#to be clear. i think its perfectly possible to add measures into the game to make it more accessible to both disabled people and newbies

[homebody-nobody]

you’re a part of me

(WHAT?? Jax wrote ANOTHER fic?? THREE FICS?? in TWO WEEKS?? I know, I’m shocked too. We’re gettin closer and closer to bein a Real Fic Writer lads.) How many juke first kiss fics will you write, Jax? all of them. as many as I want. I dunno. you're an adult obsessed with a tweeny-bopper show. shut up. who even has the patience for 5 +1s in this house it's 3 +1 and only barely bc I don't know how structured fic works so it's not even separate like it's supposed to be. anyway enjoy some dumb teenagers falling in love if the dialogue is cringe sorry lol I was trying to stay in the tone of the show and may have gone a little bit too disney channel (Also if you see typos/the same adjective used twice in one sentence/paragraph, no you didn't I don't edit it makes me nervous)  ------------------------------- (ao3) ------------------------------ '... Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.'

(3 times Julie and Luke almost kissed and 1 time they did) ------------------------------------ Luke is overly physical. Theoretically, Julie already knew this. She’s seen him with the boys, the way he lives in other people’s space, hanging off Reggie and lurking next to Alex, not caring where his lanky limbs or knees or elbows end up, even if it’s in other people’s ribs. He was never like that with her, too afraid of the crushing disappointment that came when she phased through his hands. But now, there isn’t the strange, tingles-up-her neck way-weird, way-wrong sensation that came when she accidentally brushed through him. So even though Julie’s used to keeping a respectful distance, Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity.  Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable. 

She notices it the first time during rehearsal, when they’re hashing out the particulars of a melody -- Luke wants it to go down, and Julie thinks it should go up. She plunks herself down at the grand piano to prove that her idea will sound better, fanning the half-finished sheet music out across the top, pointing out the measure they’re arguing over, smudged and crinkled from repeated erasings. 

Luke narrows his eyes at her from across the room, his face set in his trademark (adorable) grumpy expression. “It just sounds better!” she argues. “Listen.” She puts her hands on the keys, left hand hitting the chord, right dancing over her proposed melody. “So please, keep chasing me…” she sings, building to the last word and sliding her voice over an intricate run ending in a step up. Looking up, she tilts her head, her wild hair piled into a tenuous bun, curly tendrils framing her face. Luke’s stomach does an interesting flip. “See?” 

He stands up, swinging his guitar strap down across his chest before walking around her, putting his right hand over where hers had just been on the paper. He stands just behind her shoulder, sending goosebumps down her spine. “It should go down,” he insists. “It’ll flow better with the next line and then the break before the chorus makes more sense. Listen.” He puts his foot up on the bench and swings his guitar back up like it's an extension of him, playing a riff and singing the line they’re arguing about before dipping in to the next. “So please keep chasing me,” he sings, his voice gracefully stepping up and then back down, “Cause even though I’m runnin’, I know you’re the one I need.” 

“You’re making it too simple!” she cries, slamming her hands down in her lap and turning to face him. She opens her mouth to continue the argument, but when she looks at him, she starts, finally realizing just how close he is. The toe of his sneaker brushes her leg, and he leans over the sheet music, closing her in against the piano. His dark eyebrows pull together, mouth slightly pinched as he concentrates, solid and strong and very much in her space. “Um --” she says. 

He shrugs, shaking his head a little bit. “What,” he says, not understanding what she’s having a problem with. Julie’s eyes drop to his mouth, close and stupid kissable, and he notices the motion. The air crackles as both of them unconsciously draw closer, song forgotten, focused only on each other. Luke leans in, half an inch, and Julie’s breath hitches in her chest. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. Luke is dead. Full ghost. Not real. Well, real, but not a viable option. He might have a physical presence now -- a very strong, very warm, very attractive physical presence -- but that doesn’t make him any more possible. And yet, here she is, pulled into him like he has his own gravitational field and she’s helpless to it. Luke licks his lips, and Julie tilts her chin up, fractional motion tiptoeing toward something irreversible and dangerous. 

Just as she’s about to step over that uncrossable line, there’s an almighty crash. Both of their heads whip up in time to see Alex topple off his stool -- he’d fallen asleep as they were arguing. The noise wakes Reggie, whose head was lolling against his amp. “I didn’t do it!” he yells, flailing into sitting up straight. 

Julie clears her throat and turns back to the keyboard, stretching her hands over the keys. “You’re, uh --” she says, glancing at Luke out of the corner of her eye to find him smirking in an infuriatingly adorable manner. “You’re right. It should go down.” He stands up straight, mildly surprised at his easy victory, and backs off from the piano to show Reggie the chords. They sketch out the verse and Alex adds a backing beat, the moment forgotten. 

That is, until Carlos comes in to nag her to eat. Alex poofs out and Reggie dives behind his amp. Since the whole discovering-corporeality thing, they’re not totally sure if Julie’s the only one who can see them still, and they’d rather not have to explain to Julie’s dad what three teenage ‘holograms’ are doing living in his garage. Carlos delivers his message and then darts back inside, eager for dinner, and Julie stands up from the piano, gathering the half-finished song and tucking it into the folder she keeps her in-progress projects in. 

Reggie emerges in a comic mess of limbs and grins at her, Alex poofing back on to his stool. “I’ll be back after dinner to finish this,” she says, hoping they don't notice the shake in her hands as she tucks the folder away. Luke pops his chin over the edge of the couch, behind which he’d taken cover. 

“Hey Julie!” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Just remember; KISS.” 

Her brain short-circuits, heart tripping over itself as she remembers his eyes on her, his shoulders and his hands and his stupid concentration face. “I, uh -- What are you --” she sputters.

A shit-eating grin spreads across Luke’s face as he puts his elbows on top of the couch and pushes himself up. “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

Julie practically runs out of the garage. Alex raises an eyebrow, his gaze arcing from the door to land on Luke. “That was uh…” Luke schools his expression into one of false innocence. “Bold.” Luke rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but Reggie gives Alex a knowing look. Their friends are idiots. 

It happens again one afternoon when Carlos has a baseball game and Julie has the house to herself. Or, so she thinks. She’s lazing around on the couch, avoiding her history homework spread out on the coffee table, Adventure Time babbling on the television. She’s slowly working her way through a bag of gummy bears and m&ms (her favorite candy combination),  wearing an enormous hoodie that used to be her mom’s, home alone; life is fantastic. Until -- 

“Oh, sweet, cartoons!” Luke poofs into existence directly next to her on the couch, and she starts violently enough to shake candy into the couch cushions. Some of it lands on his chest, and he holds up a green gummy bear with a wistful expression. Julie just stares at him, still mildly in shock, definitely still annoyed, and really not in the mood to endure his moping about food when she was having a perfectly nice time by herself. 

“Hey,” he says, either ignoring or unaware of what he’s just done to her heart rate and her peaceful afternoon. “You think now that I’m corporeal --” (he over-pronounces the word, having just learned it from Flynn days before) “I can eat like, regular human food?” It isn’t until he looks to her for an answer that he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh, sorry,” he says, that same stupid-ass grin settling on his face, not sorry even a little bit. “Did I spook ya?” 

His glee at the pun, which he definitely stole from Reggie, sparkles in his gray-green eyes, and Julie’s heart, which had just started to recover from his sudden appearance, trips over itself one more time. Emerging from the shaken-up snowglobe of her brain, she blurts out her first thought. “You’re the worst,” she says, even while thinking the opposite. 

He looks genuinely hurt for about half a second before turning the gummy bear towards her, too, and speaking for it. “You should be nice to Luke,” he says in an absurd voice. “He’s so handsome and talented!” He laughs at his own joke and pitches his voice up to continue with the bit, but she snatches the candy out of his hand and pops into her mouth, grinning. He feigns shock. “That bear could have had a family, Julie.” 

“If they did, they’ll all be happy together in my stomach,” she says, eating another one to punctuate the statement. Luke laughs, and the sound has a heart-stopping melody of its own. It’s comfortable, the relationship that they’ve developed with each other. He always laughs at her jokes and is the first to offer her a compliment after rehearsal, and she loves his dorky sense of humor, even when she gives him a hard time about it. They write music and goof around, and even with the (very strong) undercurrent of romantic (she hopes) tension between them, a friendship sits comfortably on top. He’s only been in her life for a short time,  but she can’t imagine it without him. Her feelings for him endanger that, so she does her best not to let it show. He asks her what she’s watching, and she explains the basic premise of the episode so that he can understand what’s going on. 

She’s hyper-aware of him as they watch the show, and  she envies the ease with which he occupies her space, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees occasionally bumping. He slouches all the way down on the couch, one foot kicked up on the table, turning the remote in his hands and messing with the battery cover, completely at home. (He’s always fiddling with something -- a pen, his necklace -- or bouncing his leg, or clicking a guitar pick between his teeth. It’s a habit that’s mostly adorable and only sometimes annoying.) If he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything. 

It takes a couple more episodes, but she finally relaxes, and the distance between them -- already spare -- vanishes, her shoulder tucked under his, her head angled toward him, their feet bumping on the table. Half her attention is on Finn and the land of Ooo, and half on the boy beside her, who doesn’t seem to give any indication that he’s thinking about this as much as she is. Luke has a way of pulling her in until she’s closer than she ever planned to be, like she can’t help but touch him. Ever since the night they played the Orpheum, he’s become magnetic, his presence a force she can’t resist. If she tilted her head down, just a fraction, it would be resting on his shoulder. What would he do? Would he shrug her off, or rest his head on hers? She watches his hands play with the remote, imagining what his strong, slender fingers would feel like laced with hers. She’s had crushes before, of course -- she liked Nick all the way from seventh grade up to this year -- but nothing so real and powerful as this. 

“Don’t you think Finn sounds just like Reggie?” Luke asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her, and -- oh. 

He’s very close. 

His eyes always remind her of an overcast sky, swirling with unknown depth, and they widen when they meet hers, filled with awe. Blood rushes in her ears, muting the TV, tuning out anything that isn’t him. Her heart is beating so hard and so fast she wonders peripherally if he can hear it, and then that thought fizzles out with the rest of any kind of logic when his gaze drops to her mouth. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her!! Panic and elation and anticipation all scramble in her chest. She’s never kissed anyone before, and even though she’s never asked, she knows he probably has. What if she’s bad at it? She’s half freaking out and half telling herself to shut the hell up as he turns his entire body towards her, his hand reaching up to hold her face and -- 

The front door slams open, announcing Carlos and Ray. “Mija!!” her dad calls. Luke jerks back from her like he’s been burned, eyes filled with absolute terror, before he disappears. 

“JULIEEEEE!!” Carlos hollers, launching himself across the living room at her and landing on her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Her arms come up around him automatically, despite all the sweat and the diamond dirt sticking to it. Feeling mildly shell shocked and like she’s been hit by a hell of a lot more than her little brother, she barely listens as Carlos and their dad babble over each other in an attempt at telling the story of Carlos’ game-winning home-base slide. She’ll be happy for him once her heart rate slows down. 

Luke stays away for almost a full twenty-four hours after that particular mishap, long enough she almost asks Reggie and Alex if he talked to them about it. There’s about a thousand reasons not to, but mostly, she doesn’t know if she can even explain just what happened. She does tell Flynn, who launches into a very confusing monologue that starts with her admonishing Julie for thinking anything good can come from involving herself with a literal ghost and ends with her gushing about how many cute love songs they could write together, zero percent of which makes her feel better. 

The only reason he doesn’t continue avoiding her is rehearsal, which, of course, he would never miss. She’s hoping to talk to him before they get started, but then the bus gets stuck in traffic and all of her boys are already set up with their instruments and having an impromptu jam session by the time she gets home.  “What --” she hisses as she heaves the doors shut behind her. “Did I tell you guys about playing in here without me?” Alex shrugs and apologizes, and she can’t really be mad at Reggie, at least not for long. 

But Luke -- he barely looks at her, nervous fingers dancing across a complicated riff even as the other boys stop playing. It takes a second of silence before he looks up to see the rest of his band staring at him. “Oh,” he says, the phrase ending in the discordant sound of fingernails on steel strings. “Yeah, right. Sorry.” 

They get started, but nothing sounds right. Luke rushes the tempo and refuses to make eye contact with anyone, spinning off into fancy riffs that have no place in the song they’re working on. Reggie keeps trying to keep up with him, tripping up Alex and frustrating Julie, and when the song grinds to a cacophonous halt for the fourth time, she stands up from the piano. Reggie takes a step back. 

“What is your problem?” she practically yells, stomping over to Luke. He’s been surly and unusually stubborn, and the shift from his usual cheerful, passionate demeanor builds her own stewing anxieties to a dangerous head.

“It’s not my problem you can’t keep up,” he says, and then, after watching the words register in Julie’s expression, immediately regrets it. Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Reggie makes a very soft ‘ooooohhh’ noise under his breath.

“It’s not keeping up if you can’t hold a steady tempo,” she says, too upset over his refusal to cooperate to catch the reaction from her bandmates.

“Okay, so maybe I was rushing,” he admits, trying to walk it back. But Julie’s on a roll, and once she gets started laying into him, she very rarely lets up.

“Thank you!” she yells, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She’d been especially fond of the product so far, a song she thought embodied the perfect blend of Luke’s harder edge and her singer-songwriter roots. His sudden, uncharacteristic left turn is as much an interruption in their rehearsal as a knock to the tenuous pride she’d been building in the piece.  “And what are all those riffs you’re tossing in? You have to hear how they don’t fit.” 

“Oh come on,” he says, proud in his ability and therefore less willing to step down. He rolls his shoulders back and moves toward her, the challenge set in his spine. “I was shredding and you know it.” Luke is sweet and kind and silly and compassionate, but he’s also a musician, and a lead guitarist at that. His ego, though it rarely becomes an issue, is far from insubstantial. 

“If you want a solo, fine!” she cries with exasperation, her hands flying through the air like they always do when she’s upset. “But you have to say something so we can give you room for it!” Her annoyance has turned down the sensitivity on her Luke-nonsense monitor, caught up enough in the trouble that she can’t see that he’s riling her up on purpose.

“What, you afraid of a little improvisation?” He’s smiling now, and his obvious glee, such a stark flip from where she thought this was going, throws off her tirade. He starts walking toward her, and his newfound physicality gives him an ability to fluster her to a much greater degree than before.

“No --” she stammers, stumbling backwards, distracted out of anger by his sparkling eyes and the power in the body approaching rapidly. “That’s not what I --” There it is again, that power he has to turn the rest of the world into radio static, her vision blurring and her hearing dulling until it’s just Luke filling up the world in front of her. 

“C’mon Julie,” he says, and right now she hates his stupid smirk and the stupid way he rolls her name around in his mouth before letting it out. “you have to take risks once in a while.” She’s backed up against the piano now, her hands wrapped tight around the lid, and he’s still pushing it, strong and warm and undeniably, frustratingly male in her space. 

But Julie isn’t one to let him intimidate her into silence, no matter how cute and well-muscled he may be. She takes a breath and looks him in his ridiculous sparkly eyes, poking him in his absurdly firm chest.“I am not afraid of taking risks, mister,” she says, “Let’s not forget who performed in front of her entire school to get back into the music program --” 

“My idea,” he scoffs, not backing up. Why isn’t he backing up.

“Or who fronts a band of actual ghosts!” she continues, her voice increasing in volume again, and the speed of her heart tripping over itself could be from the argument or the boy who’s collarbones are less than a foot from her face. Both are entirely possible. 

“Less ghost now,” he reminds her, tilting his head, his weight leaned one one leg, his hand resting on the head of his guitar, relaxed when they’re supposed to be arguing. 

“You just get to poof out after we perform!” she says, only about two-thirds of her mind still focused on the fight itself, the other third completely wrapped up in the feeling of Luke in front of her. “I’m the one who has to stick around and ask questions!” 

“So you’re saying you take chances,” he says, diabolically diplomatic instead of challenging. He leans forward, putting his hands on the piano behind her, caging her in with his arms. She refuses to back down again, even though his face is now inches from hers. “You’d take a leap of faith?” 

“Yeah,” she says, only half-certain, because she’s not totally sure they’re still talking about music, and her heart is in the base of her throat and her stomach is somewhere around her shoes, and suddenly her hands are sweating when they definitely weren’t a minute ago. This definitely isn’t an argument about the song anymore. 

“Oh yeah?” he says, and there’s the challenge again, except this one sounds more like a dare, and he’s definitely looking at her lips this time, not even trying to be subtle about it, and her hands are braced on his forearms and when did they get there? And Luke is warm and when she looks up, his eyes are on hers, and despite all that bravado and provocation there’s still a question there, and all she would have to do to answer is lift up on her toes and finally, finally press her lips against his, and -- 

Alex coughs. The oxygen goes out of the room like someone opened an airlock, and Julie feels herself sink, just barely, back down on her heels. The world fills back in, colors and sounds suddenly too bright, too abrasive. Tearing her eyes off Luke, she glances over his shoulder to where Reggie and Alex are, still with their instruments, watching them intently. Alex looks politely put out, his eyebrows tilted up with incredulity, like he's asking if they seriously just made him watch that. Reggie, on the other hand, hides nothing in his expression, shock and amusement there in equal parts as he glances between Alex and the two of them still tucked close against the piano, jaw askance in a surprised smile. 

"Are you done?" Alex asks, in a tone that sounds less like a question. "It’s not that I mind…" he gestures between the two of them with a drumstick. "This, but like, time and place, dude." He's not talking to Julie. Luke clears his throat, appropriately chastised, but still looking smug as shit. 

"Um, sorry," she mutters as he returns to his spot next to his amp. 

Alex shrugs. "Not your fault," he says, "from the top?" 

"Uh," she says, frozen for a moment in embarrassment and confusion. She looks to Alex, and he gives her one of his soft, kind smiles, the sort that makes her feel like everything is going to be okay. “Right, okay,” she finishes, as her hands twitch and she settles back into her body. Rushing back around to the bench, she flexes her hands over the keys, curling them into fists and then back out again when they tremble. “From the top.” 

The rehearsal goes -- okay, after that. The magic is missing; therefore, while she usually feels inspired and courageous and empowered walking out of the garage, she just feels exhausted and drained. She eats dinner with her family, and her dad definitely notices that she’s uncharacteristically quiet, but saves asking about it until after Carlos is safely sequestered with his iPad. “How ya doin, kiddo?” he asks as she helps him clear up the dishes. “Everything okay?” 

Julie looks at her dad with mild alarm, wondering what exactly he knows. He does his best, he really does, but it took him a while to even notice she was in a band. Not to mention, he still believes they’re holograms. “Um,” she says convincingly. “Yeah?” 

He smiles kindly, in the way that means he’s very politely calling bullshit. “Alright, mija. What’s going on?” 

Heaving a sigh, Julie keeps her eyes on the dishwasher she’s loading, trying her best to plan an escape route out of this conversation. “I promise, Dad,” she says, “It’s nothing.” and then, what she thinks are the magic words. “Boy stuff.” 

But Ray’s been prepping for this, had conversations with Rose about it before she passed, while the cancer slowly ate her alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to be there for her daughter through the time in her life a girl needs her mother the most, and she wasn’t about to let him hide behind toxic masculinity and leave Julie to figure it out on her own. “Okay,” Ray says, trepidation clear in his voice but also not unwilling to approach the topic. “What’s his name?” 

Julie almost drops the pot she’s scrubbing. “Does it matter?” she asks, her voice crawling up several octaves. 

“Just trying to learn who is in my daughter’s life,” he answers diplomatically, sitting down at the counter to make it clear he’s not letting her out of this one easily. 

“I promise, Dad,” she says, doing her best to frantically dodge the interrogation she knows is coming, regretting she brought it up at all, cursing herself for being so obvious. “It’s dumb. You don’t even know him.” 

Ray nods slowly, pretending to believe her. Julie goes after the pot a little harder, because maybe if she just finishes the dishes she can go upstairs and bury herself in her bed and not have to have this conversation anymore. “It’s not that guitarist, is it?” he asks, and her spine goes stiff as a ramrod. Ray’s her dad, but he’s not blind. He’s seen the way they look at each other when they perform, the way the boy follows her around the stage like a puppy, desperate for her attention, disappointed when she jams with the other members of their band and not him. He’s an excellent musician, but Ray knows too many stories of near-legends gone sour with misdirected young love. 

“No!” Julie cries immediately in an obvious lie. “Of course not!” She turns, half-laughing, explanations falling out of her mouth “We’re just friends,” she insists, lacing her fingers in front of her and nodding exaggeratedly. “Just friends. Only friends. Uh-huh. Friends. And!” she continues, gesturing widely, “he doesn’t even live here! So that… wouldn’t even make sense!” she laughs awkwardly. “So no way. That it’s him. No way it’s him.” 

Ray sighs out a laugh that Julie’s too panicked to hear and leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, nina. Just be careful, okay?” She’s nodding along, edging her way towards the stairs. “You and your band…” She looks like Rose, in that hoodie that practically swallows her, hair piled messily on top of her head. Her mom was also a terrible liar, he remembers fondly. “You have something special. Don’t throw that away for a boy.” 

Julie nods rapidly and then bolts, thundering up the stairs before throwing her bedroom door closed behind her and diving headfirst onto her bed, burying herself in decorative pillows. How does everyone  know?? First Flynn and then Reggie and Alex and now her dad? Is she that obvious? (Um, yes.) She flops onto her back, staring up at the colorful tapestries slung across her ceiling, the string lights and posters and art. Usually, she loves her room, the feeling of her creative mind as a space she can inhabit, exploring her heart and the things she loves without having to shut out the outside world. But tonight, she feels trapped in her own head, so she grabs her notebook and squeezes out the window, perched on the roof outside her room. 

The evening air is cool and crisp, the gentlest bite warning the oncoming winter, as much as there is a winter in LA. She spends a while scribbling down half-baked lyric ideas and doodling angry black scribbles around the edges of the pages when nothing comes out right. It’s harder to write on her own, now, without the steady pulse of Luke’s genius behind her, the electricity that flows between them as they create impeccable harmonies. Sometimes, it feels like music belongs to the both of them together, a joined force, like they’ve given up their individual melodies for something greater. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once. 

Eventually, she just ends up holding the notebook open to ‘Perfect Harmony’ with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her legs, her chin propped on her knees. She still hasn’t shown it to Luke, afraid of how real it feels, how clear it makes her feelings for him. Also, it’s a ballad, which they haven’t even approached yet, and she has no idea how Reggie and Alex will feel about such an explicitly romantic duet. She’s thinking that maybe she might be able to vague it up, maybe even make it a solo piece, when Luke appears next to her, like thinking about him draws him to her. (Which might actually be true -- she hasn’t examined that very closely.) 

“Hey!” he says cheerfully, all awkwardness from the evening’s rehearsal ostensibly disappeared. He plucks the notebook out of her hand, using the other arm to hold back her immediate demands for its return. “New stuff?” he asks. This is not normally such a grievous invasion of privacy. Ever since they started writing together, their songwriting journals have become common property, and half the pages in hers are marked up with his handwriting and vice versa. 

“It’s not ready yet!” she cries, pushing against the (stupidly strong) arm he has across her collarbone, willing to climb bodily over him to snatch the notebook back. Luke’s face very slowly falls as he reads it, the lyrics sinking in, and her protests trail off as she stops scrambling to grab it out of his hands. 

He stands suddenly, pacing across the roof. “Did you --” he starts, breathing shallowly, his tongue tucking his teeth between his lips, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Why did you copy this out of my songbook?” It’s not accusatory, only a question, born of true confusion. 

“I didn’t,” Julie replies without skipping a beat, equally baffled. 

“I wrote this after the garage party,” he says. “How is it in your notebook?” 

“I wrote it at school before the garage party,” she replies, doing her best to keep down the memory of the Luke in her imagination and the song coming to her fully formed in the form of a Patrick Swayze-esque daydream. She didn’t even tell Flynn about that part. 

“At school…” Luke repeats, studying the lyrics with a furrow between his eyebrows, and as much as Julie is also reeling from shock at the mystery, it’s kind of adorable to watch him try and solve it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking up at her, signature grumpy expression in place. He tilts the notebook flat, like he’s presenting it to her, hoping she has the next steps. Like he’s reached his conclusion, and it’s that he’s confused. 

“It doesn’t,” she says, and it comes out as half a laugh unintentionally, just looking at his ridiculous, adorable face. 

“Why are you laughing?” he demands with exasperated urgency. “This is super weird!” He rushes over and collapses next to her, a mess of flannel and limbs and beautiful dumbass. He shoves the notebook back into her hands as she folds her legs underneath her, relinquishing her grip on her knees. 

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah, it is.” Luke looks like he wants to ask her what she’s smiling at, but then he starts smiling, too, because her happiness is his happiness. Julie’s already past the strange coincidence, lost in the joy of his gray-green eyes and the feeling of him next to her. She’s too used to strange, to the ever-changing rules of the afterlife and the constant uncertainty that Luke and her boys bring to her life. Yes, it’s strange, but she’s in a ghost band and her crush is dead and still manages to look at her like that so she has a certain level of perspective when it comes to things like this. 

“What are you --” Luke tries to say, but her eyes are on his and they’re warm and brown and kind and he’s finding it a little hard to form sentences. 

“This is ridiculous,” she says, and he’s nodding without knowing what he’s agreeing to. “We wrote the same song on the same day,” she laughs, and he nods again, half-listening, half lost in her. She’s excited now, about the possibility brought on by magic and her connection -- their  connection -- souls tied together with passion and music and love. “That’s impossible!” It cements something for her, the feeling of coming together, of sliding into place. They’re so solid, tight, together, on the same wavelength… musicians have put it a thousand ways throughout the years, to communicate the feeling of a co-writer, a bandmate, a partner, reading your mind, singing the next line, playing the next riff that was just in your head. Julie and Luke get the added bonus of being inexplicably spiritually linked. Nothing can break that, or replace it. She’s not scared of it, anymore. 

“Impossible,” he echoes. He always feels a little bit stronger, a little more alive whenever he’s with Julie like this, just the two of them, hanging out or writing music, and he’s in her immediate proximity, soaking in the warmth of her brown skin and brown eyes and the chaotic energy of her wild, incredible hair. She pulls him in, without knowing the power she holds or the light that she emits, casting a golden glow over everything around her. 

“Luke,” she says, and he tunes back in, realizing that he’s steadily leaning toward her as they sit on the roof, Julie cross-legged, Luke angled toward her, one leg stretched out, his elbow propped on his other knee. “Are you listening?” 

“Um,” he swallows, “Yeah?” but he’s looking at her lips, not her eyes, and he’s thinking about kissing her, just once, just to see what she tastes like, remembering the smell of gummies and m&ms, hoping she’ll be just as sweet. She doesn’t say anything, mostly because she forgot what she was going to say in the first place, watching his eyes watch her mouth, breathing him in. He’s too close again, closer than any friend or bandmate should be, and there’s no mic between them, and the door to her room is closed, and there’s no bandmates or brothers or dads, and her heart pounds in her chest. 

When she tilts her chin towards him, she feels ready, finally, knowing what he means to her. Only a breath separates them, but they both stop, waiting for the inevitable interruption, the door slamming open, or someone calling up from the yard below, but it doesn’t come. Realizing what they’re both waiting for, they breathe out a simultaneous laugh, their foreheads dropping together. The tension fades, and Julie’s smile feels uncontainable, demanding every inch of her face as this beautiful, goofy, genus, talented boy adores her while she sits there, falling in love with him. 

It’s easier, this moment, than the one before, because it feels less laden with the weight of someone pulling away, unsure or unwanting. This moment is comfortable, joyful, the two of them acknowledging every minute of want and disappointment and hilarious misfortune over the past few days, acknowledging what they would have asked for instead. And when Luke finally reaches up, pulling her in gently with his hand on her neck, his thumb sliding over her jaw, it’s with confidence and tenderness, reassured that she wants this, too. Julie leans easily into the touch, and when their lips meet, the spark and rush is better than any performance, any screaming crowd drowning in lights. They kiss each other, moving together, leaning in as one, harmony made in the movement of mouths and the press of lips, and this moment -- it’s perfect. 

#jatp #juke #julie and the phatoms #julie x luke #luke x julie #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #homebodynobody #julie molina #luke patterson

[archived-mononokeland]

ask : Hi! I just read the Levi Hanahaki story and I loved it, but the ending made me sad. Would you maybe be interested in writing a part 2 where he or another brother visits to see why she didn’t go back to the exchange program, and he finds her coughing up flowers? Thank you!

sorry for taking so long, here it is! the good ending to patch up after the last one. i didn’t write it until what i wanted to be the end, but you know the feeling when you’ve written until 2000+ words and you still don’t know what you’re doing and you want it to end? yeah. please enjoy, though!

warning: blood, hanahaki

“ i’m here. “

“You’ve been here a while now, Leviathan.”

The words of Diavolo hooked the demon back to reality. Emitting a small, slightly uncomfortable hum, he looked away, “Sorry, you probably don’t want a yucky otaku like me around. . .”

The Demon King laughs, booming the otherwise empty room. “Nonsense, I quite enjoy your company. I’m very invested in the human culture you’ve became a fan of.”

Levi’s mouth opened to a retort, only to freeze and opt to grumble to the side instead. Silence pass, as every now and then Levi checks his D.D.D. and his foot taps in rhythmic beats onto the floor.

Slowly, a small groan sounded from him, “Ugh, seriously, how long is the human gonna take?”

He turned his head to Diavolo, who seems slightly more serious than usual. The latter held back a sigh, “Perhaps you should go back to the House of Lamentation. Your brothers’ve already left, so you should too. I’ll tell Lucifer of any news regarding them.”

Despite worded like a suggestion, Leviathan knew it was more or less an order. With a soft puff of air, the demon pocketed his D.D.D. “. . .Alright, I will. Uhm—thanks, I guess.”

The easygoing smile morphed its way to Diavolo’s face once again, “It’s not a problem. Goodnight, Leviathan.”

“G’night. . .”

The steps of the demon brother soon faded outside the room, until it wasn’t heard. The smile on Diavolo’s face fell in an instant. With a sigh and ever so slightly narrowed eyes, he took out his own D.D.D.

Diavolo: Barbatos.

Barbatos: Yes, my lord?

Diavolo: Trace back the invite letter sent to the human.

Barbatos: Of course.

And with that, he shut back his device and pocketed it. Unreadable eyes looked out the balcony of the student council room. Devildom—the land he’d supposedly rule—spread with flickering lights, all swishing underneath Diavolo.

It’s a sight you’d wish to see, really.

[ ❀ ]

It’s been two days since Leviathan waited until the hour of midnight for you. On the downside, you still haven’t showed up. On the bright side, a council meeting was called, and there’s a little ray of hope that the topic was you.

But—

“They have decided not to join this year’s exchange program.”

The council room, the one that all the demons’ve familiarized themselves for quite some time, suddenly seemed quite cold. As if a heavy blanket fell upon them at once. For a few moments, none spoke.

“. . .Huh. . ? Why?” Levi was the first one to speak up, brash, but there’s a trace of self-restraint, “Why didn’t they come this year?”

The air hung over once more, before Diavolo hummed lowly, a serious expression on his face, “It was at a short notice, but they informed us that they won’t be joining. Personal problems.”

Perhaps it was covered expertly, but the Demon King himself seemed off-put by his own statement. True—you sent a message through your D.D.D. when he asked of you. Barbatos’ expression is perfectly clear as well, but the tension was present as ever.

“. . .I assume that is all.” Lucifer said, once more breaking the silence. Even if his words sounded unfazed, the noticeable crease on his brows was evident. With a heavy breath, Diavolo nodded, and called the meeting over.

No one said a word walking home.

The tense air followed the brothers, even later until dinner, The suffocating aura was insufferable, and somehow decreased just a bit as Levi lightly slammed on the table with a groan, “I don’t get it, why didn’t they go back?!”

And just with that, he spoke everyone’s thoughts.

Yes, they all knew they had to respect your wishes. And they did try. But, it’d be a lie to say that they aren’t and can’t be selfish at this moment—being demons just adds to the equation a bit. But they were still very close to you, how could they not?

All clanking of utensils on plates stopped. Lucifer opened his mouth to explain, but shut it back up once realized he couldn’t say anything. But, even so. . . “Leviathan. . .” What came out was a sympathetic croak, though he tried to hide it with a cough.

Dinner went by in a fly.

The third brother groaned as he entered his room, immediately making a zip-line to his computer. None of his games had any events, so he had free time to himself, if not grinding or anything like that. Of all the times. . .

He reached for his D.D.D. and opened the chat. His fingers tapped away mindlessly to yours and his—almost by reflex. A part of him scolded himself for expecting maybe, just maybe, a new text from you saying it was a joke and that you’d come tomorrow.

But of course it never came.

Even just looking at your past texts—it stirs something he can’t name inside him. His stomach is now a blackhole, the rhythmic beats of his heart increases, and he felt. . .bittersweet happiness.

His mind racked up a storm filled with emotions—emotions he felt too tired and confused to deal with. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours, but Levi finally snapped himself out of it, and opened the brothers’ chatroom.

He can’t take it, he can’t take it, he can’t—

Leviathan: I srsly can’t take it anymore..!

Leviathan: istg I need to see the human and ask everything!!

The fingers tapped away on its own, and he knew there’s a chance of consequences with his words. But that didn’t matter; not a lot did at the moment. Soon, dots appeared from his other brothers. . .

Beelzebub: Levi. . .

Lucifer: . . .I understand the turmoil you must be going through right now, but. . .

Lucifer: . . .I don’t think I can permit that.

Satan: You’re too rough.

He watched the texts go by, caring little to none as his own attention drifts away. No doubt Lucifer won’t let me go to the human world, he thought, absentmindedly opening a game on his computer, but maybe. . .I can just. . .

He mulls over the possibility in his mind. Maybe this stunt was a bit too much compared to the others—but he’d be willing to take the punishment. Eyes finally focusing, they turn attention back to the D.D.D., the chat.

Beelzebub: Levi? You there?

Leviathan: . . .

Leviathan: Yeah. I’m fine, sorry, forget all of this.

It’s very selfish and foolish of him—but there’s a reason he’s a demon.

[ ❀ ]

He didn’t miss the occasional glances directed at him next breakfast.

The air was almost as miserable as yesterday. Almost, because the time set apart since the day before made somewhat of a difference. Even so, breakfast didn’t resume with its normal banter; mostly just a sentence exchanged or two.

Despite that, deep inside Leviathan was a secret flame of hope and determination. It’s small—perhaps just a match, but it was enough.

Levi’s mind only came to attention nearing the end of the student council meeting. There wasn’t much to discuss—and he wouldn’t have been there had it not been for his plan—but that was to be expected. It was the beginning of the year, but thankfully, Diavolo’s token the measure to ease in their work due to the recent news.

While the meeting was reaching to its end, Levi still continued to play his games on his D.D.D., as he has for a while now. The words from Diavolo saying the meeting ended, Leviathan feigned a sigh and shut his device off, and set it on the table. Then, pretending to be clueless, leaves the room with everyone else.

He’s not certain if everyone didn’t notice. After all, he isn’t the slickest demon—and with a brother like Satan and Lucifer, he won’t put it past them. Well, if they did, they didn’t say anything.  But now, he’ll play a game of pretend.

He spent a few dozen minutes in the cafeteria. Not to eat, but to just sit down and play his games on another device. It’s a pain to not be having his D.D.D., but the ends justify the means.

Then, he slid it back to his pocket and made his way back to the student council room, and hoped that Lucifer wasn’t unexpectedly still there (he was on cooking duty, if Levi recalled correctly). Fortunately, when he opened the door, he wasn’t, and only Diavolo stood there, sorting some papers.

“’M sorry,” even if he did plan all this out, his pretend-apology didn’t go farther than a mumble, “Left my D.D.D. here. . .”

Diavolo merely laughed and waved a dismissive hand at him, “It’s quite fine. Go ahead.”

With slow, antsy steps, he made his way to his chair with the device in front of it. Even though he had time, he’s still mulling over what he could possibly word it to Diavolo as. Maybe this was a bad idea—

“You want to go to the human world, don’t you.”

The question brought heaps of confusion and bafflement to Leviathan. Yes, he was standing there for maybe long enough, but Diavolo just guessed it? He pocketed his D.D.D. with a gulp, “Uhm. . .”

Words escape him, currently, but Diavolo soon cut off whatever he wanted to say in his head by turning around and meeting his gaze. His face is unreadable, both showing good nor bad reactions, and his usual friendly smile long gone.

“And I assume this was without Lucifer’s permission?”

“. . .Yes.”

The silence seems to stretch at cruelty’s will, twisting and churning at his guts. Diavolo’s eyes remained a mystery, until a laugh erupted from him. But not in an actual, comedic sense; more of languid than anything.

“You’re determined, aren’t you?”

“O-Of course. . .”

And the silence continues. Leviathan’s darting eyes to the other demon told him that he was studying him, observing him. As if there was a reaction, an attidude, action to indicate to him. . .something. Something he doesn’t know. And suddenly, the eyes felt heavy upon him.

“. . .How curious. Very well,” Diavolo broke the ringing quiet with a low mumble, barely audible, along with the tapping of his nails on the table, “I’ll allow you.”

“. . .Huh?”

“I’ll allow you to go to the human world.”

The words—so did everything else—seemed like buzzing for a moment, before it all cleared.Emotions rushed through the floodgates; relief, confusion, shock, all the likes. “But—wh-why would. . .”

He decided not to push his luck by asking.

Diavolo remained unwavered and certain, a smile now pulling his lips by anything than genuine emotions it feels. “Don’t tell Lucifer. I’ll open the portal soon, Levi.”

Reality was fuzzy and unbelievable. But even so, Levi tried to hold his ground and remain still as the demon king set up the transport to the human world above. He’s going to see you! Anxiety and relief peacefully clashed in himself on which he feels more, but—he did his best to ignore it.

Once the portal was up, all it took was a flicker, and he’s gone.

[ ❀ ]

Oh how you loathed it.

Spitting and choking metal-flavored flowers weren’t your ideal schedulings—and you’d really prefer if it wasn’t. They make for pretty decorations if one were to put it in a pot, if the person was able to ignore the origins and how it was, more or less, what they’d call memento mori.

You hope they’ll live after you die; despite how much you despise the fluttering petals.

A bitter reminder, really, that you litter your house with vases filled with them. Your estate smelled a mix of several scents, and also painted with their colors. Maybe this was your last highlight of life in the current time.

But all that beauty didn’t make up for you, curling up in the middle of the hallway, using your clutches to the wall as your only support. Blood didn’t even wash up from your previous shirts—you’d guessed.

And one by one, the floral beauty fell.

The world, your house, blurred. Your hearing’s long gone, replaced by constant, grating ringing. It didn’t matter anymore, not when they were blotches of colors and screeches, fading in and out from darkness. Maybe, if you just—

“——!”

Your body trembled, the bones in your body feeling brittle enough to crumble. Who’s that. . .? A savior? Maybe an angel, seeing your soul off? The next-door neighbor who heard something?

Your mind scrambled to scream, beg, for any kind of help to pull you out of the ripping gash in your throat. Whether it came out as you wanted, or just a gravel of a groan came out, you never knew.

You never knew, for the world darkened.

[ ❀ ]

Beeping.

Incessant rhythmic beeps were muffled out, but faintly audible. Labored breaths filled the room, as a hand held yours. Warm. It felt warm, and nice, and safe, despite you walking your way slowly to death’s door.

The human body was weak, and Leviathan cursed at it for being so. Even if he did know any healing magic, he’d been too paranoid to tinker with the workings of your health. And so, the two of you were sent to a hospital.

It’s been about almost a day. He hopes anyone back in Devildom didn’t search for him—for the reveal of his whereabouts would cause trouble. And with the state of his mental mind. . .he felt he’d go insane.

But slowly, your eyes broke open a crack.

A low croaky groan was what drew the demon’s attention, clutching tighter at your hand as his head darted to look over you. He called your name desperately, weakly, hoping it to be a mantra that ensured you were alive.

“—! Are you okay. .?!”

Another groan resurfaced, and finally, you’re back to the land of the living. But to your side, you found, Leviathan.

You shove the flowers down for a moment.

“L-Lev. . .?”

Your voice felt fresh and unused. But for now, you vaguely squeezed your hand in his. You’re fine, you’re okay, you’re here; that’s what he needed to know. The fact if you actually were or not came second.

“Where. . .are we. . .?”

Your vision blurred in and out of being visible for you to actually discern anything. But for now, you could see mostly white.

“We’re in a human hospital.”

Hospital. Passing out. . .Right.

“And why. . .are you h-here?”

You couldn’t see it—he hoped you didn’t, at that—but Levi’s expression wavered, as his body became more awkward and stern. He tossed his glances to the side, “I. . .I c-came to see you, o-of course. I can’t just let you curl up and. . .die, for all I know.”

You pursed your lips.

“. . .Did the doctors diagnose me with anything?” Fear washed over you as your voice drops to a whisper; a shaky, wavering, quiet whisper.

If he found out. . .that he was a part of the cause. . . what would. . .?

Levi took a deep breath and his eyes shifted to the side. Then to you. “Yeah.” He replied, “. . .It was hard to find out cause there weren’t many cases, but. . . Hanahaki, r-right?”

. . .Oh.

“Did they,” you gulped the lump in your throat, “Did they tell you what that means. .?”

“. . .Yes.” The black hole in your stomach dug deeper and deeper in— “Why didn’t you tell me? A-Am I. . .unreliable to you. . .?”

His voice was only a whisper, but it echoed through your heart until it broke. “N-No, of course you’re reliable. . .! I just. . .” Your eyes shifted away to your hands, which clutched at the sheets of your bed, “. . .I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You were dying, for goodness sake! Worrying me shouldn’t—sh-shouldn’t. . .” his voice died like a flame, as his pitiful eyes spoke to you instead. “. . .Who’s the person?”

“Huh?”

“Who’s the person you. . . had f-feelings for?”

You took a sharp, silent breath. He didn’t know; and you weren’t sure if he should know. But. . .being here, with Leviathan in front of you made you feel vulnerable so any lie you told would just feel useless. But—he’d think it was his fault. His fault for not returning your feelings. Technically speaking, it was, but it’s not like he could help it—force love would hurt you more than anything.

“. . .” You spent your time, fading out of reality to weigh your options in silence. Levi kept silent as well, patient in hearing your answer. “. . .Y-You. . .”

You almost wished he didn’t hear that right after it came out your mouth—maybe your voice was soft enough so he didn’t hear it. But the quiet gasp heard, the way his eyes widened in utter bafflement, the way his face paled a thousand shades, it all betrayed your wish.

“I. . .I—“

“It’s not your fault. . .!” You said before the thoughts in him spiral down. Your hand flew from the bed sheets to his hand, squeezing it tightly despite how much your heart churned at the action, “It’s. . .It can never be your fault. I couldn’t. . .just wish for you to fall for me like that. And I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. . .”

And once again, silence ruled the room.

You couldn’t bare to look into his eyes—not after the hurt overflowing them. A part of you silently wished that he didn’t come into your house at that moment—and just let you decay like the flowers you racked up. But then again, it’s selfish, for you to deny him seeing you again. It’s selfish, for you to give the cold treatment you had, only for him to find out you were dead.

You wondered who’d hurt more.

“. . .” You finally looked up at Leviathan’s eyes, barely visible from his hair as his head was angled down. Silent, deep in thought. You were about to shift your gaze back, until— “. . .Actually, I. . .have a confession m-myself. . .”

A respond never came, you just looked longingly for his continuation.

“I d-don’t know what love feels like; I’m not Asmo. All I’ve seen are, u-uhm, romance and harem animes. But. . .” He took a deep breath, “Ever since you left, I feel. . .overwhelmingly sad. A-And it’s not a friend thing—I don’t think, but—when I look back at everything, it. . .it makes me happy beyond belief. I want to be there with you, b-by your side, a-and. . .a-and. . .”

“I think. . .I love you.”

The moment those words got out his tongue, a deep, bellowing gasp of air ripped itself from your lungs—as if you’ve been underwater and finally got a breath of air. Your chest, your heart, your throat—the weigh on them ever since the flowers sprouted all lifted and wilted, one by one by one—until it was all gone.

“—?!”

Your name said on Levi’s tongue was foreign to you—for a second. Until with one last gasp of air, your breathing normalized and slowed. With glossy vision, you looked over at the panicked demon beside you, shooting a gentle, calming smile, “I. . .I’m fine, Lev.”

“Are you. . .?! You could be—“

“Lev.” Your soft calling of his name stopped him. “I think. . .I’m cured.”

#tw blood #hanahaki #obey me leviathan #obey me #shall we date #obey me levi #obey me scenarios #angst

[mordoriscalling]

The Shrike and The Lark (pt.3)

Jaskier and Renfri are disaster twins ruling Creyden. When the Warlord of the North knocks at their door, Queen Renfri and King Julian are at an advantage - they know him. As in, they know him. (Inspired by the Warlord AU and “the heart is a winged beast”).

(Pt. 1) (Pt. 2)

Creyden, 1237

The morning following the feast, the monarchs of Creyden, their Royal Council and advisors meet with the White Wolf and his right and left hand.

“We come to you with a proposal of a non-aggression pact,” Lady Yennefer proclaims as soon as everyone sits down at a round table in the war room.

The King and the Queen have a wordless conversation with Lady Chancellor, a striking woman whose skin is nearly the colour of charcoal. After the three exchanges glances, Queen Renfri replies, “Creyden would find that treaty agreeable.”

The White Wolf inclines his head.

“We have prepared a draft,” the sorceress adds, presenting the scroll to the Solicitor-General.  

“I shall take a look at it now,” the Solicitor answers.

The man appears orderly in all manners, with his prim attire and neat white beard. He surveys each line of the pact thoroughly. As everyone waits for his verdict, the negotiations continue.

“We have another proposal, though,” Eskel states. “An alliance, if you’d be interested.”

The suggestion is met with bewilderment from Creyden’s representatives.

“What would the alliance involve?” King Julian asks.  

“Mutual profit, generally,” Eskel replies.  

“I’m afraid I can’t think of any ways in which our kingdom could bring profit to you,” the King admits. “The White Wolf’s empire seems to lack nothing.”

The Warlord of the North has so far conquered Caingorn, Kaedwen, half of Aedirn, and two-thirds of Redania. It’s an area exceedingly large and full of diverse resources; the White Wolf, ruling over such a territory, should not be in need of anything. With one exception, perhaps.

“Nothing but reliable access to ports,” Lady Yennefer answers.

The one-third of Redania that remains sovereign is the part of the country adjacent to the coast. The King of Redania was wise not to have surrendered it; sea grants some considerable advantages, after all. Creyden, especially after turning Kovir and Poviss into their vassals, has plenty of seashores to make use of.

“I see,” the King says slowly.

Again, the royals and their Council hold a silent debate by sharing telling gazes among themselves. When the matter is settled with nods, Queen Renfri speaks.

“What would the White Wolf offer in exchange?” she inquires.

“Many benefits come from the very fact of being the White Wolf’s ally,” Eskel answers.

“And just as many threats,” Lady Chancellor counters.

To this, the witcher retorts, “Yet I should think that the Warlord’s military support whenever the need arises, in the case of both internal and external conflicts, is a suitable compensation for that.”

Such a prospect is so tempting that King Julian does not consult anyone, giving an immediate response instead.

“It would be a profitable alliance indeed,” he agrees. “But how do we ensure that we keep our sides of the bargain?”

“There are ways,” Lady Yennefer replies. “Marriage, for instance. ”

Many people in the room still in unease. The royal advisors grow tense, while the White Wolf scowls formidably.

“Yen –” he gowls but then, wonder of all wonders, falls silent at the gesture of Lady Yennefer’s hand.

“Would this idea have Her Majesty’s consent?” the sorceress asks the Queen.

“Consent,” Queen Renfri scoffs. Her countenance transforms suddenly, shifting into a fury powerful enough to overthrow kingdoms. “Consent!” she repeats, measuring the sorceress with a deathly glare, “As if that ever mattered before –”

“My Queen,” King Julian interrupts, in a manner surprisingly stern. “While you have every right to your anger, don’t you think it’s unjust for Lady Yennefer to suffer it? I’m sure she had no malicious intentions.”

The Queen’s wrath seems to falter as her brother talks.

“My King is a voice of reason,” she admits. Addressing Lady Yennefer, she then states, “I said it only once to my advisors and I shall it only once to you: I will not marry any man. Ever.”

The sorceress accepts the answer with an inclination of her head. She eyes the Queen intently and Renfri watches her closely as well. Before it can turn into a staring match, however, Lady Chancellor speaks.

“What about the King?” she suggests. “Perhaps he could be to the Warlord’s preferences?”

“No,” the Warlord replies firmly, without missing a beat. “With all due respect to His Majesty,” he adds, in a tone not so respectful, “I have no interest in taking a consort.”

At that, King Julian gives a mirthless, mocking laugh. “You have no interest in it even though you need it?” he asks.

The White Wolf’s gaze seems as fierce as flames when it rests upon Julian. “My need to take a consort is small compared to my need to be certain that I can trust my consort with my life,” the white-haired witcher replies. “I want a partner who’ll hide nothing from me, or I don’t want a partner at all.”

A lot more seems to have passed between the Warlord and the King than the words that were said. There is hurt in both their expressions – hidden deep but still visible – and Julian appears mournful for some reason. The room is quiet and everyone regards the two rulers with curiosity. The silence is finally broken by the Solicitor-General.

“This draft is acceptable,” he declares, which is met with clear relief on both sides. “We could develop it into a binding pact, sign it, and then negotiate the terms and conditions of the alliance whenever the Warlord deems– ”

“Or,” King Julian interjects, “we could start working on the new treaty immediately.”

This time, it is the Warlord and his two advisors who are surprised.

“What is your urgency?” Eskel inquires.

“We expect a rebellion from Kovir and Poviss any day now,” Lady Chancellor reveals reluctantly. “When it happens, the Warlord’s support would truly be invaluable.”

The White Wolf, Lady Yennefer and Eskel look between each other.

“I’m aware that I’m asking a lot,” the King adds, “But I’m certain that we can compensate you for the haste somehow.”

“Let us consider it in private,” Lady Yennefer decides.

The White Wolf, his right and left hand then take their leave. After they do so, the Council debates the proposal of the alliance. It seems ideal almost, and the advisors are suspicious. They voice their concerns about the White Wolf’s motives, for it may as well be a ruse. With marriage out of the question, there is not an easy but reliable way to hold the Warlord to his word. If it were to be an alliance based solely on the belief in mutual profit, Credyen could have its ports taken over and be conquered in a matter of days.

Queen Renfri and King Julian, however, do not consider the threat possible, and their confidence in the White Wolf displeases the Council. In fact, many of them see it as yet another sign of how untrustworthy the twin monarchs are. Even in their own kingdom, they regarded as unstable, and uneducated in the matters of running a state. Having spent so many years in exile, Renfri and Julian are not believed to be fit to rule. Although the twins’ reign has been successful so far, their subjects do not feel secure under their leadership, and Lady Chancellor does not hesitate to remind them of it.

“I urge you to be more cautious, Your Majesties,” she tells them, “The trust you put in the Wolf will have a negative effect on your fragile popularity.”

“It will until it won’t,” the King retorts. “The Wolf is good to the common folk. It’s the nobles who spread the terrible tales of him, and they are just myths. Not a single grain of truth to them. With time, the Warlord will prove himself to be a valuable, faithful ally, and our nobles will have to stop wagging their tongues eventually.”

“But how can you know that, Your Majesty?” the Chancellor presses on, “How can you be so sure?”

“My brother reads into people’s nature with the ease he reads books,” Queen Renfri answers. “Has he not appointed all the positions at this court with each person perfectly fit for their role? Has he not predicted the decisions of the Kings of Kovir and Poviss with accuracy?”

These arguments are not refuted, for no one can deny the truth of them.

“I understand why you’re afraid of the Wolf plotting to conquer us,” King Julian says. “I believe it would soothe your fears to bind him to his promise in such a way that he wouldn’t dare attack us. There must be something, so please endeavour to find it.”

The advisors are still displeased but the King’s suggested solution has appeased them slightly.

Soon after, the monarchs dismiss the Council. King Julian and Queen Renfri stay in the room and break their fast together. Having no other engagements until later in the day, the twins then amuse themselves with a game of chess. As they play, Julian banters with Renfri, partly for entertainment but also in order to distract her. His sister knows his tricks, however, and beats him twice.

Shortly before the bell strikes noon, the Warlord and Lady Yennefer return to the war room.

“We have come to the decision,” the sorceress announces.

“What will it be, then?” Queen Renfri demands.  

The Warlord looks at no one but the King as he replies, “The new treaty.”

Read the rest on AO3

#myfic #geraskier #the witcher fanfiction #the accidental warlord and his pack #jaskier & renfri are disaster twins

[gagmebucky]

thank you to taylor @blessedbucky​, mia @theamericanfalcon, liz @marvelous-mr-stark, raechel, shayla, lauren, courtney, em and tina for allowing me to write this content as well as my beta reader kat @angel-fire​! love you all!

read the full synopsis and excerpt // read chapters snippets here.

o. in which you accidentally send your nudes to your brothers’ best friend. (includes reader’s pov, bucky’s pov, mentions of sexting.)

—

Initially, taking the photos—exposing yourself in such an intimate state to another—you were hesitant. It wasn’t the possible repercussions, i.e. revenge porn, that gave you pause but more-so an insecurity in your own body. Having never done something like this before, you briefly dithered between whether you should or not. 

Ultimately, however, you do. The guy had spent money on you, went through the trouble of finding something you’d like and shipped it discreetly. And when you slip the racy number on, your insecurities wash away and leave excitement in its wake. Everything about it you love, and it has you preening in a solo photo shoot you’re eager to show off. 

After a good time of selfie shutters bulking your phone’s storage—positions of you scantily-clad standing, sitting, a cross of both—you finally relent. There’s too many pictures to pick from, but you do. Three poses that optimize the best aspects of the outfit and that you think he’ll like the best have you buzzing in anticipation of his reaction. 

Giddy, you tap them directly on the album app and click the share button; you input the letter B in the ‘To:’ slot. Since there’s only two contact names under that letter, his name shows up immediately, the first with the nickname Bucky beneath it. You gloss over that and in quick succession, you quickly hit the contact and press send. 

For a split second, you’re proud: you’ve taken this e-relationship to the next level like he wanted, and he’ll be happy with you. Then it hits you like a brick through glass. A replay of your actions travel to your brain, and you belatedly realize what your eyes saw—your thumb smearing too low on the screen, so instead of Brock as the recipient, it’s Bucky. 

“No, no, no!” you whisper as your heart hurtles like a jackhammer stuck in your rib cage. 

A part of you insists it’s your paranoia playing tricks on you, and that’s a valid rationale because this whole thing does worry you about getting caught. Except, upon checking its legitimacy, you confirm what you accidentally did. There’s no mistaking it, now, because with your brightness turned up full, your partially nude figure stares you in the face underneath of a thread between you and your brothers’ best friend. 

James Bucky Barnes—the man who’s nicknamed you bambi because the numerous times he’s seen you face-plant over your own footing, the twenty-four year old who still ruffles your hair when he greets you, the soon-to-be business owner who dates certified models—has a trio of your attempts to be seductive; bottom lined with text you hope comes off likewise seductive.

Mortification swallows you. Your skin burns hotter and hotter by the second. Sure, you’ve embarrassed yourself before: you fall a lot, and you’re awkward conversationalist. But never something of this magnitude, not something that makes you seem so desperate and pathetic. 

You can imagine him opening the messages. He’d immediately assume, understandably, it’s a come-on; a girl trying to be a woman’s failed goal to enthrall a man like him, his best friend’s kid sister’s pitiful effort to be anything other than just that. As if you could ever measure up to the types of women he dates. 

And, yes, there’s been a time where you had a crush on him. But it’s not your fault when he looks like how he does, a rugged example of masculine sex appeal, and treating you the way he does, teasing but with a twist of kindness, and the fact that he’s the only non-blood related man allowed near you. 

But that time has passed. Even then, you knew the one-sided attraction was delusional to have. You were—still are—so sure about it that you never even dared to fantasize about him and the rumors that used to trek behind him about his sexual escapades. There’s no hidden desire to be with him, and that worsens it because it’s not like you’d feel any relief in knowing his reaction. You don’t care about his reaction in the first place!

Now, no matter how much you will insist it’s an accident, there will always be a dubiousness about it. With how close your families are, things are going to be tense. Because there’s no forgetting he’s viewed you like that, and there’s photo evidence of it. 

It hits you then. The extremity of your fuckup douses you in ice, and your muscles freeze because you register that since he knows about your family borderline patriarchal values concerning you, he has to tell them you’re taking nudes, and it will be over for you. 

It has taken you twenty years of your life to finally venture outside what your family has allowed, to sate your curiosity of what exactly your fathers and older siblings have kept so strictly from you: sex and all the goodness it entails. 

It has taken you an additional six months to explore in-depth and build the courage to start something tangible, to wander the depraved side of the internet where strangers did things to each other that made you want to do things with someone of your own: stirring foreign but oh-so amazing feelings in your nether regions. 

For twenty-six weeks you carefully treaded across in order to ensure your family had no clue what you’re doing, clearing your web history and using incognito mode, all your accounts anonymous, keeping your notifications on silent in case anyone becomes suspicious of who’s continuously contacting you. 

One hundred and eighty-two days later—in the middle of which you started your sex-based communication—of preparing to lose your virginity, your family will find out what you’ve been up to, and your life will be hell. 

Everything has been going so perfectly. You found a guy enough distance away he isn't affected by your family’s influence, middle-aged so he’s experience and doesn’t mind handling a virgin, and is willing to drive an hour to meet you at a specified hotel when the time comes.  

All that hard work down the drain. 

You toss your phone and jump to your feet. Panicked, your bare feet pad back and forth on your rug-covered wood floors. Your teeth gnaw at your thumbnail as different scenarios of how everything will transpire flit through your head. Each one is more terrible than the last, and your anxiety heightens. 

Somewhere in your disquietude, it occurs to you. Your brothers are downstairs and so is Bucky, but it’s ten o’clock at night, and that means they’re gaming. That particular activity coined a rule that all players have to stow their phones in the guest room. The specifics are blurry but it was something about Bucky interrupting the session due to excessive texts. 

It’s an opportunity. A chance that you can creep downstairs, swipe his phone and delete your mistake—hell, you’ll break his phone if you need to—before he’s any the wiser. 

“And—” Bucky Barnes drawls out the vowel as the rough-textured ball hurls through the air and swishes sharply into the hoop. “—nothin’ but net.” He relaxes from the perfected basketball follow-through stance, hands dropping to his sides, while he regards his old friend with a cocky smile. “Beat that, Rogers.” 

Steve snorts and catches the ball when it bounces onto the concrete. Palming it in one hand, he dribbles it twice and trades positions so instead of being stationed next to the hoop, he’s descended to the driveway curb where the established three-pointer line is. 

“You still got it, Barnes,” the blond admits, loosening his shoulders and spreading his footing to be a width apart. His right hand balances the ball from below, elbow tucked underneath, while the left splays against the side as his knees bend, and he springs up. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he releases the orange sphere at the top of his jump. It catapults in a flawless arc and drops through criss-crossed netting with a similar swish. His lips curve with satisfaction as he adds, “But, so do I.”

Bucky laughs and seizes the ball as it falls free. “Callum and Henry have no idea they’re going to get obliterated,” he says, coming to slap his palm in an affable embrace. “Fair warning, they’re still as sore losers as they were five years ago so be prepared for that.” 

Steve Rogers chuckles. The former fourth to their high school cliquè, he’s aware of just how bad sports they are. 

After graduation, he left out-of-state to pursue a degree in technological engineering, which he acquired last month in May, prompting his return back to New York. Between the four of them, Bucky and Steve are the level headed ones so he’s glad to have the support to handle the wild children his childhood best friends are. 

“Speaking of,” Steve starts, dirty blond eyebrows knitting as he glances around the neighborhood’s cul-de-sac. “Where are they? I thought Henry was supposed to be waking up Callum? If we aren’t starting yet, then can I get my phone back?” 

Bucky clicks his teeth. “Yeah. They’re probably stuffing their faces right now. Their sister went grocery shopping and got a cake so. . .” He waves his hand in gesture before continuing in vehement passion on the second point, “The whole phone thing is bullshit, though. I miss a few winning shots ‘cause I was busy with some pretty little thing texting me, and now there’s a ‘no technology rule’.” He scoffs and folds his arms. 

Now that he thinks about it, he could totally have his phone right now. And he’s more interested in having it than usual. There’s this girl he’s been seeing frequently at local parties—six feet tall with gorgeous brown skin, always done up in intricate eye makeup, silver tongued (he’s very interested in her tongue) when she speaks—and he’s finally gotten her number. She could be texting him, and he doesn’t even know it! 

“You know, yeah, we should get our phones back if those assholes want to take all day,” Bucky decides, agreeing with steps toward the closed storm door, but opened front door until he hears the inquiry:

“How is Y/N, anyway?” Steve’s voice is genuinely and harmlessly curious behind him, and he stops in his tracks because Bucky remembers the poorly hid crush he harbored for you. “I saw her instagram the other day, and she must be quite the heartbreaker.” 

Spinning around to face him, Bucky lifts a brow. “Huh?” Then he processes the implication that you’re out dating and such. The mere prospect has him surprising laughter. 

With their dad and his girlfriend on a tour of the world, the three of them are the only ones in the household. Given you’re the baby of your siblings, despite being an independent twenty-year-old, your older brothers have taken it upon themselves to ensure you focus solely on school work. Callum and Henry know exactly how to threaten their message across that you are not to be bothered, and anyone who tries will end up battered and bruised. 

He shakes his head. “Nah. She’s not with anyone, hasn’t been ever,” he tells him. “If you thought Callum and Henry were overprotective back then, you should see them now.” 

Gunmetal blue eyes blink surprised at him, and there’s a faint battle between delight and disappointment. “Really?” He shoves his hands in his sweats and falters somewhat. “It’s gotta be hard considering the way she has grown up,” he says but Bucky’s face scrunches in confusion. “You can’t tell me you don’t see how cute she is.” Before he can respond, Steve adds, “Obviously I wouldn’t ever see or be with her in that way—I wouldn’t betray Callum or Henry like that—but objectively, you can admit she’s gorgeous, right?” 

Bucky has to take a moment and genuinely consider it—consider you—because he hasn’t before. (Other than noticing the genetic similarities to Callum, who shares your eye and hair color but is a shade lighter than you, and Henry, who shares your complexion and eye color, but his hair is darker than yours.)

There’s no denying your looks are better than most: the structure of your face works beautifully, dazzling eyes framed by your lashes and occasionally accentuated by mascara, lips usually adorned in gloss or anything that keeps them hydrated which could be described as alluring, and your hair is almost always done, sometimes switched up in style. But there’s an inherent innocence there, a sweet and clumsy awkwardness, and maybe because he’s watched you grow up, four years your senior, but it just doesn’t do it for him. 

You’re his best friends’ baby sister, for God’s sake. He’d never at you like that in the first place. Especially not when he’s been aware, in the past, you harbored a schoolgirl crush on him. It was painfully obvious, to your chagrin, but he found it adorable—flattering but unsurprising considering girls flock to him like seagulls to boardwalk french fries. 

Currently, he’s sure you know he won’t ever pick you—under principle, under the lack of attraction. Other than pleasant smiles and occasional small talk mixed with teasing, you don’t gaze at him with starry eyes anymore, at least it’s waned significantly as you matured. 

Back to the question: “Uh, no, not really. Even if Callum and Henry didn’t care, I don’t think I’d be attracted to her,” he answers truthfully. Your purity doesn’t provoke his sexual attraction although it does invoke a duty of protectiveness. “She just isn’t my type.” 

Steve arches a brow, a surprised playfulness in his expression. “Oh? Then what is your type, then?” he asks, nudging him with his elbow. ‘Cause from what I remember you’re up for anyone and everyone.”

“That makes me sound like a whore,” he feigns offense but digresses into a fit of chuckles as he thinks back to all his various sex-capades and Steve flashes him a look that says aren’t you? “Yeah.” He nods with a prideful chortle. “But I’m into more frisky girls, y’know? Ones who’ve been everywhere and done everything. They’re brass and loud and just do whatever the fuck they want. I like to be one of those things.” 

Behind him, his best friend, Callum’s orotund voice rings out between the pressurized shh of the storm door, “Buck’s into slutty girls, Steve.”

He cringes at the diction. “Don’t call ‘em slutty. Sounds degrading when you guys say it like that.” Most of the time, he agrees with him—and his brother—but when it comes to women, there’s usually a dissent and a need for correction. “But yeah. I prefer girls with experience,” he declares strongly. “They don’t get attached like girls with... less experience do.”

Callum rolls his eyes, bounding down the porch stairs to the recently pressure-washed driveway, and he plucks the basketball out of his hands. “Here we go again. Bucky and his ‘I hate virgin’s’ campaign,” he mocks, shaking his head. “Doesn’t make any sense to me ‘cause everyone knows virgins are the tightest.”

This time, Bucky is the one to roll his eyes. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense considering tightness isn’t dependent upon whether it’s their first time ‘cause, y’know, vaginas stretch, you morons.” Sometimes he has no clue how Callum passed sex education (then he remembers that he bribed the health teacher). “Meaning a girl can have sex, then after a period of time, her virgin ‘tightness’ eventually returns. The only reason virgins may seem tighter is because they’re usually nervous.” 

The look on Callum’s face says that what he just said went right over his head. “Whatever.” He shrugs and starts dribbling the ball half-heartedly. “I just know the woman I end up with better be a virgin.” 

“Right!” Henry’s likewise orotund voice, a pitch higher, speaks after he pushes through the glass door. He presses to the court-slash-driveway, wiping icing off his mouth. “That’s marriage material. I’m not fucking around in a relationship with no woman that’s been fucked already, y’know?” 

Bucky’s eye twitches, jaw locking for a millisecond. “But you guys aren’t even virgins yourself,” he points out their hypocrisy. When they look at him to rebuttal, he automatically knows it’s going to run his blood pressure up and it’s not worth it. “You know, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. You guys have fun with your conversation.” 

Swiftly, he whirls around and heads for inside. The last thing he hears is Steve’s ambivalent, “I get the appeal of virgins. But you know, I don’t think it really matters. I think it just matters if you’re into them, and if they’re into you. I wouldn’t care either way but. . .” 

The air conditioned air greets him coldly, and he revels in it. The June sun is killer, though perfect weather for playing a game outside, and the chill dries the sweat beaded on his forehead. He pads down the foyer, turns the corner to the bathroom and enters to take a much needed leak. 

Bucky has so much brotherly love for your brothers: neighbors since being in diapers, his mother the female figure in their life, and becoming and remaining best friends for over twenty years. There’s only one thing that grates his nerves when it comes to them and that’s their view of women is somewhat skewed. Sometimes—most of the time—went the topic comes up, he’s always one second away from throttling them. 

Hopefully after he pisses, they’ll be talking about something else, and finally they all can play basketball. It. 

Flushing the toilet, he goes onto wash his hands. He lathers up in orange antibacterial soap and rinses the suds off with hot water. There isn’t a towel, at least not a clean one, so instead he just lets the remaining droplets drip onto the floor. 

Emerging from the bathroom, James pauses and absentmindedly wipes his hands dry on his mesh-polyester shorts. His attention automatically draws to the guest room’s closed door adjacent to his position. A decision strikes him, and he steps forward and casts a curious glance down the corner. 

When boisterous and distracted laughter filters through the front door and down the empty corridor, it springs him into action. He figures there’s no harm in checking his phone while he’s here. He’d been especially resistant to giving it away because he’s engaged in a particularly stimulating conversation with a particularly titillating woman—popular in her own right, he can’t afford to miss his shot with her. 

His fingers turn the knob, and he shoulders through. The furniture is decorated and accented in yellow and white, condition otherwise pristine, save for the phones littered across the king-sized poster bed’s fluffy duvet. He strides across gleaming light oak floors and hones in on the only golden-colored, rubbed encased titanium. 

As he grips it, long digits curling around the back, pinkie supporting the bottom, thumb tapping the screen to life, he can hear the dwindling of high-spirited jesting through the en-suite’s rectangular horizontal slider window; a wondering of where he’s gone has him speeding up. 

Although he’d been gone for under an hour, his screen is bright with various notifications, social media accounts and text messages. He ignores the former and searches for the latter, specifically the contact, Val 😛💦. Scrolling quickly, he comes to a stop but not because of his original intent. 

His head cocks, and he knits his brows when he sees your name instead; formally nicknamed, bambi, due to your penchant for clumsiness and general fragility. You don’t text him—except for that one time you needed to be picked up from the library—and considering you know he’s just outside, his baffled curiosity is further spurred. 

With a sideways swipe of his thumb, your thread enlarges on the high-definition display. He isn’t sure what he expected, but this? Oh, this, definitely is not it. His eyes widen as the content loads, and reveals you, in all your half-naked glory. 

“Shit,” he breathes out raggedly, blinking multiple times because he has to be seeing things. But, nope, it’s still you—looking like that, wearing that. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

Your brothers are beginning to call his name, demanding his attendance, and he froze in shock, unable to tear his stare away from the girl who’s tripped over her own feet more times than he can count; the wallflower who spends all her time studying in her room; the forbidden fruit who’s innocent has always stirred a vigilant feeling inside him—now stirring something hard between his thighs because there you are. 

Like always, your hair is done prettily, wispy-lashed eyes big and inviting, a saucy pout to your glossed lips. Your flawless complexion seems to glow in the reflection of the mirror, and he doesn’t know if it’s because of the warm lighting, or if it’s the confidence you exude in your faux-innocent expression from where something so sinfully sexy. 

Three photos, and every single one is like a punch in the gut; displaying your usually hoodie-hidden figure in its bare, exquisite form. The skimpy white two-piece caresses your breasts in a lace halter top, leaving a teasing amount of cleavage. Your navel exposed, he becomes aware of how soft your skin would be. Moving lower, your untouched flower is wrapped in a thin thong with a bow on the center of the waistband. 

A million things flit through his head; a million disgusting things he never thought he’d think about you. 

The main one is every sort of attraction these snapshots arouse. A laser slices down his center and sears him to the core. The multiple poses calls every hungry part of him to attention, the curve of your breasts, the contours of your hips and the jut of your ass. And he shoves to the darkest recess in his mind because that’s just an innate reaction to lingerie. (Right? Right.)

He combats your images with that of Val: knows-what-she’s-doing and equally promiscuous as him Val. The anthropology major who downs beers within seconds and tongue kisses the first person she sees afterwards. 

The next is the one he focuses on, that you would take these and send them to him—as if he’d betray your brothers like that. Second-hand embarrassment strikes him because he knows if you’ll send something as risky as this, he’ll have to formally reject you and break your unreciprocated pining heart. 

He grimaces at the thought. This is why he doesn’t do virgins and the less experienced in general. The inherent strings are a killer, and he resents the drama; and it’d be ten times worse with you because of the added complications of your siblings. 

In fact, he hears something beyond him, coming down the hallway, and it’s probably them, but he can’t stop rereading your text accompanying the photos, partially imagining how it’d sound in your delicate voice: 

bambi (4:21PM): is this as pretty as you imagined? did i do good? just tell me what you want, and ill do it. i want you. soon, please - and yes, ill beg. i promise itll sound even better in person. 

[read it in its entirety on my patreon - one time fee of $5 to access!]

#bucky x reader #bucky x you smut #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagines #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel x you #bucky smut series #marvel chaptered fics #my writing #tva

[polaristranslations]

The Eleventh Box

   ■   ■

There's a quote that goes, "There is a mysterious victory in winning, but there is no mysterious defeat in losing"—but if I'd heard that quote at the time, I would've considered my overwhelming defeat against Chinu Namaji in the basketball-themed Formation Game so mysterious that it couldn't be helped.

I, at the time.

I say it like that because now, I've realized that the reason I lost was neither mysterious nor wondrous, but perfectly reasonable—so, the reason I feel bitter when I recall that defeat is not because I lost, but because I failed to properly accept that loss.

You get it, right?

Not understanding why you've lost—in other words, it's the same as not recognizing that you've lost at all. You may think your loss is mysterious, and you may be thinking about the cause of your loss, but in the end, the essence of it is just a physiological reaction of not wanting to admit defeat.

However.

Now that I've largely recognized the immaturity of my past self, and of course now that I've recognized my defeat against Chinu Namaji, if there was one thing I still wanted to insist upon—it would be that it was precisely the aim of my senior, my predecessor, Chinu Namaji, to make me experience such things, so it was not just a matter of simply reflecting on this point.

Hm?

You don't get it?

Basically, what I mean is that Chinu-senpai's aim was to make me lose—that's obvious, you say? It's natural to try and win when it comes to a competition, you say? Well, Torai Kudaki, that might be natural to a person like you—but for Chinu Namaji, this had occurred right after she'd faced off against someone that it hadn't been natural for. As a result, her value system had shifted subtly—shifted, or perhaps, wavered.

Anyway.

Chinu-senpai's aim was to make me lose, or more specifically, to make me lose and then make me feel like I couldn't accept that loss—it wouldn't be until a little later that I'd realize that. Immature as I was at the time, there was no way I'd be able to read that much into a person's mind—or rather, I'd simply thought that when two people face off against each other, it always meant a confrontation, a duel. In that sense, I wasn't much different from you right now—I'd thought it was a matter of course that to fight meant to win.

Shamefully—and yet, shamelessly, as well.

That was who I was.

It sort of meant that I'd been outwitted by Chinu-senpai's roundabout way of doing things—well, talking about my defeats isn't something I'm very comfortable with, but then again, it does happen to be the theme of the very matter I'm telling you about.

My defeat.

I was telling you about my minus, wasn't I—but anyway, I'm sure you'll be bored if I lengthily explained how the Formation Game progressed, so I'll make it short and sweet.

Thinking about it now, though, it's a game with a lot of depth to it.

Thinking about it now—or rather, if I played it again now—I feel as if I would approach it differently. They say a great player does not always make a great coach, but it's extremely interesting to be able to participate in the game from a position that wasn't the player's.

Well, I don't think it's a good idea to assume causation between anything and everything—but as the Student Council President, the fact that I had experienced this game in my first year of middle school could be the reason why I was very careful in selecting the other members of the Student Council. Well, putting aside whether or not I was careful, it could be the reason why I'd taken so much time.

That carefulness ended up being taken advantage of by Kumagawa Misogi, though, so the world is a rather complicated place—and I have to say it's even a little bit mysterious.

   ■   ■

To keep it short.

You could say my selection of the five members was reasonable—they were all students that seemed to be good at sports. Of course, I was just a first-year that had barely entered school—it wasn't as if I had any information regarding the students' grades in physical education, or if they were regulars in clubs, or anything like that.

It's not like I was Shiranui Hansode.

In that sense, Chinu-senpai, who'd been here at Hakobune Middle School a year longer than I had, certainly had the advantage at this game. Although, since the rules forbid selection of former girls' basketball team members, the advantage might not have been as great as it seemed.

After all, while it was hard to know how good or bad one's grades were unless you asked to see their report card, when it came to physical education, you could, to a certain extent, tell if they were good or bad by looking at their body.

You could more or less tell what their muscles were like, even with clothes on—and in the sport of basketball, one's height was also an important factor.

So, when I looked for students that remained at school, even if I didn't know their name, class, year, or blood type—while I wouldn't say I knew at a single glance, I had a certain method for choosing who I called out to.

And if I called out to them and they ended up stating that they weren't good at sports, then it was a simple matter of withdrawing—there's a saying that goes, "Even the poorest shot will hit the target if he shoots often enough," and while it's not a saying I like because of its lack of ambition, that sort of trial-and-error was necessary when it came to scouting.

There was no rule that said that you must add someone to your team once you've made contact with them—and so, I flew out of the gymnasium and began running around the campus of Hakobune Middle School.

If we were allowed to add boys to our teams, then I would have gone and brought in Zenkichi to my team, but that was properly prohibited by the rules. It was possible that Chinu-senpai restricted the players to girls only specifically to prevent me from making contact with Zenkichi for this game—perhaps I was reading too much into things, but as far as I could tell, that's what Chinu-senpai was like.

Looking two, three steps ahead—or looking far, far ahead—and then taking measures in advance. She seemed to live a life that was like first-out rock-paper-scissors, or maybe more like a flying start.

Of course, this didn't even need to be said, but—no matter the sport, a flying start was against regulations, so if you kept doing it, you would eventually suffer the painful repercussions.

Anyway, as I ran through the school building, I didn't make any contact with Zenkichi anyway—rather, it was possible that guy had already gone back home. In middle school, Zenkichi didn't participate in any clubs and instead was a part of the going-home club—so that was probably the case.

In Hakobune Middle School, there were no classes that had special exemptions from attendance like Class 13 in Hakoniwa Academy, so I was enrolled in a normal class. As such, I did have female friends and acquaintances, and I did catch sight of a few of them as I ran around the school. However, they were freshmen like me, so even if it were easy to invite them, and even if they would probably participate in the game if I asked them—even if I were to gather members with the same stance, I didn't feel comfortable getting them wrapped up my confrontation with our upperclassman, Chinu-senpai.

Aside from Zenkichi.

And so, I ran around the school, looking for members—If you only listened to what I said about my classmates, it may sound like I was scouting while trying not to inconvenience people. But I'd been going around calling out to sophomores ready to leave for home and seniors who were still in the middle of club activities, so there was no way I was trying not to inconvenience people with that.

When it came to a competition, I faced it head-on—or rather, I stopped being able to look at anything else, which was clearly a characteristic of mine. Looking at it that way, it surprisingly felt like I haven't grown since my first year of middle school. Inexperienced as I still am, I guess I'm still too young to be mature. I couldn't even begin to cover for myself—but anyway, I went to the grounds and went out of my way to call out to seniors in the middle of their club activities.

I pulled out top-level members from various clubs, and managed to put together a group of five.

Of course, it wasn't by ordinary means—if you were called out to by some freshman you didn't know while you were busy, and they wanted to drag you into some inexplicable game without any clear objective, it wouldn't just be suspicious. It would be natural to be on your guard—no, even if you took out being on your guard, it would be natural to find it troublesome or bothersome or something like that.

Not everyone was like me, after all. Not everyone was as simple as I was, with my skin crawling at the mere sound of a competition or confrontation or duel—rather than skin crawling, it was more like losing my cool, though.

They may say that a competitive nature is the fate of all people, but that still had its limits—but wait, was I reflecting on myself too much there? The fact of the matter is that, whatever it was, it surely had to be because I was young at the time. I was running around the school like a dog chasing whatever moved—so if I made a mistake here, it would be that, with my own human nature being unchangeable, I assumed that Chinu-senpai was approaching this game in the same way.

That she loved competing.

That she loved battling.

And, more than anything, that she loved to win—since she wanted to have a match against me, I insistently, or selfishly, got the wrong impression and made a huge mistake that could not be taken back.

Of course, I can only say this now after all this time.

Thinking about it, having an objective when going into a competition was the natural course of things, so my attitude of fighting without any purpose was quite dangerous. In that sense, Chinu-senpai was "right"... It's hard to know what's right or not until you get the chance to look back.

Now then—allow me to omit the wily ways in which I managed to coax those top-level seniors from their clubs into joining my team. That's in order to keep this story from getting too long, but also because I don't want to expose you to my rashness, which was extremely strong at the time. Just think of it as vanity—all you need to understand is that it wasn't a very praiseworthy approach.

The fact that I was defeated on top of that made it all the more uncool—anyway, I led the five aces of the athletic clubs back to the gymnasium. As for what club each of them were in... Hm? Those are the minor details I should be omitting? Well, I suppose. In any case, I selected tall people who seemed rather athletic—and, though it hadn't been my intention, the result was that they were all third-year students.

Well, the deciding factor as to why they accepted my invitation was more due to their knowledge of the strange connection between the Servant of Destruction and me, rather than because they were overcome by any forceful solicitation of mine.

Even though I was just a first-year that had just entered the school, the Servant of Destruction had made a name for himself—or so they said.

When I returned to the gymnasium with my team of distinguished members, I was met by Chinu Namaji and the members that she had lined up. Since I didn't think I'd spent that much time, I was shocked to find that my opponent had returned to the gymnasium before me—even though the order had no effect on the outcome of the Formation Game, it felt like she'd gotten a step ahead of me, like she'd already scored the first point. But after that, I was shocked once again by the members she'd chosen.

Like this, you may already be able to guess—yes, that was exactly it. Chinu-senpai's line-up of members was—made up entirely of first-years that had just entered the school, like me.

   ■   ■

Chinu-senpai, was, well, an upperclassman from us first-years' point of view—so naturally, if she just waved around her upperclassman aura, it wouldn't be too hard to scout some first-years. In that sense, it was easy to understand how she was able to gather five people in such a short amount of time.

However, to repeat myself, this was not a competition to see who could gather members faster—nevertheless, it seemed as if Chinu-senpai prioritized only the speed in which she gathered members.

Basically, this was another reason why I'd been outdone by Chinu-senpai. Candidates for the formation of a team will usually be those who excel in athletic ability, and those who excel in athletic ability often have that self-awareness—they often wouldn't sell their abilities too cheaply. Kind of like how pride prevents professionals from playing in amateur games—so, for this game (which looks like just playing around from an outsider's point of view), it's not very easy to invite the best of the best.

And so, Chinu-senpai slipped past that difficulty by choosing first-years who weren't as developed physically—well, in general it's hard to call that "slipping past".

Of course, even though there is natural order between young and old, it didn't necessarily mean that the third-years were physically superior to the first-years—you could consider me an exception, but in general, the growth rate of humans was certainly diverse.

Still, it was a bit of a bizarre plan to have all first-years on her team—and I wasn't so callous to see that and think, "Okay, I've got the upper hand. I've as good as won this Formation Game."

What I did worry about was the possibility that the third-years might get offended and leave—if that was her goal of the all-first-year team, which looked like it was making light of the game... I realized that could certainly have been one strategy.

"Right. Then, shall we begin, Kurokami-chan—"

Chinu-senpai said.

With an expression of feigned ignorance—a nonchalant face.

Her demeanor didn't reveal her true intentions at all—it was impossible to gauge. However, it wouldn't have been quite right to raise any complaints there. If I had asked her to please go and choose new members, then (disregarding Chinu-senpai herself) it would certainly be rude to the members who had been chosen. In any case, even my classmates were among the five girls—it felt like Chinu-senpai had picked the route I'd avoided and gone down it as quickly as possible.

I wondered if it was a strategy of not taking the game seriously and deliberately creating a reason to lose in order to save face when she lost—if so, I thought it was a waste of time.

And to avoid wasting any more time, I'll just get on with it like Chinu-senpai said—that was what I thought. And without complaining, and without even asking for the reason behind her team formation...

"Yes, let's begin,"

I agreed.

Of course, Chinu-senpai's intentions were not that in the slightest—however, it must have been perfectly within her intentions when I didn't complain or question her despite my doubts.

A tremendous level of playmaking.

No.

I should call it, captaincy.

   ■   ■

16 to 22.

As for what these numbers meant—they were the results of the basketball game between my all-star team and Chinu-senpai's freshman team.

Since I've already told you that the game ended in my loss, it should be obvious whose score was 16 and whose score was 22—basically, with a six-point difference, the all-star team lost to the freshman team.

There was nothing strange over the course of the game.

At the very least, if you looked at each person's play individually, there was nothing strange—the way the first-years played was rather faltering, while the third-years played adroitly.

Nevertheless.

The winners were the first-years—and the losers were the third-years.

Even the losing all-star team was less rueful about their loss and more amazed at how the score had ended up like that—in other words, they felt the same as I did.

There is a mysterious victory in winning, but there is no mysterious defeat in losing—putting aside the first-years being mystified by their victory, why were the third-years and I being mystified by our loss...?

Before I could sort out my feelings, Chinu-senpai spoke.

As if trying to land the finishing blow.

"Kurokami-chan."

I wouldn't go as far as describing it as beating a dead horse, but her way of speaking was akin to beating a defeated horse.

"Then, since it's my win—shall I have you listen to one of my requests?"

"Eh?"

Eh?

That wasn't really the response I should've been making.

But after being told that, for the very first time, I had come to realize that I'd never once imagined my own loss before.

"No need to worry. I plan on properly explaining the reason you lost—if you want, I'll even explain the reason I resigned from the position of Treasurer in the Student Council Executive Committee, and the reason the girls' basketball team ended up in this state, too."

"N—no. I did lose, so I don't need to hear those reasons..."

To be honest, I didn't—I couldn't think that I had completely lost, but since it was clear that I'd lost at least formally and superficially, I said as such. But Chinu-senpai wouldn't listen.

"I'll have you listen, even if you don't want to hear it. Because, after hearing those reasons—you'll use that same method."

Chinu-senpai said.

Chinu Namaji said—that was her objective.

"In order to take Kumagawa Misogi down."

[thedinanshiral]

Magical devices of Thedas -part I-

I recently started another Inquisition game so as i began once again collecting shards, playing with astrariums and activating artifacts, i thought why not? (As it turns out there are plenty of reasons why not, i simply chose to ignore them all lol)

This is by no means a complete recollection of everything that’s out there in terms of artifacts or magical devices or what Tevinter most likely has that i’m very tempted to call magitech. But i’ll try to cover as many as i can. Starting with elven devices! 

(Warning: possibly spoilers for all games)

The Elven artifacts:

We first learn of these artifacts in the Hinterlands, when Solas senses one is nearby and asks that we check it out. Then when we meet Mihris, who strangely enough refers to the artifact as a “crystal”.

Here follows a seemingly minor difference in word and meaning that later develops into a full on misunderstanding Solas doesn’t really bother to clarify.

When entering the room where the artifact is found, Mihris says “If we activate that crystal, it should react to the strength of the Veil”. Upon activating it, however, Solas says “the wards are helping to strengthen the Veil”. There is a very clear difference between measuring something, and strengthening it. Mihris basically means the artifacts measure the veil by reacting to its strength. This quest is titled “Measure the Veil”, and it’s followed by another quest similarly titled  “Measure Veil Strength”, once we’ve activated 10 artifacts. It’s a war table mission were Solas writes the artifacts are used to detect the magical energies of the Veil, and we are led to believe that activating enough of them would allow to pinpoint where the Veil is weakest and therefore where there’s a higher chance of a Rift opening. Doing this mission unlocks another quest in the Hinterlands called “What lies dormant”, leading us to a rift that hasn’t opened yet.

Despite the quests clearly indicating these artifacts simply measure the Veil, throughout the game Solas insists activating these artifacts somehow strengthen the Veil, implying the more we activate the less Rifts will appear as the Veil would become stronger. Logically, as we activate more artifacts, we can get a network or grid of sorts that determines the places where the Veil is thinner and where it’s stronger, but that’s actually all it does.

We never deal with a Rift found via artifact ever again in the rest of the game. Yet we continue to activate the artifacts. We could imagine the Inquisition sends small parties to other locations found through this network but truth is they could only deal with the demons and little else, as only the Inquisitor is capable of closing the Rifts.

There were theories pointing to the artifacts doing the exact opposite of strengthening the Veil, stating Solas was lying to us and manipulating us into helping him take down the Veil later on, and I think that’s partially true. We haven’t been weakening the Veil exactly, but we have activated an artifact network that points to where the Veil is weakest, where it’s thin enough for Rifts to form, and Solas can use this to determine from where to begin taking the Veil down.

There is still a slim chance that Solas was telling the truth and that these artifacts, in addition to measuring Veil strength, add to it. But we only have his word for it, for what it’s worth.

Shards and Oculara:

We first learn of the shards when finding the oculara in the Hinterlands. These are literally skulls on pedestals with a crystal shoved through an eye socket all the way to the back of the skull. They have a certain cyan-greenish glow, emits a sound of eerie whispers, and when looking through it one can locate magically cloaked “shards” that on close inspection look nothing like shards and every bit like book-sized stone tablets with some glowing crystal and a skull merged into it.

Solas keeps one in his desk at Skyhold so you can really take a long look at it whenever you want. 

But what is all that? There are just a couple of codices, and party banter you can easily miss depending on who you take with you to Redcliffe. On this codex found in the Hissing Wastes we learn that according to spirits, these shards have been around for ages. It would seem they were magically hidden until the Breach made it possible to find them, and it’s the Venatori who set out to it, specifically blood mages.

At Redcliffe, by the port there’s a locked room, and inside we find many of the pedestals and skulls, oculara left disassembled and abandoned by the Venatori (either when you defeat Alexius or when they leave Redcliffe to attack Haven). The comments made by Vivienne here and this codex  explain more or less how the oculara are made: it involves forcing a demon to possess a Tranquil by way of blood magic and immediately killing the Tranquil; it’s their skulls we casually look through when searching for shards. Tranquils are mages who had their link to the Fade severed so they can’t get possessed by demons, as demons are attracted to emotion and dreams of which Tranquils have none. This however doesn’t mean Tranquils are impossible to possess, simply that spirits or demons don’t find them appealing and look past them, ignore them. But the Venatori have been using blood magic to force demons to possess the Tranquils. As we’ve learned in Inquisition the Rite of Tranquility can be reversed, and as we saw with Anders’ friend in DA2, being exposed in some way to spirits can temporarily reconnect the mage to the Fade. Unfortunately, there is no details on how exactly this Venatori trick works, if making the Tranquil be possessed by a demon for a few seconds establishes a partial link to the Fade that remains in the Tranquil’s body after death, or if the demon gets somehow trapped in the Tranquil’s body unable to act as only the skull is preserved..It’s confusing and we also get no information on what crystal is used in the skull, the lense through which we see the shards. But as it was the Breach, the opening of the Veil, what made it possible to find the shards, it kind of makes sense -in a macabre very Tevinter way – that using a skull of a mage forced to lose their link to the Fade then have it forcefully reestablished via blood magic and forced possession would help make the shards visible. Kind of.

The shards have only one use, and that is as keys to open the various gates of the Solasan Temple in the Forbidden Oasis. It isn’t until -and unless – we choose the Redcliffe mission and are sent to a dark future that we learn Alexius hides behind one such door. We can suspect then his mages were setting up oculara in an effort to gather the necessary shards to unlock the temple. It’s easy to imagine nothing but the shards can open this type of ancient door, making them the safest to use if you’re trying to hide something valuable or keep enemies away.  The more shards a door requires the more difficult it is to get it open.

But then, in Jaws of Hakkon, we get this journal written from the perspective of a Hakkonite. It says in the old days Hakkon, a spirit, “opened their eyes that they might see the elfstones hidden across the world, and they entered the old cave and learned the mysteries of winter.”.This codex is relevant for two reasons: it helps explain the Venatori oculara production method, as it seems one needs a connection of some kind to the spirit nature in order to be able to see these shards ( as Hakkon personally once did with his followers, and later the Venatori did forcefully on the Tranquils via possession – i.e. forcing a spirit on them- ), and it referes to the shards, for the first time, as elfstones. This would indicate the shards are elven in origin, yet another elven magical artifact lost to the ages and only revealed by the Breach.

Considering Solas is responsible for the Veil and is an ancient elvhen himself, I find it extremely difficult that he wouldn’t know what the shards are. He keeps one on his desk supposedly to study it, but chances are he already knows exactly what it is and how it works. The shards most likely are from a pre-Veil era, hence why a connection to the Fade and spirits is necessary to see them. The shards have a physical nature, they are tangible objects, but also a spiritual one. On close inspection the glowing crystal part looks more like lyrium veins, and lyrium is the only thing that grows both in the physical world and in the Fade. It links both realms, existing in both simultaneously. And then there’s the skull merged into each shard, or elfstone. Are those skulls also made of stone or are they real skulls, and if so who did they belong to originally? They are called by the hakkonite elfstones because the shards belonged to the ancient elves, because it’s part of their magic/tech or because they’re made from elves? Maybe it’s all of that.

Also to note are the temples these shards open. The temple of Solasan is the first, and in Jaws of Hakkon we get another one (The Mystery of Winter). Both are evidently elven temples, not just by their name (Solasan is elvhen for A Prideful Place and has elvhen inscriptions at the entrance and inside it’s central chamber) but also by what we find inside (The Mystery of Winter holds a codex by a forgotten one, Geldauran ).

So like most things in this universe, the shards are ancient and elven in origin. But what of the oculara? They’re made from Tranquil skulls, surely the elves from pre-Veil times didn’t have people made Tranquil. And what about the Venatori looking for the shards and Alexius stealing one of Solasan’s doors? Well, I do believe Solas not knowing what the oculara are, I really think the elves wouldn’t come up with that, the world they lived in didn’t distinguish much between matter and spirit and therefore they’d have no need to device a way to see their stones (I do think however they were perfectly capable of taking the magic out of someone, based on what we know of the Evanuris temper). As for the Venatori and Alexius , they’re Tevinter. There’s enough evidence that indicates Tevinter appropriated a lot from elven culture and magic, so it makes sense the Venatori -possibly with knowledge made available by Corypheus  -  would create the oculara to yet again get their hands on ancient elven magical artifacts.

Eluvian:

Ancient elven magical mirrors used for communication and transportation. The name means “seeing glass”, and all eluvian are connected in an vast network extending through a realm different than the Fade, possibly created by the elvhen. For this reason only elves have a nice experience travelling through this realm, while others like humans get blurry vision, headaches, and overall an unpleasant experience. The Crossroads is how Morrigan calls the nexus of this realm where all eluvian connect. Most are locked, and in the physical world many are broken. The key to unlock eluvians can be either an object or a piece of knowledge, like a password.

Eluvians can get tainted by the Blight so it’s possible -although to my knowledge never mentioned – that the eluvian’s mirror may be made from lyrium, considering lyrium is the one previously thought non-organic substance capable of becoming tainted (in this codex  a dwarf referes to it as “king of metals”, mirrors were created by polishing metal, and considering how mirrors are made now even if eluvians aren’t entirely made of lyrium some of it may have still been used). Something that could back this up is a small detail seen in Darvaarad in Trespasser; the Qunari had been experimenting with eluvians for some time, take a look at their tools here:

On both tables we can see a few canisters with slits that glow from its contents, much like lyrium chests do.

Foci:

Orbs of ancient elven origin used as receptacles of power and memories. Similar orbs were called Somnaborum in ancient Tevinter. It’s implied each member of the Evanuris had their own foci (or is it focus in singular), and the only one we get to see is the one belonging to Fen’harel.

Similar looking artifacts appear in some ancient elven murals seen throughout Trespasser, one in particular depicts a similar form shown as the core of a slained Titan that is more or less replicated in the hands of an elf much like an orb. Considering we’ve already seen the “heart” of a Titan in The Descent, I wouldn’t say titan hearts and orbs are the exact same thing but it’s possible the Evanuris created their foci from the titans. 

Not much is there about foci, all we get about them is in Inquisition and from Solas, and it all points  to these artifacts being like backups of each Evanuris power; if Solas is any reliable example then Uthenera weakens the elvhen considerably the longer they remain asleep, so these foci may have been used once they awoke to get them back to full power quickly.

I try to take my own screenshots so apologies for missing some -like the Solasan temple doors, my new Inquisitor isn’t quite there yet!.  The second part of this will cover some Tevinter examples. If there’s anything you’ve seen on this subject that you’d like me to tackle just let me know and i’ll give it a try :’D

#Dragon Age #eluvian #oculara #Thedas #Dragon Age Inquisition #Tevinter #foci

[notesbynoah]

scenes from a hat- killer7′s “russian roulette” scene

every now and then, i think it’s worthwhile to take a closer, more critical look at the construction of a scene to try to understand the director’s intention with using the specific angles and shots as a vehicle with which the narrative flows. i also think it’s worthwhile to share these thoughts, and i intend to do so more often now with shots i find fascinating from different visual mediums- games, movies, or otherwise. so, i’ma do it. and i’ma call it “scenes from a hat.” do you get it? like the “whose line” game but they’re actual cinematic scenes and i kinda choose them on a whim much like how you would pick a slip of paper from a hat? it’s clever. everyone loves it cause it’s clever.

let’s talk about killer7.

note: though i highly recommend you watch the scene prior to reading this (link here), i will be offering visual aids in the post. it may work best for you to use these not as your introduction to the scene, but rather as a guide to further understand the points i’m attempting to make. i hope this helps improve your reading experience. i will also be discussing HEAVY spoilers here. continue at your own discretion.

killer7 is a game that has no qualms with being as outlandish and capricious as possible. one moment, one of the seven personalities you play as is being treated to a somber song written by a busker on the streets of a city in the dominican republic, the next moment you’re in a 7-on-7 boss fight against an expy of the power rangers. even if you’ve played a suda51 title in the past and come into killer7 expecting the usual erratic display of expression from the mind of goichi suda, you’ll still walk away surprised. possibly even disturbed! 

while killer7 contains many scenes that exemplify the odd nature of the game, there is a particular scene that i feel stands out among the rest. a scene that could fit right into any sort of horror arthouse film and not feel out of place due to its climactic and high-stakes nature. the “russian roulette” scene.

in the very first cut of the scene, the player is immediately introduced to a new character and note the existence of a gun on top of his desk. the next few cuts pace themselves accordingly, as the line of action is set and the character is introduced to the player. the player can also take note of garcian’s slight chuckle as he enters the office. almost as if he’s responding to our thoughts. “what is that gun for?” it seems garcian has an idea of what he’s in for here.

“and who might you be?” is a question we should be asking here, really.

note the scene’s adherence to sticking garcian on the right and benjamin on the left. this is important to understanding the construction of the scene.

it’s here that benjamin’s intentions with the gun are quickly made evident. “would you like to join me for a game of russian roulette?” he loads a single bullet into the pistol as the camera gets a direct close-up of the pistol. 

yep. single bullet. no bullshit here. this guy means business.

as benjamin discusses the reward garcian receives if he wins the game, we get an interesting shot that puts the camera at an angle which forces the player to look up at benjamin. a classic angle used to portray a character in a position of power, which establishes benjamin’s background slightly further. not only does this guy mean business, but he’s probably someone we don’t want to mess with.

if garcian wins, benjamin will tell him how to “hit on women with 100% success.” sorry, what? not only is that totally irrelevant to the situation that’s been built up during the entire mission to the player, it just seems like total bullshit from benjamin. either benjamin has an insanely pigeonholed perspective on women that needs some addressing, or he’s just messing with garcian. he knows he’ll win this game. either way, garcian seems intrigued by this offer. he laughs it off, almost as if he knows benjamin is messing with him, and is even interested enough in his game to ask about the penalty for loss.

“if you lose, i want you to kill the president.”

so, according to the logic of this game, if garcian lives he learns how to hit on women with 100% success. if he dies, he has to kill the president. clearly this ultimatum is almost completely illogical and totally skewed, but maybe that’s intentional. is it a message from suda that politicians promise sweet nothings to the people of their country while refusing to deal with reality? maybe. at face-value, all the player needs to understand from this ruleset is that it’s chaotic enough to make no sense in our world, but be accepted perfectly fine in the realm of killer7.

garcian accepts, and benjamin takes a deep breath. the camera does a slow pan to benjamin before cutting to a close-up with him on the left side of the cut once more, looking intensely focused on not dying and seeming to hesitate to pull the trigger out of fear of losing his life right then and there. 

the subtlety of expression on such a simple character model adds great detail to the scene and alerts the player to the gravity of the situation.

as the gun clicks and no bullet shoots out, benjamin slides the gun to garcian for his turn. without so much as a moment’s hesitation, garcian nonchalantly takes the gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. no bang. he slides the gun back to benjamin, and the construction of the scene begins to take an interesting turn.

garcian is presented on the right side of the screen for the entire scene so far. this changes after he pulls the trigger. in order to reflect the chaotic nature of the scene and the tension running rampant through the air, suda intentionally breaks the continuity he has set prior in the scene with garcian and benjamin having specific locations where they belong. by breaking continuity immediately after garcian’s ballsy trigger pull, the pacing of the scene begins to feel inexplicably quicker and more tense than it was before. the stakes have been raised substantially, and in order to show the player how intense this game of russian roulette really is, suda’s going to mess around with continuity.

something else worthy of note is garcian’s unwavering confidence in this scene that political power benjamin, in contrast, does not showcase. using very distinct frame positioning right off the bat is a deliberate choice from suda to compare and contrast these two very different characters. garcian, meanwhile, shows no fear in the face of adversity and his confidence is enough to make benjamin lose himself for a moment. garcian’s stone-cold expression complements his actions and make this seem almost routine for him. this contrasts many other russian roulette scenes in classic cinema, which usually showcase a pair or group of characters displaying great emotion, similar to what benjamin is displaying in this scene. basically, benjamin is having a normal human reaction, and garcian’s reaction is almost...inhuman. i’ll get back to this and expound on it more near the end, but for now it’s important to understand that garcian is a brave son of a bitch and he and benjamin are essentially having a dick-measuring contest in the form of a suicide race.

note the camera angle coming from a position that greatly emphasize’s garcian standing over benjamin, almost as if he’s already beaten him before the game has ended. the emphasis on posture here is just as important- garcian stands tall, benjamin slumps over in the midst of a desperate struggle with himself.

benjamin notes that he refuses to die, “at least until the election is over,” and that it apparently takes a SHIT load of luck to run a country. he cares quite a bit about winning this game and possibly taking over control of the united states, whereas it seems garcian just wants to get on with his life. after struggling to find it in him to pull the trigger, benjamin pulls it right at his temple. no bullet. 

the camera puts the focus into the center of the frame, giving the player a unique birds-eye view of the shot. using the top of garcian’s head for scale, benjamin’s body seems to pop out and appears larger from this angle, even though he’s clearly still seated in the same position. this visual seems to reflect his sudden ardent belief in his chances of winning, which is a far cry from his demeanor mere seconds ago, while reminding the player that garcian is in fact still participating, and he is much more in control of his behavior than benjamin. in any case, it’s garcian’s turn.

no leadup, no fanfare, no nothing. just a flick of the finger. garcian, as aloof as ever, pulls the trigger and lives another day. from this angle, we are also able to see a slight jump from benjamin, denoting a clear surprised reaction. this camera shot of the trigger pull cleverly works in the full emotion of both characters in the scene while only displaying one character’s full body, and a consistent rhythm begins to form in the player’s mind as they watch the scene. benjamin is nervous, garcian is not, repeat. this seems to be the order of things. anyway, garcian slides the gun over to benjamin, we get a few more continuity breaks for anxiety’s sake, and benjamin starts to monologue.

“look at that important gun, god damn it. it’s so important.”- goichi suda, circa 2005

we get an oddly earnest moment of self-reflection from benjamin here as he ruminates over the futility of american politics and observes his own motivations in the scope of a life-or-death game. if he can’t cheat death again, what reason would he ever have to call himself a preisdent? using this logic as motivation for his actions, benjamin reaches for the gun and prepares himself to pull the trigger once again. as he does pull the trigger, we get five very different shots of a few different actions from benjamin within just a few seconds. it’s also worth mentioning that each of these five shots in this instance of the scene work perfectly as a miniature display of freytag’s pyramind of dramatic structure.

benjamin prepares to pull the gun as his monologue ends. the exposition comes to an abrupt ending as we’re forced back into the action. we get a shot of him preparing himself as he’s positioned directly in the middle of the frame, a solid introduction to the next four shots.

benjamin places the gun to this temple as the rising action of the scene, preparing us for what could happen next while simultaneously leaving it ambiguous, creating a slightly anxious shot. the framing of the scene complements this feeling of anxiety, as the camera’s subtle zoom out and pan right creates a sudden empty space in the frame that could just as easily be filled with benjamin’s grey matter in a few seconds.

the climax of the scene arrives. benjamin hyping himself up to pull the trigger and cheat death once again. the camera gives us a medium close-up of benjmain to show off the display of emotion on his face as he realizes this could be the end of it all, but that he’s in too deep to quit now.

the trigger is pulled in the falling action and, in a final moment of suspense, we hear the empty click of the gun. benjamin wins this round and lives to see another day. we’re treated to an amazing close-up here as we see benjamin go from panicked to realizing he won in the span of a single second. benjamin’s realization in the shot provided looks almost awestruck. he didn’t expect to make it, and yet here he is.

finally, the dénouement. benjamin’s inner conflict is resolved as he tells garcian that he “loses” and the confidence we saw from benjamin earlier in the scene returns. the camera zooms out slightly as if to bring focus back from benjamin to the interaction between he and garcian.

each shot here emphasizes a very different part of benjamin’s mentality as he pulls the trigger at his head. in order to emphasize the climactic nature of this instance, suda goes out of his way to display these five different shots of benjamin, all framed very differently in order to manipulate the player’s perspective into thinking this could very well be the end of benjamin’s life. after all, this is russian roulette. anything can happen. speaking of “anything can happen,” let’s talk about garcian’s turn here.

benjamin wins the round and slides the gun over to garcian as the music starts to pick up. this could be the end of our protagonist’s life. surely some display of emotion from garcian is warranted here, right?

guess not. we get a close-up of garcian’s solemn face as he coolly places the gun to his temple and, without a single word or second spent on benjamin’s dramatic display just now, he pulls the trigger and slides the gun back. no dramatic structure, no monologue, no nothing. the mood of the scene begins to change as we realize just how god damn cool garcian is and he tells benjamin his logic in his emotionless visage and gives us what is possibly the most important line in the game, which also serves to dictate the shift in the game that occurs after this scene.

“this gun holds seven bullets. i’m a professional. you can’t fool me, old man.”

i think it’s important to dissect this line and what it could mean for the plot of killer7 as a whole. in this entire scene, garcian’s demeanor is that of a no-nonsense professional. he knows what he’s doing here, and this is in direct contrast to a man from the government who is losing his mind. garcian is in control. later on after this scene, we learn some alarming news about garcian: he’s not garcian smith, but a serial killer by the name of emir parkreiner. in the scene where this information is learned, garcian is told that, as a child, evil had begun to “open its eyes” within him and that he was no longer like a “mortal being.” this adds gravity to garcian’s behavior in this scene. why would he fear death? he’s not mortal. he is the embodiment of death itself, and he is now in control of his own body. there is no switching between different personalities here. this is garcian’s shining moment.

consider now the metaphorical significance of this line. if garcian is to be the “embodiment of death” as i stated earlier, his demeanor could be likened to that of a gun. emotionless and murderous, but a potent tool in the right hands. however, garcian is no longer simply a tool for a higher power (in this case, consider harman smith a higher power). if he were, he would partake in the murder of benjamin keane himself. he doesn’t do this, though. using his own free will, he gets benjamin to kill himself. garcian kills another man without touching him and simply by being garcian. you can’t fool him into thinking he’s not his own man, and i can’t stress this enough, he is in control now. seven bullets are contained within that gun, just like seven personalities are contained within garcian- the six smiths and emir parkreiner. you didn’t count on the last bullet being the most important one, and you didn’t count on the last personality revealed, emir parkreiner, being the most important one either. 

when garcian says this pivotal line, he’s not just telling benjamin that he’s a professional killer, he’s telling the government that he’s his own man. he’s telling harman smith that he’s the main personality of the killer7 now. this is later cemented in stone as, in the last scene in the game, we see garcian now wearing black and harman wearing white, even though harman was wearing black for the entirety of the game up to that point and was considered the main personality of the killer7. of course, before this point, garcian was wearing white. that instance is what lets us know for a fact that garcian is now his own man, but this particular line in this scene sets us up for that. it lets us know that garcian is shifting into the main role, and that killer7 is his story now. it’s the story of garcian smith, and it’s the story of emir parkreiner. this line gives us everything we need to understand this.

back to the scene.

“i just love that gun man, you know? it’s so important. so important.”- goichi suda, circa 2005

benjamin tells garcian that they’re both sick individuals, attempting to relate to garcian at the end of his life. however, when he tells him this, he’s also possibly attempting to convince him to do what he needs him to, as he follows up after this line with a specific request.

we get some brilliant framing here that paints benjamin’s face in half-shadow, hinting at something more sinister as he tells garcian that the institution he’s in holds the “history of the united states,” and that there’s a tradition that has continued since the first presidential election he wants garcian to see through to the end. 

benjamin holds the gun up to his temple one final time in a shot that mirrors the framing of an earlier shot, except this time with more significance. this will be the last time we see this character, as we know for a fact that the one bullet in the gun will be launched as soon as he pulls that trigger. what are benjamin’s last words before he kills himself?

“by the way... women are all the same!”

calling back to the promise he made at the beginning of the game of telling garcian how to hit on women with 100% success, he instead tells garcian an empty statement, backing out on the promise he made. he’s served his role in this story, and now suda writes him out of it as a politician refusing to follow up on a promise. a little on-the-nose, possibly, but an effective representation of the sinister government in the world of killer7 nonetheless.

benjamin pulls the trigger, and we see the blood pool out from his head in a birds-eye-view, allowing us to see the full, slumped over, dead body of benjamin keane. garcian wins the game, and the scene ends.

there’s so much more to mention in this scene, such as the brilliant voice work from greg eagles and steve blum, or the masterful music composition of masafumi takada matching up with each individual moment in the scene perfectly, but this analysis was meant to look purely at the construction of the scene’s individual parts and how they signify something greater within the story.

i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i did writing this, and i look forward to writing similar analyses in the future if this one is well-received.

in the name of harman... 

#killer7 #analysis

[saint-yaint]

Pertrichor  Chapter 4:With Style and Grace

*Hortus Botanicus Amsterdam is a botanical garden in Amsterdam its really pretty

*äpärä(Finnish)= bastard

*smaragdine=synonymous for an emerald or emerald color

We quickly got our things together and left Alicia, the Sirens, Kiwi , and I are the first to leave. The Sirens left with Foxy, Kiwi and I left together. We headed to the Hortus Botanicus Amsterdam, where the first set of shows were taking place. There was about three to four hours to get there, that I wasn't too concerned about, what I was worried about was if those damn hounds are going to show up there.Being in the dark about knowing who is feeding them information is a nuisance to me, I can't be sure if they figured out if I am here or if they doing counter measures against us. Basically I am running around here like a blindfolded chicken with my head cut off, but alas this is the hand I have been dealt with so my bitching will do nothing but add to my grey hairs and losing my nerves. I looked over to Kiwi, she wore a silk circle skirt, vintage Versace shirt and her Swarovski So Kate heels, I like to refer to them as her stress shoes they only ever come out when she has a mission she deems difficult. I just wore a Herve Leger bell sleeve bandage dress, Daffofil pumps, and my treasured mink coat, the first thing I bought after my first contract was it a frivolous purchase maybe but I love it so much. Well I will be in the front row with Eileen, so I do have the high ground in a sense because I belong there in the bright lights and they have to stay in the shadows. So if they did try to get near me it show that they either are brazen or brainless, as they won't be seen by just me, they will be seen by the world. Yet again the ride is blurry and ever changing but the sun is setting, it is tired and wants to sleep. The sky is going through it's daily metamorphosis, cool blues, vibrant purples, flashy yellows, sweet oranges, and perfect reds. Simply blending together while being perfectly distinct and independent, the perfect cohesive unit. We try to be like the sky, sadly we cannot it is unrealistic, but perfection is false and fleeting even when it is created by the universe. I got some taps on my shoulder, we maybe at our destination, I turn to Eileen.

"Yes what's up?" I yawned. I wasn't tired just wanted to yawn. I am guessing we are here?"

"You have guessed correct it's time for us to go." We got out the car and straighten our clothes a bit, a little prep for photo ops.

So many paparazzi around, there is so many lights flashing that no shadows can hide, all is revealed and no secrets exist in the light. Walking on the plush carpet beneath me I posed and smiled, shook hands and smiled. The yelling and demands for pictures were wildly varied and muddled, after a point, yet I happily obliged. I get into the venue and meet up with several designers and talk to them and do some interviewing. Eileen was talking with models, taking pictures, and catching up with old acquaintances. I walked towards Eileen and she introduced me to her connects, Hilde shortly joined us. Her infamous locks mimics the infernos of Hell itself and she wore a smaragdine dress with crystal straps hugged her thick, buxom curves, her tattoos were on full display accented by gold jewelry. She hugged us shook hands with Eileen's people and went on to mingle further. I saw Greta in her striped crop top, hat, and jeans. She waved at me and mouthed 'come here'.

"I am pleased to have met all of you!" I started to shake hands with everyone in our small crowd "I must excuse myself now but I hope to see you during the shows"  

I made my way to Greta, graciously wading and talking my way through the hoards of people. Then I finally met up with her we hugged and whispered in my ear.

"The Sirens are ready to strike whenever and they are watching out for the hounds."

"Good." As I backed out of the hug, Greta looked like a deer caught in headlights and then I was caught by my waist then spun around into an embrace.

"Oh how I missed you!" I pushed out of the hug and saw those thick black glasses and those big brown eyes. Fuck my life.

"Who the hell do you think you are, touching me like that?" His eyes were wandering and my fury grew. "Keep your eyes to yourself you ass."

"You look stunning even when you are pissed off at me." He licked his lips and continued to stare. "Well I am here because, I wanted to see what these shows were about and this seems somewhere I might see you again, and lo and behold, my wish came true."

"So I assume your friends are here too? You three seem like y'all are joined at the hip." I was sneering, I know I was even though I couldn't see my face.

"You guessed right my brothers are here with me,but I got away from them when I saw you." Greta cleared her throat, she was clearly annoyed with Rollins already.

"So lover boy, what are you doing clinging to my friend?" Greta spat "äpärä."

I looked at Greta and was appalled she cursed. "Well this is the guy I met in New York, this is-." As I expected he would cut me off.

"I am Tyler Black, my apologies for interrupting you earlier. I am a new acquaintance of Grisleda's" He rolled the 'r' in my name.He is turning up the charm, trying to humble himself as he stands before Greta. "Where are my manners?"

"Good question Mr. Black, where are they?" She looked over somewhere and smiled. Then I saw Hilde bringing Beverley with her, maybe all isn't lost.

"Hey you two!" She looked over to Rollins and looked up "Uh hello to you too." She shook his hand. Then Beverley worked her way between Seth and I, and for that I am grateful.

"Hello all." Bev is at it again with her sultry, breathy coo. She extended her hand, expecting it to be kissed. "And Hello to you sir. Haven't seen you here before."

He shook her hand instead "Tyler Black, pleasure to meet you both." Then going to shake Hilde's hand too. Then looking at his watch he looked at everyone then stared at me. "I have to go at the moment, I will see you soon."

We turned to look at each other, then Eileen's voice washed over us. "So that's him in the flesh? Beverley press his suit more, he won't crack easily. Also it's time for the shows to begin we need to get in our places."

Beverley went backstage where Oracle and Dervish still was, and us four sat in the front row whispering hello and then settling in our seats. The was movement to the left of me, and there he is again. He did say he will see me later, he looked at the stage where the emcee started to talk and then techno music started playing. Models started to walk down the catwalk, spotlights followed them. Various people and clothes moved about, I took some pictures to take my mind off of the man that was sitting next to me. I cut my eye over to where he was sitting and there they are, Ambrose and Reigns are here too, they look the part seamlessly fitting right in.A closer analysis of their faces show they don't know what the fuck they are doing here and they don't know what the fuck is going on, a damn mess. And now there is  Rollins getting closer virtually leaning on my shoulder looking my phone I use for blogging.

"What are you doing, Griselda?" Now he is making a habit of rolling the 'r' in my name. Ok I will admit it's funny but still.

"I am taking pictures, for my blog. Remember I told you this is my job or perhaps you was thinking with something else besides your brain when we were speaking in New York?" I need to maintain my composure, so I started taking pictures again. "Also you are invading my personal space. I would like for you to quit leaning on me."

He moved back and gave me some breathing room, "So are you not going to ask about what happened back there with your fierce little Finnish friend back there?"

"Oh yes, about her being actually concerned for my well being when she sees some strange man all over her friend. And why did you tell her a different name that what you told me? Who are you lying to?" I want to see what happens when he is put on the spot."Well you should explain yourself, I don't like hanging around suspicious folks like you. Also are you the only one that is lying or are your friends are too?"

He sighed "Hmm what if I told you we were lying? What would you do?" And here we go the ball is in my court, I am ready for his games now.

"I would wonder what you have to lie for? And I would want to get as far away from you as possible, you seem like nothing but trouble."

"Maybe I lie to keep people safe. Have you thought of that?"

"There is no reason and no way in the world that lying would keep people safe, so miss me with that bullshit. Now Mr. Who Ever You Are let me get back to work."

He fully retreated to his seat, maybe I struck a chord with him. His eye went dark and he faced forward clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth, I broke past his facade and tarnished his resolve even if it's ever so slightly, I was proud and won a battle against him but the war looms over my head. I grinned and beamed baring my teeth, slowly learning how to deal with Rollins' ego. It isn't inflated but he is too sureof himself and believes all of his ways are foolproof, so this important mental note will be given to Bev. The more I can push him into Bev's grasp then he will quickly be a non factor and Ambrose and Reigns will fall as well soon after him. A breakthrough finally, hopefully there will be more light. The last cycle of the final show wrapped up, standing ovations were given and afterwards people milled out the to the reception area. I walked the taxi area, Kiwi was going to have the driver to take her to a dinner her friends were hosting, I messaged her I was going to the hotel early and rest up. As I waited and checked my phone, shadows appeared in the corner in my eye. I turned around and saw Reigns, I looked to see that the other two hounds weren't near him right now.

"I am guessing you wounded Rollins' pride Miss Brunswick." His voice made me jump a little.

"He hurt his own pride when he didn't take the hint and kept coming on to me." I stared Reigns in the eye "Is he brooding because he couldn't get what he want?"

"Maybe so Brunswick. You know he ain't a man that often gets rejected by women, hell look, he got that model all over him now."

Then my eye wander and I saw Beverley and she was all over Rollins and was trying to get him to dance with her. She wasn't having much luck and it was evident when Rollins disappeared.

"Well I will be heading back to the party that's all wanted to say." He patted my shoulder "See you later Brunswick."

I got in a taxi and went to the hotel, I walked past the check in desk and walked down the gold mirrored corridor and waited for the elevator.

"So you made a beeline back to your hotel room huh?" It was Rollins, I didn't even look his way. "You're not even going to look at me? Are you?"

"No I am not, and I don't talk to strangers" the elevator door opened and I walked in he followed me in.

"A stranger, really. You really going to say that?" He got me in the corner and looked down at me, he grabbed my chin and made me look up at him."I am new to you but I am no damn stranger. Listen here Griselda, you can be catty all you want but I know you want me, all of me."

"Who the fuck you think you are? Let me answer that because I know who you are, a grown ass man who think that whispering sweet nothings in my ear is going to make me weak in the knees for you. I am no naive schoolgirl that will fall for that shit." I rolled my eyes "Look at you shaking in your damn boots, can't take it can you?

I pushed him and he caught my hands and put them over my head. "You are a goddamn brat, spoiled little brat." He looked me in the eyes, I saw the fire in his eyes and it burned me."You don't know me, you don't know shit about me. But since I am a nice guy I will tell your ass once and only once. I am Seth fucking Rollins, the man that will put your ankles behind your ears, fuck you 'till you act right, and will make sure you scream my name to the point it echoes in your ears and between your legs."

Then he kissed me roughly, slipped a card in my purse with his room number on it, he left the elevator and looked back at me. "When you are ready to act like a woman come to me, and I will treat you like a woman."

I was too sure too soon, that tiny victory,that little light I saw earlier,the sliver of hope I held in the shadows disappeared and I was lost in the dark again.

@adriennegabriella @superrezzy00 @writinglionqueen

#petrichor #my fics #wwe fic #seth rollins #roman reigns #dean ambrose #alicia fox

[megatentious]

Shin Megami Tensei 3 Nocturne is still incredible

I just finished a replay of Shin Megami Tensei 3 for the first time in a decade, so I felt compelled to write a big long unstructured essay about it where I’m going to sound like an overwrought crazy person. That’s okay though. There’s just something about this game that really speaks to those of us who find our way in. When you sound like a hyperbolic cultist writing soaring prose to try to meet the game at its level, it’s not a unique reaction. We’ve all been spellbound in the same way, the game is designed to do it. How is it designed to do this? Basically, in every conceivable way! The music and sound composition, the moment-to-moment battling, the environmental art and location choices, the progression systems for both the protagonist and demon fusions, the scope and method of storytelling, the density and depth of the mythological references, everything fits together like a symphony to inspire these feelings. Tension, immersion (lol), and utter absorption. Nocturne is a clinic in how to structure every aspect of your game around a unified vision (finding the strength to survive in a cruel and barren land) without hugely compromising ambition. That this level of design can be sustained over the course of 50 hours for the average playthrough and 70 for those of us determined to reach the lowest depths of the game’s enormous optional (!) Amala dungeon is insanely remarkable. Some of the more adolescent fans of the Shin Megami Tensei series and the broader Megaten franchise lionize this one in particular as being the most “dark” but that’s a kind of stupid and narrow way of looking at it. If you’re a cool person you don’t love Nocturne because it’s “dark” you love it because the game makes you feel like you’re hallucinating. SMT3 is unconcerned with providing detailed exposition and light-hearted character moments, but it’s a game that is overrun with “story” at every turn. And not just in the environmental, piece-it-together Souls series storytelling sense people love to talk about, there are actually a bunch more NPCs around straight up delivering dialogue for you than you’d think! Pair that up with the demon chatting, the compendium entries, the audiovisual cues and the gorgeously directed cutscenes, and the common complaint that SMT3 has no story just seems like nonsense to me. The game isn’t necessarily just dour or unambiguously somber either. Megami Tensei’s roots are in the pulpy trash of 80s light novels, and you see this in some of the humorous demon-focused crassness, the bits of comedic negotiation dialogue, and the seeming mish-mash of myth as aesthetic influences. But the funny paradox of SMT3 is that it’s a game built on a punk-rock foundation of rebelling against what’s proper and mainstream (see any interview with the creators) that is also simultaneously downright austere by today’s standards. Grand and lonely and visionary in tone, careful, measured and meticulous in its design, without an ounce of bloat, nothing wasted or incoherent, it’s just so impressive on every level (I promise I’ll get more specific with my gushing soon). There’s an attitude among some Megaten fans that Nocturne is the one that doesn’t fit in the series, that it’s too different from previous Shin Megami Tensei games, but I don’t think that’s right. To me there’s a very clear throughline, it’s just Nocturne’s antecedents aren’t necessarily found in its immediate numbered predecessor. When it comes to the main and numbered games in this series, you can very easily see the path from Megami Tensei 2 -> Shin Megami Tensei 2 -> Shin Megami Tensei 4, all of which begin years after the apocalypse has occurred and concern themselves with how society persists and political factions collide decades and even centuries into the aftermath. They are the three most readily described as “cyberpunk”, they’re chattier, they’re a bit more clichéd in their own ways (amnesiac gladiator and military academy recruit openings for SMT2 and SMT4 respectively), they let you use guns and their general sensibilities are similar.  

SMT3’s lineage is, I feel, more directly traced from two other games. SMT1 and (hear me out!) Revelations: Persona. I think it’s easy to link these three games together for several reasons. In all three you begin in relative peace in a current day city, in all three the inciting incident is an occultist ritual, and interestingly in all three the hospital is your first dungeon, deliberately chosen for its uncanny familiarity to create an immediate sense of unease (and also the pretty obvious birth/death location symbolism). These are games centered around the immediacy of disaster and apocalypse, and take modern day locations that are meant to be familiar and subvert them to make them unnerving. Atmosphere is a word I see frequently used to praise all three games (yes there are at least 1 dozens of us, [dozens!] who like Persona 1) and the dream-like, surreal atmosphere in these three games can be strikingly similar. 

So yeah, good lord, Nocturne’s atmosphere. This game is simply filled with astonishing imagery at every point. The art directors managed to make each scene feel somehow weighty and mesmerizing, with aesthetic choices made throughout that are just so thoughtful and cultured. Angels and demons look terrifying and awesome, in that they inspire terror and awe. Gods and goddesses appear benevolent, their facial expressions neutral and lacking in human emotion. Jack Frost remains the best mascot in videogames. There’s well-researched details in the animations and all aspects of appearance (see here for a bit on Baphomet’s posing). The vocal and sonic choices are perfect, like that unsettling blaring soundblast when the statue of Gozu-Tennoh speaks, as if a great and mighty terror is deigning to communicate across worlds.

There are posts that dissect the spiral imagery of the vortex world that repeats over the course of the game. There are entire sites devoted to breaking down the wide range of inspirations for the game's transcendental demon design. Random tumblr people compare the cutscene direction to Ingmar Bergman films, and it’s interesting to see how the cutscenes are frequently in first person or otherwise hide the protagonist, which not only hearkens back to series roots (while saving budget $$$) but also conveys solitude and makes the scenes with multiple demons and figures appear that much more spectacular. On any given day you’ll find a tweet or two or three of people overwhelmed by the game’s aesthetic choices, its virtuoso game over sequence, or title sequence, or pretty much any sequence. It’s the purest expression of a world class artist’s singular vision and is the reason why all of us sound so annoying whining for Kazuma Kaneko to return from his flower field exile.

There’s also a very ingenious way SMT3 supports its themes and that is through the combat. Nocturne is a game about stealing turns. It’s the fundamental principle of the battling, it’s why everyone tells you to keep the skill Fog Breath, and it’s a carryover from the simpler system in SMT1 where the method of stealing turns was using charm bullets or casting Zio to paralyze the enemy before they even have a chance to act. The battle system has a famous Engrish name called “Press Turn,” which is distinct and not to be confused with the One More system from newer Persona games or the alignment based combat bonuses of Strange Journey.

In SMT3, any given press turn encounter depends upon the party composition choices you’ve made, not only the resistances and repels/drains you enter with (two very different things in terms of battle consequences!) but also the moment to moment decision-making of turn management, weighing how to strategically pass to maximize damage output over the course of the fight. Every battle is an opportunity to demonstrate your efficiency and mastery of the systems, and the goal of each encounter is to use foresight and preparation to demolish your foes before they have the chance to even act. Steal turns and survive in a barren land of death upon death, this is the elegance of Press Turn. You’ll hear endless discussion around this game’s difficulty, and encounters generally have teeth to them yeah, but there is a very principled fairness to the battling where combat swings do not occur as dramatically as they do in say, SMT4. SMT3 is balanced perfectly by virtue of its lack of save anywhere option, providing you with tension at all times but also most importantly the tools to mitigate disaster over the long term, which is a deeply deeply rewarding way to survive.

Press Turn’s UI really adds to this rewarding feeling.  How terrifying is it when a boss casts Beast or Dragon Eye, and suddenly a string of new turn icons appear? How satisfying is it to see a row of flashing turns, knowing that you’ve fully exploited your enemy? The enemy composition really accentuates this as well, with encounters often designed to avoid easy spam of single elements or physical skills to mindlessly coast to victory. SMT3 doesn’t want you taking any shortcuts, if you want to take advantage of a given demon or magatama’s skillset, you need to pair your choices to mitigate the corresponding weakness, or the enemy’s AI will press their advantage in the exact way you would. It’s a really satisfying symmetry.

There are also other paths to battle that are just as viable. Exploiting weaknesses with a multipurpose magic build is another way to steal turns. Building battlers around skills that maximize critical hits is another way. And if you are terrified of the infamous one-shot deaths that people like to say are the franchise trademark? Equip null-death magatama in between level ups. Raise your luck. Resolve battles before enemies even have the chance to use the spell against you. Raise your speed so enemies don’t get the chance to go first. Get endure as soon as possible. The tools for success are all right there for you! Nocturne tasks you with growing strong enough in this world to ascend to creation, and it provides you with multiple paths to reach this goal.

So, about these multiple paths, let me talk to you a bit about SMT3’s famously unique alignment system. Other games are lauded for their ultimately fairly stupid morality systems but Nocturne breezily operates on a completely different level. Instead of RESCUE and HARVEST in dumb giant gothic font or literally color-coded paragon and renegade meters, in SMT3 you align yourself naturally through story progression with factions concerned with stillness, power, solitude, freedom, or rebellion. Instead of the grand binary moral choice being telegraphed through hideous-looking “Little Sisters” (god I hated that stupid name haha) there’s a rough analogue in  the actually sympathetic but far more complex unsettling-looking Manikins, whose character motif is described by the creators as representing those who lose themselves to the strength of numbers. There’s unfortunately a tiny amount of material in the game to support extremely tedious “canon” discussion, but the game actually works best and most purely as an abstract, impressionistic vision of grand universal themes. Playing through any one of SMT3’s six endings makes the universe feel vast and overwhelming, and asks you to contend with a broader suite of philosophies than ‘good’ or ‘bad,’ and that’s ultimately what I think the developers were most interested in going for.

Something about the prose in Nocturne is also special in a way that is extremely difficult to accurately describe. Like everything else in this game it feels elegant and detached, gods and goddesses are appropriately otherworldly without sounding like haughty stereotypes, lower demons are funny and crass in a way that’s not so on-the-nose. Again it’s very difficult to pinpoint but something has been lost in the writing of the newer games, even a bit as small as how angels and demons in the game actually never name anything directly as God, but instead refer obliquely to a Lord, an Absolute, or a Great Will, Nocturne just gets all the little details right.

As I run out of steam from this braindump, I notice there’s still an essay’s worth of observations in so many other topics that deserve to be discussed. The Tokyo-focused but somehow universal theming of the game’s alignment principles and locale visuals. The insanely expansive but unfortunately compressed soundtrack (see over three hours of unreleased material alone here), where dungeon music regularly evolves to indicate progression, and battle and boss music quantity is generously varied both between and within song. The extremely rewarding fusion system can be plumbed to frankly insane depths, with a demon bestiary that is reasonable to 100%, and the lack of “use it or lose it” demon quality that hits other SMT series games contributing to a better feeling of progression and customization opportunities. The demon negotiation, which rewards your knowledge of mythological connections among pantheons with unique one-time only dialogue. The dungeons, the DUNGEONS. With the exception of an early set of sewers, an apparent shitty dungeon theme RPG tradition, each of these are little masterpieces of aesthetics and design, with their own thoughtfully introduced and iterated gimmick, planned wonderfully for both third and first person, often wrapping in and around themselves in spirals in that very Shin Megami Tensei-specific way.

Even if you think a game like Nocturne seems too dense or impenetrable or boring or random-encounter filled or whatever, it’s worth giving it a real shot for yourself to see if it manages to grab you. We’re no longer in those days in the late 2000s where the game cost exorbitant amounts of money to get, a digital version can be found on PS3 for $10 (with only rare emulation issues in certain dungeon sections), and the disc itself was reprinted and can be found brand new on Amazon if you have a PS2 or want to emulate on PCSX2, where the game looks even more breathtaking. Either way, find a way to treat yourself to an RPG where it is actually appropriate to throw around the term masterpiece. I didn’t really write any of this text no one’s going to read to make a persuasive case to anyone, but sometimes games will inspire you and it feels good to ramble about them. Games like this one are nearly impossible to make nowadays, and SMT3 is something worth cherishing.

#smt3 #nocturne #smt nocturne #unparalleled #why doesn't that last gif work here oh well

[beastmodem1]

Altering the world requires heart.

The three years since hentai games's unique release, I have considered it nearly every day. Its lavish style gracefully captures its spirit of rebellion and frees life into its own dynamic combat system. The evocative, banging soundtrack perfectly encapsulates the e motion of every minute. The down-time spent in Tokyo along with your friends delivers you nearer to all them, chased your combat for what is ideal. All those qualities feed into a bold story that unapologetically puts down its foot against the injustices which reveal our own culture. The lengthy version, hentai games, brings all over again. But beyond a plethora of excellent gameplay refinements and characteristics that boost an already-rich RPG comes a brand fresh narrative arc seeded within the unique storyline and paid in full at the ending. It produces some thing truly astonishing, resulting in awe-inspiring minutes and psychological decisions that recontextualize that which I thought that the game has been. During its protracted 120-hour runtime, hentai games demonstrates it self as the authoritative variant of today's basic.

Even the minute you commence P5R, you're awarded the incredible media res introduction that brilliantly showcases the journey you are set for--and a glance in the Royal-exclusive personality Kasumi. Next teaser, then you are brought for the chronological start of story that then walks you through the activities that emphasized the flame inside our protagonist (aka Joker) and kicked his travel as a virtuous trickster. The opening hours may require a while to pick the rate back up, but by easing you in to the game's approaches, you're create for that rest of its stream. P5R delicately intertwines the everyday structure of living life as a high school pupil and a supernatural-powered vigilante battling evil in an alternate measurement. Considering that the societal sim components and RPG dungeon crawling are woven together seamlessly, you develop attached to the very world you are combating to change. It has a structure that's been the series foundation since Persona 3, and it is in its most effective in P5R using a reach of new and possibilities minor UI components that will help communicate your choices. Watchfully choosing just how to devote your own precious nights and days by balancing school lifestyle, relationships, and also your own duties like a Phantom Thief during the calendar year even makes the boring exciting. It is possible to spend time with personalities to learn on that which drives them witness their own growth as they internalize and overcome their traumatic pasts. Among your connections really are kind hearted adults drained by means of a system which has neglected them and teenagers haunted by their past and dreading their own future. These are rather individual stories which frequently hit close to home and also inspire inside their very own tiny way (though a few are inherently awkward). And those relationships together with your Confidants bestow forces you carry into battle. P5R tends to make the Confidant procedure less complicated with new scenes, at the sort of phone calls, so you can position up them more quickly, effectively allowing the chance to see these stories that are enticing. It really is important since there are a few fresh Confidants to bond with as effectively. The key new opportunities are using Goro Akechi, who is now some body you choose to spend some time with, which leads to a better understanding and advancement of him this time approximately. Kasumi Yoshizawa has been touted as the big add-on to this roster; she fits in effectively and you're going to realize that her appetite to become an elite aggressive gymnast comes from a darker, more complicated spot. Even though her screen time is restricted from the first 1 / 2 of the game, she's vital to this rescue of this new story defeats and also a welcome ally to fight alongside the remaining portion of the gang you know and love. Most importantly, your faculty counselor Takuto Maruki, an enormous personality that elevates P5R's narrative. He has an exceptional thematic match, giving perspectives on mental wellness that hadn't been touched at the original. His story was cleverly integrated in to the heart storyline, and he's likewise key for unlocking what is beyond hentai games's authentic story and some of P5R's greatest minutes. Relationships are what force one , but also the hard fought struggles occur within the Metaverse, a real manifestation of tainted cognition. Demonic shadows lurk since you work to metaphysically crush the distorted wants of those who've uttered your pals and many others--and you also do so with a hyper-stylized, confident swagger. With the majority of Palaces comes a brand new bash manhood and story twist concerning what led them to unite the cause. These aren't solely tragic back-stories to the sake to be striking, although --it is how you are to know their battling soul till they eventually become a beloved comrade. Dealing with these story-critical Palaces never ever loses its luster, as their trippy, imaginative designs and enemies appeal you in the wild conflicts across. At times, the very assumption of Palaces is subverted to great result; some times evildoers are not the only individuals who want a change of heart. It farther compels one to search that which goes ahead. Beyond plenty of excellent gameplay refinements and attributes that increase an already-rich RPG includes a momentous fresh story arc seeded over the original story and paid down in full by the ending. Palaces contain a few tiny but smart adjustments in P5R, too. Re-arranged dungeon designs accommodate Joker's brand new grappling hook, allowing you to swing into fresh places. They often lead to Will Seeds, a collectible that divides SP and mildew to accessories that are useful. Returning people can even note that a few dungeon designs are streamlined, making mining smoother. Mementos, the Metaverse's set of procedurally created flooring, also gets some much-needed overhauls. Driving close to to progress in such twisted subway aquariums as the Morgana bus was novel, but grew insistent from the game. P5R yells in fresh mechanics for example collecting blossoms and stamps to money in for useful items and advantages to boost struggle benefits. And probably the most welcome change is the fact that, as an alternative of exactly the same song during, fresh tunes play deeper levels. Aside from stealthily browsing these surreal dungeons, you'll be spending a bunch of time participated in P5R's dynamic turn-based combat. It truly is swift and fashionable, also builds on the sturdy base of Shin Megami Tensei, that has you emphasizing exploiting elemental flaws and earning extra turns. Common enemies could also be fodder once their affinities are exposed, but rougher ones, mini-bosses, and supervisors tap into combat's insecurities. P5R layers more onto struggles, like the ridiculous Showtime attacks that possess twoparty members spouse up for a high-damage combo that initiates in clutch scenarios. The powered-up Baton go mechanic is even more important because it can certainly boost harm and rejuvenate HP and SP. And boss battles now have various stages that pose new, ambitious issues that require you to think more tactically, testing your control of their combat method. The winding swagger of this extends to the eloquent and effective UI that will help keep up combat's fast pace. Every thing participates such a speedy and ridiculously stylish fashion you can not help but fall in love with it as well as the Phantom intruders who tug off all these flashy moves. Even in a second variant of the match, executing all-out attacks and observing them unfold hasn't lost one piece of its charm. Never comes with a turn-based overcome method been so thrilling. hentai games is many things: some collection of little inspirational stories, an ambitious harrowing journey with some decent buddies, a stunning visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to activity. However, P5R isn't right here to merely look quite . Beneath the mask of its own unrelenting style and charming silliness are the friendships that you form and encourage one to stick to along with fight right through to the best finish. In their persona awakenings into the minute that you view them fully realize their goals, your fellow Phantom burglars eventually become your experience or die within this heavy-hitting story. In concentrating on perpetrators of sexual attack, worker exploitation, along with vile authoritarianism, hentai games brings a clear line from the sand-- most people in this way have zero place in our own society and deserve no more prey. There isn't any middle ground, no compromise to be made, no more each sides-ism. Your crew's personal drama sometimes seeps in to the broader concept, but maybe not without demonstrating why you're fighting so really hard to change matters. Even if doubt about their vigilante ways begins to creep into , characters work , stick with their own ideals, also realize there wasn't a choice in the matter. Ironically, P5R can be subtle like a brick. It is easy to nit pick exactly where its composing drops into being overly simplistic or a bit rote--but it's improved in several instances it can still be crude occasionally. It isn't particularly nuanced in its storytelling, nonetheless it does not need to function as. In becoming evident as day at its story, the messages along with characterizations are unmistakable. Additionally, it is therefore wild for me that the game's almost-caricature villains have been less and less far fetched in just the three years because the initial launch --that the blatant abuse of power, also their wrong-doings put nude, and also the masses shrouded in watching them experience impacts. The conclusion into this original narrative arc simply strikes otherwise now, and the game's most magnificent battles have become increasingly more laborious. Transitioning into the Royal-exclusive third semester, there is a tonal change that is cheaply executed. Stranger things start to transpire, in an oddly unsettling method, especially during the seemingly merry winter. This P5R requires a turn toward actual ethical quandaries. In this third semester, there's a bit longer to learn about your pals, also there is only last Palace to infiltrate. And it can be, undoubtedly the optimal/optimally one in the full game. These new incidents are attractively recorded with brand new Royal-exclusive songs that amplify the thing that has been already an iconic, yet genre-bending sound track. The puzzles inside of will surprise you, and also fascinating revelations about characters propel them very well outside that they presented to really be. The pace at which it has educated and the way the set of activities are framed paint hentai games at a new, captivating light while remaining true to the original soul. This new narrative arc achieves an expansive awareness of scale and finality, yet catches an even more intimate, private tone. And it all builds around what's also the best boss combat all of the game, compelling your beat abilities to their constraints. P5R efficiently simplifies among the original's flaws: its own somewhat surprising end. From the vanilla version, even after above 100 hours, it still felt like there was still a lost slice; P5R H AS that overlooking slice. There is 15 about 20 hrs values of amazing content that accepts hentai games at a different management whilst traveling all-in on its finest characteristics. It gives a stunning, magnificent ending even after the original's bombastic, overthetop finish. These new events have been attractively recorded with new Royal-exclusive tunes that shorten the thing that was already an iconic, genre-bending soundtrack. Without exception I understood"Life Will transform" and"Rivers In The Desert" as flawless samples of how hentai games uses its own new music to portray precise thoughts of the moment--tunes which exude the infectious optimism of this Phantom robbers moving into take a corrupted heart. As the case with our older favorites, then the new evocative jams eventually become a powerful story instrument. "I Believe" stands like a bold recollection of the long, hardfought travel that dissipates into a last struggle, even though"Throw Off Your Mask" conveys the hint of jealousy involving a battle of morals. The brand new reef's motif features a wistfulness that illuminates the situations that unfold. Tunes is inseparable from your Persona experience--that the show stinks for this and somehow, some way P5R produces again to generate a much more profound effect. So, just like from the initial, the tune"Sunset Bridge" brought my moment together with P5R to some close. It's really a bitter sweet song which is used throughout the match to signify an instant of clarity for its personalities. But since the last background track before needing to abandon the sport , it became my own personal instant of clarity, realizing how much I've enjoyed my time here, also for many reasons. Since P5R comes to an in depth, it tries to ease you to the end together with budding scenes, several fresh and a few familiar. But in doing this, it simply can make it harder to say goodbye back again. hentai games is many things: a selection of small inspiring testimonies, an ambitious harrowing travel with a few decent close friends, a stunning visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to action. By optimizing what was great and construction on its very best qualities having a brilliant new storyline arc,'' hentai games claims itself as a memorable and enabling RPG that should be recognized as one of the best matches of the time.

#video games #video game #games #mobile games #android games #pc games #online games

[tenorbox0-blog]

Changing the entire world will take heart.

The following three years as anime sex game's authentic launch, I have thought about it nearly every day. Its lavish style consistently captures its spirit of rebellion and breathes life to its own energetic combat approach. The evocative, banging sound track perfectly encapsulates the e motion of each moment. The downtime spent Tokyo along with your friends brings you closer to all them, chased the fight for what's perfect. All those qualities feed to some fearless story that unapologetically sets its foot down from the injustices which signify our very own society. The prolonged version, anime porngames, attracts the heat all around. But over and above plenty of outstanding gameplay refinements and functions that enhance an already-rich RPG comes a brand fresh narrative arc hammered within the unique narrative and paid in full at the ending. It supplies some thing truly astonishing, leading to amazing minutes and emotional conclusions that recontextualize that which I thought the game has been. Through its protracted 120-hour run-time, porn games anime reveals it self since the authoritative edition of a modern classic. Even the instant you commence P5R, you're given the incredible in media res introduction that brightly showcases the trip you're set to get --also provides a glimpse at the Royal-exclusive personality Kasumi. After this teaser, you're attracted for the chronological start of the story that walks you through the occasions which lit the flame in our protagonist (aka Joker) and kicked his journey as being a virtuous trickster. The opening hours may take a while to select the pace back up, but by easing you in to the match's approaches, you're create for that remainder of its stream. P5R delicately intertwines the daily arrangement of alive as a Japanese high school student and also a supernatural-powered vigilante combating evil in a different measurement. Considering that the social sim elements and RPG dungeon crawling are stitched together effortlessly, you increase attached into the very world you're combating to change. It has really a structure that's been that the show foundation as Persona 3, also it really is at its most effective in P5R using a range of new and possibilities minor UI elements that will help convey your options. Watchfully deciding just how to devote your own precious days and nights by balancing school lifestyle, relationships, and also your duties as a Phantom Thief through the duration of this calendar year also makes the mundane enjoyable. You'll spend some time together with personalities to learn about that which drives them and witness their growth as they internalize and overcome their traumatic pasts. One of the relations would be kind hearted adults exhausted by means of a system which has neglected them and teenagers haunted by their past and dreading their own future. These are quite human stories that usually hit near home and inspire in their very own tiny way (though a few are inherently awkward). And these relationships together with your Confidants bestow forces you take into conflict. P5R can make the Confidant approach much easier with new scenes, at the kind of phone calls, to help rank them up speedier, effectively awarding the opportunity to find out these enticing stories. It really is vital as there really are a few fresh Confidants to bond with as nicely. The key new chances are using Goro Akechi, who is now some body you decide to spend time together with, which finally leads to a deeper understanding and progress of this time around. Kasumi Yoshizawa has been touted since the huge add-on to the roster; she matches effectively and you will see her desire to be a elite aggressive gymnast originates in a darker, more complicated location. Although her screen time is limited from the first 1 / 2 the game, she's imperative to the rescue of this new story beats and also a welcome ally to fight along with the remaining part of the gang you love and know. Above all is the faculty counselor Takuto Maruki, an enormous personality who truly elevates P5R's story. He has an fantastic thematic in shape, presenting perspectives on mental well being that had not been touched in the original. His story was integrated in to the heart storyline, and it is likewise key for unlocking what is outside sexy anime porn's unique narrative and a few of P5R's greatest minutes. Associations are what force you, but also the hard fought struggles occur while in the Metaverse, a physical manifestation of tainted cognition. Demonic shadows lurk as you work to metaphysically conquer the distorted desires of abusers who've uttered your pals and lots of more --and you do so with a hyper-stylized, certain swagger. With the majority of Palaces comes a fresh party manhood and narrative twist about what led them to combine the reason. These aren't solely tragic back stories to the sake of being dramatic, though--it's the best way to are to comprehend their fighting soul till they become a cherished comrade. Accepting those story-critical Palaces never ever loses its allure, because their trippy, imaginative enemies and designs allure you into the wild conflicts across. Sometimes, the very assumption of Palaces is subverted to great result; sometimes evildoers are not the only people who want that a reversal of heart. It compels you to hunt exactly what lies beforehand. Beyond an array of outstanding gameplay refinements and features that boost an already-rich RPG includes a more straightforward new story arc seeded over the first narrative and paid down in full by the end.

Palaces feature a few small but smart adjustments in P5R, as well. Re arranged dungeon designs accommodate Joker's new grappling hook, so permitting you to swing to fresh locations. They frequently lead to Will Seeds, a collectible that divides SP and mildew into accessories that are useful. Returning people can also notice that some dungeon layouts have been streamlined, generating mining simpler. Mementos, the Metaverse's collection of procedurally generated floors, also gets some much-needed overhauls. Transferring all around to advancement within such twisted subway tanks as the Morgana bus had been book, but grew repetitive from the original game. P5R yells in brand new mechanics like collecting flowers and stamps to cash in for items that are useful and perks to improve struggle rewards. And probably the most welcome change is that, instead of exactly the very same song all through, new songs play deeper degrees. Aside from stealthily browsing these surreal dungeons, you will be spending a ton of time participated in P5R's dynamic turn-based battle. It truly is fast and fashionable, and builds on the solid foundation of Shin Megami Tensei, which has you emphasizing harnessing elemental weaknesses and earning additional ends. Standard enemies could be fodder as soon as their affinities are vulnerable, but tougher types, mini bosses, and bosses tap into combat's insecurities. P5R layers more onto struggles, just like the absurd Showtime attacks that possess two-party members associate to get a high-damage combo that initiates clutch scenarios. The powered-up Baton go mechanic is a lot more important since it can certainly promote damage and replenish HP and SP. And supervisor fights now have various stages that present brand new, demanding problems that ask you to think more intelligently, testing your control of their combat technique. The winding swagger of it extends into the snappy and efficient UI that will help keep fight up's speed that is fast. Every thing participates such a quick and ridiculously stylish manner that you can't help but fall in love with it along with the Phantom intruders who tug all these flashy moves. In another variant of the match, implementing all-out attacks and seeing them hasn't lost a single piece of its charm. Never has a turn-based battle system been so thrilling. anime hentai game is many things: some collection of small inspiring tales, an ambitious harrowing travel with a few decent close friends, a magnificent visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to actions. However, P5R isn't right here to just look fairly much. Under the mask of its own unrelenting style and enchanting silliness would be the friendships that you inherently form and encourage you to follow the struggle to the first conclusion. From their persona awakenings into this minute you view them fully realize their objectives, your fellow Phantom burglars eventually become your experience die in this heavy-hitting narrative. In concentrating on perpetrators of sexual assault, worker exploitation, along with filthy authoritarianism,'' porn games unblocked draws a obvious line from the sand-- most people like this have no place in our society and deserve no mercy. There isn't any middle ground, no compromise to be made, no more both equally sides-ism. Your crew's individual drama occasionally escalated in to the broader concept, however perhaps not without illustrating why you're battling so challenging to change matters. Even if doubt about their vigilante manners commences to creep in, characters work through it, stick for their own ideals, also comprehend that there clearly wasn't really a choice in the situation. Ironically, P5R is often subtle as a brick. It is simple to nitpick where its writing falls into being too simplistic or perhaps a bit rote--although it has improved in some waysit can continue to be crude at times. It isn't particularly nuanced in its storytelling, but however it does not need to be. In staying clear day at its story, the messages and characterizations are unmistakable. Additionally, it is so wild for me that the game's almost-caricature villains have been significantly less and not as far-fetched in only the three years because the initial launch --that the blatant abuse of power, also their wrong doings put bare, and also the masses uninterested in watching them face impacts. The conclusion to this original storyline arc only strikes differently and the game's magnificent battles have become increasingly more laborious. Transitioning into the Royal-exclusive third semester, there's a tonal change that's effortlessly implemented. Stranger things start to come about, in a strangely unsettling way, especially through the apparently winter. This P5R takes a turn toward actual ethical quandaries. In this third semester, there is somewhat more to learn on your buddies, also there's one final Palace . Which is, undoubtedly the best person in the full match. These brand new incidents have been beautifully captured with new Royal-exclusive songs that amplify the thing that has been already an iconic, genre-bending soundtrack. The mysteries within will shock you, and also intriguing revelations about personalities propel them nicely outside who they introduced themselves to really be. The speed in which it has told and the way the collection of activities have been framed paint anime sex spiele in a brand new, attractive lighting when staying true to its original soul. This new story arc reaches a grand sense of scale and finality, yet catches a more intimate, individual tone. Plus it builds up to what is also the most important boss combat in all the match, pushing your combat abilities for your own constraints. P5R effortlessly solves one of the initial flaws: its own marginally abrupt end. From the vanilla variant, even after above 100 hours, it felt as though that there was a missing bit; P5R H AS that missing bit. There is 15 to 20 hrs worth of excellent content that takes sex anime games at another direction whilst going all-in on its very best features. It supplies a stunning, stunning ending even after the original's bombastic, overthetop conclusion. These brand new incidents are beautifully recorded with new Royal-exclusive tunes that shorten the thing that has been an iconic, yet genre-bending soundtrack. I always recognized"living Will transform" and"Rivers At The Universe" as flawless examples of how anime hentai game works by using its audio to portray precise thoughts of this moment--tunes which exude the contagious confidence of this Phantom intruders moving into have a corrupt soul. In the instance with all our older favorites, then the new evocative jams become a potent narrative instrument. "I Think" stands being a fearless recollection of this lengthy, hard fought travel which dissipates into one final battle, whilst"Throw Away Your Mask" conveys the hint of reluctance involving a battle of morals. The new Palace's motif has a wistfulness that permeates the scenarios that unfold. Tunes is inseparable from your Persona experience--that the show thrives for this and somehow, some way P5R produces again to generate an even more profound impact. So, just like at the initial, the song"Sunset Bridge" attracted my period with P5R to a detailed . It's really a bitter sweet tune which is used across the match to signify an instant of significance of its own characters. However, because the final background track before being forced to leave the game behind, it became my personal second of emotion, understanding how much I have treasured my own time , and for all-new explanations. Since P5R arrives to an in depth, it tries to facilitate one to its ending with budding scenes, even several new and a few familiar. But in doing so, it simply makes it harder to say yes back again. anime sex spiele is many matters: a collection of little inspirational tales, an ambitious harrowing journey with a few great close friends, a magnificent visual and sensory encounter, a resounding call to actions. By optimizing what was great and construction on its very best qualities having a brilliant new storyline arc,'' sex anime games asserts as a memorable and enabling RPG that ought to be named one among the best matches of our time.

#video games #video game #games #mobile games #android games #pc games #online games

[mamanpanda0809-blog]

Chapter 1

How to be French when you are not

What comes to your mind first when you hear the word "France"? Most likely Paris with its massively famous tower. Or if you're more into gastronomy it might be their incredibly tasty pastries and dairies. Oh also you shouldn't forget the vineyards… And the historical buildings. Not to mention that half of the fashion industry is practically based in Paris. 

These were just some of the examples we can possibly mention when we are to describe France itself. The so-called "clichés" are everywhere. However, is France really like that? Can one take a step without bumping into a "boulangerie"? Do you really feel obligated to wear your (in my case, non-existent) pair of Louboutin every time you leave home? And lastly, is it really true that they do not speak a word of English? 

I'm here to give you a bit of an insight into the raw and real side of living in the South of France. I'd like to emphasize the fact that I only visited the southern part of France so I would rather avoid forming an opinion in general about the whole country. 

To begin with, when I arrived in France, I promised myself that I am not going to use English while being out and about. Only French! Big words from someone that can barely speak and has never learned French from an actual teacher. But I knew that I would most likely put myself into several uncomfortable situations while struggling with not understanding a word of what my beloved Frenchies say. 

Surprisingly, it happened just like that! :) 

As soon as the plane landed in Marseille, I immediately switched to my " French mood". The only problem was that my "French mood" was not enough to ask a security guy at the airport about the buses going to the city. So I made up the second rule immediately, which was that rule number one will only kick in after I leave the airport. Desperate times call for desperate measures… :) Because let's just face it, the airport is so international, no one's gonna give me the look if I start speaking in English. 

As I've already returned home, I am proud to say that I only said twice that I didn't speak French during my two months over there. Once on a train, and another time in a shop. My objective was not to say it at all, but sometimes it was just so inevitable. However, times like this will teach you certain tricks and tips on how to pretend that you are perfectly fluent in French. (But beware of the fact that once they do not work, they can get you into some real embarrassing situations…)

Here are some advices that can help you make the French think you understand them, what is more, you have a response to add to the conversation! 

1. Always start with bonjour and smile!!! 

Cliché, but the it's for the better. Although I have no idea what kind of reaction you would get if you didn't say it. But I'm sure it's no good. 

2. Use your words! 

Even the most basic word could be the game changer! If you got some French vocab, don't be shy to show them! You may end up sharing a laugh on the ridiculous mistake you've made, but believe me, it will just make you even more sympathetic to them! 

3. Listen carefully!

Once you're lost in the flood of unknown words, just keep reacting! Nodding and smiling is always a good idea, but if you want something more challenging, you can always say "Ahh ouii?" when you feel like some kind of response is needed. Except when they say something rather negative, then you can just react by saying: ouulalaaa or when the situation seems to be reaaal bad you can add some lalas to it. So easy! :)

4. Ça c'est vrai??! 

When someone tells you a story you don't really get, you can still get the astonishment from the tone of their voice. By saying "c'est vrai???" you just made it clear that you are just as surprised as the story-teller is and are so aware of the story he or she is telling you. 

5. D'accord………

If you have absolutely no clue what you were told at the bus stop, on the street or at any other place where it does not really matter (well, if they're telling you you've just missed the last bus… embarrassing) you can just go with "d'accord" which can be translated as "alright". (This is my least useful tip, only use in case of emergency!) 

6. Pardon….? 

This is the better version of tip number 5. By saying pardon you can pretend that the reason you don't understand a word is because you couldn't hear it correctly. But good luck with the rest of the conversation…:)

7. Ouais… 

Oui is probably the most regularly used word in French. Of course the French have developed a looser way of saying it. It's hard to express how "ouais" is pronounced, I think it's like saying oui but with zero articulation. Also you can say "bah oui" instead, so much more French!

8. Ça va?

Ça va (how are you? ) is someting you should always say in almost every situation. When you meet someone, it's never enough to only say bonjour. And the best thing is that the answer is pretty simple. In case things are going well for you, you go with "oui" or just say the same thing without raising your voice like "ça va". If you don't feel very well, say ça va anyway, unless you want to explain your problems in French. :)

9. Ça c'est drôle ça

Okay, this is probably the funniest thing in French. They LOVE to add the pronoun at the end. Honestly, you'll hear it everywhere! So you can basically say "Il est content lui" which can be translated as: he is happy, him. This is so ridiculous and SO FRENCH! Don't be afraid to use it, it's gonna level up your French game. 

So here we are, my go-to tips for all the people wanting to visit France with no or little French knowledge. I think these tips will also allow you to learn something from each conversation you get yourself into. The best advice I can give you (which I'm also struggling with) is to be brave enough to make mistakes. That's the key. 

Hope you enjoyed reading my first post about how to speak French when you actually don't, I will continue covering topics like this one and break the stereotypes about France and its people. 

In the next post, I'd like to form my opinion on the quote below, it's from the movie "Vive la France" . If you're interested, don't hesitate to follow me. :) 

"When the world was created, God decided to invent the most beautiful country of all and put all of the world's wonders in it. He called that country… France. But so that other countries wouldn't feel deprived, God decided to fill it with the French."

[asforetold]

RPG Recommendation: Apocalypse World

If you like the idea of exploring a dead world that feels alive in ways most living worlds can only dream of, if you feel like playing a stone-cold badass from the very first session and only getting stronger and more fascinating from there, if you want to use roleplaying to tell an honest-to-goodness story... this may well be the game for you.

Apocalypse World is an award-winning, post-apocalyptic indie RPG created by D. Vincent Baker, and it’s one of my favourite games of all time. After the jump, I’m going to tell you why.

Iconoclasm

I once saw someone describe Apocalypse World as an indie storygame built almost entirely out of components from traditional RPGs, and I think there’s a lot of truth in that. When you take it apart mechanically, it’s got a lot of the same features (roll dice plus a stat to do things, damage and health handled as numbers, and so on), but it goes on to throw a lot of the supporting traditions and norms out of the window.

Apocalypse World’s Game Master is styled as the MC, and that’s an incredibly appropriate moniker. This is a game that tells you loudly and repeatedly (in all-caps at one point) not to pre-plan a story or a world. It’s a game that explicitly frames roleplaying as a conversation and a cooperative rather than competitive exercise with your players, and that tells you that your agenda should be built around “playing to find out what happens”. It looks at a lot of the principles of conventional RPGs, and tells them, in no uncertain terms, to go fuck themselves.

Mastering Apocalypse World is far more about wits and improvisation than it is about careful, measured preparation, and being just as willing to be surprised by how it all pans out as your players are. This game is carefully designed to produce entertaining stories in a way that feels completely organic, and the end result is brutal, raw, unexpected, and fantastic.

Simplicity

Apocalypse World is extremely straightforward to set up and play. For a start, every single game-relevant action is handled using the same mechanic: roll 2d6 plus a modifier. 10+ is a really strong success, 7-9 is just a regular success, and 6 or less is a miss. The modifier will almost always be one of your five character stats, which are expressed as simple pluses or minuses.

The game also gives you an extremely robust framework of moves to handle almost any gameplay action. A move is a set of rules for doing a specific thing - it might begin “When you do something under fire...”, and then it’ll explain what you add to your roll and what happens for each possible outcome. The “basic moves”, which cover more or less everything you’ll want to do outside combat, trade, and a few other special actions related to psychic malarkey, fit on a single A4 sheet. The “battle moves”, which are the main options you have during combat, fit on another. That’s all the generic stuff - the special abilities that make your character really stand out are found in your playbook.

A playbook is Apocalypse World’s equivalent of a character class. It’s a neat little one-sheet dossier that covers your stats, your special moves, gear, appearance and some rules reminders, and it’s a thing of beauty. Creating a character is as simple as picking from a series of menus, for everything from name to appearance to the gear, followers and holdings you start with. That may sound restrictive, but the options are usually broad and allow a lot of room for player interpretation or adjustment. Playbooks can’t be duplicated between players, so they ensure that everyone has a niche to fill. Character creation also includes setting up some initial relationships with the rest of the group, and forces you to think a little about what kind of person your character is - it’s an instant characterization exercise that ensures that everyone starts with some depth.

Player Agency

I’ve never seen a game that gives its players quite as much power as Apocalypse World. This isn’t just about character power, though that’s certainly a factor - it’s perfectly legal to create a starting character who runs a small town, leads a biker gang or cult, or drives a fucking tank. (No, really.) It’s about players having a big, real impact on the world and the story, and being able to shape things to their own preferences.

When you roll high in Apocalypse World, instead of a flat power upgrade, you usually get more control over what happens. For instance, when you’re in combat and choose to seize something by force (which can include your target’s life), if you can choose to ensure you get control of the thing, inflict more harm, suffer less harm, and/or awe your enemy - but the strength of your roll indicates how many of these things you can pick. Similarly, when you try to read a charged situation, you can ask the MC more questions about what’s going on with a high roll.

Even if you fail, though, you’re rarely without choices. A lot of moves give you a small benefit even on a miss, or let you choose between not getting what you want or getting it at a serious cost to yourself. And it goes even deeper than that: players are actively encouraged to pitch in with worldbuilding and development of character-relevant NPCs. To top it all off, almost every playbook gives a player something they can customize, improve, and call their own, whether it’s the driver’s custom car, the battlebabe’s custom weapons, or the chopper’s savage biker gang.

Player Interaction

The best thing about Apocalypse World’s attitude towards its players, however, is that it incorporates a strong mechanical incentive: the Hx stat. Hx stands for History, and you have a Hx stat for every other player character in the group representing your relationship with that character. Hx ratings represent closeness or distance rather than good or bad relations - you get the same Hx modifier when someone causes you harm as you do when someone heals you. It also doesn’t have to be symmetrical. You can feel very close to somebody who thinks of themselves as distant from you and vice-versa.

You use Hx as a roll modifier instead of the other stats whenever you try to help or hinder another character, but the real kicker is that Hx is also one of only two ways to advance your character. Every time your Hx with another character reaches a certain threshold, either positive or negative, you reset it to a neutral value and gain an experience point. Five experience points equal an advance, which lets you increase your stats, learn new moves, or, at high levels of play, even change playbook or create a second character.

Barring certain moves, there’s only one other way to gain experience: rolling with highlighted stats. Of your five stats, two are designated as “interesting”, in that they’re powerful catalysts for storytelling, and you gain experience whenever you make a roll involving one - but you don’t get to choose them. The MC picks one, and the player with whom you have the highest Hx at character creation picks the other. You can ask for your highlighted stats to be changed at the start of any game session, but it’s always someone else making the call.

Thus, your only two reliable methods of improving your character are directly tied to your interactions with the other players. This is easily my favourite thing about Apocalypse World.

Sex

Apocalypse World is the only RPG I’ve ever seen that handles sex in a reasonably mature way. The game is somewhat notorious for its “sex moves”, and I wouldn’t be surprised if my initial description puts you off a bit, but do bear with me. Basically, each playbook has a specific mechanical thing, the “special”, that happens whenever your character has sex with another character. Sometimes that applies to anyone, but in other cases it only works with other player characters.

The important thing here is that the sex moves aren’t really about the actual sex. They’re about what happens afterwards, when you look over at your lover lying beside you and wonder where the hell you’re meant to go from here. They’re also extremely flavourful. The gunlugger gets a bonus to their next roll after having sex - it gets them fired up - and they can give that bonus to their partner too if they want. The driver’s sex move can open up whole subplots: they have to roll to see if they can keep a healthy distance, and, if they can’t, they suffer penalties until they can prove their partner doesn’t own them (what that means is up to you and the MC). Perhaps most intriguingly, the savvyhead gets to use their object reading ability, which usually only works on inanimate pieces of technology, on their lover.

With all that in mind, these moves aren’t integral to the system by any means, and you could just as easily play without them if your players are younger or it’s not a topic you’re comfortable bringing into the game.

Other Perks

This rulebook is legitimately fun to read. The prose is liberally peppered with quips and profanity, but still manages to be extremely clear and lucid.

When you choose your character’s gender, there are explicitly options for “ambiguous”, “transgressing” or “concealed” gender presentations as well as binary male and female options. It’s a small thing, but it made me smile.

The game’s very light on specialist equipment - you just need 2d6 and a lot of paper and pencils.

Apocalypse World is built from the ground up to be very easy to hack, and D. Vincent Baker actively encourages people to twist the rules to fit whole new settings. There are a few other “Powered by the Apocalypse” games extant already, including Avery McDaldno’s paranormal teen drama hack Monsterhearts, Michael Sands’ investigative horror hack Monster of the Week, and Sage LaTorra and Adam Koebel’s Dungeon World, an attempt to port old-school D&D to the engine (which I think kind of defeats the point, but that’s just me).

Caveats

Apocalypse World’s improvisational ethos makes long-term planning impractical, so if you like the idea of mapping out a story in advance, it’s probably not right for you.

The focus on character development and arcs necessitate a slow burn - even the author acknowledges that Apocalypse World doesn’t usually get really good until around session six. This makes it rather unsuited to one-shot games.

There’s a lot of violence and gore, a lot of sex, and one hell of a lot of swearing, and at times it does feel a little bit gratuitous.

The radical approach Apocalypse World takes to roleplaying and storytelling can come across as preachy, and certainly won’t suit every gaming group.

Conclusion

I first read Apocalypse World at a time when I was immersed very heavily in D&D-alikes, and it was an incredible breath of fresh air. If I had to recommend one game to demonstrate how you do a narrativist game right... well, Fate would certainly be up there, but I think this game edges it out. It’s not for everyone, and it needs time to get going properly - but, once you’re in high gear, it might just be one of the most memorable things you ever play.

#rpgs #tabletop #apocalypse world

[tigercomplex]

its 2021 are yall still bitching that dark souls is a bad series because you personally cant beat it

#sorry. sucks to suck i guess #not every game needs to cater to ''casual gamers'' whatever the hell that means #to be clear. i think its perfectly possible to add measures into the game to make it more accessible to both disabled people and newbies #but an ''easy mode'' is a lazy half-solution