#lord please stop me from making a ridiculous post about the guns & how they compare & how they kinda perfectly fit these characters

[smytherines]

researching guns again and I know my targeted ads will assume that I've suddenly become interested I'm purchasing weapons, and its like no no sweetie, I'm just writing gay spy fanfiction

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter One

Main Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, swearing, sexual themes and sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

Stand Unshaken

Ada knew she’d checked the locks on the doors. Twice. She knew she had. She knew they were locked.

But what if when she’d checked them the second time she’d accidentally unlocked one? Or all of them?

Blowing out a breath, she turned onto her back for the countless time in the last hour, brushing her curls away from her face with her forearm before settling her arm above her head.

Staring at the bed canopy, she drummed her finger tips against the pillow.

Go to sleep.

Usually it was fine. Some days she just had to check them once then that was it, she could sleep.

Some nights, she couldn’t.

One more time, then that’s it, I’ll really know.

Exhaling a long breath, she pushed the covers from her body and slid her legs off the bed, lowering her feet to the floor. The cold wood reminded her it was a ridiculous time of night to be doing this, but she soothed the silent argument with another one more time.

Fumbling for her robe from the back of her chair by the window, she tugged it on and wrapped the cord around her waist as she peered through the gap in the curtains. Lantern flames flickered in the town of Strawberry in the near distance, some dwindling in the late hour, and beyond the roofs of the furthest buildings the moon shone through the tall trees.

And there was no sign of any human movement anywhere.

Pushing her hair over her shoulder and rounding the bed, she found the doorknob and carefully opened the door. Avoiding where she knew the boards would creak, she moved quietly down the hallway, past Annie and her mother’s bedrooms, the doors firmly shut. They were both light sleepers but she had mastered the art of silent walking long ago, even in the dark knowing each step to take.

One hand found the banister as the other lifted her robe so she could begin descending the stairs.

Her foot landed on the bottom step when she heard it.

Pausing, she stopped breathing, straining to place the sound in the distance.

Is that thunder? 

The newspaper had warned of an incoming storm─

Rapid gun fire echoed up from the valley of the town.

Ada’s eyes widened as her head snapped up.

Oh, Lord, please, no...

Floorboards creaked above her but it was an inconsequential sound compared to the screaming, yelling and gun shots that started to rise.

Move.

Darting forward, she grabbed the Repeater propped by the front door and pressed her back to the wall by the nearest window. Lifting the curtain, she peered out. She could only make out glimpses of the frenzied movement occurring below, the house situated too far up the hill behind the town to get a clear picture─

Oh, God.

Flickering lights started to grow larger, rising up the hill. 

“Miss!”

Jolting, Ada spun to see Annie running down the stairs, gripping the skirt of her nightdress, her eyes wide.

“Annie, get back up─”

“Miss, what’s happenin’?”

Reaching out to her, Ada gripped her forearm, holding her steady as she stumbled on the last step. “I think there’s an attack on the town, Annie, I need you─ Annie, look at me, please.” She gripped her arm a little tighter when the other woman whimpered, trying to regain her full attention as Annie tried to look over her shoulder, managing to catch her gaze. “Annie, I need you to take Mama down the back stairs and to the barn, the noise should have woken Adam, he’s probably already getting the horses ready, so I need you both to take Mama away, all right? I need you to all get away.”

Annie nodded several times, her eyes still wide in terror. “Yes, Miss, I will, I─ Wait, Miss, where’re you gonna go?”

“I’m going to get you some time.” Ada quickly continued as Annie whimpered again and opened her mouth to interrupt, “You remember the place we all talked about, don’t you? The one past the dam? I’ll meet you all there, all right? I won’t be long.”

She waited until Annie nodded before she released her, gently pushing her towards the stairs. “Good, go on.”

Turning as soon as she knew she was running back up the stairs, Ada returned to the window, her heart thumping in her chest as the lights drew nearer, so near she could start to make out the shapes of the people carrying them: five men. Men with hoods concealing their faces and guns in their hands.

Calm down, calm down, focus.

“Ada? Ada, darling?!”

She ignored her mother’s calls, ignored the tugging they drew at her heart. She could hear Annie gently coaxing her towards the backstairs, and focused on the men. They were walking up the path now and she didn’t move, knowing the darkness of the house would keep the little of her face peering out hidden. For the next few minutes.

Drawing back the hammer on the Repeater, she clenched her jaw as she adjusted her grip, blowing out a slow breath.

Then, they paused, the one on the far left nudging the man beside him. All their heads turned. Her brow started to dip, when she suddenly realised.

They started to run in the same moment she did.

Running through the family room to the kitchen, she swiftly withdrew the bolts that kept the back door locked and wrenched it open. Racing out, she ignored the cold, wet mud that clung to her bare feet as she ran along the dirt path.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the barn, the wagon rolling out of it carrying her mother, Annie and Adam. Adam was trying to gain control of the two horses pulling the wagon, tugging at the reins and murmuring to them as they danced about, jittery from the noise and each other, their ears twitching.

Ada tried to run faster, seeing the men, closer than she was, approaching the barn in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t look at them, though, if she did then something might happen to her family, she couldn’t look away, she couldn’t look away, don’t look away─

Gunshots fired, and it was as if they tore through her. She came to a juddering halt, her eyes wide. Adam fell first, his white hair blinding against the dark of the night. She heard Annie scream, before it was suddenly cut short. Then her mother stood, her head and shoulders appearing above the sides of the wagon.

Ada wanted to scream out to her. She wanted to tell her to get down, to stop being so foolish, get down, Mama, please, please, please─

Gunshots rang out, and then there was silence.

Run.

A voice in her brain was screaming at her but the message didn’t reach down to her feet. A cold numbness swept over her body as the men approached the bodies but she couldn’t look away from the wagon. Couldn’t look at the men. Couldn’t look at the bodies.

Run.

The men were looking over them, searching pockets, taking things from them.

For God’s sake, run.

One of the men lifted his head.

A bullet whizzed past her shoulder and she jolted back into her body.

They saw her.

Before she knew it, she was running. Back towards the house, around it, down the path. She could hear them calling after her, taunting, laughing.

Irish voices.

Oh, God, no...

She forced herself to just focus on how far away the voices were and that they weren’t shooting at her.

She didn’t slow as she ran down the hill. Screams from the centre of town and gun fire started to overtake from the noise of the men chasing her, and, rounding down the bottom of the path, she froze suddenly, her senses assaulted by the sight before her.

Flames and smoke billowed up from various buildings, making the air thick and heavy. People were running and shouting, some trying to fight back, others fleeing in every direction. She had to swiftly lunge to the side to avoid a horse that suddenly appeared from the depths of the thick smoke and raced past her, it’s eyes rolling as it screamed.

God help us all, this is going to be a massacre.

The yells of the men behind her as they also dodged the horse had her running again, taking advantage of what she could. 

She ran into the smoke and haze.

The main source of activity seemed to be coming from the Sheriff’s office, so she turned right before the bridge, running past the doctor’s office. The door was wide open but before she could look a man knocked against her shoulder as he stumbled past her and she turned her head, reaching out to him to warn him that he was heading into more danger when he collapsed, and she saw the blood soaking the back of his shirt, spilling out into the mud.

“Hey, girlie, where’re you goin’?”

Inhaling sharply at the voice behind her, Ada turned, gripping the Repeater with both hands.

A man, his face unconcealed, grinned at her. Soot and flecks of blood covered his skin, but his green eyes shone brightly. “What’ve you got there, girlie? You got a gun?”

His Irish accent was gentle, maybe in another time and another place soothing, but his gaze on her was hard, unyielding. A hunter with it’s prey.

Raising the gun, aiming at his chest, she grit her teeth in an attempt to stop her voice from shaking. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”

Pure delight spread across his features as he raised his hands.

“Oh, c’mon now, that’s no way to welcome someone to your town, is it, darlin’?” He took a sudden step closer, making her recoil a step back in return, nearly slipping in the mud. “I’ve had a long, hard day and I just want to have a chat with a pretty girl, all righ’?”

“Don’t come near me, please.”

“‘Please’? Oh, darlin’...” He started to lower his hands, his grin still wide. “I do like hearin’ you beg─”

She squeezed the trigger.

The gun kicked back slightly, knocking against her cheekbone, but she barely felt it. The man made a strange, groaning sound. Looking down, he appeared dumbfounded as his hand pressed over the hole in his chest.

“You bitch...” He almost slurred the words as he looked up at her. “... You shot me. You fuckin’ bitch.”

He went for his gun.

She squeezed the trigger again. He fell to the ground with a harsh, choking sound, his arms and legs splaying out. She kept the gun trained on his chest as she stared down at him, watching his body twitch. Then, he stilled.

She didn’t move, breathing hard.

An explosion near the Sheriff’s office made her jump and finally tear her gaze away from the corpse.

Keep moving.

Lowering the gun, Ada went to take a step and swiftly stopped herself. Keep moving where? She didn’t know when the screaming and gunfire stopped, but  the town was quiet, eerily so. She could hear voices from somewhere but they were calm, conversational. She started moving away from them, quickening into a run when she heard a separate set of voices to the right of her; men coming down the south path. She ran to the cabin on the bank of the river, crouching low as she moved to the front door.

Opening it an inch or two, she quickly assessed the room, finding it, mercifully, as empty as it had been for the past few weeks. Stepping in and closing the door behind herself as quietly as possible, she kept low, leaning down on one knee, and peered out of the nearest window. Buildings were still burning, keeping the town covered in a blanket of smoke.

She couldn’t see a damn thing.

Ducking down again, she pressed her back against the wall, keeping the gun tight against her chest. She took a moment to debate her options; wait until they were gone, if they ever did leave, or try and escape now and risk being seen?

Think, think, think.

If she could get into the cover of the trees, she could lose them if she was seen, but, no, she still needed to actually get out of the town. Exhaling sharply, she closed her eyes, mentally mapping out the town and its exits in her mind. 

The stream.

Yes, she could follow the water down by walking along the bank, it’d be freezing but she could round the bottom─

A door opened.

She was on her feet in seconds, gun raised.

A man paused in the door way, his hands instantly raising. “Woah, miss, easy.”

He was an American, but so had been one of the men who’d chased her. He didn’t have a hood on, but there was a black bandanna tied around his neck. Her gaze quickly darted behind him, seeing a window in the room behind him open. Why would he come in discreetly if he was part of the gang? Then again, she didn’t recognise him and this was a damn small town. And the guns strapped to his waist spoke for themselves─

“Easy, miss, it’s all righ’. I’m not with them.”

Her gaze flicked back to meet his. He probably had practically seen her mind racing, debating.

“It sure looks that way,” she countered, her finger hovering over the trigger.

He kept his eyes on her, not moving a muscle, and it should have bolstered her that he was taking her seriously but it just made him harder to gauge.

“I’m not. They’re the O’Driscoll’s, ma’am. I don’t doubt you’ve heard of ‘em.”

Ada inhaled a shaking breath but her hand didn’t tremble as she kept the gun trained on him. 

Yes, she’d heard of them.

Swallowing thickly, she adjusted her grip on the Repeater. “Who are you, then? A bounty hunter?”

A laugh escaped him, a short, rough sound. “No, ma’am, I am not.”

“I take it you’re not a lawman of any kind.”

“No.”

“Answer my question, then.”

He regarded her for a moment or two before finally speaking. “I’m Arthur Morgan, I’m with the Van der Linde Gang.”

Oh, them she’d also heard of.

She lifted her chin slightly, her gaze flicking over him once more. “I read about you in the paper. I read about what you all did in Blackwater, what you’ve done.”

“Have you now?”

“You’ve all got a high price on your heads. Especially Mr van der Linde.”

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly, something having amused him. “Yes, we do.”

“Why should I believe you’re any different than the O’Driscoll’s?”

The amusement vanished. “’cause we actually got morals, unlike these animals. Dutch always says feed people as needs feedin’, save people as needs savin’... I think you need savin’, miss.”

The words were out of her mouth before he’d even finished his sentence. “I’m fine.”

His eyebrows rose. “With all due respect, you ain’t. We ain’t the best of people but we’re better than them.”

It was now her turn to regard him. ’Gentleman Dutch’, an article had once called the notorious outlaw, in exterior alone above and beyond─

A gunshot sounded from the other side of town, making her jump and Arthur stiffened, though, thankfully, her finger was no longer over the trigger. His hands lowered as he looked out the window behind her, his jaw moving.

“Miss, I’m gonna need you to make a decision.”

She stared at him. She thought of Adam, of Annie, of her mother, of the people of this town, if there even were any left.

She had no choice.

She made her decision.

Lowering the gun, Ada clenched her jaw. “Shall we go out the front door or the window?”

“Down.”

“What─”

He lunged towards her, grabbing her shoulders and shoving her down. Yelping, the gun dropped from her hands as she fell to the floor, Arthur leaning over her as the window above them shattered and glass rained down upon them.

Bullets exploded into the room and she could hear the sound of them embedding into the wall opposite.

“Shit,” Arthur hissed under his breath, his arms trapping her in, keeping her down.

Once the glass had stopped falling, he moved away from her and into a crouch. Pulling the guns from the holsters at his waist, he peered over the shards still in place before quickly ducking down again, a bullet flying past him.

“God damn it...”

She looked away from him as he started to fire back, her gaze slowly falling to the glass surrounding her.

Focus on this. Work out how to get through this.

Carefully shifting her feet under her, Ada ignored the slight jolts of pain of some of the shards biting into her. Reaching her hands out, she pressed them down onto a clear space of floor, dug her toes into the ground and gently pushed herself forward, trying to stay down as she moved. Retreating behind a counter, she pressed against it, her gaze finally returning to the man.

Arthur was still shooting back but they both knew they were overwhelmed, the bullets battering against the cabin making that very clear.

Ducking down to reload his guns, he looked over at her, assessing her.

“We’re gonna need to run.”

“I know.” She couldn’t help the slight bite to her tone.

“These feller’s ain’t gonna let us go easy.”

“I know,” she repeated, arching an eyebrow. “So, what’s the plan? You get yourself out of these things all the time.”

The gunfire ceased.

Matching her expression, he then peered over the edge of the window again. “Well, ma’am. That I do.”

Holstering his guns, he opened a satchel she hadn’t previously noticed around him. Searching in it, he pulled what looked like some sort of red tube from it.

Then, when he removed a pack of matches, she realised very quickly that it was not just a red tube.

“That’s not exactly subtle,” she protested, even as she crawled across the floor to the room this man had first appeared out of.

“Yeah, well, sometimes you need a distraction.” Shifting to his knees, Arthur glanced at her as he struck a match against the floor. “Get ready to run.”

Lighting the stick of dynamite, he hurled it out of the shattered window in the same moment she rose to her feet. Running through the door and across the room, narrowly avoiding striking her hip against the bedpost, she pulled herself through the window, Arthur right behind her.

Jumping over the fence on the back porch, Ada ran towards the river, her original though not thought out plan the only thing in her mind. She heard Arthur still behind her, following, and didn’t know whether to be glad or terrified that he apparently hadn’t thought of the next step whilst she had.

Arthur caught hold of her upper arm when she stumbled as the dynamite exploded and the ground shook, and started hauling her over the rocks.

She ignored the sound of wood cracking apart and shouting as she ran, the sharp edges of the rocks biting at her bare feet and cold water soaking her legs and robe, though Arthur’s firm hold on her kept her upright and moving. Finally reaching the grass of the hill, he released a short, sharp whistle as he started to pull her up it. She heard the faint whinny of a horse and her gaze darted about the treeline. Then, a black horse broke through the bushes and cantered towards them, tossing it’s head.

Gripping the back of the saddle and pommel as the horse came to a stop, Arthur pulled himself up, staring across at the path leading to the town as he settled in the saddle.

“Come on.” Holding his arm out to her, he pulled her up behind him once she took hold of his forearm. “Hold on.”

Seizing the sides of his coat just in time, Ada held on tightly as Arthur pushed the horse into a canter, guiding it down the hill and across the stream. Once over, he urged the horse into a gallop, taking them down the main road. The horse was fast, but her heart was still pounding. Would they have men patrolling the outskirts of the town in case anyone tried to leave or arrive? Would they come after them?

They soon came to the Dakota River, a bridge holding a train track high up to their right. Slowing the horse a little, he guided it towards the river. A quiet, involuntary sound left her as cold water, kicked up by the horse’s canter, fell upon her feet and legs, making the robe and nightdress underneath cling to her skin.

She chanced a glance over her shoulder. No one was following them, yet.

On the other side of the river, Arthur kicked the horse back into a gallop, taking them down the path to their right.

“They comin’?”

His voice took her by surprise and irritated her slightly, as if being silent was what was keeping them safe. Ada looked over her shoulder again, finding the road empty.

“No. I can’t see anyone.”

“All right. We might’ve lost ‘em, then.” With a gentle pull on the reins and a quiet murmur, he brought the horse down to a trot, patting the snorting animal’s neck. Rolling his shoulders, he exhaled a short breath. “Keep an eye out, though. They could send two or three.”

She nodded, her eyes fixed on the path behind them. They both fell silent, the only sound the horse’s hooves against the dirt and the occasional whistling of birds in the trees.

“What’s your name, miss?”

Oh, Lord.

It was a valid question, but it startled her.  

“Annie Sawyer,” she lied smoothly.

He may have claimed to have morals and be treating her kindly now but who knew what him and his gang would do if they found out who she was. Well, she could probably take a pretty good guess.

“All right, Miss Sawyer, I’m gonna take you to where my gang is hidin’ out, okay?”

“Where are they?”

“Now, I ain’t gonna tell you but I ain’t gonna blindfold you, all right?”

Her jaw moved. “Fine.”

Wonderful. That’s probably a great sign of trust to him.

“We ain’t gonna be able to stop at any point, I don’t want anyone associatin’ us with what happened back there and I don’t wanna give ‘em a chance to lead ‘em back to my people.”

“Okay.”

“All right.”

She tightened her grip on his coat once more as he urged the horse back into a gallop, leaving behind the smouldering remains of Strawberry and her home in the distance.

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[burnouts3s3]

Controversy Corner: Rise of the Tomb Raider

(Disclaimer: The following is a non-profit unprofessional blog post written by an unprofessional blog poster. All purported facts and statement are little more than the subjective, biased opinion of said blog poster. In other words, don’t take anything I say too seriously.)

Author's Note: Controversy Corner is a series of articles that concentrates on the cultural aspects and whatever explicit or implicit messages the game might have. PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS NOT A REVIEW OF THE GAME, but rather an analysis of what a game says about the world and the world around it. If you wish to read a strict review, please click on the link to read it. My reviews focus more on the purely technical aspects of the game. Also note that a game's technical analysis may or may not effect the message it may or may not tell. There are bad games with good messages. There are good games with bad messages and so on and so forth. Thank you.

http://burnouts3s3.deviantart.com/art/Rise-of-the-Tomb-Raider-a-review-659641545

Controversy Corner: Rise of the Tomb Raider

The Tomb Raider franchise is in the middle of a top down reboot. Doing away with the original Lara Croft, the rebooted franchise instead focuses on Lara as a character as she climbs, shoots, jumps and dangles on ledges through her way to adventure. Crystal Dynamics and writer Rhianna Pratchett have been dedicated to making Lara Croft a fully realized character.

http://gameranx.com/updates/id/31647/article/rise-of-the-tomb-raider-writer-rhianna-pratchett-explains-why-lara-had-to-change/

The rich, untouchable, Teflon-coated, British ice-queen isn't exactly relatable for players, especially in this climate."

The 1990s — their economic prosperity, their 3D-in-form but 2D-in-soul game protagonists — are dead. "I was particularly keen to bring some warmth and empathy back to Lara, as I think that's something that's been rather lost over the years �� particularly in the movies.

In all honesty, I have nothing against this approach. In fact, I encourage it. I want to see one of gaming's icons gain depth and dimension as graphics continue to improve.

So, why does Ms. Prachett fundamentally misunderstand what it means to be empathetic.

Stop me if you've heard this quote before, but it bears repeating.

http://www.cienciasecognicao.org/rotas/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/Robert-McKee-Story.pdf

Sympathetic means likable. Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan, for example, or Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn in their typical roles: The moment they step onscreen, we like them. We'd want them as friends, family members, or lovers. They have an innate likability and evoke sympathy. Empathy, however, is a more profound response.

Empathetic means "like me." Deep within the protagonist the audience recognizes a certain shared humanity. Character and audience are not alike in every fashion, of course; they may share only a single quality. But there's something about the character that strikes a chord. In that moment of recognition, the audience suddenly and instinctively wants the protagonist to achieve whatever it is that he desires.

The unconscious logic of the audience runs like this: "This character is like me. Therefore, I want him to have whatever it is he wants, because if I were he in those circumstances, I'd want the same thing for myself." Hollywood has many synonymic expressions for this connection: "somebody to get behind," "someone to root for."

All describe the empathetic connection that the audience strikes between itself and the protagonist. An audience may, if so moved, empathize with every character in your film, but it must empathize with your protagonist.

Here's the thing about Empathy. Empathy isn't always nice, nor does it mean you can empathize with nice people. You can certainly SYMPATHTIZE with Nice People and that's a good thing. But in order to truly connect with someone, you need to Empathize with them. Because all characters want something. And in establishing that 'want', that desire, we understand the character and build an automatic connection there.

And since I'm on the record of repeating myself, I might as well start on something that needs to be repeated again. Rhys from Tales from the Borderlands is an Empathetic character. Why? Because the beginning of the game shows Rhys' desire for something: status, position, power. But from witnessing his smugness entering the room to his humiliation exiting the room to his willingness to go down to a planet to get his want, we understand Rhys even if we hate him.

Again, I'll say it until the cows come home. Rhys is not a nice person. He is a complete bastard, a slimy human being and overall, just despicable. But it's in his desire and pursuit of something, however misguided, materalistic and shallow, that makes us connect with him as a character.

Let's take another example, Ralphie from a Christmas Story. Throughout the movie, we witness Ralphie go through incredible lengths (or at least incredible lengths for a white child growing up in 1940's) to get what he wants. He tries to persuade his mother, this teacher and even a mall Santa just for the chance to get his gift.

Ralphie's desire for a Red Ryder BB gun with a compass in the stock, and this thing which tells time is an ode to materialism (and by proxy gun culture, but that's a different conversation for a different day), but it's an empathetic struggle we can relate to. A child's desire for a toy his parent tells him he can't have.

Media is full of unlikable but relatable characters. Don Corleone murders massive amounts of people to help is family. Kratos slaughters half of ancient Greece for redemption. Niko Bellic steals, robs and does heinous things to get a better life for himself.

So, let's ask the million dollar question. "What does Lara want?"

Throughout the course of the game, with all the shooting, jumping, dangling from cliffs and puzzle solving Lara does, what does she want?

The answer: The redeem her father's name. In flashbacks, we see that Lara's father was a loving man but was obsessed with his work. Unable to find the Divine Source, Lara sees him commit suicide (though it's later revealed that the organization Trinity staged the suicide).

Look, I get the idea of a female protagonist's motivation to deal with her daddy issues is always sort of sketchy (other articles have written about this on length).

http://archive.is/vKIkG

"However, such choices continue to be framed as being the result of her father’s guidance, guidance that reminds her that “the extraordinary is in what we do, not who we are.” Thus, both what Lara does and who she is are framed through her role as a daughter. Such framing reveals the representational power of the father—the power the father has over the ways women-as-daughters are constructed and framed in games like Rise of the Tomb Raider."

Look, however problematic and troublesome the message of Rise of the Tomb Raider is, I'll take problematic over dull. Again, we need to empathize with Lara if we're going to get through this and relate to her. But said empathy falls flat.

Who is Lara's father?

I mean clearly the game does 'enough' to inform us who Lord Croft is. But information isn't enough. We need to emotionally bond with him. Remember, these are fictional characters and since this is a rebooted franchise, you need to lay the groundwork for us to actually feel for the character.

In an age where 'family' can extend past biological ties, without the necessary groundwork, family is just an obscure word. Not everyone has a warm and loving father. Hell, not everyone HAS a father (aside from a biological one and even then science is doing away with that concept). So, in order to make us feel for, let's face it, a fictional character, you need to establish who these characters are beyond 3 short flashbacks.

To be fair, I never liked the idea of using family as a plot device since it's so cheap, but if done correctly, it can inform us about the character and the character's motivations.

(Though, a DLC, Blood Ties, does a better job of making Lara's family a bigger prescence and gives us a better understanding of who these people were).

And that's why Lara's 'redemption' of going from hunting the Divine Source to wanting to destroy it falls flat. We don't understand why she's going through ridiculous lengths in the first place because we don't understand the need to redeem her father because we don't know who Lara's father is. Without that, there's nothing stopping her from destroying the Divine Source in the first place. Compare the other source of comparison and see why Indiana Jones, how has the opportunity to destroy the Ark of the Covenant

Again, that doesn't mean empathy can't be problematic. Remember, Rhys wants to climb up the social ladder while Ralphie wants a toy gun. These are not the best morals. But, there are the human element that ties things together. And if your goal for the Tomb Raider franchise is to make Lara relateable instead of a sex object, it would really help if you got the basics down right.

No, this doesn't mean that every video game protagonist has to be a Kratos, a Rhys, a Niko Bellic or any other anti-hero, but it's through those anti-heroes that we understand what makes us human, even if we make terrible decisions that hurt a lot of people.

And while I admire Ms. Pratchett's dedication to the character, maybe it's better that someone else handles the character development and setting up of scenes.

(As of this writing, Rhianna Pratchett has left the Tomb Raider franchise).

And, frankly, maybe that's for the best. I didn't hate Rise of the Tomb Raider, but I sure wasn't in love with it either. Maybe, that's what this series needs; someone to take over the reigns and do something different with the character.

I have no problems in trying to make Lara a more proactive and deep character. I just wish the people who want to do it are capable of doing it.