty sure what dragged me into cherik specifically was the fact i saw a clip of The Famous ending to 92 where erik's aghast at the notion jean even has to question his love for charles. i think that was what officially had me refocus my lens on them: not a single poolverine thought after that LOL (all the cherik posting i saw on twitter definitely helped too but that was the nail in the coffin for any other interests i had: i was locked into cherik and x-men in general now)

that clip specifically, i was surprised at the fact they- frequently even- have the x-men franchise say erik loves charles and vice versa so bluntly. even if it's not meant to be romantic, i fear im just a fan of how casually the word's thrown around with them two and i got tender bout it all. Then Yk. i just live for the drama. the hilarity even. the sincerity .... they make me sick if i think of them too long so im gonna end it here

before i go tho ironically enough, the first x-men issue i owned was This one (story a this is that while stuck in some wacko dimension charles accidentally gets himself trapped in logan's mind while utilizing his astral projection. if you were curious). pretty sure i got it for free with another comic set i got years ago since our old comic shop loved to do that, but it's poetic aint it. maybe ill doodle something referencing it..

i should probably look into finishing this arc someday im Dummy curious to even know how it started and how it ends.....

#snap chats #usually this onea them posts i ramble bout in the tags but i have photos and this is Long long so .. i use the main body for once ...#sorry i gave a biography but i never talk to people and i also love typing. im one of those party can-of-worms i fear #i feel like i could talk about this forever because x-men itself has never been super prominent in my childhood #it was just kinda there in the background BUT comics themselves have always been with me. theyre a keystone to me i think #but yeah. x-men definitely sticks a lot harder than avengers does now OOPS this is not me taking shots i am just SAYING #i have a lot of old marvel doodles tbh .. i found an old deadpool one i remember drawing with my bro during a car ride #kinda funny how much my bro and i bond i dont think of it much but I Guess thats another reason why comics are special to me #we dont bond much- i dont bond with my fam in general tbh we're kinda. Isolated in a way LOL so its cool we're tight at least #if you wanna go deeper bout Comics And My Family my dad really liked comics growing up- more dc tho maybe #apparently he used to draw hulk a lot but if he did those drawings are loooong gone.. at least i know who to blame for me drawing #he loves superman tho. i remember id get embarrassed watching superhero cartoons and superman was on screen when he was around #for some reason i thought id get in trouble if he caught me watching superman but when he did once he was real happy so. tf wrong with me #he loves to say hes superman a lot and id be like Dad... Stop... LMAO but in the cheesiest way possible he do be my hero so. accurate ig #but yeah thats my origin story for why i like comics again thank you for reading if you actually read all that #and sorry it got all sappy Unfortunately i be like that sometimes. i am very emotionally constipated and i over explain a lot #ok i fr gonna end it here im gonna keep going by accident if i thinka any longer and i have stuff i still have to do

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