#there is no depths to my loathing for this movie

[ragnarssons]

i hate it here, i hate it here, i hate it here........ forcing myself to chew life through the last jedi and i hate it here. ok, but forreal, to the people who said episode 9 sucked... how would you have picked up from the utter, profound, nauseating mess that rian craig johnson created with how he ended tlj?

[melancholic-fig]

What I loved about the Substance was that it took impossible body standards imposed on women seriously. It didn't treat me like a kid throwing a temper tantrum about not being sexy. It didn't try to tell me "everyone is beautiful" and "every body is a beach body" in a pitiable voice that makes it all worse. There's no one singing to me about how "I cannot see my own beauty", as if validation from men will ever be enough to cover the black hole in my stomach drilled by years of self-loathing, binging-purging cycles and appetite-suppression pills. It haven't stopped for a second to congratulate itself for platitudes.

The substance threw an ice bucket on my head, grabbed me by the shoulders, dragged me to the mirror and told me "look at what violence you're inflicting on yourself!". It showed me a perfect body, the carrot on the stick, and then it hit it with a sledgehammer in white neon light. Is it worth it? Aren't you mad? Look at how he eats shrimp and doesn't wash his hands - is this the person you want to be liked by? Is this what you deserve for being human, really?

I've seen this movie on Friday and it's been stuck in my head ever since. I haven't looked in the mirror the same again. Somehow this made me kinder to myself.

I've seen reviewers say that this movie counts as "male gaze" and "violence against women" but I think they don't see the forest from the trees here.

First the male gaze: it felt like a deconstruction, in the best way. Sue's butt was the least erotic thing ever put to screen. The soft porn dance studio was shot in a lifeless manner, I felt like my mom was reading the browse history. Personally, I'd never want to have Sue's job. Even the sexist dudes that watch the movie seem to "get it", that their overly sexual media diet looks embarassing under the microscope. The medium is the message, and the sound and visual cues are all there to make sex appeal look very unappealing and immature. There's nothing sexy in "Pump it up", it's catchy and fun and has sexual undertones, but not a hint of sensuality.

Then the violence against women: there is only one scene where a man attacks a woman, and I'll not spoil it, but i'll say it's so bizzare it feels too cartoony to count. The rest of the violence is all self-inflicted. Every step of the way. Women don't just suffer abuse under patriarchy from men, they self-inflict and reenforce the structures of their own suffering onto others. Elizabeth is a fitness coach actively making bank off of other women's fears, and in the process of telling everyone over x kg to skip lunch she's grown her own self-loathing too. It wasn't really the horny men watching the fitness show, isn't it? Sue is even worse, she goes on talk shows to tell women her looks come from being kind, a silly statement considering she injects herself daily with an old woman's spine liquid while loathing her for existing. Elizabeth and Sue are both victims and perpetuators of violence, and it's gruesome because it's not a silly feminine thing, it's all-encompassing and a matter of life and death. Without violence, what would be the message of the movie? "It kinda sucks to be a woman hating your body". Doesn't sting, isn't it? This is not chopping women and putting them in refrigerators to give the good guy a reason to kill the baddie, this has to be violent to show the depth of pain of the protagonist. It's necessary. And I like it, because crying and wallowing in pain is not the behaviour you want to see on screens, it feels lethargic and leads to the problem not being taken as seriously.

[txttletale]

hey what DO you watch on youtube? seems like you'd have some neat recommendations :3

i really loathe the like super-highly edited sound effect post-mrbeast slop most of youtube is now so i mostly like stuff that's like... calm and sedate. stuff i've been watching lately in no particular order:

northernlion vods and clips. he's an OG. i especially like his react court series, i must have watched all of them like five times.

speaking of OGs i've been watching zero puncutation (now fully ramblomatic) for like ten years and if anything it's only gotten better. best game review content on the internet. been really enjoying his more recent, slightly longer and more thoughtful 'extra punctuation/semi-ramblomatic' series too.

any austin's skyrim unemployment rate videos. instant classics to me, it's just a guy going around in skyrim trying to figure out the unemployment rate in every town. it's a very dry kind of humour, he plays it admirably straight, and it's weirdly calming.

kitten arcader's foot the bill videos. in a kind of similar vein, he watches the saw movies and then produces an itemized bill for everything jigsaw needed to buy to make his traps. it's kind of like... if cinemasins was fundamentally curious instead of fundamentally incurious, it scratches a similar sort of nitpicky detail-oriented quantifying itch but without inimical to the concept of art.

shuffle up and play. it's a magic the gathering play series that has enough editing that the gamestate is actually legible but not enough editing (or at least, not enough obtrusive in-your-face editing) that its annoying. i also like that they reguilarly play non-edh formats like cube and pauper.

spice8rack. i'm pretty picky about video essays but spice8rack has very obviously actually read books and has interesting things to say about the topics it discusses (mostly magic: the gathering). sometimes it has a kind of grating Theater Kid Energy but the fact that it actually meaningfully structures essays and analysis to earn the silly long runtimes is a rare delight from a video essayist.

jenny nicholson is a long-time favourite and another permanent fixture in my rotation. she's just extremely, remarkably funny which makes her the only 'basically just summarizing a thing' youtuber i think is worth the time of day.

i watch some sketch comedy, mainly wizards with guns and aunty donna, who both consistently put out really funny stuff that's kind of ITYSL-adjacent in its barefaced absurdism and contenmpt for concepts like "stopping a joke at the logical punchline". i also really like alasdair beckett-king and binging the old clickhole backlog for short-form comedy on youtube.

wolfeyvgc is right on the edge of the level of editing i find tolerable but as a long-time fan of multiple esports he Has It, he's absolutelyt fantastic at t elling the narrative of a tournament, explaining plays clearly, and generally making competitive pokemon esports thrilling and interesting ti someone (me) who#s never played it and doesn't care about pkoemon that much

i religously watch every elliespectacular/dathings YTP, the absolute best in the game right now, top tier snetence mixing and really good at actually setting up and paying off jokes in a way it feels like a lot of ytp doesn't. verytallbart is also pretty good.

trapperdapper is a channel i recently binged, it's a really fucking funny parody of minecraft challenge content that veers slowly from obvious angles of parody into pure absurdism with tons of blink-and-you'll miss it subtle visual gags.

too much future is a great youtube series where the two guys from just king things/homestuck made this world play through every fallout game and analyze them in that context. extremely funny and also just top-tier very sharp analysis. really good

another one of the rare good video essayists is jan misali. they're really funny and will go into topics that kind of seem narrow or strange to begin with in such depth and make them so interesting that it's consistently astonishing.

oh and finally sarah z makes pretty good videos. 'the narcissist scare' is an absolutely brilliant deconstruction of one of the most annoying pop-psych phenomena of the last couple years. and remarkably well script supervised i think did anyone else watch it and think 'wow the script supervisor on this must have been, a mind geniuse'

ok i think that's all i've been watching lately. hope you like whcihever of these recs you check out :)

[janumun]

A Bond Everlasting (LaDS Rafayel - NSFW)

Rated: NSFW/18+ Pairing: Rafayel/Reader Words: ~17k

Tags: soulmate AU (the red string of fate, with a twist), college setting (and they were roommates), angst with a happy ending, mutual pining, minor violence and action, scent kink, blow job, oral and vaginal sex, facial, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, merman knotting, sexual rut/Lemurian sexual cycle

Summary: Rafayel tries — and miserably fails —  to forget the one his red thread weaved against once upon a time, even a decade after its break. Finding her, once more, years later, and residing within the same place as her doesn’t help his cause. 

A/N: A happy very belated birthday gift to you, @chibamari. With all of my love and all of our favorite heartbreak, I hope you enjoy this, darling friend.

I. EBB 

The red string of fate. Rafayel found he truly loathed the concept.  

What was it, truly, if not just the Fates contemptuous scorn upon them?  

Forcing kinship and eternity in between a pair that did not mould against the other. That would, if time given, drift apart as mere bottled wishes left traversing, lonely, across the seas.  

And yet, the manacles remain celebrated, since time immemorial. As legends of the rare, and lucky few, destined to be bonded in harmony.  

Rafayel used to be — once upon a time — part of the same foolery brigade as the rest of them, the day his red thread spun and found itself interweaved against his first, and last, love. To her, he promised a Lemurian’s vow of faithful eternity. 

Until the day that blood-red thread quivered and ruptured apart, weakened by her absence.  

Leaving to Rafayel only the hollow remains of a heart rejected. The brand of its mockery left behind as indelible remains of the severed — useless — string wound against his finger.  

II. FLOW 

Deft, practiced digits streak a brush across canvas; the truculent quality to his paint lines reflecting the agitated knot of Rafayel’s brow and the hand he scrubs through his hair in chagrin at constant-wheeling thoughts. Bold strokes; an amalgamation of bright colors — gentle turquoise and oceanic azure — setting into paper to shape unconscious form to his muse, for his current class.  

It is only when he hears the ripple of applauding gasps behind — “You’re amazing, Senior Rafayel!” — is he knocked back into his senses, angling a stupefied gaze up at what he’s made of his project: originally an interpretation of the depths of the sea, the topic he’d presented his class for the day.  

He notes, in no small proportion of growing aversion, the strokes of his brush having shaped form of a delicate back — hers — against the backdrop of a vast sea, reminiscent of home. His thoughts — he muses in self-derision — having lent unconscious connection in between his place of most comfort to the person who stood as his entire comfort. 

Rafayel’s head throbs with heat, as if knelling the oncoming of a particularly harsh fever. Perhaps his less than perfect health was to blame for his momentary lapse of concentration.  

“Is the lady underwater inspired by anyone in particular, Senior? Your brushwork for her seems particularly passionate.” 

Rafayel’s mouth twitches into an insouciant, cool smile, he directs at his students. “Hmm I’m not sure. Perhaps, she’s inspired by that one mermaid movie they’re currently playing in theatres.”  

“Oh, ‘Aquatic’? I’ve seen it!” 

“Me too! It's really good.”  

“The part where she turns to sea foam—” 

A seamless lie; he lets it steer the focus of conversation away from him and his lapse in concentration. Turning back towards the board to proceed with his lecture.  

Opting to teach a fine arts course to a bunch of junior year students, for extra annual credit, was clearly shaping to be one of the worst decisions he’d ever made.  

Especially so, when the subject in question, he’d offered to teach for, in the first place, remained starkly absent throughout the duration of the lecture.  

III. EBB 

Shouldering open the door to their shared apartment, Rafayel steps inside, staggering under the weight of his stack of the newest arrival of deliveries. The apartment is silent, devoid of the sound of her characteristic pattering footsteps.  

Depositing his packages down against the side of the sofa in the living room, he collapses back into the cushions, tuning a distasteful frown towards the empty kitchen counter. Recounting to mind, the events of this morning, having shepherded him into an entire day of distraction at the University.  

“Ouch.” She hissed, a sound of surprise, wrenching her arm back from the sizzling frying pain at the spits of oil it spewed.  

Rafayel released an exaggerated sigh at the sight, ambling over towards the kitchen. “Let me help.”  

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of fixing breakfast on my own.” She attempted heroic reassurance, even as she easily treaded backwards to let Rafayel replace her at the stove.  

“Yes, yes, I believe you. I'd still like to ensure you don’t burn our apartment to the ground while I’m away at work. My paintings are priceless treasures, you know.” He deftly takes the eggs off the stove and plates them before shoving her share at her. “There you go, Miss All-Capable.” 

“Stop making fun of me.” She smiles in relieved gratitude, moving to set cutlery across the table. “And thank you.” 

Rafayel swivels a puffed smile her way. “Whatever would you do without me?”  

She shakes her head at him, attempting no effort to refute him. “Indeed.” Her fingers brush against his as she moves to pass him his share.  

“Rafayel.” She sweeps a sudden grab at his hand, digits entwining in between his. “You’re a bit warmer than usual. Are you feeling sick?” She smooths a gentle hand across his forehead.  

He feels his face burn darker at the sudden intimacy of their contact. “No, I don’t.” Instinctively jostling away from her touch. “I’m just tired, is all. I was up the entire night, after all.”  

“You really need to fix that terrible habit of yours. A healthy body leads to a healthy mind!” Rafayel can’t tamp back the grin from his face at her chiding. 

“Take better care of yourself. I can’t be here to keep you in check round the clock, you know.” She sighs in resignation.  

“Yes, yes, my noisy Mistress.”  

“Speaking of which,” She begins, just as Rafayel seats himself at the table. "I'll be out late tonight.” 

Rafayel feels his smile frost over; a dreaded, sour feeling immediately spurning at the base of his belly.  

“I have a study date with Caleb.” She does not meet his gaze, forking at her egg.  

Rafayel hears himself speak before he can tuck back his impulsive thoughts. “You sure you should be trusting the man this much? I don’t—” 

“’Like him.’ I know. I don’t know why you’re so biased against him, he’s a good person.”  

The praise dredges bitterness across his tongue; ashy and tepid. His fork nearly stabs at his own food, a disapproving moue he knows is dark upon his face. “Sure,” he intones at last, grappling against his desire to ask her not to go, to spend her day with him instead. “Have fun.” An unfair burden he knows he throws onto her shoulders; he does not possess the right to dictate who she chooses to associate with.  

And yet— 

Rafayel’s gaze deliberately treks the line of red thread adorning his ring finger — treacherously cut off a few centimetres in and dissipating into nothingness. Following the absent line of it; her own finger sits vacant against the wooden table-top. An immeasurable dejection he isn’t able to shuck off, no matter how many times his eyes have witnessed its emptiness.  

Perhaps she is right and he is sick, an inscrutable tremor setting into his fingers as they continue on with the rest of their meal in silence.  

IV. FLOW 

The oncoming dawn encroaches a gradual shell-pink spill of color across the velvet skies as Rafayel’s feverish gaze drags, listless, to the view past the patio windows, the bone-deep ache from the day past yet to recede.  

The angry scrapes of charcoal rushed across paper, forgotten as the unfinished sketch drifts purposeless down onto the floor to join the rest of its discarded predecessors.   

She has yet to return home — Rafayel had stayed up the entire night and remained planted, firm, within their lounge, to make sure he would be there to greet her on her return. She'd never been away from their apartment overnight.  

Rafayel knows because he had — on more occasions than he could count and didn’t wish to acknowledge — found himself crumpled within cool sheets, self-confined to the privacy of his room, listening in to the comforting sounds of her padded, soft movements around their apartment.  

She'd often slip back through their door, close to midnight — she made it a point, always, to return home, no matter the hour — after slaving away hours at the library for her Hunter exam. She'd try for quietude; he knew, so she wouldn’t disturb his absent sleep.  

A gentle clink of mugs at the kitchen counter as she’d make herself a cup of a coffee in preparation of burning the midnight oil.  

Despite having the physical structure of their apartment — a shelter and comfort in name — his room’s four-walled sanctity, it didn’t truly feel warm as a home until the moment she stepped past the threshold and into their shared space.  

And only when he’d hear the soft crinkle of pages turning steadily as she’d settle herself onto the living room sofa to study, would he find himself beckoned into slumber. As if she too, knew on instinct, how her presence aimed to soothe, choosing to make space for her studies right where he could hear her, in the lounge, instead of the confines of her own room. 

Yet now.  

Midnight had come and gone, dawn scraping indigo for approaching light, and no signs of her return.  

A long day behind him endured in feverish unrest and the toll of another sleepless night, doesn’t help disentangle burgeoning thoughts of her within the embrace of another man at that very moment, one not him. He can’t help but sorely curse himself for his ill-thought decision of staying the night up, waiting for her like some sorry love-struck fool.  

Not that he would’ve been able to sleep, either way; a part of him mocked in muted whispers.  

His thread throbs; a nipping bite of rejection and along with it, his body. Languid gaze absently trekking the severed thread, flickering incandescent against his ring finger. The constricting heat of it, as if traversing up his veins along with the fever within his body. Colluding against his heart, as if it wishes to eventually wither him up instead. A slow, bittersweet poison.  

Rafayel feels nauseous.  

He’s beginning to contemplate on retiring for the meagre, precious hours before his upcoming classes for the day — perhaps that bitterly strong liquor she’d stowed into the fridge earlier would help do the trick — just as the door lock clicks open.  

The sound violently startles Rafayel out of winding, unheeded thoughts enough, he springs off the sofa just as she steps foot over the threshold.  

Opening his mouth to put words to turbulent emotions — a million queries — before his questions wither off the tip of his tongue when he fixates a good, long look at her.   

She appears downright exhausted and an instinctual, foreboding spurts forth in him. The look on her careworn face, light-snuffed gaze meeting his — Rafayel thinks, mirrors the state of his own affairs — before it dissipates into stifled surprise. “Rafayel, what’re you doing up—”  

And before he can tamp himself back into composure, Rafayel’s striding the few paces it takes for him to reach her, dragging her into his embrace.  

She stiffens at the contact on instinctual reflex, it chips away at another piece of his heart. Tightens the strangulating hold of his severed thread against his soul.  

He hedges her tighter into his embrace, regardless. Head pitching down onto her shoulder; a hand he smooths down the line of her quivering back before she relaxes into him, at last.  

“Rafayel—” Arms twitching by her side and up as she circles him within her own comfort, returning his warmth in the cling of desperate digits against the back of his shirt.  

“You’re late. You're so late.” he gripes, half-hearted.  

A beat. Two passes. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”  

A peculiar relationship; she calls them friends — close — inappropriately so and he’d agreed to be one, to her, if it were the sole thing that allowed him to be by her side. For her to not abandon him once more. A relationship edging something far gnarled than friendship.  

He doesn’t believe even she has a name for what they share, in moments as these, where Rafayel forgets himself and the boundaries he holds himself to. Turns blind to pretenses and masks he fixates, so delicately crafted, for her benefit and the safety of his own heart. 

He is not, however, a man strong enough to ignore the strain of his beloved’s gaze, tiredness rimming her entire being, she feels so brittle in his arms, and it ruins him to not know the cause of it.  

“...Got something on your mind?” He murmurs into her hair. 

“Perhaps.” Her response is slow, halting.  

“Want to tell me what it is?” He breaks away from her, enough to let his eyes scour her face in stern scrutiny.  

A whispered laugh escapes her at his inspection.  

“...Rafayel, how do you feel about an early morning stroll with me?”  

V. EBB 

The shores of Whitesand Bay stretch empty within the wee hours of dawn, quiet, save for the twittering song of birds cutting across the sky and the gentle wash of waves at their bare feet as they amble along the sandy belt. She hasn’t uttered a word since, absent gaze trekking the gradual rise of the sun above the horizon, light flittering its diamonds across the lap of waves.  

The easy access to the sea — and by extension, the remarkable view — was one of the reasons they’d jointly agreed upon renting an apartment this close to Whitesand Bay, two years prior. On any other usual occasion, Rafayel’s fingers would’ve been upon pen and paper, soaking inspiration up and through rough strokes, sketching across paper.  

Now, however, his focus is all but entirely removed from his environment, vision honed in on her by his side.  

“It’s a beautiful view, isn’t it?” She murmurs, gaze still fixated upon the horizon. “I’m not an early riser like you are so I’ve never seen the sunrise here up this close.”  

She's skirting the issue, Rafayel has no mind to force her to spill her heart when she does not wish to. 

For her, he is willing to remain patient.  

Regardless of the consequences to his person.  

He joins in on her flimsy facade.  

“If only I wasn’t a little too aware of the fact.” Tapping a light fist against her temple, he angles a skewed smile down at her. “Despite my very arduous efforts to get you out of bed on multiple occasions, you’ve persisted in your terrible ways, Miss Hunter.” Heaving an exaggerated sigh. “You’re far too stubborn for your own good, I fear.” 

That gets her breaking a smile, the tensed knitted worry within her gaze easing just that tiny bit; Rafayel plucks it up for the small reward it is. “A classic case of the pot calling the kettle black. Like you’re any less bull-headed.” She defends. “Don’t make me recount all the times you nearly gave poor Thomas a heart attack because your paintings weren’t ready even mere hours before the exhibitions they were supposed to be featured in.”  

His mouth pulls into a distasteful moue at that. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side. He refuses to understand the world of difference it causes in between using cherry red or wine on a canvas. If it were up to that simpleton, he’d have me besmirch all my works, just for the sake of those trivial exhibitions.”  

She chuckles. “Now, no need to get so worked-up. You know Thomas cares for you and wishes to have your talent recognized like it deserves to be.” She moves to seat herself by the shore, close to where the waves lick up at the sand. Rafayel follows suit.  

“I know how much passion you pour into your paintings.” Crinkling a gentle smile up at him. “That’s exactly why I love your art so much.” 

Rafayel’s heart catches at his throat at the easy slip of her compliment.  

She's never been sparing with her appreciation of his artworks. 

Ever since she’d chanced upon them a few years back when they’d only shortly been re-united at the time.  

She’d always been generous and open with her admiration.  

His heart, however, wasn’t immune to its traitorous stuttering, every single time at her attentions and praise.  

Perhaps she discerns the look on his face, tapping into his emotions, or realizes the curious intimacy of her statement, she wrenches her gaze away from his. Rafayel swiftly feels the keen loss of it.  

Silence sweeps once more between them, her gaze having drifted back into the seas and with it, the steady droop of her shoulders as she curves in tighter against her huddled knees. “It was a place, similar to this one, where we first met. A lost little human meeting a young Lemurian washed ashore.” Her voice barely hikes above an octave. “I didn’t think Lemurians existed for real before that, and to know I shared a red fate with one...”  

His throat closes against a sharp inhale at her whisper, the first time she’s chosen to address their past severed bond, ever since their reunion.  

Why now. He means to ask. A question that dissipates off the tip of his tongue, un-uttered.  

“We were so young back then and I inadvertently hurt you. Ever since I moved away, and time just passed, regardless...” She pauses. “You must’ve really hated me for that, huh.” She angles a cautious smile at him. 

I did not. Rafayel means to refute and yet his tongue refuses to cooperate.  

She continues on, as if she had long perceived his answer and made peace with his supposed resentment of her, unperturbed by his lack of response. Her reaction vexes him.   

“I’ve hurt someone dear to me again. Caleb—” 

The familiar name spurns bitter within his chest. “Did he do something to you?” His fingers jam against coarse sand, snagging his thread tight against his ring finger. 

“No! No. Caleb’s a good man, he’s been nothing but kind to me.”  

Deep within the recesses of his heart, Rafayel knows it, he knows it only too well; he only wishes he could truly bring himself to hate him.  

“He...” Her fingers tense harsher against her arms. “Last night, he asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

His ring finger throbs; the missing line of its thread seeming to constrict against Rafayel’s neck.  

“I turned him down.” 

A quick, involuntary bite of wicked relief thrums at the back of his breastbone. And yet— 

Why do you look as if your heart is shattering into a million pieces? 

Rafayel’s mouth seems to form words on its own as if he wishes for his own demise. “Do you regret it?” 

Her silence is a dagger that digs pointed, deep in between his ribs, the longer she lets it steep.  

She meets his gaze, a turbulent question within hers, beseeching. “I don’t know… I don’t know if I should.” She looks as if she has more to speak, restive teeth biting into her lip to hold back unsaid thoughts.

Rafayel dares not parse the emotions he sees flittering within her eyes, dares not hope for what he cannot have. Not again, for his heart to fracture once more by setting up false narratives. He has loved and will love still for eternity — he doesn’t, however, have the tenacity to bear being abandoned again. 

And so, he shutters himself, gaze wrenching away from hers, a frown knitting tight against his brow. “Whatever it is that you want, if it makes you happy, I want you to grab onto it for yourself.” Fingers brushing against hers from where they rest within the sand, index and middle lingering longer against the base of her ring finger. Before he moves, carding hesitant digits through the fall of her hair.  

For it is the only way he knows how to love — regardless of broken vows — in her happiness, even if it would never be found by his side. 

VI. FLOW

The dream stirs vivid beneath restless lids — Rafayel hasn’t dreamt of that time of theirs together in so long, a welcome awareness of his mind’s conjuring, he embraces in that moment.   

Perhaps by-products of an exhausted, sick mind. 

Or yearning for an unfulfilled wish.  

A sweet sting of desire, just as the first time he remembers it. He lets himself drown deeper into the abyss of its calling. 

He’d cut a boring class during first semester at college — he could no longer remember the subject — in lieu of chasing the path of an ambitious sparrow within a secluded spot. Located far back along the grounds of the college and protected further underneath the dense foliage of the overgrown greenery as he’d sat perched upon a bench, motionless and silent.  

Save for the smooth rush of his pencil across his journal. Detailing the quest of the bird as it leapt across the grass towards a lazing cat, blissfully dodging the feline’s half-hearted attempt at pawing it away.  

Tranquility rippled only at a surprising intrusion; she’d walked into his private space — she always seemed to find him — and he’d startled at her presence.  

“Oh! Sorry. Rafayel, I thought I—” 

Their relationship on strained ice at the time — neither of them choosing to dig up unfulfilled childhood vows or the break of their fated thread. 

 A hastened apology she’d tripped over, for disturbing him before her eyes had flickered to the open journal in his lap and she’d breathed an awed sound. Called it beautiful — a slip of the tongue, he could tell, from her demeanor.  

They'd gotten back into conversation — albeit halting — after that.  

The moment, a pivotal one, in Rafayel allowing himself to accept her back into his life, both emotionally and physically. 

He recalls the citrus notes to her perfume as she’d tentatively seated herself by his side. The way her hair curled delicate against the curve of her cheek, beckoning Rafayel to dare a hand out and slip it back against her ear. 

The unconscious brush of soft digits against his as she’d moved to accept the proffered journal from him, when she’d asked for permission to view more of his artworks.  

The relief that had sunk into his marrow, body strung far too tight for so long — he felt each ache settle and ease, when she returned to his side. As if their bond still remained.  

As if it had never fractured in the first place. 

She moves to tug the curtains close, clipping back the last shafts of light from Rafayel’s room; his damp brow now decidedly relaxed in restless slumber, after being exposed to the heat of the sun for so long.  

He’s made a habit of drawing his windows open at night, perhaps to relieve the fevered pitch of his body off the cool breeze wafting of the sea. Restive sleeplessness; keeping him tossing until near close to dawn, when she often catches him falling, thankfully, into exhaustive sleep at the end of his long, disturbed nights.  

Rafayel had been out of sorts for nearly two weeks now; a distracted gaze and a listless stride his constant companions. Adamant and mulish in his response, at inquiring of his health, every time, that he was perfectly alright and merely plagued by the weariness of sleepless nights spent on his paintings.  

Barely a day or two into that ridiculous spectacle of his before her patience with him had expired and she’d hauled him off to his room and strong-armed him into bed.  

A rueful smile tugs at her mouth at the recollection of their silly argument then.  

“Hey, ow. Easy, you’ll break me! Aaah... too late. I think I’ve already dislocated my wrist. My life as a painter is done for. Ow.”   

“Rafayel. Shut up unless you want me to gag you as well.”  Forcing the covers over his body; she glowered at him for obedience while she hastened to take his temperature.  

Rafayel’s mouth soured deeper in distaste the longer she fretted over him. Opening his mouth, surely to protest, before she cut him off. “You’re running a low-grade fever.” 

Pressing a gentle hand over his forehead, “Please, rest now.” 

A knot twisted in between Rafayel’s brow at her plea. Threading his fingers against hers. “Alright, alright I will,” he murmured, a gentle thumb he smoothed against her furrowed brow. “So, stop making that face now.”  

His agitation at his prolonged ill-health, however, had manifested in numerous half-finished drafts and rough sketches, he’d filled sheets upon sheets of paper with, littered upon his bed.  

The subject matter of most, inexplicably similar in features; a fact that surprised her, for Rafayel had always been one for continual exploration of a wide variety of subjects in his artworks, rather than one stationary objective.  

She reaches for one such sketch now, discarded by his bedside. Predictably, it is the same subject her eyes have grown accustomed to: the graceful arch of a person’s — a woman’s — back, the cascade of her hair shrouding her gaze from view. It is ethereal, haunting. Lonely.  

And. 

She exhales an unsteady breath. Although a mere unpolished sketch, she feels Rafayel’s longing in the hastened strokes of charcoal across her visage.  An inscrutable sprout of emotion twinges at her chest each time she looks upon this faceless woman, a desire to tear her gaze away from the care put into the strokes and never look at them again and yet, it’s as if her hands are not her own, each time they sift through his sketches to reveal a new one made. She despises it, and the feeling of her selfish loathing itself. Not when she bears reason nor right to feel the way she does.  

The ring finger of her right hand throbs, an echo of her turbulent emotions manifesting in the faint red restraint flickering against the base of her digit before it winks once more out of existence. 

No.  

Her gaze instinctually jumps to Rafayel, his prone form still deep in sleep.  

She'd nearly forgotten the other reason for her undue distress these past couple of days; worry for Rafayel occupying each of her thoughts, leaving little space for much else.

She sinks, weak-kneed, onto the bed, right next to Rafayel. Carding her fingers through the soft brush of his hair, gently thumbing a line down his temple.  

She’d thought her mind was conjuring illusive tricks the first few times she’d caught that fleeting flicker of red across her finger. 

Impossible, for it had been nearly twelve years since she’d lost her bond after being forced away from Rafayel. And then, her eyes had insistently tried tracing the line of it, every time it shimmered against her finger, hoping that it would perhaps.... 

Just maybe, if a miracle were to occur— 

That it would re-connect. Back to the only person she’d ever loved. Back to him, her beautiful Lemurian. That perhaps, he’d grant her another chance. That perhaps there was a sliver of hope that Rafayel would love her back once more.  

Once more. 

 Her yearning dashed in the brutality of a truth, far too incomprehensible to her mind. 

On the day her grandmother caught sight of her glimmering thread before she’d informed her with much joy; a red thread of fate, if once severed, made an appearance once more, within the lifetime of rare, chosen… fortunate individuals. If Fate ever ordained for the individuals to find new love once more. Another love so great, it changed Fate’s threads and course itself.  

“You’re blessed, my darling girl. Most people are happy enough if they get to enjoy even one fated love throughout their lives. But you've found two in your lifetime. It is a joyous thing, my love, do not be sad. Do not weep.” 

“...Perhaps, it is time you let him — let your past go.”  

Like ice curdling within her veins. As if Fate itself were playing upon her a cruel jest. She could never. How could she ever? 

And then, her denials had crumbled entirely, shortly after that dreaded truth.  

Her oldest friend, her sole pillar when she’d lost Rafayel. The person who’d held her close and kept her heart safe—  

When she’d lie in bed all day during her earliest days, screaming from the deluging fever of her bond withering. 

—It was the day her childhood friend, her Caleb confessed.  

Even without the evidence of a corporeal bond connecting them, that had been her last straw.  

She presses her lips against Rafayel’s cheek, overwhelming emotions threatening to surge, unable to resist or hold herself in control. “I could never.” she vows under her breath, fingers stroking down the line of his cheek. “Even if you have let go of me, Rafayel, I’m—” 

She feels the roughened pads of his digits against where she touches his face, perturbed at the sudden movement. His eyes flitter, restless, beneath his lids, grasp tightening upon her wrist. “My beloved bride.”

She tries and yanks herself away from his touch, startled at his unconscious murmuring. Rafayel does not let go, nudging his cheek against the crook of her captured palm.  

“Rafayel.” She urges, her heart stuttering over its beats. “Rafayel, please wake up.”  

At long last, he listens; that beautiful, florid gaze misted with the callings of sleep still, as it focuses on her. He makes an indiscrete sound. “Is it morning already? Agh, my head hurts.” He continues to nuzzle his face against her palm.  

“R-Rafayel! Hey!” She winces, hand unbearably hot within his hold. “Let go of me now. If you’re up, have some breakfast instead. You need the energy, dummy.” 

“Don’t want to let you go. Pamper me more.” And yet, he refuses to heed her lukewarm pleas, extremely wilful in his post-sleep, feverish daze.  

She huffs out a breathless laugh, her apprehension ebbing, gentle, into silence the longer she feels his warmth against her.  

Maybe she is allowed to indulge just a bit longer.  

 VII. EBB 

An errant thread and an inexplicable long spell of heat, as if trudging up a steep path, burgeoning fast towards an inevitable destination he could not quite clutch at. Unsolicited suspicions, as to the true nature of his predicament, incessantly rapping at his thoughts.  

Rafayel feels that dour twist to his brow; darkening his features at the wheeling course of his mind. 

 She’s caught him in similar moods since his “illness” commenced, more times than he can count. The endless time afforded his way, involuntarily threading his thoughts to places he doesn’t wish to visit. He doesn’t wish, ever, to alarm or upset her, setting to ease her thoughts the moment worry mars her features, testing index and middle against the sharp knot at her forehead before his attentions — and hers — are compelled entirely her way.  

That is also something that has shifted in between them, into something entirely different. He’s been unusually attuned to her for the duration of his peculiar period of ill-health.  

She has always been his primary muse, the focal point where all of Rafayel’s tangled thoughts find eventual and inevitable convergence. However, somehow, all of those sensibilities have turned sharper, impossibly aware of... her.  

Unconsciously turning to placations the moment he comprehends her distress. Choosing to bury, in turn; soothe the heat of his body within the scent of hers. Her hands on him when she fusses to take his temperature, her clothes, he takes a surreptitious, lungful breath of, when she moves close to towel the fevered sweat off his body. Truly, he does not understand what is wrong with him.  

Two weeks in now and his need for answers has driven him to near madness. He’s loathe to admit he must consult one, perhaps, more knowledgeable on the subject than he.  

He paces into the lounge, heavy in thought, fingers worrying at the phone in hand. 

“Oh, you’re up. Are you feeling any better?”  Just as she calls over to him from the kitchen counter.  

“Of course,” he fibs, tucking the phone back into the pocket of his trousers. He ambles over to her, dressed neat in her trainee uniform as she works a paring knife around an apple. “What’re you doing?”  

“You should have something healthy to eat while I’m away.”  

“Ah.” He plucks a piece of fruit off the plate next to her, eyeing the peculiar shape. “So, you decided to cut me some apple bunnies.”  The corners of his mouth drag into a skewed grin. “I am not a child, cutie.”  

She makes an inflated motion of surprise, pressing a hand against her chest. “Really?”  

And when he rolls his eyes at her, “Of course you aren’t,” she grins. “I’ve never met any children as stubborn as you.”  

“Cheeky.” He flicks a gentle hand against her forehead.  

His eyes skim towards the wall clock and back towards her neatly pressed outfit. “You have an on-field Hunter’s exam this afternoon, don’t you? You’ll be late if you dawdle any longer. Besides, I can feed myself just fine.”  

She startles a bit as her eyes, too, take note of the hour. Hastily shoving the plate of her fresh cut fruit into his hands. “Alright, I’ll leave. You better eat, then rest up. Don’t exert yourself, alright?”  

She steps past the counter. “Come, Kiki.” A white dutiful ball of fur capers up to her as soon as she calls. Rafayel hedges further against the counter just as the white ball tumbles into her waiting arms.  

“There, what a good girl you are!” She croons over the cat, petting at that little fiend pet of her friend’s. She rises to her feet. 

“I’ll drop her off at Tara’s before heading to the centre.”  

“Good riddance,” Rafayel mutters, blenching just as she moves closer with the cat still in her arms.  

“Rude, I’m sad to see her go so soon.” She pulls a glum face at him.  “Do you want to pet her goodbye before she leaves and you start missing her?”  

“I won’t,” He dissents, even as he braves the tips of his fingers against Kiki’s head in a cautious scritch before snapping his hand right back. “Bye, white menace.”  

Rafayel’s moue of specious disapproval turns deeper with her knowing grin. “Let’s go now that you’ve said your farewells to Uncle Rafayel.” She kisses the top of the cat’s head as it purrs in elated satisfaction at her attentions. 

He quirks a flippant brow at her. “All affections for the furry feline, I see.” 

She laughs, the sound an aching balm against long-wrought nerves. “Why, is my fish jealous of a little kitten? Come here, then.”  

“I am not—!” He sputters, just as her hand curves about the back of his neck and pulls downward, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead.  

The previously simmering, barely tamped warmth of his body bursts forth with a brilliant vengeance, his skin set ablaze at just the graze of her touch. Rafayel has to actively constrain himself from keeling over entirely on the floor from his sudden deluge of emotions. Has to curb the quiver of his arms from wanting to steal that heat back against his body.  

She draws back, just as swift, on her feet. The pink of her cheeks is infectious, enticing. Rafayel stares at her, mute and slack-jawed, even as she backs out of the kitchen and through the front door. “I’ll see you tonight, my little fish!” And then he’s left to his own spiraling thoughts.  

Ah. Rafayel scrubs agitated palms down the length of his face in the ensuing silence of their home. His scarlet thread burns incandescent in his hind-vision, flittering in its sporadic expansion. If only she knew how entirely ruined he was at her feet, alone.  

VIII. FLOW  

“You rejected Caleb’s confession?”  

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t anticipated Tara’s baffled outburst.  

It was part of the reason why she chose to reveal the ‘news’ to her this unceremoniously, as she gently eased Kiki over into Tara’s arms while they stood at her open front door. She adored Tara but was of no mind to be sat down at length while her best friend grilled the details out of her.  

Not ready for the difficult conversations that would ensue; of her past grievances, the break of her fated thread and how she dreaded, within a dark crevice of her heart, that Caleb might turn out to be the one her Fate was once more, trying to bind her to. How could she even begin to delineate it wasn’t what she wanted?  

No, she wasn’t ready for that conversation with Tara, at all.  

“I’m going to be late for my exam, Tara.” She gives her a contrite smile.  

“Yes, I know, sorry, darling, but… why? I really thought things were well between you too. And I was sure there was something going on—! I— can’t you say?” Her friend’s gaze is weighty, imploring. “Is there... someone else?” Her eyes widen. “Is it—” 

And the longer she’s met with terse silence, the heat of her gaze wanes in gradual realization before, at last, she retreats her onslaught, a troubled groan leaving her lips. “At least tell me you’re alright. I’ve been worried about you.”  

“I know, Tara, I’m sorry. I’m perfectly fine.” She gives her free hand a squeeze before withdrawing back a few steps. “I should really go now.”  

Tara loses another sigh. “You really should. Promise we’ll catch up later?”  

“I promise.” She raises her hand in farewell, jogging down the few steps to her house.  

Tara calls out to her just as she reaches the foot of her stairs. “Good luck, girl! I’m cheering for you.”  

She flashes her friend an appreciative smile.  

With Tara, she really can’t be sure if she meant her encouragement for her qualifying physical exam. Or something else entirely.  

Knowing her friend, it was probably both.  

She reaches the examination centre just under the wire, right as the towering gates to the grounds swing shut behind her and two other late-comers.  

Toggling open her Hunter’s Watch, she hastens to join the formation up ahead of several other students, already lined in neat rows for their on-field Wanderers exam. Sidling in place, into her empty spot, just as the instructor in front drones on the list of rules for the exam, from upon his podium. “You are to form pairs of two, as per your roll numbers and enter your designated Protofields, to commence your exam. Before you begin, make sure...” 

He goes over the structures of the regulations one by one, detailing what actions would mete them points and what would deduct them in case of improper conduct.  

“These Protofields have been simulated under intensively controlled environments and contain a plethora of C and B-grade Wanderers you are to deal with, within the desired time limit. Coordinate with your partner, watch each other’s backs and follow all routine safety regulations. Violators will be disqualified on the spot.” He continues. “Keep within bounds of all marked fields, maintain your senses and you should do well. Lastly, trust your education and the skills you have acquired over the course of these years via means of your perseverance and hard work. May you reign victorious, young Hunters!” With his final words, the crowd disperses, heading towards their designated spots for their exams. 

She taps her fingers against her Hunter’s Watch, pulling up the specifications of the Protofield she is to clear, before setting out. 

 

“Gabriel? Hi.” She calls to her team-mate as she moves to join him, recognizing the man from the same class division as hers.  

He returns her greeting, the two setting to sync their data via their watches within the final minute countdown before their exam commences. The flux nexus, in front, pulses to life upon confirmation of both their identities, filtering its pre-programmed wavelength to project upon the barren field. A kaleidoscopic flitter of energy wheeling across the space once is their only indication of a protofield activated, before the two step forwards, cautious, weapons at the ready.  

“No.” Rafayel’s jaw steels in chagrin, hearing the resigned, gentle finality of the words on the other end of the line.  

“Rafayel...” Talia coaxes.  

“I said no. You’re wrong.” He gnashes out, even as the heat simmers, muggy and suffocating, within his body. Even as he continues to deny the indubitable truth of her words.  

For if he did, he would have to face the looming fate of another horrifying possibility.  

The regret of asking for Talia’s help sits heavy within his throat. Facts she utters in such certitude, it leaves Rafayel irrationally agitated. He knows it is not her fault.  

 He hears her soft sigh on the other end of the line. “You told me you’ve been suffering these bouts of ‘fever’ since the past two weeks, an ‘illness’ that refuses to abate and that your...” She pauses, as if seeking words best to voice her next. “incomplete thread has been showing sporadic signs as of late.” 

“Yes.” His voice is quiet, stiff. 

“Rafayel, you’re experiencing early symptoms of an oncoming rut and you know it. You feel it. You didn’t need to call me, when you’re well-informed on the matter yourself, even if you’ve never experienced it before.” She pauses.  “The only reason you reached out to me is that you wanted me to validate your suspicions, isn’t that right?” 

He does not respond to her astute observation.

“An unmated Lemurian cannot experience sexual cycles the same way as a bonded Lemurian. And as you are well-aware, my thread was long severed.” He refutes, contemptuous. “You know what, forget I asked. You clearly don’t understand what’s wrong with me any better than I do. Sorry for crashing your honeymoon. Goodbye, Talia.”  

“Is your thread truly severed, Rafayel?” Her voice rings, solemn, from the other end of the line, just as Rafayel moves to disconnect the call. He pauses, gaze involuntarily skewing towards his lengthening line of red thread. The frown in between his brow turns severe, as if being coerced to witness a sight against his will.  

“You’re experiencing a re-connection and you’re not allowing yourself the happiness that comes with new love. It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for your red fate to find itself weaved against a new person you would cherish.”  

Rafayel does not have the resolve to discredit her words despite his vehement disagreement; having known her experience the loss of her first love, the agony of her days after. And only years later, had she allowed herself to love once more, a happiness Rafayel was content to stand in observance to, glad at her well-deserved peace.   

He, however, was different from Talia. He’d rather his Fate dissipate entirely than for it to wind itself against a stranger. He was different, for Rafayel knew he would never love again, never cherish another, no matter the decades in between.  

For him, there would never be anyone else. 

A transitory pressure curdles heavy about her shoulders as they pace past the barrier and into the protofield. The familiarity of their training grounds dwindles away, large looming falls of thick trees rising, ominous, to blot the skies. Blanketing twilight, instantaneous, overhead. A slow, sweeping curl of gray, mists about their feet, soaking into the dank ground beneath. 

Beside her, she hears Gabriel’s apprehensive breaths. “I can never get used to this.”  

Weapons at the ready, they trudge a slow, cautious path through the simulated wilderness. Gnarled branches seize and snick at their clothes, the craggy mire beneath, a strenuous trudge to keep upright through; as if the forest itself were alive with wicked intent.  

Gabriel’s firearm is the first to go off in a thunderous shot, breaking a flock of obsidian birds to startle into the skies. She follows suit, breaking into a dash along with him; the dark, hunched figure of a fleet-footed Wanderer she aims her gun at and fires, the shot catching it right against its head. The creature lurches forwards onto its body in a seething screech of sound, following its crackling demise into a spoor of pungent smoke.  

The two maintain their steady pace of weeding the area of Wanderers, most they’re able to dispatch with ease. Reflexes and hard ingrained years of training coming into play, the more battles they win through, setting into an easy rhythm of partnership.  

The Wanderer Gabriel skews his sword through in a final thrust, disintegrates into smoke with a rattling gurgle.  She pauses to survey their surroundings, the deep, metallic skies yet to dissipate entirely: indication of a cleared exam. Up ahead, she spies a peculiar forking at the path, the protofield seeming to disperse into dense, murky mist past the intersection. Gabriel flicks the blood off his sword, moving to join her. “Strange.” 

“Yeah. I don’t think low grade Wanderers can distort protofields to this extent.” She agrees. 

“Likely an A grade, at least. Shouldn’t be harder than what we’ve handled so far.” He pauses. “Besides the fact that this one seems like it can replicate itself into weaker copies, judging from the splice it’s created in the field.” 

She frowns at his conclusion, likely accurate. There shouldn’t be an A grade on the loose within a junior hunter’s exam, to begin with; a Wanderer class reserved only for the final year senior field exam. Signals are, as expected sparse, this deep within the protofield, and with an A grade, at hand, tampering the protofield, the possibility of communications being established sits non-existent, at present. She drops a distress signal onto the Hunter’s site, regardless, moving to join him at the fork.  

“We’ll have to clear out the Wanderer, either way, if we want to leave this protofield.” She swipes her empty magazine for a new one, securing it fast back into her gun.  

“Right.” Gabriel’s own fist tightens against the hilt of his sword. “You take the right, I’ll take the left? The distortion should be obliterated on its own once we eliminate all of its copies. I’ll see you soon, partner.”  

“Right back at you. Good luck.”  

Gabriel flashes a flimsy grin at her before treading onto the left path. A swift heavy oppression belts massive across the field, the compression settling a deafening din to her ears. “Hah, Gabriel, wait—” 

But it’s too late. Her partner’s form, long digested by the roiling clouds of black before she can call him back.  

Something’s not right. An A-grade Wanderer shouldn’t be able to exert that kind of pressure. 

An electromagnetic resonance tremors across the space, as if something rattles at the confines of the protofield from beyond. Wanting in.  

Sweat gathers clammy and unpleasant across the back of her neck, her eyes skittering back towards where Gabriel vanished into the murk.  

She firms a hand around her gun, steeling her spine for courage. Whatever anomaly has occurred within the premises of their exam can be dealt with later. Her first priority; to help Gabriel out in eliminating all of the A-grade's clones and dissipating the distortion in front before they planned their next move. And help would arrive soon, once transmission allowed her distress signal to go through, they just had to hold on until then; she reassures herself.  

Moving forward to stride past the muted obsidian barrier at her right.  

The dark cloak of the Wanderer’s protofield washes across her skin like skidding, frigid fingers of emptiness, it spills an involuntary shiver down her spine.  

The cold, metallic spires of the protofield taper off into the void overhead as she steps onto the main field. A skittering figure, one, two, three; lunge, whip-swift, towards her as soon as they spot her, gaping maws and needle teeth poised to tear into her before her fight or flight reflexes jam in. She empties a volley of bullets into their bodies, sieving clean through the approaching Wanderers. Lobs of inhumane flesh, dissipating as soon as they hit the ground.  

Several far smaller figures melt out of the darkness to aim their attacks at her; one after the other she takes down in swift shots. Breaths trembling harsh and hot, her heart hammering over its frantic beats the longer the fight persists.  

A fatigued mistake; being mere seconds slow to switch her empty gun for another, costs her a hard, long gash sliced through the sleeve of her shoulder by the remaining Wanderer. Fire licks up across her arm in a sudden shock of pain, muted instantaneously underneath the roiling pump of adrenaline. She wrenches a dagger off her leg strap. Twisting her torso about to bring her uninjured arm up in a sharp arc, furiously tearing a split through the last Wanderer with a fierce yell and the remnants of her fraying stamina.  

The Wanderer’s remains snivel into a fire just as it hits the ground, the cool, metallic gloom giving way to the unraveling edges of the original forest once more. 

And just as her eyes adjust to the shadows of the protofield once more, she catches sight of a figure slumped upon the grass, unmoving. “Gabriel!” She yells, forcing her limbs underneath her through the pained grit of bared teeth. Clutching hard at her arm to stopper the slow rivulets of blood flow seeping from the gash before she stumbles across the grass towards the man.  

Her Hunter’s Watch blinks, in indication of a transmission successful — her distress signal. Collapsing to her knees at Gabriel’s side just as her watch flares to life in blaring red, an ominous warning running across the screen.  

S-Grade: Deluge Wyrmlord.   Protofield type: Memory Distortion Solo Hunters, do not engage.  

Her mouth runs dry at the far calls of her name—  

“Special Grade—!” Gabriel’s voice resounds just from across the field. “—Run!” 

The collapsed figure at her feet assimilating into thin air, a trick blanketed over her weary mind, by the workings of a high-class Wanderer.  

She feels that intense bone-crushing pressure creep across her back once more, her breath coming through in fits of raspy air. Fixing the barrel of her gun back across her shoulder, she fires, just as a great, dark talon comes across her face, drowning her in darkness.

The call has barely disconnected when Rafayel tosses the phone aside, staggering onto his feet under the heated weight of his body. His eyes drift — an involuntary reflex — towards that squeamish glow of red, his thread flickering in and out of sight, the extended length of it, an alarming sight. Vexation ticks harsh at his jaw.  

Before he’s able to reign control, the spits of a brilliant vermillion fire spurt forth from tapered digits, rushing across the incorporeal red string, in an effort to blaze the blasted thing off of him entirely.  

The fire dissipates, harmless, as expected, with the absence of a pure solid medium to burn. His thread glimmers to life once more, as if deriding Rafayel with its presence.  

Beyond agitated, fervent digits pluck upwards, summoning his Evol to life for a stronger burst of energy —   

A sudden inundating contraction pierces in vengeance across his heart, sending a bolt of excruciating pain lancing through his chest. Rafayel flounders; violently pitching to his knees from the intensity of its sensations. His breaths are hard to smother past lungs that burn for oxygen and yet refuse to inhale. 

Red throbs, vivid and urgent, across his ring finger, as if the call of a terrible siren, knelling of ill-fate and destruction.  

His own fire, begs to consume, hurtling across his skin, a throat that chokes from the fervid heat of his bond, threatening to annihilate him entirely. He feels his humane features molding against the translucent glimmer of cerulean scales, his human form scattering in response to the irrefragable call of his bond, his mate.  

She’s in danger. 

Alarming apprehension dawns upon his mind, the sole thought of her throttling his mind, his oath promised, urging to call upon the one person her thread connects to, a Fate irrefutable, a bond everlasting.  

No. 

A savage inferno tears across Rafayel’s body — scarlet and florid licks of fire — until it engulfs him entirely, leaving nothing in its wake.  

Silence is all that remains behind. 

IX. EBB  [TW for this chapter: passing mentions of domestic abuse]

White peels back from her field of vision; slowly revealing to her the dreary, stifling atmosphere of an incredibly familiar room. A young girl stands amidst a crowd of mourning adults, some in loud tears. Others who secrete their faces into handkerchiefs and shake their heads in dismay at the “poor orphan”. Nausea wrestles pungent within her belly at the sight.  

Her gaze, involuntarily shepherded, past the throng of mourners and towards the picture of the deceased — she knows that face before she sees it — her absent father who had often left her to her own devices, save for the times he was not actively trying to assault her with stray bottles of alcohol, laying in plain sight or the utensils and plates she used to serve his meals, on days he wore down all of their expenses for another swig of tepid, cheap alcohol.  

She knows the child in front of her now feels neither sadness nor remorse as people who call themselves her relatives step over, one after the other, offering words of specious pity and solace she has no use of.  

It was also the day she’d met her Grandma for the first time.  

The scene in front falls out from beneath her feet, traded for the sounds of defeated shrieks and futile violence in the tiny fists that try and shove off the social workers, from bodily dragging her away from the familiarity of her old house. The young girl screams and screams for Rafayel, begs them not to take her away, that she doesn’t want to live with her Grandma several cities across the seas; a gap so wide, how would she ever find the only person who had meant the entire world to her, once more? She hadn’t even told him she was leaving. They wouldn’t let her leave the house, for fear she might run away.  

Her head throbs in vicious pain, ominous tendrils of rooted fire curling through the recesses of her brain as she watches the girl’s — her — futile resistance. 

A gibbering shadow skates past the edges of her vision. She feels like she’s forgetting something direly important, skirting just past the edge of memory. 

The young girl never told the adults around her of the young Lemurian boy — bonded though they were. She knew of the dark whispers that coiled through the cesspool she lived within, how the Lemurians were a species, well-coveted for how steeply priced their bodies sold for, within the black market. 

Her fierce possession and numbing worry for her vulnerable Lemurian had kept her from ever revealing her thread in another’s presence. For how had any of the adults stepped up to be her protectors, ever, in the young girl’s life? She trusted no one, save for herself and her sole mer-friend. She'd promised him they’d stay together forever; she’d vowed upon the sole pair of glimmering seashells, they’d found sanded within their beach, that she’d marry him when they grew up. She had— 

Obsidian smoke curls about her limbs, seeps into her lungs; a slow, poisonous ingestion. The deep, dark dreary roar of a beast sounds from afar, within the recesses of her memories.  

“You abandoned me.” She whips on her heel, coming face to face with her young Lemurian, eyes listless, lightless.  

“No.” She totters away from the horror of her nightmares manifested.  

An ice-cold hand wraps about her torn sleeve, digits digging deep into her wound. She cries out in instinctive pain, wrenching at her arm in an effort to free it. Her wild gaze meets Rafayel’s. Older, far frigid; the present Rafayel looks at her with an insouciant emptiness, it tears at the heart bruising within her chest. “You abandoned me,” he repeats.  

His hand jams about her throat, lifting her clean off her feet. She throttles violently within his grasp, breaths coming in rapid, tapering hisses. “And then, like the rest of those shameless humans, you thought it wise to appear before my eyes once more.” The pressure upon her wind-pipe increases, bit by bit, forcing tears into wide, panicked eyes. “You wanted to capture me too, didn’t you? You're just like the rest of them.” Rafayel’s just ire, cleaves like knives shoved right beneath her breastbone, bleeding out her heart. 

It’s an illusion, Rafayel would never. A stray whisper catches at her ears.  

“Would I really never? Well, aren't your thoughts so convenient. Admit it, you’ve always known.” Rafayel’s gaze is dark in barely tamped wrath and disgust. “I despise you, you and all your kind.” 

“R-Rafayel...” The dull, grey curl of smoke — previously shifting in wait at the edges of her vision — approaches nearer, her defences swiftly waning underneath his assault. Fingers, she scraps bloody against his grip upon her throat, and yet he refuses to relent.  

“It would be better for you to perish here, no? You'll leave me free to live my own life then. I would no longer be shackled to you like some pet.”  

“Y-You were never—” 

A furious scarlet fire splinters a path through Rafayel — his body distorts out of existence for a moment before he gathers form once more. A surprised brow he raises in question at the interference.  

“Snap out of it!”  

Rafayel?  

Her swimming gaze hones in on her beloved, from across the indifferent Rafayel’s shoulder, surely another wraith of her mind; wide blown panic, turbulent within his gaze.  

“What do you think you’re doing believing that sham?” Another burst of Evol sparks across his fingers, aimed at the other Rafayel.  

“You must trust me, believe in me alone.” Another volley of enraged fire skewers through the Rafayel holding her captive — cleaving past him harmless — the latter views him as if he were an offending impediment. “That thing is not me. It’s trying to devour you!” 

“Shut up,” the colder Rafayel speaks, hand jamming tighter against her throat, causing precious breaths to come through stuttered wheezes.  

The other Rafayel steps forward, a desperate hand he holds outstretched for her; an electromagnetic interference rippling about his body, stalling his further motions. “You have to believe the truth in front of your eyes — believe me — to be free of its prison. I have never, not for a moment, held our past against you.”  

“An imposter,” the cruel one says.  

Rafayel drives another step forwards, through the whipping waves of the scape’s resistance, snicking wounds across his jaw, tearing at his clothes. “I don’t regret meeting you.” The gentle azure of his gaze sparks vivid in a deluge of emotions; misery, panic and hopeful sincerity commingling. You were — you have always been my greatest joy, my only muse.” 

The Rafayel that holds her captive bites out an inhumane bark, eyes fading swiftly into obsidian. “I hate you, I’ve always hated you.”  

“Do you remember,” Rafayel urges, heaving another step closer. “the seashells you used to weave into necklaces and put on me when we first met? You told me they made me seem as brilliant as a Sea God, your Sea God, when you did.”A splintered laugh escapes his mouth at the recollection. “Even when I told you the ocean’s gods didn’t wear necklaces made of shells.” 

His voice breaks, emotions raw and desperate within the throaty catch of it, dragging her down the spiral of fond memories. “And the songs you used to hum for us in that odd, off-note voice when you were happy, you’ve retained that silly habit long even into your adult years now.”  

Emotions spurt and tumble free-fall from the inky desolation of her heart, tearing open at the seams of doubts and guilt.  

“And when you are mad, the reckless storm that gathers at your face is endearing. When you forgive me just as easily, the smile that lights your face...” 

A distant rumble sounds through the scape of your illusions, world crumbling apart at the seams.  

“I remember it all, like irreplaceable ornaments, treasures. Without you, I—” He bites back, harsh, at his words. The curious blue sheen across his face, glimmers. 

Eyes that glisten in moisture that threatens to seep past damp lashes; Rafayel’s eyes fall shut in a scraped plea.  

Emotions fueled by the catch of a distraught mind though he were, his words snag, painful, at her throat, springing tears to flow free-fall, at the comfort of his tender confessions. She, too, remembered all there was to know about him, her Rafayel, because of how she adored him. His words and steadfast affection seeping gentle into her mind now, in swift recollection. 

The great, dark beast in front has long shed its false skins, rattling useless in the face of her realization; it wrenches away from her body as if burned. “Pestilent humans.” As it flees entirely from the scape of illusions, great, dark fractures spilling up the space with its departure. 

She drops towards the disintegrating floor, once released, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Rafayel — the wraith of her mind — lunges forward, snatching her body mid-air against his as they fall, with the demolition of the Wanderer’s illusions shattered from her mind.  

A deluging rush of remembrance; the exam, the Wanderer, of being dragged into darkness by the Deluge Wyrmlord tumbles back into a now clear mind. 

And this Rafayel, having stood witness to all her memories.  

He lands on nimble feet, upon the now revealed protofield of the Wanderer; the weight of his Evol, she feels, scatter into the air.  

“You’re injured.” He mourns softly, fingers glancing gentle against the abrasion of her throat from where the Wanderer choked her, down her bruised arm, the blood long staunched in dark red across the cut. 

“I’ll be fine.” She cradles his face within a careful palm, face softening in overwhelming gratitude. If only she, too, could tell him how much she truly loved him. 

Rafayel makes a skeptical sound of disapproval. A hand, he sifts up into her hair and curls about the back of her head. “Hold still.” And before she can finally think to question why a figment of her mind still persists outside the cast illusion, Rafayel is pressing his lips against hers, mouth moving to part hers until she feels warmth flow into her, the shock of his actions making her throat swallow around him on instinct. 

The dull throb at her arm, the cuts and bruises across her aching legs — breaths that seep in easier, with the patched abrasions of her throat — give way to strength as she witnesses her wounds stitch up, in disbelieving surprise. 

“A Lemurian’s essence holds healing properties,” He breathes, heated against her lips. “our tears, saliva—” He pauses. “You’ll feel better soon.” The fever of his skin beneath her grasping fingertips, his shallow breaths come in quick; the flush across his cheekbones feels much too corporeal to be mere figment of her imagination. 

Her eyes widen in disbelief, mind refusing to comprehend his presence. Restless hands tracing the shape of his firm body underneath hers; his neck, the strength of his shoulders, down the unyielding expanse of a solid chest. 

It just couldn’t be. 

“Are you... real?” She slips a palm about the curve of his cheek, index and finger pinching at the flesh. “You can’t be real, you can’t be here.” 

Rafayel chokes on an incredulous laugh. “What an inane question, can’t you tell, silly girl?” He sounds offended. 

A plethora of questions tumble within her mind as Rafayel bumps his forehead up against hers, moisture glistening like pearls upon his cheeks. “I can sense you. And I felt it, when I nearly lost you.” He grits out the words, chagrined; breath hitching in pain as if reliving a nightmare. 

Her heart shrivels at his admission, aching gaze tracing the outline of his Lemurian features. “But, I... I don’t understand. You look so different, Rafayel, what—” 

A great ominous roar sounds from the center of the protofield, the Wanderer now having recovered from its short rebuttal of having been torn away from its prey.  

Rafayel lets her down onto her feet cautiously. Taking her hand in his, his skin sits unbearably warm against hers, “Questions later. We have to get rid of that Wanderer right now. Come on.” 

She nods at him, the two turning to face the Wanderer before they fixate their stance. Hurtling forth in tandem towards the approaching monster; weapons materializing within firm fists. 

They rush, as one, at the large winged creature, aiming right against the base of its great talons. A shield thrown upon the Wanderer, comes half-way down with their first assault.  

Back against his, she feels him tackle down the monster’s onslaught of weaker Wanderers, unearthly fire blazing away at its minions. A shimmering, amethyst line of fetters gathers form with his Evol, to grasp about the Wanderer’s body as it rages. She feels his breaths coming in harsher, feels the way he tightens his body through each motion of offense against their enemy — in no condition to be fighting off a high-class Wanderer with the weight of his sickness slowing him down.  

She captures Rafayel’s wrist in hers, jolting him backwards. Lunging in front of him to take the Wanderer’s next full-bodied assault. “Rely on me, I’ll fight for us both!” She calls to him over her shoulder. 

She catches his mute moment of surprise, out the corner of her eye before he bursts into quiet laughter. “What a reliable bodyguard.” Curving a palm about her shoulder, his Evol, she feels resonating against hers in harmony. “But if you insist.” Weaving their Evols together to strengthen; the dark fetters that plunge forwards this time, chain about the Wanderer’s girth, firmer, breaking clean through another of its shields.  

The Wyrmlord screeches in crazed agony, ramming a heavy appendage straight for them. The two lunge in opposing directions to avoid the assault; Rafayel, a split second too slow to dodge as its claws catch at the side of his abdomen, tearing at his shirt.  

He hurtles heavily onto the ground, body rolling across the Protofield before he swiftly catches himself, teetering back on to unsteady legs. His pants come in harsher, the scales across his face glimmering in fevered sweat; his body’s condition holding him back.

“Rafayel!” She calls for him on an urgent shout, rushing the Wanderer from its side, to cleave clean through its shield of defense. “Don’t push yourself anymore and stay back! You aren’t well!” 

He shakes his head at her, holding his body high once more. His shallow wound, she sees, stitch up soon after, the incandescent cerulean glow of his scales striking against his features. “It’s not what you think it is.” Rafayel streaks forward just as the Wanderer attempts to take flight for a sweeping offensive. 

He springs for the monster, using the momentum of his run, punting hard off its body; vicious chains of static purple zipping through it, to bring it crashing down onto the ground. The Wanderer’s remaining shield shattered in one critical hit, bringing it down in a violent collision of great, dark wings and a massive scaled body, vulnerable to damage.  

“Now! Rafayel instructs. Coalescing the bulk of his powers into the clench of a fist, he lunges for the Wanderer; her own movements, complimenting against his. Raising their weapons up high, their Evols converge against the other’s in a final, galvanic purple blast of energy. 

The Wanderer screeches one final sound of agony before it skitters lifeless at the ground, its disintegration setting into tattered fragments of energy.

The protofield around them begins to wane, jagged shards of breakage appearing across the domed surface of it, as soon as the Wanderer falls. 

“It’s over.” She exhales, relief plucking sharp across the back of her breastbone.

“Let me take… a moment to catch my breath.” And with the sheer adrenaline of the fight holding him up now, gone, so too does Rafayel’s strength ebb from him entirely, as he pitches onto his feet. “Rafayel!”  Just as she dives forward to catch him within her arms before his body hits the ground. “Hey!”  

Rafayel’s breathing harder, the sweat that dampens his brow far more pronounced with the appearance of his Lemurian features, glimmering scales gradually fanning wider across his skin. “Stay with me, it’s over.”

And then she sees it, the flittering of vivid red, burning against his ring finger. Pulsing harsher with each labored sound of breath he endures through and her breath frosts within her lungs.

She feels the distant pattering of approaching footsteps just as Rafayel’s hot palm curves about her wrist in a possessive hold. “We have to get out of here. I need to get home.”  

The frantic calls of her name echo across the field; she lifts her head to catch sight of a pale-faced Gabriel, waving his hands at her from just across the area. She shouts at him to stay where he is, cradling Rafayel closer to her torso for fear of his scales being seen. 

In this moment, she cannot bring herself to care for anything except providing what Rafayel needs; the frenetic urgency to his words enough to have her obeying without questions asked.  

Calling for her teammate, once more, to let the others know they were both alright and that she’d be back at a later time before Rafayel urges her thoughts back to himself.

“That’s... enough. Come now.” He moans within her embrace, just as Gabriel utters an unintelligible question of confusion. Her Lemurian’s fingers spasming against hers, “Hold tight.” he grinds out, before they’re both engulfed in a florid sea of fire.  

X. FLOOD 

The two of them come crashing onto a hard, polished surface; Rafayel’s arms tightening about her body in protection, just as his shoulder connects with the floor, with their fall. Deposited into the empty safety of his room — she notes in shock — by his Evol already shriveling out of existence.  

He shudders in visible pain beneath her, just as she scrabbles to get off his body. “I’m sorry—” The ferocity of his strength, however, hauls her back, bodies crushed against each in a firm, searing line. 

Rafayel’s pants rattle hot against the skin of her neck; the harsh rise and fall of his chest, she feels burn against her own, even through their clothes. He keeps them enclosed within that sweltering space of silence for several, long moments. 

Reaching her fingers out to comb through his unruly hair, in comfort, the adrenaline of their fight having fast shifted into worry for his health.  

Why had he decided to come after her in the fevered state he was in? How had he even known to come for her? The questions, unanswered, careened about in an endless cycle within her mind. 

Her Rafayel shifts, face sinking deeper against her breasts. Nosing, delicate, at the space exposed by her open collar as he inhales, long. His previous labored breaths seemingly soothed in her proximity, as he continues to breathe her in.

Her next gasp soughs past her lips on a catch of barely tamped sound, Rafayel’s gaze rolls up to meet hers — hot and piercing.  

“Rafayel,” She cups a hand about his warm cheek. “Let’s get you off the floor now, you’ll worsen your fever.”  

He knocks his cheek further into the space of her palm, lashes quivering shut, in comfort. “I told you... it’s not a fever ruining my body.” He repeats the words he’d uttered to her back in the Protofield.  

“It’s you.” Her mind jostles to a screeching halt.  

“What?” 

Rafayel’s body tightens beneath hers, the lean strength of his arms coming about to lift, with an ease entirely unexpected of a sick man. He moves them both onto the expanse of his bed, seating himself down, with her firm on his lap. “I’ve been going through these feverish bouts because you’ve been calling for me.” He heaves. “I’d never experienced them before because we’d never—” his words break. Rafayel’s fingers slip a slow, cautious path along the base of her spine, it makes her shiver above him. “I could’ve lost you,” he murmurs, “back there.” Hauling her close once more to sink his face into the crook of a tense shoulder as he breathes her in deep.

“I’m here now, I’m fine.” She soothes a gentle palm down the line of his back, the mild quivers that take it, muted into rest with her strokes. “Thank you for coming for me earlier.”

“Of course I did.” His grip upon her body tightens. “You called for me.” 

She rakes her fingers through his hair. “I... did not call for you, Rafayel. Even if I did, it’s impossible for you to have heard—”  

“Silly girl.” He captures her hand within his hair, entwining his fingers in between hers. “Do you not see?” Bringing their palms up close together for her to witness—

Red flitters about her ring finger, vivid — her heart jostles over its beats — the line of it longer and far corporeal, glimmering within the dark of his room, spiraling an undulating path up, up.  

Finding its other half, caught against the base of Rafayel’s finger. Her breath seizes within her throat at the sight, wary gaze tracing the line of the previously absent thread against their fingers. Not daring to believe the implications of the sight and what Rafayel too was saying. “How could this— I thought we were—”

“A Lemurian’s very being is set to perceive their beloved, in their entire capacity. Without exception.” He brings their entwined fists up to his mouth, feathering a kiss onto her knuckles apiece. “And I have not changed since the first moment I met you.”  

The heat of his words is within her head, the frenzied hammering of her heart within her throat. She dares not breathe too loud, dares not speak for fear of this precious moment shattering. The inference of his words could not be clearer and yet. A fleeting recollection of the Wanderer’s cast illusion comes to mind, the cold Rafayel’s unforgiving gaze flashing against hers.  

“Has your heart then... changed?” He asks, the wavering azure of his gaze fixated firm upon hers.

She caresses the back of her fingers against his cheek, down the line of his jaw. “It has not, not for a single moment in all these years but—” She whispers. But could you ever forgive me for leaving you on your own? 

“I’m not asking you for anything beyond that. I don’t care for it.” He shifts a thumb against the line of her lips dampened with a nervous swipe of her tongue. “I’m asking to know if the woman I love is willing to accept me again.”  

Her breath hitches within her throat. Turbulent emotions burst forth within her chest at his words, a sweet ache quivering at the back of her breastbone, the magnitude of his words she isn’t able to comprehend. Unable to believe the words she’s been wanting to hear him say, all this time, leaving that beautiful mouth. 

She surges forward onto his lap, desperate to answer the man who’s entrusted his heart so keenly into her hands. “I never stopped in the first place.” She speaks, adamant. Her fingers brush at his face, down the length of his neck to hold. The pads of them grazing the beauty of his scales, glimmering within the moonlight that shafts into the quiet dark of his room through the gauzy curtains. “I’ve loved only you all these years and by god, Rafayel, I don’t think I could ever love anyone but you.” She’s out of breath and dizzy in love, it’s a feeling she never wants to clamber out of, if it means he’d continue to look at her, just the way he is now.

She hears the audible throttle of his breath; a low, anguished sound, as if she’d told him something he’d considered entirely impossible. Rafayel had seemed so sure of her feelings, and yet, he looks at her now, with a relieved sort of devotion and desire. “Which god?” His whisper is sultry, his gaze along with the heat of his skin beneath have her feeling faint within his embrace, the flex of his arm tightening its hold about her waist.  

She tips her head closer, her lips shaping her answer a mere breadth from his. “My Rafayel, my own Sea God.” She braves a kiss against his mouth. “I love you.” She confesses, “I love you so—” 

Rafayel heaves forwards, filching the rest of her words right against the desperate tongue he sweeps into her mouth. Lips moving against each other in a mesh of reckless teeth and tongue, refusing to release from each other. Her fingers catch at the fabric of his collar, in a bid to drag him closer. Rafayel’s palms, a stable hold about the flare of her hips as she bucks against him in instinctual desire at the feeling of his tongue sweeping into her mouth. Her core grazes against the distinct line of his stiff arousal, straining beneath the placket of his trousers.  

Rafayel moans a low, throaty sound against her damp lips. “This is your fault,” he whispers, feverish. “You’re the one who has left me so vulnerable.” 

The turbulent seas within his gaze burn luminous, the gentle florid pinks of his irises swallowed within the blue that takes them. The scarcity of his scales now fleshing a path from his face. Down the graceful arc of his neck and across the expanse of his clavicle. Disappearing just under the line of collar of his shirt. She treks a reverential path about his beautiful Lemurian features; a shuddered exhale leaving Rafayel, in his inexplicable state of heightened sensitivity. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?” He seizes her exploring wrist within his gentle hold, halting her movements. His chest heaves once more in vehement, anguished pants, his skin impossibly hot beneath hers.

“No, tell me what’s happening to you. Why are you—” 

“—so sexually aroused?” He supplies, mouth skewing into a smile with the hot flush of her cheeks.  

“...I was going to ask about your humane features unraveling but that too. You're... burning up.”  

He sighs against her glancing touch, at the scales of his neck. “Each year, when the moon shifts phases and the tides ebb from the shores, bonded Lemurians go through an inevitable period of increased sexual activity. We are,” he pulses a delicate kiss to the inside of her captured wrist. “extremely vulnerable during this time, our base appetites, near insatiable, unless we bear it through with our bonded mates.” 

A streak of desire spurts within her chest, seeping down into her abdomen to pool in between her legs. “So then, all this time, you were...” 

“‘Sick’”, he continues, “because I wasn’t funneling my desires with my mate.” He tugs her close by her imprisoned hand, murmuring, hot, within her ear. “within my mate.” 

A low moan of desire breaks from her lips at his licentious provocation.  

“I’ve never experienced one before.” He confesses heavily. “I wasn’t sure what it was, when it started; the time of the year seemed to coincide with my symptoms but we weren’t bonded... not to my knowledge.” Rafayel’s gaze treks against the shimmering line of their thread, re-connected. “It’s a rarer miracle for it to find itself weaved against the ones it broke in between, more so than it is for the thread to re-emerge in between new lovers.” He laughs; a low self-deprecating sound. “Fate really played me for its fool.”

She murmurs his name, gathering his hand closer to press a reverent kiss against his ring of red at his finger. “I love you, Rafayel.” she reiterates, dragging his wide, wavering gaze back towards herself, letting the irrefutable truth of her words sink in. That it’s not Fate that tugs at the cogs of their bond now, but her feelings, unchanged as they’ve remained.  

“Promise me,” he implores. “Promise you’ll continue to see me the same, no matter how many years pass us by. Promise you’ll stay by my side this time?”  

Her answer rushed, eager, yearning to soothe. “Yes. Yes, I will. I want to stay by your side.” Stealing her arms about the broad strength of his shoulders, to pull closer.  

“Don’t let me go.” Rafayel breathes. Their mouths crush against each other in a consuming kiss; an urgent prayer he makes of her name. 

Each time she squirms atop his lap with the force of his kisses, her increasingly damp core shifts in glancing strokes above his clothed length. Her fingers jolt about Rafayel’s shoulders, sinking harsh into the skin through cloth, with a particularly ruinous lap of his tongue into her mouth.  

Her fingers fly for the clasps of his shirt, rushing down the length of buttons, generously revealing the unyielding expanse of his chest, the line of his toned abdomen. Briefly trekking the warmth of his skin with the pads of inquisitive digits before her mouth follows suit, drifting from Rafayel’s to kiss a path across the firm expanse of his chest. Slicking a gentle tongue right above his heart in devoted gratitude for the one who loves her so wholly. 

She glides a slow palm down his abdomen, appreciating the tremulous clench of muscles, underneath her touch. Her coveting digits pause at the metal clasp of his belt, gaze canting up to meet Rafayel’s in silent request.  

“Yes,” he grinds out, through arduous pants of her name. “It’s yours, I’m yours, do as you please.” She pushes off his lap, dropping onto her knees in between his legs at his affirmation. Rafayel’s breaths hitch higher within his throat, at the snag of her fingers reaching to swiftly undo the fastenings of his belt, pulling it clean from its confines to discard it onto the floor of his room. Her palm slips down the line of his zipper, stimulating him impossibly harder as she works to release him from the confines of his trousers.  

Until Rafayel sits there; her devastatingly alluring Lemurian, near-naked, save for the shirt that sags against broad shoulders, and the remaining modesty of his underwear. She takes a moment to control her shaky breaths before her thumbs slip under the waistband of his final barrier, keeping him from her gaze. Sliding the garment in one careful stroke, down the strength of his legs until she tosses it off to the side. His cock springs to full length, freed from its confines, hard; it curves, slight, towards his abdomen, the gentle slick of minute bluish scales running along the underside of his shaft. A thing of beauty, just as its owner.

The twitch of his length within her grasp is palpable as she moves to work an admiring fist about it. A lone bead of pre-cum sits upon the flared head of his cock; her tongue darts out in instinctual rapacious desire to sweep it into her mouth. The sweet-salt tang of him she hums against, in a soft moan, “I love how you taste.” 

Long, tapered digits thread through the fall of her locks, curving a loose fist at the back of her head. Her eyes traveling up his torso to meet his, bright in aroused impatience. It makes her want to flip that expression over into something entirely different. She tips forwards, lips falling apart to take the head of him into her eager mouth, just as Rafayel rewards her with his first approving groan. Tongue slicking about the head of him to lick, down, at a vein just underneath the flare of his head. His hips judder up into her face with the action, slipping more of him into her welcoming throat. “What’re you doing to me?” He moans, in gravelly rapture. “Your mouth feels divine.”  

She feels the clench of her own abdomen at his praise, wetness seeping further into the cloth of already damp panties. Her mouth slips further down the thick length of him, working him deeper into her throat as she tries and relaxes against the instinctive gagging intrusion of him. A shuddering string of words, he makes of her name, in overwhelming arousal, help her along on his cock. Until she is sliding about the length of him, back and forth, tongue drooling its spit down the expanse of his cock she cannot fit into herself.  

His fingers have tightened into a near-spasm within her hair, not nearly enough it hurts, holding her fixated in place; the pads of his digits tracing soothing, encouraging circles about her scalp as she sucks at his cock. “You’re doing so — agh — so well.” The fingers of his free hand, Rafayel brings to curve, delicate, about her jaw, tipping up; her eyes finding his, on silent instruction.  

He looks entirely gone, the rugged flush of his cheeks enticing as it dashes across his ears. Springs down the crescent of his neck and across the firm expanse of his chest. Rafayel’s cock hits the back of her throat on her next intake; she swallows against the heady swell of him, deliberate, measured, refusing to relent her gaze as she does. It immediately has the effect she desired; Rafayel’s next breath rattling out of his chest on a wrenched groan of pleasure, the blue of those inhuman eyes glistening brilliant as he propels his hips into her, in a reflexive bid for more.

His fingers skid along the underside of her jaw, where mouth meets throat, grazing for the place he knows she has him settled inside. A long, tapered index, he flicks down the line of her neck — she swallows on instinct, dragging another choked moan out of him as reward — before it comes to rest at the buttoned collar of her shirt. “Off.” He murmurs, hazily. Deftly unfastening open the first few buttons before he curves his index beneath her collar to tug. “Take it off. I want to see all of you when I come.” Pooling a blush into her cheeks at his sweetly sensual appeal. 

She pulls her shirt over her head, lured along by the nimble hands that drag her close, reaching around her, to undo the clasp of her bra before he coaxes that too, off her body. Mouth falling slack, cerulean flashing vivid, in flared arousal and want; to witness the heaving tremble of her breasts as she descends on him once more. 

Rafayel eases stray locks of her hair back against her ear to better afford himself the view of pink, moist lips parting to swallow around him once more in renewed enthusiasm. 

Her hands flitter about the length of him, slick slide aided by spit and pre-cum as she moves to work her tongue around the tip; the broad of it she teases at the slit, making Rafayel shudder above her. Slipping, slow and sure, down the generous length of him, insatiable desires flooding in the clench of empty walls, for the brimming taste of him within her throat.

Rafayel’s pants have turned far harsher, sporadic in impending release. She continues to ease her tongue about his length, her palms soothing down the tense muscle of his thighs before she moves to cup her fingers about his balls. “I’m—” Rafayel snaps.  

The skin beneath her fingers tightening, as she sucks about his shaft, to help him along the final stretch of his incoming release, swallowing up to the base of him in one forceful go. Her throat constricting in protest at the rough intrusion. Rafayel groans out loud — frenzied palms pressing at either sides of her head to force her off of his cock, just as he comes in thick, spurting strokes, across her cheeks, her nose; down the curve of her chest.  

“I can’t take it any longer,” he rasps. Hauling her onto her feet by her arm, he tumbles her back onto the cool, crumpled sheets of his bed. 

She barely has but a single moment to catch her breath — more from the surprise of his vehemence — before the shorts of her uniform, are being wrested off her body in the fervent catch of desperate fingers. Rafayel gets the material half-way down her thighs before his long-frayed patience snicks off entirely; a cool rubescent fire licks up clean across the material, blazing the offending cloth away entirely.  

She’s left dumbstruck, pleasure-addled mind wrung in between faint amazement at his precise Evol manipulation and mild offense at his ruination of her uniform. “We’ll get you a new one.” He heaves — as if he’s read her mind — in between kisses laid onto the instep of her bare leg, working up across her calf. “As long as you let me have you right now, I’ll do whatever you want.” 

Her breath seizes within her throat at his sultry request. Rafayel’s palms trace about the shell of her hips, curving about the sides of her abdomen before he caresses them up her stomach, pressing, light, into the yielding flesh. Her body shudders beneath his testing caresses. One of his hands steals down the cusp of her clothed mound, index and middle stroking at her labia above panties, before he skates them in between her folds. The two moan in unison; to feel how drenched she is for him.  

Her body squirms against his, begging for more of that sweet friction. Hips bucking up into his hand to force more of him against her aching slit. Rafayel towers above her, the delectable flush across that slack, sensual expression has her fluttering in on emptiness, her hole aching to be filled completely — as if she too has taken on the fever of his desires, writhing in phantom heat. Her drifting mind wonders for a fleeting moment, if a human bonded to a Lemurian could experience the mind-numbing lust of their cycles, along with their partners. That stray thought, she believes, with each passing second he riles her up in delirious rapture.  

Holding himself above her upon the crook of a folded arm, Rafayel descends for her mouth, covetous tongue savoring a moan against hers. She feels the hot, wet strength of his cock — already firmed to stone once more — rolling against the inside of her thigh. Just as he slips a long, tapered digit past her underwear, to curve it directly against her soaked opening. Her hips jump violently at the contact, her squeal of arousal Rafayel pilfers against a throaty chuckle. “You’re so wet.” Pressing up into her to make his point, the audible squelch of her slick, loud within the quiet night. “Are you enjoying this, my love?” 

“Isn’t,” she gasps, heat gathering, strong, into her face. “isn’t the answer obvious?” 

Rafayel hums, the skew of his smile tugging higher; a slow, relishing tongue he runs across his upper lip, end to end. And before she can think to parse the intention behind that wicked gaze, Rafayel’s palms are cupping about the soft of her ass —  digits pulsing into pliant flesh — to shear her underwear off, lifting her hips up to shove his tongue in between her legs. 

Her next sound leaves her on a shriek of pleasure, blaring stars wheeling across her field of vision. Fervid digits she convulses into the yank of his hair, in a manner that has to hurt and yet Rafayel makes no move to budge back, mouth sinking deeper against the wet flood of her heat. He curves his tongue up against her fluttering walls, sweeping at the slick. Nosing a stifled hum against her clit and that is all it takes for her over-sensitised body to break, spasming into a prompt, violent orgasm that siphons the breath from her lungs and the voice from her throat.  

Dazed in her floating awareness of the scrupulous mouth that continues to suck at her folds, laving away all of her released desire for himself. And when she sinks a quivering hand into tousled locks in whimpered protests of being too sensitive, all Rafayel offers her is an impish chuckle pressed into the soft of her thigh, right beside her mound. “You had your fun, didn’t you? It’s my turn now.” 

With that sensuous warning uttered, his mouth returns its attentions to her weeping slit once more, lips closing about the nub at her apex, sucking gentle at the bead. The jump of her hips Rafayel conquers, in the indolent arm he shackles about her waist, fingers reaching to hold hers across the quivering pliance of her stomach.  

The broad of his tongue laps a path above her entrance, catching at any stray slick that leaks from her before he eases the tip of it back into her slit, relishing the clench of her walls in a throaty groan. He continues to prolong that titillating torture of his, edging his tongue at just the entrance of her pussy, till her body burns once more within the kindled flames of a cresting orgasm.  

“Rafayel, there — hah — right there. Rafayel.”  Sliding that tormenting tongue into her walls once more, to her relief, to the mewls of his name flooding like rain from a parched tongue, the spasm of her fingers she smothers against their entwined digits at her abdomen.  

“Sing higher,” his stuttered groans smothered enthusiastic, into the drench of her slit. Tongue curling up against her frontal walls, in a drag that has her fracturing under his mouth once more. Tears sprung to lust-hazed eyes from the overwhelming arousal wrought upon her body under Rafayel’s dexterous tongue.  

He exhales a pleased sigh against her mound, each heated breath causing shivers to jump across tender skin. A kiss, Rafayel lays right against her swollen clit. 

“Once more.” Her walls clench in wrecked protest, a whimper leaving her throat at his whispered words. “Give me just one more.” He entreats. “I need your taste in my mouth again.” A flitter of kisses he strokes against the line of her pelvis, her mound; dark gaze rolling up to meets hers from in between her legs. She flushes at the intensity of their contact held, without mercy. Her wordless squeeze about her hand given, is all the permission her hungering Lemurian requires to sink back towards her wet heat.  

Tapered digits reach to shape a path about the sensitive bead of her pleasure, pinching in between steady, pleasurable strokes. Before they descend lower, coveting towards her fluttering entrance. Rafayel presses up, gentle, into her walls to coax wetness onto his digits with each drenched thrust of his fingers into her.  

His hand releases from hers, palm drifting up across the plane of her body to cup about a pliant breast. Fingers caressing a circular path about her areola in soft, stimulating strokes and she quivers at the sensation, breaths coming in short, stifled bursts of air.  

Rafayel’s mouth closes about her clit, just as the arch of his fingers hit at a particularly hot, sensitive spot within her pussy; walls spasming about his fingers, swallowing him in. His name soughs past her lips on whimpered gasps with each steady thrust of him up into her walls.  

The pads of his digits tweak about the puckered bead of her breast, thumb denting gentle at the bud, sending a jolt of arousal straight in between her legs.  

Rafayel continues to lap her up, dutiful; his lashes descending in pleased satisfaction just as her third, mind-numbing release crests through her body, leaving her skin a drenched, ruined mess Rafayel sucks at, in throaty moans of delight.  

“Rafayel,” she urges, unable to stand the searing desire he’s put inside her, body hungering for the heat of his cock in desolate emptiness. The overwhelming desire to feel his heat flooding into her, with how long he’s strung her dry for himself. She catches his face in between tremulous digits, pulling him from in between her legs to meet his gaze, dark in fervent desire. “I need you inside me now.”  

Heated obscurity scatters momentarily from his eyes at her fevered request, hips rolling against hers so she feels the hot strength of his arousal brush against her inner thigh; her gasps breaking into the air, at that brief second of contact. Burying her next moan in the vicious bite of teeth at his clavicle, when his cock ghosts across her mound, so close to where she wants him. “If you’re sure you want this...” He groans in ardent murmurs against her mouth.  

Her clambering response is swift and eager. “I want this, I want you.”  

“I’ll let you have me,” he relents in between their wet kisses. “this time, all of me. So drown with me, my beloved bride. Love me.” 

Just as he snaps his hips forwards, the head of his cock pressing her open for himself. The delectable stretch of him, so easy within the drenched warmth of her body as it ravenously sucks at him, all the way in. Rafayel’s searing groan of pleasure, he breaks against her jaw; mouthing, mindless, at the taut skin.  

The union of their bodies, have left them both winded, without breath to draw into aching lungs; several moments they take in between heated gazes and consuming kisses, unmoving. Growing accustomed to this new, exquisite feeling of being so deeply intertwined into each other, she feels she could live like this against him for the rest of her life.  

Until Rafayel begins to move and her world explodes into turbulent sparks of blinding pleasure, unlike anything she’s quite experienced before. His hands are upon her body, covetous digits flittering in between them to touch at dewy skin. Testing his touch against the trembling give of her breasts. Mouth capturing a pert nipple into his mouth, to suck until she keens underneath him.  

Her ankles hook about the base of his spine, dragging Rafayel’s propulsions deeper into her. A stuttered moan, she throttles out of him, at the stimulation before his hand steals about her ass to lift her lower body entirely off the bed. Angling his hips, Rafayel’s thrusts turn impossibly deeper, with the assistance offered in their new position; his pelvis grinding flush against hers on each fevered plunge. “You’re perfect around me, so very — hah — warm,” he grinds out in heedless praise, hips snapping against her harder, in rising intensity, in chase of a hovering orgasm.  

She moans in appreciation around the tongue he slips into her slack mouth in yearning want. “Rafayel,” she chokes out. “I’m so close.”  

“Me too,” he groans, shifting his weight forwards to lean against the crook of his arm at her side. His fingers trek up a path against her slack arm, digits entwining through hers, the line of their red thread flickering in between them both as they approach the crest of their combined pleasures.  

“I love you,” she sobs in between quivering gasps; his gaze crinkling in warmed affection and desire so acute, it drags another whimper out of her.  

“I love you.” Rafayel declares, into the catch of his kisses against her mouth, her cheeks, down the crescent of her jaw. Laving a kiss into the curve of her neck in a worrying bite of teeth, marking her for his own. He switches his pace once more, cock spearing up against her frontal walls in frenzied thrusts. “Come for me,” he beseeches. 

Jaw falling slack in a daze of undulating desire when she obliges at the heated scrap of his words, tumbling over the edge in an orgasm so vehement, her spine arcs clean off the bed. “You’re so good for me.” He worships.

Cresting waves of pleasure, she rides in the hard clench of her walls against Rafayel’s throbbing cock, pulsating hot within her until he too follows soon after. An incomprehensible swell of his cock inside, rising with its pulsations, has her gasping out a low, keening sound at the aching stretch of her pussy, it prolongs her high onto wondrous, searing moments of dizzy elation. Her toes curling into the sheets as the steady bulge of him catches at her walls and snags inside, hot spurts of cum surging into her, so much of it, she feels light-headed from how stuffed he has her. Just as Rafayel’s head falls low, on a loud, long groan of release.

Their damp breaths break against each other’s mouth for several moments that follow after, as they try and muster their senses back to themselves. Her fingers tracing absent, soothing circles along the curve of Rafayel’s spine until his trembling body stills to a gentle lull above her, quieted in the wake of their vehement orgasms.

A strange, fascinating imprint, throbs scarlet right above his heart — in the fleeting likeness of a fish — just as Rafayel’s rattling breaths abate. Captivated fingers she ventures, to trace against the edges of the mark. “...What is this, Rafayel?”  

“A sign of Lemurian loyalty.” A quiet smile tips across his face at the question.

The swell of breathless surprise, she knows is upon her face. “My devotion, here on, it’s yours to do with, as you please.” A kiss he buries into her palm in overwhelming affection. “I’m allowing myself to be trapped by you.” 

A low sob of adoration breaks from her throat at the words, just as the proof of his vow fades fast into his skin. A hand, she brings about his neck, to haul him down against her, to treasure a kiss right above where his heart thrums its beats, elated desire burning warm within her chest.  

Rafayel moves above her, maneuvering their positions until she rests at her side, within the circle of her arms, bodies still conjoined. His cock — she realizes with dazed shock — is still hard within her body. “Are you afraid?” He asks, gentle fingers carding through the mussed tresses of her hair. “I’ll need you much more times before I’m sated, you know.”  

She shakes her head at him, palm moving to cradle against his cheek. “I want all of what you have to give me, Rafayel. I’ll take it all.” 

He drags her closer by the hips at her affirmations; his touch along the back of her ass tending a slow fire back up within her weary body, as he moves to hoist her leg up against the cut of his hip.  

And she lets him show her just how profound a Lemurian’s devotion to his beloved truly runs, throughout the entirety of the night and into the greeting of dawn — a depth as unbounded as that of the Oceans.

End Notes: Tagging as requested: @samanthagnicole , @catboi-anon , @bitches4lifebro

If you’d like to be tagged in my future stories, you can fill this short form here.

You can also find me on Ao3 and twitter, if you’d like to scream with me about hot characters.

[sosomonimagines]

House's girl, part two — Gregory House x Daughter!Reader

Summary: House finally starts to genuinely care about someone, but they try to take that person away from him.

Warnings: talk of divorce and custody disputes (triggers for children of divorce like me, I imagine)

Author's notes: English is not my native language and I am from South America, so I don't know if my view of the court is authentic to that of the US. I did some research, but you never know!

Part one:

Three months ago, you began living with your father. Somehow, the two of you managed to establish a routine that brought a certain stability to the new arrangement. You would wake up at six-thirty in the morning on weekdays, and House, who got ready faster, always prepared a strawberry Pop-Tart for you. James would give you a ride to school at seven-thirty in the morning.

When you got home, sometimes at four, sometimes at six in the evening depending on your extracurricular activities, you would devote yourself to washing the dishes, aware that it was a task your father preferred to avoid. Your studies went on until eight at night, and often, your father would arrive around that time. He would bring food from the hospital cafeteria for you, usually a salad with meat and a bit of pasta. Over time, he noticed your love for pasta and liked to bring it for you whenever he could.

When your father arrived at that hour, you would take a break from studying to watch medical shows with him. On the occasions he came home later, which was quite common, he would go straight to bed without resorting to sleep aids. Although he used to rely on some substances to aid his sleep, he initially felt it would be inappropriate with you around, and then simply forgot the need for those medications.

On weekends, you dedicated yourself to studying, but also found time to keep your father company, whether by watching television together or quietly reading at the kitchen table. You both enjoyed watching old movies, like A Clockwork Orange and Psycho, as well as other classic Hitchcock thrillers.

While House followed a highly different and self-destructive routine on Saturdays and Sundays, he valued your presence, distancing himself, even if only temporarily, from the drugs and prostitutes that usually filled his days. He vividly recalled how challenging the first day you arrived at the house had been, but within just three days, the presence of another person had become an unexpected comfort. House couldn’t remember ever truly loving someone before; he had always associated love with pain. Yet, with you, it was strangely different. There was a genuine sense of melancholy and truth in paternal love that he had never experienced before.

He was still the same sarcastic and cynical man as before. The biting comments and natural teasing hadn’t disappeared; they remained, unshaken. Yet, something had changed. He knew that you weren’t just another person in his life — you were you.

•••

Saturday, November 5th:

You rummaged through the kitchen cabinets, noting that despite the changes since moving into your father's house, grocery shopping remained a persistent issue. Your father, who loathed going to the market, made his purchases erratically, buying only a few random items at convenience stores.

“There’s no food”, you said, glancing at your father, who was idly flipping through a newspaper.

“Have you considered learning to photosynthesize? We’d save money,” he replied with sarcasm.

“I’m hungry”

He sighed, put down the newspaper, and looked at you.

“Buy some food”

“Have you thought about going to the market yourself? Buying enough groceries for the month, preparing for a possible hurricane or any other natural disaster? Normal people do that.”

“Normal people, not incredible people like me”

“You should get treatment for that megalomania”, you said, shutting the kitchen cabinets with a bit more force than necessary.

“And you should work on your excessive use of big words to sound smarter” he retorted, pulling his wallet from his pants pocket and handing you a card. “Go shopping if that’s what you want. Call a cab to get to the market and another one to bring the groceries back”

“You’re coming with me”, you said firmly.

“Hey, I’m the parent here, I give the orders”, he retorted.

“Come with me”, you repeated. “You’re the responsible adult and need to fulfill your adult responsibilities.”

“Alright, Miss Bossy” he replied with an ironic smile. “When did you become so commanding? Has someone introduced you to my boss?”

•

When you both arrived home from the market, each carrying paper bags full of groceries, the nightmare began. The mailbox displayed a new letter, something that had probably arrived the day before and gone unnoticed by you until that moment — and, as usual, your father didn’t care enough to retrieve it.

You unloaded the groceries onto the kitchen counter and went back to retrieve the letter. It was addressed to your father and came from the New Jersey Court of Justice.

“Hey, dad,” you said, handing him the letter. “I think someone wants to arrest you.”

“You can’t even commit crimes in peace in this country”, he replied with an ironic tone.

As he opened the letter and read in silence, House's world seemed to collapse. It was one of the rare times he felt completely at a loss for words.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concerned. “Wait, are they really trying to arrest you!?”

“No,” he answered in a low voice. He wasn’t sure which question he was answering, but the "no" seemed to apply to both “I need to go.”

And just like that, he left, clutching the letter, without explaining where he was going or what was happening.

•

Stacy Warner didn’t expect House to show up that Sunday. Since they had decided to part ways, House’s visits had always carried an unwelcome omen. They usually indicated a relapse on his part, an attempt to possess her merely to feed his ego. And with Mark, her current husband, present, the situation became even more uncomfortable and pointless.

“House, what are you doing here?” Stacy asked as she opened the door. The mention of his name drew Mark’s attention, who quickly joined her.

“You know you’re not welcome here, House,” Mark said, with a tone of disdain.

“Shut up, Mark,” House replied, frustration evident on his face.

“House! You can’t come here and talk to my husband like that,” Stacy exclaimed, exasperated

“I need legal help. I need lawyer Stacy, not my ex-wife Stacy,” House clarified, trying to stay focused.

“Are they finally going to revoke your medical license?” Mark asked sarcastically.

“Please, shut up,” House replied, and this time Stacy didn’t interrupt him.

Stacy invited him in and led him to her private office. The space was elegant and well-maintained, with tall dark wooden shelves filled with legal books. On the walls, diplomas and certificates hung, attesting to her experience and competence.

“What happened? Are they really trying to revoke your medical license?” Stacy asked, her tone serious, reflecting the gravity of the situation.

House didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he handed her the letter. Stacy opened it and began to read. In short, warned that your mother was asking for custody back, in addition to requesting a restraining order against his father.

“Y/N is living with you?” Stacy asked, perplexed. She was House’s second wife, and when they were together, you were still a young child. Stacy knew he had always met his legal obligations, paying child support on time, but she also knew he had little desire to take on parental responsibilities.

“For three months,” House replied.

“But why?”

“Because her mother decided to date a jerk who makes my daughter uncomfortable,” House answered angrily. “It was the police’s decision to send her to my house since I’m the closest relative and she wasn’t safe with the guy. The mother wouldn’t believe her.”

“And now she wants custody back?”

“Exactly.”

“You never wanted to take on the role of father to this girl. What 's changed?”

“What’s changed is that I’ve come to enjoy being her father, okay? Now help me. If she’s dating an abusive jerk, how can she possibly revoke custody?”

“I don’t know, House. Things aren’t so simple in the legal system. She might have broken up with the guy and is asking for a review of her current situation. Since she’s always been the one caring for Y/N, there’s a chance the judge might consider that. Plus…”

“Plus what?”

“She’s asking for a restraining order against you. She wants to present you as a danger to Y/N. She might use your drug history for that, which is a convincing argument.”

“I’m clean. I’m not a danger to my daughter; she’s just doing this to me because she hates me.”

“But you haven’t been clean for long, and you’ve never been actively involved in your daughter’s life. I can’t be entirely optimistic about your chances of winning the case.”

“I need you to help me. She’s the only thing that makes sense in my life, please, help me.”

“I’ll try, House.”

•

“Have you lost your mind?” you asked when your father came home. You were eating Ben & Jerry’s straight from the tub and watching old episodes of The Simpsons.

“What are you watching?” he asked, ignoring your judgment. He knew that leaving the house abruptly might have scared you, but at that moment, nothing mattered more than spending time with you.

“The Simpsons.” You paused and then asked, “Want to change the channel? Oh, wait, not being overly nice right?”

“Right,” he said with a small smile, sitting down beside you.

“Want some ice cream?”

“No,” he replied, and you both continued watching the show in silence.

Occasionally, House glanced at you, feeling a pang in his chest. It was the first time he truly cared about someone, truly loved someone, and they were trying to take that away from him. And it was the first time he felt a real need to fight for someone.

[frenchgremlim1808]

Why Midori is such a breath of fresh air or how to actually write a Villain.

So the awaited essay, the winner of the FrenchGremlin polls of laziness finally has come! It took some time but it’s finally over. If your choice didn’t get chosen that’s okay! I’ll repost a new poll with old and newer options. Please reblog this one i put a lot of time in it, it's like, five pages long over a silly goose. Also sorry for the grammar i sucks and i'm not native. So let’s begin:

(also here is the link to the video format)

So first let’s make things clear, What IS a villain?

“A villain is a character whose evil actions or motives are important to the plot.” That is why I do want to make a difference between a villain and an antagonist, an antagonist is a character who are a plot devices that creates obstruction to the protagonist. That means that a villain is forced to be an antagonist while an antagonist is not forced to be a villain. For example shin is an antagonist but not a villain, he is driven by selfish desires which are themselves fueled by fear anger and loss, he is the protagonist of his own story and is a sympathetic character despite it all, and Midori is just a bitch. Midori falls under multiple stereotypes of villains. Such as “the mastermind”, “evil incarnate” (lmao),”related to the protagonist” etc. Midori is evil, there is no denying in this, he is purely evil, and he doesn’t have a sad weepy backstory, he doesn’t feel empathy towards other, he is a despicable piece of shit who ruined so many lives. I won’t list everything but here is a list of his crimes, murder, assault, domestic abuse, grooming, verbal abuse, and torture, crimes against humanity lmao, stalking, violent crimes, and participation in a cult. And his worst crime is being a pussy bitch of course. So now that we have put the bases up let’s really begin.

Hollywood has a hate boner against villains and I hate them for that.

Recently Hollywood decided that pure evil bad guys is actually a bad thing, so now they decided to do stupid side story with them, to give them ”””depth””” since I guess how could we like those villains since they are bad. A great example of this is the Disney remakes which I loathe so much oh god I hate them. So first they did a maleficient it was okay honestly, then they did a freaking cruella movie where her mom gets killed by Dalmatians, that’s not a joke, in the peter and wendy movie that nobody saw they decided to have made the captain hook be a lost boy who was abandoned by the lost boys and peter, oh also they decided that PETER CUT HIS HANDS OFF AND LEFT HIM TO DIE BECAUSE HOOK WANTED TO SEE HIS FAMILY. They are going to do a freaking mufasa movie, in no time I can’t wait to have a Ursula movie where it’s discovered that ariel killed all of her family in cold blood or something’s. So you might say what’s the problem? I mean isn’t that supposed to make the story more interesting. No, no it doesn’t, because first they take all of the character personality traits and throw them in the bin, second they are supposed to be the vilain in a musical animated movies, I am not against complex villain, I love them, but by doing this, the original character doesn’t exist anymore. Just create original content with new interesting characters instead of doing stuff like this. Also it’s kind of funny than in all of those interpretation they take all the fun and sucks it out, what do I mean by fun, the gayness, Disney vilain are fun because they are camp, they are fabulous extravagant extra in all the ways possible, and that’s the reason we liked them. Not every character needs something super deep, like “my family was burned down at the stake and my dog was eaten by my ex”, sometimes we just like bad fun people, they are the story, and Hollywood hating them so bad just bothers me a lot. Also now the new thing is to not have a villain at all which can works in some narrative but not all of them, it gets boring after a while. In the past people were angry that villains are bland, but now I kind of miss it. While I will critique villains who have no purpose outside of being evil that’s dumb, like for example Voldemort is bland like white bread because his only motivation is being evil, but evil people do exist compared to what some Hollywood writers think, they should know. So that’s why I will put a difference between evil villains and villains whose only purpose is being evil; we loved Disney villains but they still had motivations, goals, reasons that to them a least were worth everything. World domination isn’t enough, why do you want world domination, what is the true reason deep in your heart, is it an inferiority complex, is it a savior complex fuelled by xenophobic beliefs.

That is how to write a pure evil villain, evil people exist all over the world, but I have never seen one who doesn’t have they own reasons to be so bad, it doesn’t excuse their actions nor really explains them. We do not want justifications we want explanations. If you are justifying evil behavior then do it, but don’t claim that it is a pure evil character. A pure evil character can be fun, can be interesting, he can be deep, it’s all about balancing all of their traits to truly make them greats. Which is why midori succeeds while current villains fail. Current stupid remake/spin off try to justify the behavior because they feel like this is what the audience wants, but it’s not what we need. So I will defend to the grave evil villains.

Creating an evil villain doesn’t make them boring guys.

Why the heck does big budget movies have either the blandest protagonist or the blandest villains sometimes both, like I said evil people do exist but comically evil character only works in satire not in a serious multiple millions of dollar movie. Example that boring ass avatar movie, the one with blue people, none of the characters are interesting the villain is one note. The lords of the rings also suffers from that, but I don’t care because the protagonist are so awesome that sauron being personality less doesn’t matter. Also sauron is more of a force of nature villains so it’s not the same. The recent kingsman movie has a bland one note villain, there is nothing entertaining, funny, about him he’s just evil, borrrrring. Every Disney remakes depiction of the characters are boring. I just feel bored out of my mind. Atla one of my favorite shows of all time has a main villain that’s kinda one note, Ozai, but he is actually intimidating guy, azula is the superior character, but I wouldn’t consider her a villain she is an antagonist though. I honestly don’t get why Hollywood thinks that just creating a character with no personality and whose only goals is to be evil is good.

So back to midori for a second, here is my question, when midori was on screen did you ever feel bored? Never right! Because despite midori being an evil character he has an actual personality, he’s fun, you want to punch him in the balls. Because midori has other personality traits than evil, midori is petty, childish, extremely intelligent, controlling, a natural manipulator, he is a trickster, he doesn’t seem to get some social norms, he is narcissistic, easily angry, and fears death etc See how I counted a lot of traits, traits that in other character would works, midori has positive traits, and I think that is the best thing nankidai could have ever done, midori has traits that a regular person could have. Which is why if I put midori in any settings his character would work.

Example, instead of a death game the cast is under the sea to discover the insane wildlife and supernatural stuff happening, what would midori do in this situation? Well he would very passionate about finding all of what’s happening, he’ll do anything to find out, even sometime sacrificing others, not only will he try to find what’s happening, but he is also going to try to find a way to make this discovery favour him in the end. Or let’s imagine it’s a vampire situation, where a vampire attacks  the city, midori would try to stop it, not because he cares, but to experiment on them to get their biology and finds the real secret of immortality since he fears death.

Here is my second advice, after creating your character try to imagine them in another completely different situation, like normal life, or a fantasy world, ask yourself the question what would they do in that environment? If you can find a real complete explanation of their actions then yes your character has multiples dimensions if not try thinking about it again. Some example of questions I do want to point out are some like “if my character had all the power in the world what would they do first or”, “if my character had only a day left to live what would they do”

Why is Current media incapable of creating good threats like bruhhhh.

Okay so first of all let’s talk about stakes in a story, let’s say you are watching a slasher movie, slowly the cast gets slimmed down and people die in horrible ways, that should set stakes right ? Well if the villain is an absolute buffoon who makes the stupidest actions and decisions in the world, you wouldn’t feel intimidated at all because despite what the filmmaker might try to say the plot armor will NEVER make a character intimidating. It’s just like a detective character who just seems to know everything without a thought, well you won’t really fear the character failing. Worse is the the final girl, who is for some reason always escaping the slasher guy by pure luck every time, she is shown as incompetent but still she survives, which make the villain seem completely incapable so now you feel nothing.

To avoid this filmmaker often use techniques such has unpredictability, I mean good I mean good ones, for example instead of immediately seeing whose going to survive because the black guys always dies first and the virgin white woman is the last survivor, change the status quo, make us think that this character is obviously safe while they actually aren’t at all. Or actually make them menacing by SHOWING to the audience how horrible dangerous they can be. Which is why SHOW DON’T TELL is so important, telling us how dangerous someone can be only to see them get beaten to death at the end of the movie makes us feel nothing.

Midori felt like a impossible person to beat, he is smart, had twenty plans in advance, even in situation where the cast felt like they might have a chance he was always armed, just like the gun he promised to use or the rocket punch. When they felt like they were finally advancing, he put obstacle in their ways, such as the collar game or the moment he put the collar on explode mode for  ranmaru. The entire point in the murder game was to make time pass, it took a long time for the cast top realize that this whole time they were losing precious time not realizing that the dummies were the real problem. The characters that made you feel the most hopeless were the dummies, if you won by killing midori they would die, but if you lost you might lose people you love (keiji or gin). It felt hopeless because they were no solutions in the end. That creates tension so that creates stakes. If we were told how dangerous unpredictable sou was then it wouldn’t hit the same, we are shown that he is that terrible. There is a scene ingame where bbg shin ai tells us that midori tortured and like to destroy people. That’s exposition so TELL, but do you why it works, because we are SHOWN before his behavior. Midori felt unbeatable, so the fact that we were shown his weakness such has his petty behavior, hatred of minors, and fear of death, for the first time it feels like there is a chance that we might survive this. And still after he isn’t shown has an incompetent buffoon, he is one, but the narrative doesn’t show us that he is.

What is also consider is good to make the audience feel actual stakes is to first really develop well the main characters, how can we feel worry for a character if we don’t know them, the audience need to feels emotional connection to the main cast to actually care. You can use things such has moments where there is nothing special happening just character talking getting to know them. Make us feel why we need to care about them possibly losing, instead of being indifferent. Or I don’t know maybe make an entire spin off game where we get to have the cast talk to each other and seeing dynamics between character that died early to get them a chance to shine and make their death even more tragic, or even make mini episodes of characters who only got a single chapter to show off their characteristic, to get us to know them better? But that’s just a silly idea of course, wink, and wink.

My favorite thing about Midori is that he is actually pathetic, like really pathetic, but weirdly realistic?

Midori is the most pathetic character in the cast, yes more than shin, shin is leagues less pathetic. No I’m not saying that midori is not intimidating or scary, I would piss myself if I saw him. He’s a scary guy. But if you look at him more closely you can see that he is a baby brat in a big boy suit.

So let’s start by something clear, Sou Hiyori clearly displays antisocial behavior, or in common terms he is a psychopath/sociopath, this illness is very badly seen in medias, I am not saying that people who lacks empathy like him are inherently bad, he is, a lot of people with antisocial behavior actually suffers a lot and have a difficult life. Sou real issues is not his antisocial behavior, it’s his narcissism and god complex. Sou feels the need to HAVE CONTROL over others, he like the feeling of being in power, he sees the rest of the world has beneath him, toys for his pleasure. He says that he “really like humans” because despite it all he seems to put himself in a different categories than regular people, they are beneath him. When he loses control his calm and cool behavior disappears and we see his true face, a grown man who has throws a tantrum like a baby. One of the best representation of this is midori views on the cast:

Midori hates kanna, like no jokes he has beef with her, a fourteen years old, actually he has beef with a lot of people in the cast. Midori views emotional people has weak, people who are loving optimistic as beneath him and useless. He preferred when sara was cruel and horrible, that’s what he loved about her, he liked seeing her scary emotionless side. But Kanna, kanna is everything he hates. A crybaby who not only puts the group in harmony, is a source of hope in general, is the reason he near got to have closure with shin (killing him), he views kanna as “not fun shin”. We have many proofs for this, if you type the word kanna kizuchi he says this: “Poor Kanna'd weep! I think a more worthless name would be better for someone like me” He mocks her, but also himself (I’lll come back on this later), he calls her worthless. Also in the electric charge minigame, when he can choose who to shocks he chooses two people in particular, kanna who he hates and hinako who ruined his fun by giving the cast a chance in saving ranmaru. But he does also says mean spirited stuff to other people, qtaro and gin. He also says some sarcastic comments about nao and joe, saying that it’s such a shame that they died so young. But you might say why kanna especially? Because he is a petty baby who is jealous of kanna, Yes jealous, of kanna, a fourteen years old. Because he feels like she stole his hubby wubby shin away from him…. God I hate him. And you know what that make him a pathetic idiot, after the scene where kanna beats his ass, he’s all mad and like “uhh I’m going to pout I wanted you to cry like a lot, now I’m gonna cry”. An that’s actually god, because it humanize him, he wants need thoughts, he isn’t one note, and that’s the most important!

Sou is a villain but before that he is a character, a fully developed character, and THAT’S WHAT MAKE HIM GREAT, Sou works because he works realistically, I mean if you forget the robot part, it’s easy to imagine a narcissist man child who needs to feel in power towards other, so his main prey are young vulnerable people.Which leads me to my next point:

Sou is a failure like really, and we aren’t sad for him.

Sou failed everything he worked on, he failed to get the paper from alice, he failed whith shin since he had to leave earlier than he thought he would leave, because of his mistake he lost his position in the death game, then he failed to kill gin or keiji, and then he died like an idiot losing his cool and acting like a toddler. And he knows it that why he is a bit self-hating (he should be). And yet none of us feel any sympathy towards him, why? Because sou is one of the most despicable guy in existence. He is a disgusting pervert, sadistic asshole, and abusive narcissistic cunt who thinks he is better than everyone. From the bottom of my heart I hate him sooooo much he is literally the character I hate the most in existence. He abused shin, ruined keiji’s life, traumatized the entire cast, literally assaulted sara like he physically assaulted her. He mocked nao and joe and kugie life as useless. He is an obsessive jerk AND I HATE HIM. And you know what…… It’s good. Like I actually feel a lot of emotions when I think about him, he fuels me with anger and disgust, and if your characters can make me feel that much rage then you did it, you created an actual perfect character. Hiyori is such a shit person that I think about him a lot, writers shouldn’t be scared to make a character such hittable assholes, example bojack horseman in bojack horseman is the vilest man on earth and I love it, because I genuinely hate him. Just like I genuinely love kanna, like really I really love her, I in the same time despise midori so bad. We hate him because he is horrible to good people that WE KNOW AND CARE ABOUT, not random npcs. There is a lot of… disgusting implications in his story with shin that I will not talk about it makes me really uncomfortable right now. SO HERE IS A VERY TACKY TRANSITION TO TALK ABOUT WHY I HATE JUNKO FROM DANGANRONPA.

Junko is boring, that’s it, she is boring, not funny not interesting, she is a fetish, she is the biggest Mary sue on earth, she is a gross character made to make fun of people with disabilities and queer people. Her only traits is being crazy, that’s it. I wouldn’t call midori that crazy actually, he’s methodical calculated, and precise. Crazyness is a term for people who aren’t in control of their actions and delusional about reality, sou is not crazy, he knows what he is doing, he is in full control, while characters like shin should actually be consider crazy, like shin is actually crazy but sou isn’t.

Conclusion:

Sou is a breath of fresh air, because nankidai had the balls to write an actually interesting deep and threatening character AND make him a villain. He didn’t fall into the trap of making him have a sad backstory or good motives, sou is just selfish, that’s all he is. He make him a fun entertaining guy who you absolutely hates, he made him threatening and at the same time a complete doofus. He made him humane and pathetic.

But the thing that make me love nankidai the most is this

The fact that he actually killed him that takes courage as a writer to just end a character THAT WAY, which is why midori will never come back alive he is forever dead. And that take a lot of talents as a writer to just take one of the most important characters and just get him drilled to death in the anus, like dammn nankidai you are a savage. That fact alone makes him one of the best characters in game, I hate him as a person, but has a character he is a masterpiece.

Though Kanna could solo him

this was posted as a video on my blog this is mainly so people who don't want to stay there reading a 24 minute video of my stuttering can have a bit of quiet

[saintsenara]

if you are still doing ship game, thoughts on jily?

thank you very much, anon - i am always taking questions both on romantic ships and on characters' platonic vibes, the more unhinged the better.

although jily can't really be described in those terms, not least because their narrative purpose in canon is to be little more than blank canvases onto which harry can project as he goes through his series-long character arc, shedding his initial hero worship of james when confronted with the reality of his father's behaviour in order of the phoenix and starting both to fully appreciate lily's centrality to the course his life is taking and to see his dad with nuance as a real and fully-rounded person, flaws and all.

this narrative role means that the glimpses we get of them in canon feel kind of superficial - their bantering during snape's worst memory is basically high-school-teen-movie level, the snapshots of their life under lockdown in deathly hallows lovely and bittersweet but also just colour to a storyline which is already all of those things.

and this is not to say that i find jily uninteresting as a ship - i completely reject the common anti-jily position that they didn't really like each other, that they had nothing in common, or that their backgrounds made them incompatible [i'll expand on this below, but while i do think that their respective blood statuses and the impact of these on their relationship are worth thinking about, i loathe fics which portray james as chafing against his marriage because, as a pureblood, he'd be more comfortable with someone 'of his own kind'. this is bullshit, and there's far, far too much of it in this fandom]. my views on one of james' most frequent non-lily partnerships are well known, and i share the outrage many jily fans have for the way lily in particular is treated in a subfandom increasingly dominated by rigid fanon which prioritises giving depth to male characters [even if those characters are, in essence, oc's] and slash relationships over exploring the canon female characters, partnered or not.

but i do also find that a lot of jily falls into the same trap as much of the hinny i dislike - that is, a tendency to present as a sunshine-and-roses fairytale a relationship which is much more interesting if the things which canon implies [and which can be reasonably inferred outside of canon scenes from a canon coherent engagement with the text] might have introduced an element of dysfunction into james and lily's partnership are taken into account.

the shadow of the war is obviously one of these things. what role lily actually plays in the resistance is something which preoccupies me [she is never mentioned in canon to have taken a combat role - and i find it considerably more plausible that any attempt voldemort made to recruit her was at snape's request and connected to her potions prowess] particularly because, as we see in the way her death is memorialised in deathly hallows, the series regards the defence of the integrity of the nuclear family as a key aim for the good guys. how does she interact with james and his wartime role when she's pregnant, nursing, or in hiding for the vast majority of her time in the order? how does she feel about her husband being a soldier if she's behind the scenes?

indeed, what role james [and sirius] plays in the order is also something i'm obsessed with thinking about - not least because so much of the inherent tragedy of the marauders' storyline is caused by the fact that james and sirius think they're fucking invincible and that their plans to keep the potters safe are foolproof. it's entirely reasonable to read james and sirius as being pretty gung-ho about being paramilitaries - and my headcanon is absolutely that more battled-hardened order members didn't like them very much [moody does not, after all, seem massively fond of sirius] - and lily seems affected by this too [she's not holding her wand either!], and what they thought they were doing as 1981 rolls around is compelling to me.

james and lily's divergent backgrounds is also something i'd like to see explored more in fandom - not, as i've said, in the dull 'james should have married a pureblood' way, but in a way which deals with the fact that their relationship follows wizarding norms. molly weasley can blame the war all she likes, but [although i doubt this was jkr's intention] the evidence of canon is that witches and wizards marry and have children extremely young as a social standard, that couples generally don't live together before marriage, that divorce doesn't seem to be common, and that married women tend not to work. lily - a mother at twenty and, therefore, presumably married at nineteen - is coming of age, then, in a magical world which thinks about gender very differently from the muggle world of the 1970s, and i think that tension is worth exploring.

[similarly, the way in which her marriage is self-protective - lily gains a pureblood name and the social cachet which comes with it at a time when she's in rising danger on account of her birth - is something i think it's worth looking at when considering the pairing.]

there are other flashes of dysfuntion which i adore thinking about in relation to jily - lily's relationship with the other marauders [you can pry the reading that sirius resents her for stealing the love of his life - and i certainly don't mean lupin - away from him from my cold, dead hands]; how much of his misbehaviour at school james conceals from her; the fact that lily becoming more overtly interested in james from her sixth year onward must have a little bit of attempting to make snape jealous mixed into it - and whenever i stumble upon them in fics i say oh ho like horace slughorn and kick my little feet in the air.

i care rather less about 'we're so hot and flawless and not doomed' as a trope.

but i do stan james for beefing with vernon dursley even though lily told him to behave. the man really is just that annoying.

[gl1tchr]

loved your riddler rant, you should do more. for the most part i agree but i wanna ramble too and see what you think

my thing with Dano Riddler is that i think it maybe started with selfless genuine intentions, at least as selfless as any riddler character could manage to be. but because he kept digging and digging and uncovering more, without anyone listening to him in the process mind you, that’s when all the already fragile trust for literally anyone shattered completely, and his delusional mind saw everyone as a threat and corrupted. the whole city needed a reboot, a fresh start

and the ones he still saw as innocent he probably just believed in his twisted mind that he would be doing them a favor, risking their death, but death would be a mercy compared to being in this godforsaken city

yes most was selfish revenge, but i still think there’s a small part of him that seriously believed he was doing “good” and was thinking of other kids. we see that written in his journal too, which wasn’t for public it was purely him to himself, so i think that was some genuine intentions there.

also eh…ahh the trauma part a little rocky, like I understand what you mean there’s absolutely guys like that (😪), but this edward’s self loathing comes from a genuine place of trauma and mental illness it’s not just the attention seeking aspect of “oh woe is me i suuuuck boo hoo” it’s actual implied bpd, ocd, intrusive thoughts whatever else.

not at all saying the trauma + mental illness list cancels his self-centeredness or anything out btw, yes he’s still very much selfish and wants attention and it’s especially heightened once the riddler persona comes out to play. it just felt like you were undermining it slightly, when depth+trauma was an explicitly stated focal point of his character (imo if that’s what they were going for, which again it was, the movie itself could’ve done better to show this. cuz yeah oof i understand casual viewers seeing the surface level “oh, he’s just another dumb villain who’s crazy purely for the sake of crazy 😐” but at least Paul Dano made a great comic. anyway slightly different tangent lol)

idk i might be wrong. that’s just my brief, summed up-ish interpretation. again though love and respect your take, would love to hear more.

Oh nono all of this can be extremely true in tandem with everything I said as well! That's the complex part of mentally ill characters that people love to muddy so badly is the line between the deliberate and the subconscious. Edward is DEEPLY troubled, I would argue the Most out of any Riddler save for maybe one or two other interpretations and he is a victim of the system before anything else, and many of his intentions to him and generally absolutely may have been good ones at the start. But as with any Riddler, he can only be "fixed" [in his eyes] by being validated, being seen. And this is what tells us the things Edward does because he's hurting inside versus the things he does because he actually has some more selfish and ill-intentioned motives. HE'S SO DEEPLY LAYERED AND RICH AND I LOVE HIM JUST AS MUCH AS HIS PREDECESSORS

[talesofsonicasura]

Venomous Call

I decided to go more in depth with KN8/Venom crossover idea. There will be some comic elements but it's mostly based on the movie version of the Lethal Protector. For this part, I'll be going over the Kafka's early "Venom Days". Any questions can be asked on my main blog, @sonicasura. Let's get started. Part 2 here. Part 3 is here.

A 25 year old Kafka has life changed forever on one fateful night. He's trying to get his life together after having failed his last shot at the Defense Force. A task that proves very difficult when recruitment ads are plastered everywhere to remind him about his broken promise.

Could Kafka's life get any worse? Well being hit with a meteorite can officially be crossed off his bucket list as that's what happens. A 7 pound hunk of space rock piercing his right lung. Before Kafka loses consciousness due to blood and air loss, he sees something ooze from the meteorite.

The man wakes up back in his bed but he feels off. Like he isn't alone and fuller than usual. Kafka is completely oblivious about the news report where the bodies of the local Yakuza were found in a headless bloody pile.

Well until a growling voice comments how tasty the dead kaiju he's cutting up. Or that the black sludge which used to be his right arm had thrown away the saw and is eating at the corpse. Kafka's just glad no one else was next to him right now.

I will say the start for our himbo's partnership with Venom is less awkward than what Movie Eddie had to deal with. Kafka will question the symbiote about everything as he keeps any info in a notebook. He does puke when Venom tells him they ate a few humans(the Yakuza) earlier.

The man is much more adverse at the idea of cannibalism but he has barely any choice in the matter. Symbiotes sometimes need the required nutrients in their purest state which includes brains from living creatures. Humans have more phenylethylamine than small pest kaiju and the larger ones aren't present much.

Thus Kafka aims Venom's hunger at the criminal underworld. Like Eddie, he is very compatible with the symbiote although on a higher level so all his senses are tied to Vee's when they fully 'suit up'. Our himbo eventually grows numb to the taste of human flesh but it still mentally fucks him up sometimes.

Kafka's Venom form is quite different from the others. He is 10'9 in height, has two long horns similar to his kaiju form, a long bulky tail, rigged spikes going down his spine, white stripes on his arms, legs, neck, and tail. Venom will later add the Hoshina Clan Emblem for their chest symbol. (The symbiote thought it looked cool.)

Like the comic book adaptation, he uses natural webs to get around than just the tendrils the symbiote can provide. These abilities stem from Venom feeding on the kaiju corpses. Other comic related powers are: poisonous fangs, self-sustenance, flight(generating dragon wings), Morphomerge (bond with inanimate objects like vehicles to an extent), Energy Absorption and Transference.

There's a case of mistaken identity for a while. Venom kills No.7 and the Defense Force arrives on the scene before the Lethal Protector could leave. They assume he's the daikaiju, not the corpse. It takes a while before the Defense Force realizes that Kaiju No.7 had been neutralized and this is something else entirely.

Mina loathes Venom quite a bit. One being that the 'kaiju' likes to toy with her while calling the Captain "Pretty Lady". (Kafka is quietly dying on the inside whenever the symbiote does this.) The second reason being how Venom acts like a protector despite the fact he eats humans rather than just kaiju.

In short, Mina thinks he's a high and mighty monstrous hypocrite. Soshiro is a different case. He has a fun little 'rivalry' with Venom whenever he comes across them. Kafka obviously doesn't find being sliced and diced fun. Soshiro is quick to joke about the modified Hoshina emblem on the Lethal Protector's chest.

He finds the whole bit amusing even with Venom's man eating tendencies. They are labeled Capture Dead or Alive. He is one of the first cases where a kaiju not only has human level sapience and intelligence but a (twisted) moral compass too.

It didn't take to uncover Venom's weakness to fire. That opened up a bigger shitstorm as Mina witnesses some of Kafka's human form underneath the black ooze. She didn't see his face but it was enough to reveal the Lethal Protector needs a host to operate.

Venom obviously has a constantly updating file in the Defense Force archives. The major details are always highlighted such as his ability to adapt. Soshiro had accidentally bumped into the Lethal Protector gorging on a dragon Honju's corpse during a patrol.

Venom hadn't been in the mood to fight so our Vice Captain got front row seats to him sprouting wings that were heavily similar to the monster he had been eating. This was the first incident to raise him up the list of Defense Force priorities. Biggest is obviously the host bit.

That had gotten everyone in a tizzy as it means Venom was potentially lurking inside a human host. Many questions and theories were bounced around. 'Is the host aware of the entity in their body?' 'Are they even alive or just a corpse being puppeted?'

It made building a sensor to detect the Lethal Protector top priority amongst the Science Department. This includes smaller models as they now had to scan the civilian population for Venom's host. Everything only gets more difficult for Kafka when the DF discovers the symbiote's weakness to high frequency sounds.

It had been at a trafficking ring disguised as a rave den. One of Venom's prey accidentally turned up the stereos in fright when the Defense Force had busted down the door. The higher frequency made the Lethal Protector howl in pain before he destroyed the devices.

He obviously ran but it was too late to keep this weakness a secret. With these two major weak spots known, the Defense Force would soon concoct a plan to uncover Venom's true identity and apprehend him. I'm on the fence about Kafka escaping with his identity in tact or becoming a wanted man.

There's some very tasty angst with the latter as Mina is obviously part of this operation. Seeing her childhood friend underneath the monstrous black mass would already hurt. To see him choose the monster and the creature chastising her for abandoning him is the coup de grace.

Especially if the only thing Kafka could say is something like 'I'm sorry for being a worthless friend' before he flies off as Venom. He no doubt has negative feelings for his lost friendship with Mina. Plus symbiotes tend to bring such emotions closer to the surface in their hosts.

She is obviously gonna chase after Kafka. Those words pretty much addressed the part of her that Mina tries not to. How she essentially abandoned Kafka because he couldn't get into the Defense Force.

The regret that her purposely distancing herself from him led to the Captain's childhood friend to become Venom. And how much it ate away at him. Mina will want to fix this as Kafka is her responsibility in the end.

Even if it means putting the man inside a kaiju containment cell.

@discoknack @foolmariofest @noodlesbf-blog @mechazushi @scribblermerlin @giantgoblin @kafkahibinomybeloved @drmarune @renard-dartigue

[fantasygerard2000]

Details from Early Versions of Inside Out 2

With the recent release of Inside Out 2 on home video, we get to see the deleted scenes of the film where the plot differs from the final version. This is gonna be a speculative post as I assume what the basic premises are.

From these videos, we can see that the filmmakers had intended to add more emotions before trimming them down to the ones we got in the film.

This was an issue they had in the first film as having way too many emotions would makes things too complicated. The ones that are explicitly named are shown below.

This is not to say that all of them were going to be in the film, but rather only a selected number of them are kept as shown in the finished film.

From the Pool Party deleted scene, the film's premise is generally about Riley's teenage experiences and her struggles fitting in with her peers.

The same scene implies that Anxiety might have always been the intended antagonist. Well, more accurately her alter ego, Self Loathing.

The idea of Anxiety "turning into a monstrous version of her" is almost kept as shown below with an alternative take on her as "Tia".

Another idea even suggests Anxiety is this Kaiju who grows big whenever she/it feels out of control. This idea most likely never made pass development.

The "monster Anxiety" idea was eventually scrapped by remnants of it remains in the film as in the climax where she's spiraling on the console suggests that.

Notably, Self Loathing and Shame, another scrapped emotion who was also the intended main antagonist in a later draft share a lot of similarities.

I already addressed in a previous post about how there are two versions of Shame; a large shadowy creature who resides somewhere in the depths of the mind and an emotion form who almost made it the final film as shown in the first image of concept art above and the "Shame Spiral" deleted scene with Anxiety, Envy, Embarrassment and Ennui, who all four made it in the final film, being present.

A detail shown in three deleted scenes suggest a plot point about Joy "breaking". As in her glow is flickering and she's unable to drive Riley. The other main four emotions are also experiencing the effects of puberty as shown in the concept art below and the Puberty Park deleted scene. Notably, this is absent in the Pool Party deleted scene, suggesting that this idea came later before being scrapped as well.

My best guess is that Anxiety/Self Loathing idea was the first draft with the premise likely being about Joy losing her glow and control of Riley and Self Loathing forcing Riley to grow up by shaming her for being childish. This draft later evolved into a version where the other four core emotions are being effected by Riley's puberty and Self Loathing's motivation being given to Shame, who was a shadowy creature with her own domain and console who Joy later confronts. This then later evolved into making Shame an emotion like the newer ones who had Anxiety's role as the "leader" in making Riley make bad decisions.

The director stated that Shame's removal from the final draft for a variety of reasons; the moral of “Don’t shame yourself” came off as a bit too preachy, it was difficult to think of a way to redeem someone as negative, harsh, and critical as Shame, her attitude brought down the overall enjoyment of the movie, shame isn’t something universal that everyone deals with like the rest of the emotions, and psychologists that Pixar consulted with over the movie even noted that it technically wasn’t even an emotion.

The film's general premise about teenage puberty was toned down as the focus is primarily on Riley's friendship with Bree and Grace. Notably, Grace is shown to be a major factor as shown in two of the deleted scenes above; Riley unintentionally humiliated her at the Pool Party and revealing her embarrassing secret at the Never-Have-I-Ever game, likely resulting a rift in their friendship. This is somewhat kept in the final film with Riley accidentally hitting grace at a hockey match in the climax.

Now, this part I wanna point out the few details on the designs of the new emotions and how they changed during development.

In the Pool Party deleted scene, the new main emotions alongside an early version of Anxiety were Jealousy, Suspicion and an early version of Embarrassment who can speak from the start and a much more posh looking Ennui.

Suspicion's design was originally intended to resemble a spy with one design having multiple eyes before eventually being made into this punk caricature to tie with the film's teenager motif.

Suspicion's role was later cut and more attention was guven to Ennui, who had a more posh design as according to the creators was from the inspiration from french paintings of rich noble people looking bored despite their wealth, which might explain one design of Ennui dressed as a princess.

Ennui was later reworked to resemble a modern and common form of boredom and laziness with the teenager influence centered on her being on her phone.

Jealousy was this short business woman who from the concept art below is mean, petty and resentful.

Jealousy was obviously later reworked into Envy, who still had the negative traits associated with the emotional as shown in these more monstrous designs.

Guess teenagers really are monsters.

Anywho, Envy was later made to be a positive emotion. Her wide eyes and tendency to awe at things are given from another scrapped emotion, accurately named Awe.

Coming back to Shame, there are pieces of her wearing sunglasses. A somewhat neat detail as people who are ashamed tend to avoid eye contact, which might explains one design has her hair covering one eye.

With Inside Out 2 being a big hit, a third film is likely to be inevitable in the distance future. I would love to see more emotions and what dynamic they have but we'll just stick with fan interpretations of these emotions.

Speaking of which, I personally mentally headcanoned that these scrapped emotions are present in a future story; Jealousy representing the negative aspect of the emotion while Envy represents the positive, Schandenfreude being a foil to Joy, and maybe even Shame doing what she does best, addressing the flaws on everything and how the rest of the emotions need to learn from her on how to improve Riley. Heck, why not bring back Pride and Hope who were scrapped from the first movie.

For now, I need to head to sleep and I hope you all have a good day.

[starlightandmusings]

mini dissertation on 92sies jack kelly and why he's spectacular

92sies jack is So. Complex. there are so many tiny moments in the movie that illustrate the depths of his trauma and desires, and although i've benefited from adding hard promises canon to my read of him, he's just... inherently so good. he's #1 posturer, improver of truth, performer, deeply scared (and scarred) kid...

on the whole, he's characterized by loose movements, putting on a show. he feigns punching SO MUCH. during the trolley strike chaos and also in front of sarah; he almost romanticizes the violence because maybe if he leans into it he has control over it. and he's got precedence for this: at the rally fight, the way his body is grabbed, piecemeal, public property, is a living illustration of his greatest fears and the way he loathes to be treated, the way he avoids being perceived. he leans hard into independence partly because of this. (more on this in a sec.)

improving the truth!! besides the obvious francis sullivan alter ego/dead parents/etc, he also postures to denton ("does it scare you? you're going up against the most powerful man in new york city." "oh yeah? look at me! i'm tremblin'!"). he does not want to be seen as afraid or weak or vulnerable, so he masks all of this with sarcasm and a smile. and he makes one concession -- he tries to tell denton "no pictures" -- because he can only posture up till a point where he hits reality. even when he's visiting the refuge, this place of childhood nightmares, the place tangled permanently with michael's death, he smiles for crutchy because he has to be okay. his fatal flaw is his all-consuming care for others and neglect for himself. "i can't afford to be a kid no more," he says. and some goon, later, tells him, "show's over, cowboy."

i think michael's death and the loss of his parents have scalded themselves into jack's soul, no matter how he tries to pretend otherwise. the way when les does the show of coughing to sell paper and jack goes "yeah, that's heartbreaking" with a little smile and then as soon as les turns away his smile fades. the way jack lingers in the doorway of the jacobs' apartment, holding les' wooden sword and staring at the ground, unwilling to invite himself into the family but unable to make himself go. on the balcony outside, again, unwilling to invite himself in but deeply torn apart, aching for the love and stability of a family. he wants to feel needed, wanted, like somebody gives a damn about his existence. and because he doesn't have that, he convinces himself it's better that way, that he's free and independent and so strong he just doesn't need anyone. and yet, he carries that little dime-store booklet with drawings of country life in his pocket at all times, burning the fantasy images into his dreams.

i think these various ideas of freedom are explored visually, too. in the big rally fight, there's an emphasis on jack being trapped and walled in on every side with bodies. during santa fe, he ricochets against the walls when he sings about being trapped (possibly also a refuge callback!) and then runs out into the open space of his neighborhood, reveling in his freedom and solitude together. jack aches for freedom and he longs for a family, and he just doesn't know how to reconcile the two in a way that's going to heal his heart and keep his defenses up all at the same time.

[popculturebuffet]

Here Comes Garfield: The Garfield Movie Review!: Colossal, Stupdendous one might go as far to say.. Mediocre (Patreon Review for Emma Fici)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to here comes garfield, my look at all the garfield specials and now his film career. Which I realize now means I probably have to do Garfield The Movie At Some Point... and... Tale of Two Kittles.. and Pet Force...

That exesntial horror aside, today that means we're looking at the recently released Garfield Movie. The Garfield Movie comes to us from Columbia Pictures, which Sony will never let you forget is 100 years old and they own every year of that now with the 100 years logo they plopped in front of this and Ghostbusters: It Was Meh.

The film has gotten the predictably mixed reactions from a less ambitious kids film: Kids clearly love it, my own niece and nephew included, Critics loathe it and a lot of people who saw it ironically gave it one star on Letterboxd. In other words it'll likely get at least one more sequel and possibly a streaming spinoff on whoever pulls the biggest dumptruck of money up to sony's house.

So let's dig into this film: Why it's such an easy target, how good it really is, what dosen't work, and what delicoius layers it has.

The Chris Pratt Problem

Before we get into the movie, let's get into WHY it became such an easy target. And the first and biggest reason is the simplist: who they choose to play the fat cat the cool cat the nobody's fool cat: Mr Chris Pratt

Chris Pratt's casting became a meme quickly and it's understandable why: Not only was this on the heels of his questionable (if ultimately decent enough) casting in Mario but both castings felt.. Lazy. Like an exec googled "Celebreity Man" and went with the most afforadable option. Pratt isn't a bad actor. As a person... I didn't have the bandwith to full research that and shift out the genuinely douchey actions from the internet herasy. Seems like he might be bit of a dick, can't prove it. But as an actor he can be good: he was great on parks and rec, in the lego movie and in the guardians trilogy. The probelm is like a lot of actors, once he got famous, he started becoming the best imintation of himself: most of his parts like jurassic world tend to just be him doing what people now expect to be Chris Pratt TM performances. For instance Star Lord.. is a fleshed out hot mess of a character, with some depth and some genuinely emotional moments despite often being the butt of a joke. The Guy From Jurassic World.. is just that without the depth or any real character beyond "Raptor Pal who wants to bang Bryce Dallas Howard". It's not all his parts, the bullk is still good, but he's sliding very comfortably into not giving a shit if he dosen't have to and it's not a good look. I love Ryan Renolds but he can also be like that, and his better roles are when he dosen't like Deadpool. For as big a thing as it's become and as much money as he's making you can tell he's making the third one not because it'll make him even richer, but because he loves the part.

With both of these rolls it feels like Chris signed on because

He DOES give it a decent try, being pretty good as mario and alright as Garfield, but it's easy to see why there isn't a ton of enthusasim. When Ben Schwartz got Sonic the Hedgehog he was fukcing pumped, brought it and really sunk into the role. He's easily one of the Blue Blur's best voice actors and you can tell he loves the franchise. I'm not saying you have to love a franchise going into a part.. but it dosen't feel like Chris Pratt really put his soul into it and as corprate as Mario and Garfield are, these are characters with life to them. I'm not saying you can't do a good roll for a paycheck, see Orson Wells as Unicron, but fans aren't going to give you a lot of room if you don't seem to give a shit you got such a big part that is important to them.

I don't think Pratt sinks the film.. but he was far from the best choice. The best choice, in my opinon.. would've been nick offerman. He's a big comedy name, has a lot of talent, has done plenty of voice acting, currently headlining fox's best show The Great North, and has that low sarcastic voice that can be used for a bunch of diffrent moods. Jason Mantzokus is a close second choice as his gravly ness fits garfield and he can both be earnestly sarcastic AND energetic, both things garfield needs. I know the latter is ironic but the guy is emotive when necessary. But putting aside my choices he just feels like he's doing "Chris Pratt". He's good ENOUGH, but the film could've found better and has such a standout cast, including another possible choice in Brett Goldstein, that he sticks out as the guy whose just kinda.. there.. and he's in the lead roll. he's not bad and gets some great deliveries in places, but he's servicable. It's a hard roll to nail, for me only Lorenzo Music and Bill Murray have truly got it, with Frank Welker trying his best but just not quite nailing it. There's a reason there was a bit of a gap before Welker took up the roll: Music is a hard mountain to climb, Murray happens to just exude slacker energy it's not easy. But they could've tried HARDER instead of going with "well generic hollywood guy will sell tickets"

Garfield Sells Out

The next issue is one I can cover pretty quickly:

The Garfield Movie has gotten flack for it's various bits of product placement: Garfield eats POPChips, there's Olive Garden leftovers in the fridge, and his dad orders things from Wall Mart. There's also possible FexEx and Tinder advertisment I missed I found looking at articles or two and credit to the daily best for the first and reddit for the second. There are adds for big corportaions in this film and while that's not NEW , until a discussion with my friend Emma I hadn't realized how much the MCU advertizes (And just for clarity I love a lot of the mcu and Emma is neutral), it is wince inducing in a film primarily aimed at kids. It works decently for adults (raises hand), but I get the target demo and while they get advertised to plenty, it's still scummy to cram this into the movie itself.

I have nothing against the food tie ins: Stouffers doing one for their lasanga is too sensical not to do, as is having olive garden make a cameo in the film itself, Tastykae's garfield cake was adorablea nd delicious, and popchips, while certainly not the kind of greasy snack garfield would gravitate too, are the kind of casual snack food I could see him at least trying... or more accurately Jon buys them, Garfield eats everything else because he assumes like many boomers "Healthy=bad" and finds out he was wrong and orders more. It's still mildly manipulative, but it's nothing new: Kids get sold food to them all the time.

That being said.. it's still fucked up how much product placement is in the film, even if it's spread out well and while I do wish we'd stop getting SO MANY ARTICLES on it included Cracked claming the drones in the film are Sony trying to get kids to accept drones more

I get the impulse: We want to protect children and while I was originally going to be more critical of this, the more I thought about it the more scummy it felt. The Product Placement isn't to say add a layer of authentiity by using a real brand or because it's fun, it's just.. so cheap and blatant. It's just whatever brand wanted that garfield money. The film does HAVE food at the center: Garfield meets John in an itallian restraunt and has to pull a milk heist and neither place is a real life brand.. which begs the question why all the others were flavor blasted in there. There's no real need to shill and the movie would've been fine doing tie ins out of universe. I get we live in a corprate hellscape but you don't HAVE to advertise to chidlren and their parents and to sad middle aged men like me. You can just.. make a movie. Let that be the "product" if your that cynical. All you did to the brands involved is remind people "Oh yeah they sold out in that one movie". Well with Olive Garden if your sonic you also make me go to it .. or this film... but Olive Garden is delicious.

So onto the third major problem had with the film

We've Been Here Before

The third is something I can agree with: the plot is stock as hell. While the film has good points i'll get to, the basic plot is one seen in dozens of other animated films. A hero is thrown out of a lot in life their either happy with or tell themselves they are, but are thrown into a CRAZY adventure by circumstance that they must go on to get that life back while learning something along the way. To prove HOW common this is I decided to go through my film list on Letterboxd and put all of the animated ones I found that adhere to this formula into one image. It wasn't nearly as many as I expected.. but I still found about 40 diffrent films with this formula in some way

And please note this formula in of itself.. isn't a bad one. A lot of great films are made on this premise. To prove this let me take out the films I don't like from this grid

Your still left with a ton of stone cold classics. You'll also notice the breakdown for the original is 1/8th garfield. The first three specials, the first bill murray film and the second dtv film really do all fall into this formula somehow.

The key is that the formula isn't inherently bad: All these films start with the protagonists comfortable or about ot be and whisked into danger but they all go in such diffrent directions. Heartwarming child bonding comedies, a meditation on jealousy and our own realities, betting a black man's freedom in a way that the producers had to know was fucked up, space dolphin played by matt berry, everyone has their own way.

This film... dosen't do anything NEW with it: The film just stacks other animation tropes and cliches on top: you have our hero whose spoiled by what he has, has issues with his parents, has to go on an adventure adressing those issues, deals with a theatrical yet intimidating main villian and their two dumb and sympathetic henchman, gets training from a mentor with a tragic backstory to do a heist, the heist goes bad, the relatoinship that got built up over th efilm is semeingly shattered but OH NO IT WAS A MISUNDERSTANDING and the climax happens cumulating in everyone being one big happy family.

I could do the grid thing with practically every trope in this movie and it just kinda plays the hits. It reminds me of the Super Mario Movie last year: I liked that one too, but it's mostly carried by the visual spectacle, seeing the creators meticuously turn mario's patchwork world into a living breathing place, to see a giant version of dk island, to see Bowser's Kingdom in all it's glory. It's still a decent film, but it uses a pretty stock framework to do it because either the execs wanted that or the creators didn't feel they had the room to really push it. I could see the same problem here as you have Sony, Viacom and various sponsors Sony wants shoved in all wanting a say. This dosen't feel like say Across the Spider-Verse (Same parent companY) or Nimona (Same production company) where they had more freedom, so they just went with a formula that worked for other movies and worked for garfield before. The question is does that formula ruin the movie? Is there enough to still make it enjoyable despite being stock as hell?

Yes

The film is still pretty damn fun and feels like a welcome return to the character after being gone in other media for almost a decade. As Quinton Reviews pointed out in his review of this film, the Garfield Show ended in 2016. It's been a WHILE since the orange tabby's been animated, with his only apperances otherwise being in video games, showing up in Lasanga Party, Garfield Kart and being a guest racer in Nicktoons Kart Racers 3 and a fighter in both all star brawl games, all welcome as it's just.. fun to play as garfield. Does he have any real connection to nickelodeon besides them owning the property now? Nope. Is it fun to have him anyways? hell yeah. Have him hit the avatar with a pie, either one!

The strip still exists but like many aging comic strips it's clamped to it's formula. I've been reading it daily for a few months now and while there are occasional gems

It's mostly the same stuff. You can find better jokes by buying the first few three in ones. It's not nearly as bad as some other legacy strips, seriously why is Blondie still around, but it sticks out in an age where more cartoons like Heart of the City or Nancy are allowing someone to flat out reboot the strip and try something different.

With a movie you have that blank slate to do whatever and while it does a standard animated movie TM with it to a point, the film does try some neat stuff I can't help but admire.

The biggest point is the animation. DNEG did the animation here and went above and beyond the call. I love their designs, combinging modern garfield with some of the classic garfield heft and proportions: his limbs are still super skinny, but they aren't as gangly as they are in the strip, feeling more in line with his body and the head resembles the one from the early 80's more. The eyes are also without a line, which seems like a small detail but ups the expressivness, something key to garfield as "funny facial expressions" are one of Garfield's best bits.

Slapstick is where this franchise thrives and the film mostly does this well. I wish there were more, but it has some fun visual gags: while it was trailered to hell and back, the fluffy fur gag is pretty funny. All the gags with Roland, big bad Jinx's muscle played by Roy Bloody Kent himself Brett Goldstein has a lot of fun gags: How this wall of folds and muscle just.. will show up any time Garfield tries to leave, disappearing behind a sign and pulling a cell phone out of his folds his boss refuses to touch. It's not a ton, but it's a lot of fun and while he must've been a nightmare to animate, so, many, FOLDS, it results in a character that's just inherently funny to see walk around and Goldstein's gruff voice just adds to it.

There's other great btis like Garfield and Vic stuck to a tree and using the vines to beat the hell out of each other, garfield getting smacked into a car windsheild and more.

The animation is just gorgeously expressive: the non garfield cast may be somewhat stock but damn are they fun to watch and the main trio (and Liz and Nermal in very brief cameos) are at their best. IT's fun to look at, visually gorgeous and easily the best part of the film: the film may not remotely stack up to some of the masterpieces we've gotten, nor does it try to, but it does look great while having a lot of fun doing it.

Since we're talking character let's look at our cast and starting at the top Billing we have Garfield himself. Like I said Chris Pratt does.. fine. Would've preferred Nick Offerman, gold star to whoever brought that up, but he dosen't ruin the character and is still dryly sarcastic enough.

Characterization wise he's a tad diffrent: He's not nearly as much of a dick to Jon and Odie, something CellSpex pointed out in their own review might be corprate not wanting Garfield to be as dickish and thus less markketable. While I do think that's the case, I also think they threaded the needle well: Garfield is still a massive douchey orange blob to them, but it's in less over the top ways: him pummeling john or punting Odie siimply dosen't play as well, so instead he maxes out John's credit cards and Odie is essentially his butler. The former isn't super funny, but is fitting enough, and it's telling Jon, pushover he's always been, dosen't really push back against it, while having Odie instead be his hyper compentetn sidekick works. It could've backfired, turning Odie into something like say the minons that say s"please merchandise me", but instead it gives Garfield a foil, someone to make passive agressive dog noises or leave him tied to his dad on a tree. Odie is still dumb, but having him be garfield's slightly more emotoinally sasvy and competient sidekick still works well and gives him more than just "ain't he dumb" as a joke for a 90 minute runtime.

Jon is done incredibly well here but I wish there was more of him. This seems to be the sentiment across most reviews, and I can't blame my fellow critics on this one: Nicholas Hoult equals Thom Huge at the part, and like Garfield it's not easy. But it works by doing it a diffrent way: Thom had a dry sarcasm to his john that contrasted nicely with his manic dorky side, while Nicholas Hoult just leans into John as a loveable mess and it works. His panic as he tries to reign in a kitten garfield from eating an entire itallian restraunt, resignment as he washes the cat, and general bafflement at his pet fits the character like a glove.

Sadly the plot.. really dose't leave much room for Jon. It's understandable: Even if his mouth now moves, Jon can't undrestand garfield and the film outlines this, with an app specifically to translate animals being needed and only being known to exist by an unhinged security guard. It still would've been fun to give him more of a b plot looking for his pets, maybe rope in liz or irma from the diner as side characters.

What B-Plot we do get though.. is easily the best joke of the film. Jon is left on hold by a lost pet hotline for SEVERAL DAYS growing more hilariously deshevleed along the way. There is nothing more jon arbuckle than the world pantsing him while he's down and his deranged rant to the guard at the pound when he picks up the boys that "I'm done waiting! The Jon who is waiting is dead!" is fucking great, as is his bafflement when the boys run out on him after getting home to go save Garfield's dad, and his wondering if he triggered garfield when Garfield runs out to bring his dad home at the end. Hoult plays a perfectly pathetic jon, the relatable doofus we all know and love and I hope any future projects both bring him on board and give him more to do. The man is brillaint

Likewise Harvey Gullien is great as Odie. He has to commuincate using barely intellgible dog sounds, and of course great visuals from DNEG, but does so well. The man's voice acting career is a slow burn but man should he do more. He was great in Puss in Boots, is aces here and should be in most animated films from here on out. If Sony needs an Alan Tudyk, they've got one.

Onto supporting we have Garfield's Father, Vic, played by Samuel L Jackson. Vic is a big kitty who left garfield behind as a kitten and whose past crimes force his son into a heist wtih him. Look like Keith David I could listen to Sam Jack all day, easy. He has a talent for being awesome no matter the movie and no matter how much he's just in it for a paycheck. He's playing a fairly stock "ex con dad" type character who wonders into his child's life and tries to reconcile, but he has so much fun with it it's hard to really notice and the design, a big giant muscly blob, works well as a contrast to garfield: both are big soft boys, but Vic clearly lifts.

The plot between the two is cliche, I won't lie.. son is bitter his father left but DADDY HAD A GOOD REASON FOR ABANDONING YOU and if done wrong can have some bad implications. If a parent left you and is a dick, you have no obligation to them. Even if their not you don't really.

The twist that Vic didn't MEAN to abandon garfield was obvious from a mile away: even seeing the trailer it was clear he probably wasn't the asshole Garfield thought he was. But to the film's credit they don't hide that it's more complicated: from the get go Vic TRIES to explain he left, but Garfield's both understandably pissed he said he'd "be right back" and never came back and that Vic's old partner Jinx is forcing garfield into the film's heist simply to fuck with vic. It's also the right push to get Garfield into the plot: i've seen complaints about how "oh this big heist film isn't garfield he just lies around the house".. .but a key element of most of the specials and the other movies is garfield kinda gets.. shoved into adventure. Here Come Garfield happens because the next door neighbor has the pound come and Odie's too stupid to run for it. He tries to ignore his friend being lost, and tries to tell Jon who naturally dosen't get his charades, but ultimately goes to save him. The key to getting garfield into an adventure is to push him into it: either he has an emotoinal investment or , like in this case, he really has no choice, like that time he fought a panther to protect Jon. You CAN get plenty of good slice of life nonsense out of the boy but i get that for a specail or movie you have to kick it up a notch and having Garfield forced into a life of crime fits well.

It's a bit fucking weird, but again so is garfield. It's something people tend to forget or don't really care to look up and that came up in a lot of reviews, but the specials could get werid. Garfield was on a talent show, went through 9 very diffrent very fucking weird lives, was a private eye, had a whole spy pastiche adventure in his daydreams, went to hawaii to stop a volcano with the help of Fonzie's ghost.. or was it james dean's ghost? it was someone's ghost, and of course met ghost pirates. Not every adventure was fucking insane, but it bears repeating sometimes the strip or specials or especially the show got weird, and that's alright. Frankly the films could go weirder and less stock, but this really isn't out of his wheelhouse. Like with Scooby Doo maybe research a franchise before you bitch about it. not saying everything's gold, lord no, but I am saying the franchise is way more experimental than it gets credit for.

The twist on WHY vic left though.. is heartbreaking. This ties back to the opening which you can see most of in a trailer: vic abandons his son, Jon finds baby garfield outside the window while he's having a sad single man meal at an itallian restraunt, Garfield eats everything in sight and Jon still adores his pet. The only part left out is Jon almost leaves Garfield behind, as his apparement dosen't allow pets.. but goes back. Why they added this.. I don't know.. but their origin is truly hearwarming and may be another reason why they toned down the asshole to Garfield being less of an abusive roomate and more Jon's spoiled teenage son.

Naturally though we didn't see VIC'S side: he went to steal some food for his son, had to wait for the worker's long as hell phone call becaues some dick won't feed a stray cat. I mean I get they come back but counter argument: who cares. As long as you don't invite a roving pack of cats, help the starving kitty you ass. At any rate by the time vic got back with half a fish, his son was gone and he watched the whole scene at the itallian restraunt.. and then watched Jon come back, realizing Jon gave his son a better life. He gave his son up so he could. As for why he never visted it's the painful but truthful worry of ruining his son's new life: vic's a career heist man, an alley cat and garfield was comfortable. The sad irony is garfield.. woudl've welcomed his dad in. Jon being Jon would've gladly adopted him. Garfield wanted both HIS dads. Vic instead watched from a nearbye tree, a revelation garfield only gets in the pound after Vic fakes a double cross... when really he knows Jinx will NEVER let garfield free of her grasp and thus returns the milk from the heist himself. Naturally garfield realizes this, gets a drone fleet to help him rescue his dad along with the bull they befriended earlier, and saves the day.. and Vic still plans to leave but ultiamtely garfield convinces him to stay. Is it a tad cliche? Sure. Did it still knock my fucking heart out? yes.

Outside of this emotoinal arc, Vic is a lot like his son, but more active, having more world skills... and it's not really played up. Vic's emotinal arc is well done but outside of it he dosen't have much charater. Only the fact he's played by sam Jack really lets him be a character. He's not BAD but I wish they'd fleshed him out more outside of his tragic backstory. It moves me.. but there's not much else to the guy.

Onto our bad guys, and Jinx, our main villian is a delight. She has a decent motive too: She was once a would be show cat, but choked on stage, genuinely found family with Vic.. and turned vengeful when he left her behind on a job, her hate twisting her into the operatic selfish tyrant we see today with her two henchman Roland, the foldy brett goldstein boy I mentioned before and Rupert, his twitchy partner played by SNL and Fire Island's Bowen Yang. Roland is great mostly due to the expressive animation and Goldstein's deadpan delivery. Youc an almost feel rupert about to threaten

Good times. yang.. gets less to do. Roland is just kinda there because they felt they HAD to have a pair of henchman and coudln't have just one big british foldy boy. It's also weird to me they didn't go with another ted lasso cast member. There's tons of options and if you already got the big bad and one of her henchman from there commit to the bit. The show's lined with talent.

Speaking of which Jinx is voiced by Hannah Waddingham, who like Goldstein was a dream on Ted Lasso. She also was recently in the fall guy which you should watch. Seriously .. go.. go do that. It's fucking incredible. At any rate she makes the most of the role hamming it up to all hell, giving Jinx a nice manical quality. Jinx isn't given a ton of layers outside of her backstory, but is hilarous enoguh with her big fluffy persian cat presensce, general evil dickery and awesome villian song that for some weird reason wasn't actually put in the film proper but makes the credits a joy to sit through, she's a LOT of fun and you can tell Waddingham is knawing on the scenery in the recording booth and loving it. I like her getting to flex her range post-ted lasso, already terrific as Rebecca but now getting to play a nice variety of parts. Jinx wouldn't be the same without Waddingham and the casting was perfect

Our penultimate major character is Otto. Otto is a bull and garfield's grumpy mentor with a tragic backstory because everyone has a tragic backstory in this movie except Odie and that's because they cut the scene of Lyman getting shot to death in the falkland's war. He's a bull who was part of the farm Garfield has to heist with is daddy guy, and was removed from it because the new owners are dicks, desperate to get back his one true love Ethel. He's played by Ving Rahmes, who does a great job and the character honestly isn't bad, it's just.. weridly sandwitched into this movie. A ways in and we suddenly get this guy who should be leading this whole other movie. The heist itself fits decently enough, but this whole tragic past, his history with the guard Margie, it feels like a whole other film that Garfield and Friends just wondered into.

Otto is fun to watch, his serious as hell tone contrasting with things like assinging Garfield roadkill or his deadpan assement that Garfield and Vic are going to die and are only ready because they'd need a month and have a day. He's not bad, he' sjust a bit undercooked> he does get his happy ending with Ethel back, so tha'ts nice, it just feels like another character in a cast that probably didn't need one more guy.

Finally we have Marge, the security guard played by Schmigadoon! star Cecily Strong. Strong fucking brings it to marge, who could easily just be this obstacle of a villian but instead is this super obessed guard who has a score to settle with vic, instantly recognizes that jinx calling to set vic up (And hilariously it just being Hannah Waddingham saying meow a lot), is a cat informing on someone, and has this unhinged energy the film needs and that fits garfield like a glove. Garfield is all about unhinged weirdos wondering into his life in other media. She provides a jolt of energy for the heist section and a nice way to payoff things later as she trades the truck for ethel and takes in Roland and Rupert while taking Jinx to the pound.. or to an unmarked grave. Marge.. is hard to read. I just love her though, having this werido who understand this elaborate animal plot somehow. Beauitful.

We also have a few smaller roll: Snoop Dogg plays a cat

Dev Joshi plays Liz for all of 5 seconds, and for some reason Jeff Foxworthy plays a bird for even less time.

The cast overall is decent, if a bit overstuffed, but iwth good enough performances to make you not care.

Before we move on a complaint i've seen here or there is that they don't really use garfield's supporting cast. I agree on Jon, Nicholas Hoult was too damn good to use that little, but for the rest of the cast.. I get it. None of them really fit into the narrative that well: Arlene, The Meanest Dog in the World, Nermal might of fit as members of the heist crew, it woudl've been intresting to see them gather one, but otherwise Jon's Parents, who I dearly love, don't quite fit (It'd be fucking werid to have garfield rob people he knows instead of a souless corperation0, Irma has no real place and Lyman got shot to death in the falkland islands. Other than their neighbors who used to show up, Garfield has no other recurring characters to use. it WOULD have been neat to use the US Acres cast for the heist, again could've gone full ocean's elven, but I get not adding even MORE characters to a crowded film, and possibly saving them for another movie down the line. Again Garfield dosen't have a big bench to pull from: if you have that full a cast that can stand on it's own and possibly anchor their own film, I can't blame the mfor saving them. Same for Arelen and Nermal Garfield falling in love or having to deal with his greatest enemy are both things that could anchor a sequel.

The Big Fat Hairy Conclusoin

So overall the Garfield Movie is.. fine. It's nothing exceptional, but it has a LOT of fun energy to it and out of the films i've seen i'ts easily the best.. and frankly I doubt Tale of Two Kitties or Pet Force is better. The film does have way too much advertising, a stock plot and way more characters than it needs.. but it compesates by mostly nailing the characters from the comic, having some of the guest characters be intresting, and when they aren't all parties involved are buffered by talented voice acting and gorgeous animation. This film is okay, and if you don't like Garfield, you probably won't like this film. If you like some goofy animation and some schmaltz though, you'll likely enjoy this one like I did. It's not perfect by a mile, but it adapts the strip's tone and style well, adds some florishes here and there, and leaves the door open for more. And frankly with it's success it gives me hope that other comic strips might get adaptations. After Paramount's treament of Phoebe and her Unicorn and Big Nate, we could use somre more comic strip movies with this level of animation, and maybe some more depth. I'd love to see films for more recent strips like Phoebe and her Unicorn, Wallace the Brave or Breaking Cat News that have both intresting casts to tap into and unique art styles that would look gorgeous on screen. I'd love to see some older strips get a new spin as well like Baldo or Zits, ones with a formula sure but a lot of visual flair. With this and the peanuts movie, we're hopefully seeing more comic strip adaptations and unlike last time this could be something good instead of CGI monsters from beyond the farthest star.

So I leave this film with an "I'ts alright you might like it" and the number two spot in my rankings of the specails i've covered

Next Time (Hopefully): It's Christmas in July so that Means it's time for us to get down on the farm with Jon's family for some musical numbers, home cooking and elaborate back scratcher b plots.

[firenati0n]

year in review: favorite lines! :) <3

hello hello! I was tagged by the lovely @anincompletelist in this adorable tag game where we share our top favorite segments from our published fics and/or wips! :)

I only have one published fic LOL so here are some of my favorite pieces from that and three out of four wips right now (four is buck wild to me considering i had zero like ten days ajflakjfds).

i saved some of my real faves for y'all to read in worm fic (i didn't want to spoil my favorite paragraph at the end LOL). I have linked the fic as well as the tags with wip snips :)

from our world, mine and his alone (the midnight train to go)

Deep breath in. “By the way. Digging the cardigan, Henry. Very…” He rifled through his extensive vocab for literally any appropriate adjective. Refined? Boring. Professional? Practical, but also boring.   “Very…?” Henry raised an eyebrow, long fingers wrapped around a cup of tea. Earl Grey, Henry had said a while ago, but Alex couldn't be sure. He had been terribly distracted by said fingers, wondering where else those fingers could— What Alex’s distracted, useless worms in his left temporal lobe decided to supply him with as a response was: “Slutty-English-Literature-professor core.” Alex was going to jump off the train. He was going to change his name. He was going to get a lobotomy, as a treat.  “Excuse me?!” Henry sputtered into his tea, turning red alarmingly quickly. His sexy-librarian cardigan was collateral damage, tea splattered down the front. 

from the full spectrum of human emotion (WIP, The Proposal (2009 movie) AU, eta 2024):

And selfishly, he’s pretty fucking scared for his career trajectory if it doesn’t work out. He can’t start over, he can’t. His resume can’t take it, and neither can his ego.  He can already hear Oscar clicking his tongue and shaking his head, practically taste the disappointment in Ellen’s pitied gaze and outstretched hand. He absolutely cannot give them the silver bullet that goes clean through his erratic heart and wrenches him back home. He loves Austin, breathes it, and yet…and yet. He just can’t return, not when he’s so close. He still has so much to prove, so much to hold up to the sky and say I’m here, I can take it, I did it, I’m good enough. It almost swallows him whole—his overwhelming love for his family, his nostalgia for the Texas sun. But it’s just not enough to—

from queerano de bergerac (WIP, Cyrano / The Half of It (2020 movie) AU, eta 2024):

“Amber, everyone thinks you’re pretty, it is an objective fact. Irrefutable, even.” “Aw, Henry! That’s so nice of you to say, thank you.” She flashes him a genuine smile. She’s sweet, Henry is loath to admit.  “You’re welcome. But. This letter…we need to workshop it a bit. Make it more personal? More about who Alex is as a person, and not who we see him as. What’s below the surface? What are his hidden depths that you are willing to explore? How do you show you’re in love, not just tell?” Amber raises an eyebrow. “Okay. How do I do that?” She sniffs. “I thought I was being so obvious when I asked if he had lunch plans.” “...You asked him if he had lunch plans during our…one lunch period at school?” “Okay, fine! I’m not the best with fancy words like you, Mr. Future English Literature Major.”

from untitled continuation of worm fic (WIP, eta 2024):

If Alex could land Henry's phone number (a bit forcefully, if he remembered Henry's tone correctly) using sheer fucking charisma, he could nail a date with the guy. Easy peasy.  Except. Except for the fact that Alex's brain seemed to rapidly degrade in every conceivable way when faced with Henry's fairytale hair and anime-worthy blue eyes. Henry's presence was lethal for every ounce of Alex's grey matter. With every blink of his doe eyes, Henry obliterated another one of Alex's (already fucking limited!) brain worms. They would writhe in agony, unable to shake the vicelike grip of Henry's charisma, doomed to a slow and sensual death. Alex was so fucked, and not in the fun, safe, and lubed way. 

+

no pressure tagging @ninzied @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @myheartalivewrites @suseagull04 @priincebutt @sparklepocalypse @kiwiana-writes @onward--upward @nocoastposts @user-anakin @wordsofhoneydew @littlemisskittentoes @happiness-of-the-pursuit @matherines @lizzie-bennetdarcy @celeritas2997 @sherryvalli @gayrootvegetable @ssmtskw @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @14carrotghoul @orchidscript @rmd-writes @dustratcentral @eusuntgratie @magicandarchery @leaves-of-laurelin @songliili @cricketnationrise @msmarvelouswinchester @leojfitz @dragonflylady77 @cha-melodius and open tag for anyone else wishing to share! have fun :)

xoxo roops

[gaypirate420]

Curiosity here: {Discussion}

If you could re-write Jasper but keep 2 things about him, what would you keep? Besides appearance and gift! How would you explore this new version of Jasper?

For me, I'd keep his army past and Alice. But I'd explore how he changes over time and comes to realize how bad being on the Confederate side & being racist is. (I think you get it I'm trying to keep this short.)

Such as what makes him change and how he copes with his new understanding, and y'know the whole process of that.

Ofc, she comes into play too, maybe she's the catalyst that gets him to thinkin' about the topic at the surface, but it eventually goes deeper as she overtime explains things to him, and he thinks further on his own. IDK BRO I'm just thinking and wanted to read what you'd do. {Have a discussion.}

I'd change him shacking up w/ the Cullens though...or maybe their relationships with each other. I'd love to explore everything basically around canon while still being divergent to an extent. (Canon Related?)

He'd be the main character, but I think you already knew that if you read or at least skimmed this. But I have a terrible fear of people misunderstanding me. (⊙﹏⊙)

But yeah, I was just curious! I know a lot of people have done all sorts of things with him in Fics regarding his past and such, but I do always enjoy reading your responses to things.

This is just a purely hypothetical discussion. {If this was ever made that would be ambitious as hell cause like mf is like... 150 years old!}

I don't even want to think about all that time, and they never sleep either so like holy hell. So many moments of introspection and guilt and etc. to write I'd have a mental collapse. {But that's me when I write anything but also editing sucks ass.}

But not to mention ofc the huge amounts of research everything would take, and I am a huge perfectionist.

-Sincerely a mutual who tried to ask a few questions then freaked out over my own questions.

I'm making this anon now because I fear this ask now.

I think we have the same idea dear mutual!

(this is so fucking long omg I went off the rails, let me know what y'all think.)

I wouldn't rewrite anything, I'll just play it differently, I'll give it a nice depth.

I've always been on the side that just rewrite or ignore Jasper's confederate past is- not ideal. Yeah it's okay for a silly little comfort fic with your favorite vampire but not when talking about his actual canon characterization.

I would keep him serving for the Confederate army. I know a lot of people don't like that about him, but, I think it's a huge part of his character but there was something lacking there.

And what was missing is guilt.

Jasper, as to how he is written, and how we see the scenes of his past are played on both the book and the movie makes him look like he wasn't ashamed of his racist past or that he was even still prideful for it.

And it's so weird for me, how could this man who spent a century long depression, a self described "monster" a "nightmare" that just floods with self loathing couldn't feel guilty for not only taking someone's life but their freedom?

How could he feel guilty over killing the newborns but not black people? It doesn't make sense and it makes it worse, it makes you think that he, in modern times, it's still a confederate and also because vampires are "mentally frozen." He's not changed that much really then.

(I think Jasper lacking guilt and remorse about these fact about him is because of SM and her own views she not so subtlety spread all over her books though.)

So yes, I am keeping him as an ex-confederate soldier. Jasper was 17 so we are just to assume he was ignorant, and that's okay, we can live with an ignorant white boy for now. I cannot stress enough about how there is no need to make mental flips and splits to justify this choice of thinking in a 17 y/o southern boy from the 1840's. But, he gets to change, he, after the first years of him killing the newborns reflects about this, he might not be completely educated but he has the spirit.

Now let's talk about Alice.

I love her, but, if we are really analysing this then her and therefore the rest of the Cullens (because they welcome her and Jasper on their family) are okay with Jasper serving for the confederacy and I don't like that.

Why did Alice make him feel hope and all this shit and get him to change and learn a new life but didn't make him reflect on that maybe, perhaps, fighting for the enslavement of an entire race wasn't a good thing to do.

She says "you'll never be that again." referring to him being a vampire killing machine, not a racist, may I remind y'all.

So, I think the change would be about Alice teaching him things, Jasper spent so much time with Maria and then he was seriously depressed, I get the idea he wasn't interested on- going outside besides to feed from humans.

I think there are two types of vampires, those who love seeing humanity grow and change and come up with all these little inventions and then the ones who just see humans as prey.

Alice being the first and Jasper the second, but not for long after he meets her.

I think Alice could update him about the modern world that was the 50's, she would educate her that yes, Jasper's gentlemanly ways are charming and make her blush and giggle but there are some comments that aren't okay, just because in "his time" it was "okay", "funny" or "right", to say these things doesn't make them less offensive, dismissive and hurtful.

Alice would ask Jasper what did he felt while serving? And why? Was he even fully aware of what he was fighting for? Did the years of him seeing countless human's fight and go to wars that got bloodier and more destructive made him stop and think about the damage of his own army career?

Make the man reflect. Make him think for days and days about these questions he asked himself but never truly took the time to answer them. I need Jasper to have a slight mental breakdown before he gets to know the more peaceful life with the Cullens and Alice.

Alice asked these questions in her endless curiosity, not in innocence, but rather to know Jasper, really know him and understand him.

I want him to feel disgusted about having to feed from humans now that he realizes how much harm he did, and that's were the Cullens come in, Alice knows about her new family of course and it's more than excited to know her mate wants this life too, not because oh he's so in love with her he'll do anything (he is) but because he wants to change.

Carlisle let's him stay because he knows this, he understands in a way and he can't help but sympathize with him and Alice wanting to change herself and help her partner.

But Jasper can't fully because his body is asking him to kill constantly. He doesn't want to keep harming people, but his body can't forget, not only his body it's scarred as a reminder, but there's this annoying bloodlust that doesn't want to go away just yet.

But he has Alice, holding his hand and make him feel like everything will be alright.

Jasper is struggling but he is changing, he is getting more and more mental peace, finally, after a century and a half. It's slow, it's painful but it's there, self forgiveness and change.

One of the things that I love, a concept, Jasper being into philosophy, history and just literature, him loving to learn.

I love that in Breaking Dawn Jasper wanted to help Bella with her thirst. And of course I love him being hurt when she's way more successful than he is after so many years.

Seeing someone who you share the same experiences is so amazing, it helps you, but seeing them overcome this challenges that you also endure it brings you down on such a horrible way, it hurts you, but it makes you think of who you were before and how much you have accomplished. How much you've changed and that's my take on Jasper Hale.

I am not normal about him.

Also, I think I would change vampires not being able to sleep or cry, I think Jasper deserves both, as a treat :). I love him.

[oh-shtars]

One thing I really liked about your rewrite is that your Asha has very strong feelings and a huge range of emotions (The Silence excerpt lives free without paying rent in my head btw).

She feels a lot of fear and shame, or a lot of love and determination. She reminds me a lot of Mirabel, someone who feels out of place and tries to keep her feelings under control, but they bubble under her skin. All dreams, passions, desires are always one step away from overflowing and it is AMAZING!!! Something that deeply bothered me about the original Wish is that Asha doesn't transmit anything! Did she find a literal wishing star falling from the sky? Joyful, "uhu I can't believe it", kind of perpetually in this quirk girl state, you know? She doesn't scream, she doesn't get scared, she doesn't get sad, she doesn't feel afraid. She doesn't convey real feelings. The only time she is anything other than happy is on the boat running away, she cries a little, but it soon passes. Your Asha? She feels fear, shame, self-loathing. But also kindness, love and courage. She is real. And a great heroine, complex, full of layers and emotions. Good job!

(Ps.1 I really want to see her angry. Local girl is very compressed and when all this releases, it's going to be a looooot destructive…I can't wait!!!)

(Ps. 2 This all applies to Sueño too. Boy has an incredible arc!)

KSJXNDKEKNXKS THANK YOU!! 💖💖💖 Your feedbacks are going to make me cry ✨✨

About your comment on the canon movie, I’ll have to agree with you there. I also find it hard to really identify Asha’s personality that is not just there because the “plot says so.” Something that makes her stand out a bit more from the past Disney princesses.

The movie just has a problem with ‘show, not telling.” Why does Asha love the things she loves? Where did she get her values from? Why is she the way she is?Does she struggle with anything? Any flaws? (No. Just caring too much is not enough. Disney, expand on that.)

Like overall, who is she outside of who the plot needs her to be? After all, Asha’s a person who had a life before her adventure. Right?

This is just one of my personal critiques of the movie though. The characters, even the main cast, I feel were too shallow to really get attached to them. I’m not asking for something very complex. Just a bit of depth would do so I can actually connect with them! Her father was mentioned but they didn’t even commit to it!! >:((

Anyways, have RFTS!Asha as a gift btw! Did a little practice and trial on digital drawing for once :3

[crayonnthief]

Sup, who's your favorite turtle, and why?

If I’m being REALLY specific, then 2007 raph.

This is due to him being my first favourite turtle ever. 2007 having been the first TMNT media I ever watched, when I was really young and is something I loved greatly.

I find a lot of depth within the film and love speaking on the complexity’s of the characters within the movie. (Raph and Leo’s complicated dynamic. You want to be pissed at Leo, sure he’s a hypocrite at many stages and lets his ego get in the way a few times, but you also need to understand his own self loathing. It was causing him to take out his anger on Raph putting up a front to be what he thought his family “needed”. Leo having deemed himself a “failure” and struggled to return because of that, seeing them “better without him” As well as raphs use of anger to mask emotions, clearly upset that Leo was gone for A YEAR longer then we was supposed to.

Caused so much heavy tension and stupid actions to occur. Leo could have been dead for all they knew having disappeared without a letter and the fact Leo did not address his absence clearly upset Raph, he was probably scared that he would note see his brother again, then Leo turns up and pretends like he never left? Raph wanted Leo to address the elephant in the room, but Leo never did. Not even by the end, they still seemed to dance around what happened, leading to an emotional tango. (There is much more I could go into. I could talk on and on about this movie)

Though I wish 2007 mikey and Donnie had more screen time, I actually LOVED 2007 Donnie (for some reason his voice actor just fit so well) plus the times he was on screen I found him funny, and if there was more complexity to the character shown, he would of 100% been my favourite.

But if I’m saying overall favourite turtle then My favourite is Donnie in most iterations.

It Varies sure 2012 Donnie, rise Donnie, 2003 Mikey, idw Donnie (I love metalhead ok. This might change the more I read) Mutant mayhem Donnie and 1987 raph (I’m not forgetting The last ronin, its just it’s focused on Mikey solely and I haven’t watched the Batman TMNT movie. I want too though)

(Tbh mm Donnie can be quite cringy but I just love his design sm)

I think I’m most attached to Donnie because of 2012 Donnie.

2012 was the first tv series I watched of TMNT (after 2007) and easily my favourite was Donnie. His loved for accuracy and fact, as well as overthinking and creativity, wanting structure and control, are things I relate to (not obsessing over a person though :/ that’s the only part I’m not a fan of, is Donnie’s crush on April and sure April did some questionable things but I don’t dislike her, cause people do dumb things sometimes)

I didn’t like her kissing him when he was FINALLY going to give up on her. But it was more a fault of poor writing (There is a lot of Poor writing in 2012 sadly)

Sorry for any spelling and/or grammar mistakes!

^^ im dyslexic please be kind.