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#add it to the list alongside ‘doesn’t breathe’ and ‘likes to live in abandoned buildings’
shitpostingkats · 1 year
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I don’t want anyone to say I invent too much non-canon nonsense in my eldritch!Jaden headcanons, because I just remembered that Jaden canonically eats forks.
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Day 9: The Haunting of Hill House
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Let's talk about this novel and this show.
I already posted a quick review of the novel last year, so I'll briefly plagiarize myself. Please note, however, that I'm adding some significant elaboration to this review, including spoilers. I won't spoil the show once I get to that portion, but if you plan on reading this book, all you need to know is that I absolutely love it - it's my favorite novel about a haunted house and one of the best examples of classic horror literature.
Anyways, onto the review:
The Haunting of Hill House was written by Shirley Jackson and released in 1959. I've been trying and failing to read this book for the better part of two years now. It's always shown up on lists of the scariest books ever written, alongside the likes of The Amityville Horror by Jay Anson and Ghost Story by Peter Straub.
Having finally read (and, ultimately, been severely let down by) Straub's Ghost Story, I picked this one back up. I'm not sure if it's that something changed in me in the past year, or if it's because I was no longer trying to read it before the release of the Netflix "adaptation," but I became enamored with the novel in my third reading and finally, blessedly finished it.
In this novel, Shirley Jackson successfully captured the psychology of living in a haunted house. I fell in love with our central cast: Eleanor Vance, our protagonist who has a history with poltergeist activity, likely stemming from caring for her invalid mother until the latter's passing; Dr. John Montague, a psychologist bent on investigating the scientific angle of the occult and the man responsible for bringing together our ragtag band of misfits; Luke Sanderson, the thieving and charming black sheep of the Hill family and heir to Hill House; and Theodora (or Theo, who intentionally does not have a provided surname), a childish, flamboyant, and likely queer psychic who naively craves the excitement of staying in a haunted place.
Together, these four must brave the throes of Hill House and face whatever remnants of its terrifying history await them. This party is to experience total isolation during their stay, as cell phones weren't common in 1959. They are also to face conditions of "absolute reality," or reality completely unaffected by the subjective perceptions of the human mind. I believe that this is ultimately the narrative's way of explaining that the human mind cannot fathom paranormal activity without prior framework to quantify it, but 1959 was a different time.
What really struck me about The Haunting of Hill House was its lack of empirical ghostly encounters. Yes, the characters have spooky experiences and things happen, but the novel doesn't outright show us a ghost. Instead, it poses a question: is the house truly haunted? Or is the absolute reality that the house's troubled history is affecting the people staying there? Is it possible that Eleanor, with her history of Poltergeist activity, is causing the doors to slam and the writing on the wall? The ending only further adds to the mystery, and the reader is left to ponder.
The Haunting of Hill House has had a troubled history with screen adaptations. Two films based on the novel - both named "The Haunting," - released in 1963 and 1999 respectively, and neither had a particularly warm reception. The 1999 film in particular often appears on "worst of" lists of horror films. Prior to 2018, adaptations of Shirley Jackson's magnum opus seemed taboo, destined to fail.
And that, my friends, leads us to the show.
As you likely already know, the Netflix adaptation of The Haunting of Hill House has VERY little to do with the novel. The eponymous house and some characters are shared, but what we have here is a mostly original story about a family whose lives are still haunted by Hill House decades after they abandoned it.
Our showrunner Mike Flanagan (Oculus, Hush, Doctor Sleep) took Jackson's novel, deconstructed it, and crafted something brand new.
I am exceedingly pleased by what Flanagan and co made for us. The Haunting of Hill House is easily the best thing to come out of the novel since, well, the novel. It's also the only thing on the list so far to have legitimately scared me.
The show follows the Crain family, who move into Hill House in 1992. Olivia and Hugh Crain - the mother and father of the family - are house flippers, and Hill House seems to be their big break. As you'd expect, however, things go awry, and most of the family flees in terror in the middle of the night not long after their arrival.
Along with Olivia and Hugh, there are five Crain children who form our central cast: Steven, Shirley, Theodora, Luke, and Eleanor. The story is told between two eras - in 1992 during the family's summer at Hill House, and in 2018 as the family deals with a tragic loss.
Our cast in this story is absolutely incredible. With one exception, each member of the Crain family is portrayed by two different actors, and each gives it their all.
Michael Huisman and Paxton Singleton play Steven Crain, the eldest of Olivia and Hugh's children. Steven does not believe in the ghostly encounters that the family experienced in their time at Hill House, but that does not stop him from capitalizing on their trauma and writing a book about their experiences anyways, much to his siblings' disapproval. Due to circumstances, Steven is having marital troubles at the start of the series and is separated from his wife Leigh, played by Samantha Sloyan.
Elizabeth Reaser and Lulu Wilson play Shirley Crain, the next oldest, who was named for Shirley Jackson. Depending on how you look at it, Shirley grows up to either have the perfect or most baffling career, as she owns, lives in, and runs a funeral home along with her husband Kevin, played by Anthony Ruivivar.
Kate Siegel and McKenna Grace play Theo (this time with a surname!), the middle child. Theo has a touch empathy, allowing her to experience psychic phenomena when touching people or objects; she wears gloves to help circumvent this. She lives in a guest suite attached to Shirley's funeral home, where we occasionally see her girlfriend Trish, played by Levy Tran.
Oliver Jackson-Cohen and Julian Hilliard play Luke, the older of the twins who make up the two youngest members of the family. Luke, having been severely traumatized by his experiences at Hill House and the way his family was torn asunder afterwards, has a severe struggle with substance abuse. He has a "twin connection" with his younger twin sister, as the two of them have the tightest bond of the entire family.
Victoria Pedretti and Violet McGraw play Eleanor, the youngest of the family and the other half of Luke's twin empathy. Of all of the children, Nell and Luke each had the most traumatic experiences at Hill House; Nell still occasionally sees the ghost that haunted her the most as a child. Nell's story is the most tragic of all of the children as well; I won't say any more than that.
Timothy Hutton and Henry Thomas both put on fantastic performances for Hugh Crain, the father of the family. During the opening of the show, Hugh has to make the drastic decision of leaving Olivia behind as he and the children flee from Hill House in the middle of the night. This, of course, caused a massive rift to tear between him and the children, and they all become estranged.
Last but absolutely not least, Carla Gugino portrayed Olivia Crain, the mother of the family. Olivia has arguably the most tragic story, as a sensitive who becomes increasingly affected by whatever lurks in the walls of Hill House. She still lurks in the minds of the children and Hugh, even after that fateful night.
Flanagan and this wonderful cast knew exactly how to put on a fantastic show. Each role is played pitch perfectly, in both incarnations of the characters. Child actors are known to struggle with putting on strong performances, but none of these young cast members are ever overplayed to the point of being annoying. The stellar writing that these characters have to work with does a great job of bringing the audience in and making them feel like part of the Crain family. We care about these characters and don't want anything to happen to them, and thus we are horrified whenever they are hurt or scared, just as we would be if anything happened to our own loved ones.
The Haunting of Hill House has the some of the most effective scares I've seen in horror. Flanagan knows how to build up tension and when to release it. He knows exactly how to frame a shot and how to use subtlety to his advantage. There are a few jump scares sprinkled throughout the show, but unlike with most other horror pieces, the jump scares are meant for the characters and not for the audience. They have real meaning and serve a purpose and aren't just there as a cheap way to shock the audience.
The score for this show does a great job of underlining the tension, but aside from the opening theme, nothing quite stands out for me. I do want to take a moment to discuss the cinematography, however. Flanagan knows EXACTLY how to frame a shot, when to show something scary, and when to leave something to the audience's imagination. The juxtaposition between the two eras is masterful in its framing and use of colors. The happier childhood era in Hill House is shown in bright, warm colors with some nice bloom effect to display a more innocent time. Shots are more spacious and give the characters plenty of breathing room, and the score is light and almost playful.
In contrast, however, the scarier portions of the childhood era and most of the adult era are filmed with muted colors and cooler, darker tones. Shots are cramped and claustrophobic, and darkness fills corners and swims in rooms. The score for these shots is ominous and quiet, or even non-existant at times, leaving us to wonder what's going to happen.
The Haunting of Hill House is one of my favorite shows. It's fantastic, nearly perfect, in almost every way; I seriously have a hard time thinking of anything I'd change. Over the course of ten episodes, I felt myself moved and swayed and afraid for the members of this family. The show is not for everyone, of course, and I even hesitate to call it an adaptation of my favorite haunted house novel, but its strengths far outweigh anything negative I have to say. If you're looking for a long-form scary watch, I implore you to check this out. I even encourage you to read the novel, as it is interesting to compare the two and look at what few parallels Flanagan drew between them. As of today, the show has a second season. The Haunting of Bly Manor, which is based upon the works of Henry James, reuses much of the Hill House cast in new roles, marking The Haunting as an anthology show.
I'm almost done talking about adaptations for this month. Tomorrow, I return to a film I watched in my youth now that I've read the novel it's based upon...
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carbonitekisses · 4 years
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I love you, I promise.
Summary: 
"We are the last Targaryens." She takes his face into her hands. "Stand by my side. And we will purge the world of all the evil, corruption, and pain that infests it. We will break the wheel. Together."
The air is thick with ash. Thick with death. Thick with hurt.
She bring her lips to his in a binding kiss.
In another world Jon Snow would have ended the kiss with steel and blood.
In this world he ends the kiss with an oath. It has become routine. Repetition makes it easier to believe. Easier to hide. "You are my queen now and always."
His lips burn in protest. 
They remember a promise he made to a woman kissed by fire...
"I'll protect you, I promise."
//
Tyrion is interrupted before he can convince Jon to kill Daenerys. What happens then? Sansa is summoned to King's Landing under threat of dragon fire for treason against the new queen of the seven kingdoms. Will Jon remember who he is and who he loves before it’s too late?
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(thanks to @tragedyofromance​ for looking it over!) This fits in @jonsa-week​ prompt for King’s Landing!
Valar morghulis...
The thin edge of Valyrian steel cuts through the charred flesh with ease. Bloody and gargled relief seeps down from the gash across the woman's throat. 
...but not like this. 
Arya dutifully closes the woman's murky eyes. Everlasting darkness is a solace compared to the hell that surrounds them. She digs her heels into the ground, pushes herself upright, and swipes the catspaw on her sleeve. It is of little use. The sleeve is more blood than fabric, now; a trail of mercy and corpses lengthens behind her with each step she takes towards the Red Keep.
Arya had detested Kings Landing from the moment she first passed its gates with her father and Sansa. The only joy she had found here had been with the brave Syrio Forel, water-dancing and chasing cats, exploring dungeons and little nooks and crannies. Yes, she despised the foul-smelling capital but she finds no joy in the destruction and bloodshed that has fallen upon the city and its people.
It is quiet. It is unnatural. Occasionally the silence is broken by cries or whimpers, human voices begging for help. She knows she cannot help everyone in her path. 
Help... Is that what I am doing? Arya grimaces when she sees the young man whose wheezing caught her ear. He is pinned, almost completely covered by a collapsed balcony. His head, the only exposed body part, is partially caved in. There is no hope for him. Arya unsheathes the dagger once more. Surely there must be some mercy in death. There must. 
By the time the Red Keep and Daenerys' forces come into view Arya's right sleeve weighs heavy with blood. She seethes when she hears how the Dothraki cheer, and sees how stoic and unrepentant the Unsullied stand under the overcast sky. I shut one hundred and twenty two eyes today. Her dagger only met skin when there was no chance of survival—and yet.
Brown, blue, green. Some of them she found underneath rubble. Some she found with their intestines out in the open. But most, most of the lives she returns to the Many-Faced God come from bodies with burnt skin and boiling blood.
That could have been my fate.
An elderly man silently cradles the husk of a young boy. A Dothraki man with beautiful hazel eyes kicks the man. The man quiets evermore. The man does not cry. He simply stares. At nothing. There is nothing. 
It might still be my fate.
The beast that flew above the city and rained fire all around her now lies atop a pile of crumbling wall stones. It flaps its black wings and roars in unison with the dragon queen's armies as her speech approaches its end. From where Arya is standing she sees Jon. His head of dark brown stands behind the head of silver. 
He's alive. Arya's left hand shakes and she grips the catspaw pommel even tighter. Jon survived. She sprints to her right with a new goal in mind. The long corridors that run alongside the sides provide sufficient cover. Not that it would matter overmuch; the men are in a frenzy, their faces never straying from their violet-eyed god. She has to squeeze between a collapsed portion of the ceiling and the wall. A particularly pointy slab of stone manages to rip through both fabric and flesh. Arya grunts and pulls her leg free. Just another scar to add to her collection.
She continues onward, only stopping to witness through a window how Tyrion Lannister yanks something—His Hand pin!—from his chest and throws it down the steps before being promptly taken away. A sense of foreboding urges her to move faster, to be by her brother's side. If Tyrion has abandoned Daenerys she cannot think that Jon will stay by his aunt's side for much longer; he will need protecting from the dragon queen. Arya's lungs burn from exertion. The air gains texture and color. She struggles to not cough and purge her lungs of the ash that continues to fall and thickens the closer she gets to Jon. 
The corridor ends and opens to a set of stairs commonly used by servants and those of lesser blood. Arya remembers they lead to a side entrance close to the landing where Jon and the silver queen stand right now. Arya lays a hand on the wall to steady herself. She's tired. So tired. Her tongue darts out to moisten her cracked lips. She laughs. I have no water left in me. The fire rid me of it. I am a dry river.
By the time she reaches the top of the stairs the laceration on her leg is pulsing and her throat is scratchy from the wracking coughs she was no longer able to hold in. The darkness of the corridor and side stairs lightens, and she steps into hues of gray and blue.
The ash covered floor muffles her feet well enough as she walks forward. She comes to rest at his side and examines him.
He shows signs of battle though nothing of great concern. A few splatters of blood here and there but no wounds of his own. She is glad of it. Life has taught her to be grateful for small blessings. Arya is standing mere inches away from him and they both watch as Daenerys Targaryen strides into the skeleton of what once was the Red Keep. Jon doesn't seem to notice Arya is there at his side. Unawares, he continues to glumly watch his aunt walk away. Arya hates it. 
"You're lucky." Jon twists around at the sound of her voice. He gasps her name but Arya does not stop speaking. It is time Jon listen for once. "You live. You breathe. No body can say the same of the thousands that died today."
A little bean of a thought sprouts in her mind: perhaps even the House of White and Black would see what happened here as overindulgence. 
Her brother stares at her as if he cannot believe she is there. He grabs her by the shoulders and his eyes search her body for sign of injury just as she did with him. His eyes grow darker with each cut, gash, and blow he sees. His hand slides downward and he retracts it in fear when it comes away bloody. "Your arm—"
"The blood isn't mine." It's the blood of the lives I returned to the Stranger. A small mercy—it is mercy. it is. is it? it is it is it is it is—for the people who your aunt could not do the justice of killing properly. 
He doesn't look any happier by her assurance. "What are you doing here, Arya?" A girl hears the reproach. A sister tries to smother the hurt. 
"The queen was on my list. I came to kill her. Daenerys got to her first."
"You shouldn't have come. What were you thinking?" His hands had returned to her shoulders and he shakes her. Memories tumble round and over and under her skull. Shake me some more, a girl pleas and in the fuzziness she thinks of an older man with eyes of the same grey... No, not the same grey. These are duller. Unknown to the known of the girl whose body I own. Arya Stark emerges once more, He's not father. He doesn't have his eyes. "You could have died. I could have lost you in the fire and not even known it."
He is desperate in his condemnation of me and my actions, Arya dully thinks of how even the imp seemingly denounced the dragon queen, But I am yet to hear him condemn the silver queen. Not even now, after everything. He still stands behind her, an accomplice to this massacre.
"I heard the bells. The city had surrendered. She didn't care; she burned them all." Arya Underfoot whispers, loudly, "She nearly burned me, too. The falling buildings nearly crushed me. It was such a close thing, brother." Pieces, fragments of shameful regret on Jon Snow's face. 
Jon says nothing. His hands, however, speak. A clenching and unclenching of dirty and bloodied fingers. A nervous tick. It began when they were children. Arya remembers how the bastard of Winterfell would push his feelings to the tips of his fingers since his tongue had been tempered to a bastard's silence. Scratch scratch. She can hear his blunt nails dig in hard enough to scratch the dirt off his palm. Scratch scratch scratch. It is a mocking and damning sound.
I should have done it sooner. Arya Stark's stupid dreams and memories of a bastard brother have clawed my eyes out. I was blind. blind. blind.
"You knew," she realizes. "You knew what she was and still you said, and continue to say, nothing against her. I know we haven't seen each other in years but this...I do not recognize this part of you. Sansa," here, his pupils contract, "thought you were playing the game of thrones. That you were afraid, trapped by the reveal of your parentage."
I thought the same. I believed you to be caught in a spiderweb of your own making.
"Because the only other option was that you-you..." had betrayed us. "Seems Sansa had too much faith in you—and so did I."
He doesn’t defend himself.
Arya’s heart shivers and her right arm feels sticky under the congealing blood. The garment is ruined. Sansa will have a fit. No, no she won’t. She’ll cry. Her sister never liked death. Even for Littlefinger Sansa Stark shed tears, venomous tears. I can’t let her see me like this. “You knew and you still tried to make us believe we were wrong in mistrusting her. Tried to make us believe we were paranoid.” The words that follow are quiet and bleeding, “You knew.”
You knew and, still, you cast us and the world into the fire. Just so your lover could satisfy her hunger for power. 
Finally he speaks but the words that follow... "Dany did—she—she freed the city from Cersei. She's the queen of the seven kingdoms now. And the North is part of those seven kingdoms." ...show Arya just how much her brother has changed. 
This is not the brother she knew. This is not her Jon. His hands feel foreign atop her shoulders. Arya pulls his hands off her and puts much needed distance between them. It wasn't Sansa who would end up betraying the family. The prejudice of childhood had blinded her not just to the virtues of a sister but also to the flaws of a brother. I should have played the game of faces with him instead.
"Try telling that to Sansa."
He avoids the obvious implication, instead he orders her to wait for him outside the city gates. Has he forgotten there are no gates to herald her departure? They, too, have fallen. Her stomach churns with worry. She grabs him by the elbow before he can leave. Jon might be acting the lone wolf but he is still her brother, he is still part of the pack. 
"Jon. She knows who you are. As long as you live you will be a threat to her."
"She is my queen," he says again. "I believe in her. Please, just do as I say and wait for me outsi—"
Arya interrupts him with a hug. Physical contact takes many forms. She has tried to learn them, the old (embraces like this) and the new (passion entangled limbs).
That old man was also hugging someone he loved. 
She cannot listen to him any longer. Her arms wind around him painfully, and it is her that is hurting. "I won't wait for you. I can't." She lets him go. "I need to warn Sansa. She needs to know what happened here. I need to be with her. With Bran. Goodbye, Jon."
Jon's mouth tightens slightly at the corners but he makes no move to join her. Arya now understands. He has made his choice. Her brother is a man grown. She cannot force him to leave. Her time is wasted here. There are others she can warn and protect, others who will listen. 
"Take care, Arya."
His whispered goodbye nips at her heels and chases her well after she mounts a white horse and leaves Kings Landing behind.
It is two days of hard riding before she finds a rookery inside a small and modest keep somewhere north of the capital. It is obvious the Dothraki passed through. Hundreds of horse tracks stamp the surrounding fields. Bodies and debris lay strewn under the sun. Inside, everything of value is gone and only lifeless vessels are there to greet her. She picks the keenest raven, and looks it straight in its coal eyes, "Bran, I do not know what you have seen, if you have mastered your powers and already know what happened. I don't even know if you're here. I could just be talking to a stupid bird. If you're here, please, guide this raven's wings and make it fly true."  
It is only luck, Arya thinks as she releases the raven, that they didn't burn the keep down. She watches the bird fly away, a little scrap of white tied to its feet. She waits until she can no longer see it in the darkening sky before she slumps against the stone wall.
It is only now that she allows her tear ducts to wash away the horrors she saw in Kings Landing.
It doesn't work.
She had forgotten she was dry.
Walking corpses, burning flesh, tearless cries, burning blood. 
She relives it all. 
She shuts her eyes, eyelids covering the light.
It makes no difference. The memories have burned themselves into her head.
They won't come out. I have to get them out before they drive me mad. Stinging pain pinpricks her scalp. A reminder, cruel, that she is not invincible. Arya Stark is weak. Exhaustion and hurt have seduced the strength of her muscles and mind. She hadn't noticed she'd been clawing at her head. Out. Out. Out. Out. OUT. OUT.
A sob claws its way out her chest and into the night. The cry is a bitter child, scared and angry at a world it is afraid of because it is so big and the child is so small.  
Daenerys Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Daenerys Targaryen.
Crack. Crack. Arya Stark. The head hurts. The wall does not. A widowed fisherman. Red. This body's blood. This flesh is weak. Lord Frey. The teeth tear easily into it. Faces. Masks. How many? An orphan girl, nameless to the world. Maybe if the mouth bites hard enough, makes the wound wide enough, this body can crawl inside. Devour itself. Seek out an answer inside. There must be an answer. No one. Who am I? What the fuck am I? Kill me. Kill me. Oh, gods. Oh, nothing. Father. Mother. Robb. Help. Help. 
Please.
There is a face she hasn't taken. A corporal being she has not tested her craft on. No One wouldn't wear the face. No One only wants to hide the face. Take its power and stifle it until the world is cleansed. 
I was trying to be good. I was. I was. I swear it. I was, wasn't I? Yes. Yes. No. Never. The world won't let me. 
A tongue, loose and thirsty, licks the blood on the hand.
  Daenerys Targaryen.
 Is it a list if it is only one name?
 // 
"A raven comes, Lady Stark."
"What have you seen? Bran—"
"There are moments I feel like Bran. They are precious, that I know." Eyes turn white. Silence. Eyes of her brother. "And there are moments I wish I didn't remember. 'Tis wicked, that they should come like a plague now when it would hurt most."
"I'm tired, Bran. Just tell me. I don't care. Not knowing how Arya and Jon fare... if you know, spare me nothing."
He speaks. 
She wishes he hadn't.
//
At this point in his life Tyrion thinks it is as good time as any to admit that perhaps he overestimated his cleverness. Here, in a store room of little importance, perhaps he can be honest with himself before he meets the dragon's fire. 
I wanted power. I saw the power in Daenerys and loved her for it, thinking she could make me powerful, too, if only I was at her side as she conquered the world. 
Tywin Lannister's ghost laughs at him from wherever it is souls like his go to rest. "You proved me right, Tyrion. I called you an ill-made, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low-cunning." Tyrion fists his hair in shame. "But even I am surprised; you exceeded my expectations. With you the great house of Lannister will vanish. Everything I worked for destroyed."
There is no wine or mead in the room. Nothing to dull and drown the voices of those he has killed or pushed into the path of the Stranger. His father is the first but more are to follow. Joanna, his mother. Shae, his lover. Varys, his friend. Cersei and Jaime. Sooner or later, he fears, they, too, will come to remind him of his failures. And none, none, have been as costly as what happened in Kings Landing. 
I wonder if all the people that died today will come and visit me as well? His not so clever mind will have a trouble being host to so many guests. How many died because I thought I could control her worst impulses?
"You were right, Varys," Tyrion says through a cluttered throat. He imagines Varys laughing at his cheap expression of remorse. "But it's a hollow victory, isn't it?"
Time passes. He has spent less than a couple hours in his makeshift cell when he hears the echo of heavy footsteps. They are getting louder and he knows they are coming for him. He tries to settle himself into a position of calm while fighting the instinct to cry and vomit. I am dying today. I am dying. Dying. Dying. Oh! Be calm. Death. Death. Be calm. Be proud. But there is no escape. Be calm. Death. Death.
The door opens and in walks Jon Snow. It isn't death, not yet, and Tyrion swallows his relief. His pride rears its head once more, foolish little man that he is. An Unsullied guard closes the door and leaves them be. Tyrion's eyes flick to Jon's swordless hip. 
"How gracious of you to visit me. I don't suppose you have any wine on you?" Tyrion stands and picks up a chair he had thrown during a particularly useless fit of desperation. He offers it, almost mockingly, a touch bitterly, to his guest. "Sit, Jon Snow. Tell me, has your queen told you when I am to share Varys' fate?"
Jon Snow cautiously steps further into the room but refuses the chair. Everything, from his grinding teeth to the curled toes in his heeled boots, tells Tyrion that the queen's lover does not want to be here. He is a man of contradictions, this Targaryen prince who looks more wolf than dragon. Tyrion is a man starving for—something. He wants to dig and see who this man-of-many-names is underneath it all. A final puzzle to solve, to prove his cunning, before he leaves the land of the living. Aegon Targaryen? Jon Snow? Neither? Both? 
His guest says nothing of his execution, preferring to frown at Tyrion's marked detachment from Daenerys. "She was your queen, too, not so long ago." With very little feeling he says, "I'm sorry it all had to end this way."
"You're 'sorry it all had to end this way'?" If Tyrion Lannister were a taller man there would be nothing stopping him from slapping away the vapid, mournful look that dresses Jon Snow's face. Instead, Tyrion can only stare at the fool standing before him. Bitterness that has been simmering now threatens to boil over and burn all within its reach. Perhaps not burn. There has been enough burning in this city. But he's had enough of the cold, too. What bad luck to not like any of the options laid out before you. This fool—this blind, northern fool—why does he live while Tyrion must die? "Such a delicate, and empty, turn of phrase. I should know, I've used them many a time. You can't even let yourself say out loud what Daenerys did."
"I won't try to defend Daenerys but—"
"A good man, a smart man, once told me that everything before the word 'but' is horse shit. Did you not hear her mention the North as part of her righteous liberation crusade?" Not even I can defend what she is, what she's done. So why are you? Although. Perhaps I'll prove myself wrong, maybe I'll grovel for my life when the time comes. I am no virtuous man.
"—she saw her best friend murdered by Cersei." He speaks over Tyrion, willfully deaf. "She has lost so much ever since she stepped foot on Westeros. Her dragons, her allies. What happened today won't happen again. She'll recover from this. I know she will."
"She destroyed a city after it had surrendered. Tell me: how will the people of Kings Landing recover?" Tyrion doesn't wait for an answer. He lowers his voice and icily says, "They can't because they're dead. How can you—" He clamps his mouth shut in frustration and stands, tilting his head in disbelief. "You were there. You saw it happen."
"Daenerys saved Westeros at great cost to herself. If it weren't for her and her armies we wouldn't be here right now, alive and breathing. The least we can do is stand by her side and help her through this. It's easy to be judge and executioner. Who hasn't done something they regret?"
"Everyone has lost people they cared about. Me. You. The countless and nameless commoners that die by no fault of their own in wars they did not wage. Loss does not absolve cruelty. If it did there would be no crime, only some bastardized imitation of justice."
Grey eyes widen in manic fury. There is little sense in his reaction. Sense was not invited to this tête-à-tête. 
"I thought better of you, Lannister." His family name is spit and anger. "I don't even know why I came here. I didn't want to."
"I noticed."
"You're a hypocrite. Who are you to judge her, to judge me?" Tyrion feels small under the darkness that is the man before him. "You helped her on her quest for the throne. You pushed me towards her. Beckoned me to Dragonstone with false intentions. And yet," Jon leans down. Down some more. Lower. Until he is of a level with Tyrion. The beast has found a wound. It bites. "Jealousy does not become you."
  That hurt. The truth often does.
 "You cannot have her so you betray her. You will not convince me to do the same." Tyrion breathes again once he retreats. Jon says, "I love her. She is my queen, and I love her."
Love. An opening. 
"And what of the love you hold for your family? For the Starks?"
An opening that Lyanna Stark's only child cannot cover or stitch closed, surely.
"Even a northern fool, especially a northern fool, like yourself must know they will not bend." The fur of the northern cape that hugs the fool's shoulders bristle. "They will not kneel."
—:—
"Does she miss me, terribly?"
Frostiness. A lighthearted jape not well received.
"A sham marriage and unconsummated."
—:—
"My birds tell me of an altercation. Jon Snow did not offer a warm welcome to our esteemed ally, Theon Greyjoy. I believe the King in the North said, 'What you did for her is the only reason I'm not killing you.'"
"Not unusual." They are no Jamie and Cersei. " They are the only wolves left."
"Curious—the only thing that stayed his anger was Sansa Stark. Such a power she holds between two men with betrayal and a dead almost-brother king between them. She might as well be here for how often her name and presence is invoked."
—:—
"They will be loyal to the throne. They have no choice."
Jon Snow is present once more. He looks more man than beast. A chink in his armor. Suddenly, the darkness is not darkness. It constricts and melts and congeals into the purple half-crescents underneath worried eyes. That is the gaze of a man near the edge—and the edge is all around him. 
Yes, the demon monkey can still play the game. His life might not be forfeit, not yet. He can work with the tie between siblings cousins. On every person there are strings that one can pull. Tyrion just needs time to pull them taut enough for Jon to snap, to move where Tyrion wants him. 
To do what his lovesick heart will rage against. 
To save Tyrion. 
To kill Daenerys. 
If Tyrion Lannister were a noble man, a good man, the safety of the realm would be the only motivation needed. Alas, this insignificant little room has reminded how much he values his insignificant little body, ugly though it may be.
"Why do you think Sansa—"
An Unsullied opens the door.
He is interrupted.
The dragon queen's nephew and lover has spent too long with the prisoner.
Interrupted. 
A shadow of Jon Snow gratefully backs out of the room. Escapes.
Interrupted. 
The imp's honeyed words of family, loyalty, and kinslaying are left unheard. 
Interrupted.
The ghosts never left the room. Now that Jon Snow is gone they all clamor for a share of Tyrion's diminishing time. 
Tyrion was interrupted and he knows he is not long for this world. 
He wonders what could have been if he had only had a little bit more time. 
The ground is cold as stone ground is and always will be. He sits on it.  
Interrupted, thwarted, by a common Unsullied guard.
Tyrion Lannister, the demon monkey, the imp, the son of Joanna and Tywin Lannister, laughs.
And the ghosts laugh with him.
27 notes · View notes
raefill · 5 years
Link
“Shouto-kun,” Todoroki hears, like an echo from his memory, in the exact same disappointed tone he’s using now. “Look at these,” Midoriya holds up the tattered pair of boxer briefs, delicately grasped between the very tips of his thumb and forefinger. “This is the old you,” Midoriya says, lifting them out of Todoroki’s reach as he tries to snatch them out of embarrassment.
“I- I get it, Izuku, just put them away!” He begs, trying to shield the other customers lingering near the fitting rooms from the view of his rattiest pair of underwear being flailed around like a flag to signify his shame.
“Repeat after me,” Midoriya demands, lowering the underwear to a less visible height, “I’m not a homeless person.”
“I’m not a homeless person,” Todoroki parrots.
“I’m actually kinda loaded.”
“I’m actua- wait-”
“There’s no reason I should be wearing underwear with holes in,” Midoriya finishes with a flourish. Todoroki hangs his head.
“There’s no reason I should be wearing underwear with holes in,” he agrees. Full of regret for letting Midoriya look through his clothes to see what there was to ‘work with,’ he turns tail with the pile of clothes Midoriya picked out and heads into one of the cubicles in the fitting room. He’d deemed Todoroki’s entire sock and underwear drawer a lost cause. Then said that most of his pajamas were only comfy because he’d been wearing the same ones for five years. Which might be true but Todoroki didn’t think they were complete write-offs, either. But that is how he had ended up out here shopping, Midoriya having made the very good point that wearing boxers without holes would already be an improvement.
Midoriya sits himself on the little bench inside the changing room, surrounded by bags full of underwear, socks, and pajamas that Todoroki had felt surprisingly not-guilty spending his allowance on. Although the purpose of him asking Midoriya for help had been envisioned completely differently, Todoroki recognises he really probably did need to refresh a lot of the basic items in his closet.
Alongside the few pairs of jeans he wanted to pick up, slimmer than he would usually wear due to his so-called best friend, nothing Midoriya had handed him in the pile screams ‘sexy’. But he sucks in a deep breath, draws the curtain behind him and goes for the jeans first. Admittedly, they do show off the shape of his legs. So he flicks the curtain open, receiving an approving nod from Midoriya.
“Show me the good stuff, Shouto-kun,” Midoriya practically bounces in his seat. Todoroki abandons the jeans, pulling a pair of leggings out of the pile. He hasn’t worn any since he was a child, too omegan for him to been seen wearing out and about. But they’re black and incredibly soft, so he slips into them, surprised to find they’re high waisted. And extremely comfortable.
When he looks in the mirror he’s surprised by his own appearance. The usually unnoticeable roundness in his hips is more pronounced, the waistband sitting right where his sides would nip in if he weren’t quite so strung with muscle. He hasn’t looked so close to being hourglass shaped in years. Hero training destroying pretty much all aspects of his physicality as an omega besides what is in his pants.
A little uncertain, he pulls out the knit sweater, as per Midoriya’s instructions. It’s grey, with thick strands woven together, hanging loosely off of one shoulder and just long enough to tuck under his ass. It makes his neck look incredibly long, he thinks.
He slides a hand along his bare shoulder, coming up to cup his palm around his scent gland, which somehow feels much more exposed than usual. Other than that, though, the entire ensemble is incredibly comfy. Todoroki is somehow both alright and not. He feels like he’s teetering right on the very edge of his comfort zone, which has him questioning what hope he ever really had of wearing anything risqué. But it's just Midoriya outside and so he steels himself.
He opens the curtain.
Midoriya’s eyes light up. Todoroki can see him practically vibrating out of his seat at the sight of a job well done.
“This isn’t really what I had in mind,” Todoroki admits, although it’s not bad either, moving a hand to cover his exposed shoulder.
“But you look so cute!” Midoriya squawks. Todoroki flushes, so he looks down to hide behind his fringe. Noticing his reluctance, Midoriya sighs. “If you’re not comfortable then that’s okay,” he says, voice soft. Todoroki looks up at him briefly, unable to hold eye contact for long.
“You don’t think- that it’s too obviously omegan?” Todoroki asks. He sees Midoriya shake his head in his peripheral vision. Which, somehow, gives him the courage to look up again. Midoriya is smiling at him, but it’s off.
“Betas experiment with omegan fashion all the time,” he points out, “this isn’t even that omegan.” He pauses, “did you forget that being an omega isn’t actually shameful?” Todoroki’s brain shuts down on him, jaw-dropping at the insinuation.
“Izuku, you know that’s not-”
“I know, you haven’t insulted me,” Midoriya laughs. Although his smile isn’t as lively as usual, opening up a pit of dread in Todoroki’s stomach. “It’s just clothes, Shouto-kun, who’s to say what piece of fabric is more one dynamic than another? I could put you in a studded leather jacket and you’d look just as good,” Midoriya flips his notebook open. “Actually, I’m going to add that to the list,” he says, visibly perking up at having new ideas. Midoriya doesn’t stop scribbling for a while, mumbling away and leaving Todoroki to his thoughts.
He supposes Midoriya is right. He’s not sure when he internalised his father’s rhetoric but he’s started to find being recognised as an omega embarrassing. Which is ridiculous, one of the people he loves and respects most in the world is the omega sat right in front of him. He watches Midoriya mutter to himself, the once slight little omega on the first day of class now broad, strong, confident, and wearing pastel pink skinny jeans with a floral shirt. He thinks, that if Midoriya can blend those things, then maybe he can too.
Maybe with fewer flowers.
“You’re right,” he says, interrupting Midoriya’s train of thought. He looks up from his notebook curiously, obviously having forgotten what they had been talking about. “There’s nothing shameful about being an omega,” he reminds him. Midoriya scoffs, vibrant amusement back in full force in those big green eyes. “Now, do I actually look good in this or were you just meddling again?” Todoroki teases. Midoriya taps his pen against his lips, giving the question some real thought, eyes roaming up and down Todoroki’s body.
“Have you ever seen something so soft that if you don’t pet it you feel like you might die?” Midoriya asks. Todoroki thinks of the cat that he sometimes passes by the convenience store and nods. Then thinks that through a little further.
“Oh,” Todoroki blinks. Then opens his arms. The sleeves are still too long even with his arms stretched all the way out, he notices.
Midoriya ditches his notebook, bounding up to Todoroki and launching himself into the hug. He hooks his chin on Todoroki’s shoulder, finally tall enough to do that now without standing on his tiptoes. True to his word, Midoriya rubs his hands up and down the soft fabric covering his back. Todoroki squeezes him.
There’s a moment of quiet, both enjoying the simplicity of it.
“Kacchan,” Midoriya murmurs, “you really like him?” Todoroki turns, nuzzling into Midoriya’s hair and inhaling. The familiar scent of a pack mate easing any tension left in him.
“Yes,” he says. Midoriya squeezes him back.
“I’m so happy for you, Shouto-kun.”
Todoroki really had not planned for this. After his Midoriya-induced epiphany, he thought that maybe he would consider wearing those comfy leggings to a movie night in the common room next week. Or possibly wear something a little less plain on their next unofficial class trip to the mall.
Instead, he finds himself outside of his dorm, donned in his leggings and very neck-exposing jumper, in the chilly evening wind, surrounded by his classmates as the fire alarm in their dorm blares. Worse, other classes in the buildings around them are looking out of their windows to see what the racket is.
He stands barefoot on the cold, wet, pavement. Midoriya stands next to him, wringing his hands and looking very guilty. But Todoroki knows this is equally their own fault. Really, they’re aiming to be pro heroes, get top scores in class, but they’re both too stupid to realise that Todoroki symbolically burning his ratty old underwear indoors would set off the fire alarm.
He hadn’t even questioned it. Midoriya handed the cloth back to him after returning from their arduous shopping trip, laden with bags from various stores including one labelled ‘Victoria’s Secret’, and Todoroki switched his quirk on without batting an eyelid.
The only plus side is in his exhaustion he didn’t accidentally send his new clothes up in flames too. He can’t imagine having to face his father after he’s seen credit card charges to a store that exclusively sells lingerie and frilly pajamas, then go on to admit he’d accidentally burnt it all as soon as he got it home.
A situation made worse because this is exactly the kind of thing his father has been encouraging him to spend the family money on in order to try and squeeze Todoroki into a quirk marriage.
He curses Midoriya out in his head for being so convincing. About going into that store and because it makes it look like he’s falling for his father’s whims. It is, in fact, the exact opposite. Todoroki thinks he might have to avoid Endeavor for a while.
Kirishima sidles up next to him, shirtless but cheerful in the cold as the last of the class filter out of the building. No doubt Aizawa is going to give him a bollocking for this.
“You know what happened?” Kirishima asks, cheeky grin firmly in place.
“Ah-” Midoriya squawks, making a slashing motion at his neck as a sign to silence Kirishima. Todoroki rolls his eyes.
“You know where we were today,” he states. Kirishima shrugs, but the light dancing in his eyes tells Todoroki he knows exactly what was going on at the mall, even if his dynamic had been left out of it. It’s verging on humiliating to have more than one person know he’s so sexually inept. But, this is who his best friend has chosen to trust, so he sighs. “Izuku suggested I symbolically burn a piece of old clothing,” he omits the finer details. Todoroki can see Kirishima's grin freezes, fixed to his face as he tries to resist laughing. “Underwear,” he says. Kirishima guffaws, slapping him on the back.
“That’s manly as hell, dude,” Kirishima continues to laugh. As much as Todoroki wants the ground to open up and swallow him, for a multitude of reasons, he finds himself having to try and repress a smile. Kirishima’s laughter has always been infectious, and when Midoriya loses it and starts sniggering beside him he knows he’s lost the battle. The hilarity of the situation hits him all at once. He’s still embarrassed, cheeks as pink as the cold tip of his nose, but it’s much more enjoyable to belly laugh with his friends than wallow. He might also be a little hysterical.
“What are you losers laughing about?” Bakugou’s voice interrupts, tone mocking. Todoroki looks up, eyes a little watery, to see him striding over from the still-blaring building. There’s a harsh grin, almost cruel in its angles, stretched across his face. But there’s a warmth in it that could almost be considered friendly. Kirishima just wheezes harder at the sight of Bakugou’s swagger. Possibly because he’s only clad in a towel.
Todoroki is enjoying it. Very much. Especially when water drips from a dark lock of blond hair and hits his collarbone. The droplet streaks straight down his pec, coming to a stop when it hits a very hard, pink, nipple. Todoroki’s mouth goes dry.
In his distraction, he doesn’t notice that Bakugou hasn’t slowed down. Only realising something is off when Bakugou doesn’t stop in the space that would form their makeshift group into a neat circle. Instead, he pushes into the space between Todoroki and Kirishima, hooking an arm around Todoroki’s waist.
But Todoroki doesn’t stumble when Bakugou reels him in to press their sides together, already moving to do the same. He’s still hiccuping little laughs out every now and again but starts throwing heat out where Bakugou has attached himself and hopes that he won’t catch a cold. The smell of soap is so strong he thinks Aizawa probably plucked Bakugou straight from the shower and sent him marching outside.
Only when he’s got his arm firmly wrapped around Bakugou’s shoulders does he notice that Midoriya and Kirishima have gone silent. He looks up, curious as to their sudden quiet, only to find Kirishima staring wide-eyed.
He shakily lifts a finger, pointing at Bakugou and Todoroki where they’re pressed together, mouth opening and closing.
“Ba-Bakugou?!”
“Hah?!” Bakugou responds immediately. Midoriya shoots forward, pushing Kirishima’s arm down and crowding him in the opposite direction with a nervous smile. Kirishima doesn’t go easy, too busy staring to organise his feet into moving where Midoriya takes him.
“It was so nice hanging out with you today, Shouto-kun,” he babbles, giving Kirishima a shove. “We should do this again sometime- come on Eijirou-kun- I’ll text you!” He calls over his shoulder, wrangling his shell shocked mate into a headlock and dragging him away.
“See you, Izuku,” Todoroki calls after them. Slightly delayed if only because he’s touched that Midoriya had kept so much of his secret under wraps through whatever interrogation techniques Kirishima had used on him. He looks to Bakugou.
“What was that about?” Bakugou asks. Todoroki snorts involuntarily. Definitely hysterical. He shakes his head, unable to shift the smile from his face for some reason. He’s having fun, he realises. So he pulls Bakugou a little closer, who is looking at him with that magnetism again, brow and jaw relaxed for once in his life.
“What?” He asks. Bakugou doesn’t answer, using the hand not occupied with Todoroki’s waist to cup his jaw. His body moves as Bakugou turns Todoroki’s head to face him, bringing their chests flush. Bakugou continues to stare. Todoroki can feel his smile becoming more and more timid under the scrutiny, verging on breaking into a cold sweat under the intensity of his gaze. By the time Bakugou speaks they’re so close their noses are almost touching. It sends a thrill down Todoroki’s spine.
“You’re beautiful,” Bakugou says. All Todoroki has time to do is choke on his own inhale before Bakugou is kissing him. Out in the open. In front of everyone. Public kisses tend to be reserved for wedding ceremonies but Todoroki seems to conveniently forget because then Bakugou’s fingers are in his hair and the rest of the world doesn’t matter. Not while the soft flesh of Bakugou’s lips is sliding across his own, interlocking and parting with a little wet sound that Todoroki locks away in his memory vault of absolute filth to review late at night.
“Is nobody else seeing this?” He hears, on the edge of his awareness, amongst what sounds suspiciously like Kirishima screaming and Midoriya’s panicked shushing.
But Bakugou lets go of him as swiftly as he’s snatched him up, turning and half jogging back to the dorms. Which are no longer ringing with fire alarms, he realises with a start. Only once Bakugou has disappeared back inside does Todoroki realise he didn’t notice his new outfit. Todoroki laughs, a little dazed but amused by Bakugou’s eagerness to finish washing the suds from his hair and high on being called beautiful with seemingly no help needed from what he was wearing. He turns, suddenly courageous in the face of his classmates.
“What about him?” Uraraka asks. Less people have turned to see what Kirishima is so riled up about than he expected and there’s a steady filter of cold, underdressed, students heading back towards the dorms.
“He does look unusually happy,” Kaminari hums.
Midoriya catches Kirishima before he deflates onto the floor, red faced with an incredulous smile. Todoroki inhales the cool air, filled with a new sense of purpose, and turns to pursue Bakugou into the building. But not without giving Kirishima an apologetic wave.
After all, nobody else had seen.
64 notes · View notes
lurkernolonger · 7 years
Text
Siren (4/4)
Here it is, the conclusion to Siren a.k.a. the summit I’ve been struggling to climb for the last four weeks. It was rough goings, but that’s my own fault. I simply cannot wing multi-chapters.
There are some author’s notes at the end and a question for you all so please keep reading all the way :)
I kind of hate this, but I hope you don’t.
Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3
Steady beeping through muted ears alongside pinpricks of light despite heavy lids are Finn’s first sensations. Next comes the horrid taste on his equally weighty tongue. He thinks he could be sick if his mouth wasn’t so dry. Gradually, his mind registers the state of the rest of him: the soreness of his muscles, the fogginess in his lungs, the gentle sting of his skin. It’s as if his body is learning how to feel again, but at least he can feel.
Finn figures this must be the result of having walked through hell and back and…Oh. Might not have been hell, but there was definitely fire. He winces as he tries to adjust so there wasn’t so much pressure on his spine and he hears an audible gasp, followed by a chair scraping against the floor. He opens his sticky eyes to find a very dishevelled, very sooty, very angry looking Chop.
“Good, you’re awake! Now I can murder you.” Chop glares at him before rolling his eyes to the ceiling and running his hands through the short hairs on his head that look even flatter from his helmet.
“Hey, mate,” Finn offers weakly.
Chop turns incredulous eyes towards him, finger up accusingly. “Oh no, don’t you ‘mate’ me you daft son of a -” Chop cuts himself off, shaking his head and turning away, muttering under his breath. Finn thinks he hears the words “just came back to life” repeated throughout.
“Chop, I-”
“Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?! How much you risked running in there? Not just yourself but - but the crew and the people Finn! The fucking tenants! You – did you think about them?!” Chop is pacing the floor, arms flailing wildly. “No, of course not! You didn’t fucking think AT ALL!” he answers himself, head shaking.
“Chop…”
Chop turns to him then, his gaze unwavering. “I had to pull you from the fucking wreckage, Finn. I thought…you could’ve - ” Chop takes a hard swallow before continuing. “Do you know what it was like having to call Gary? Hm? Having to tell your da’ that his dick of an only son is unconscious 'cause he ran into a fucking burning building without so much as a word?” His voice has quieted, but it’s no less calm. It’s worse, Finn thinks, because it’s so full of meaning and he’s sure he sees Chop’s lip quiver against an emotion bigger than anger.
“Chop,” Finn starts but pauses, expecting another outburst. Chop just stands there chest rising and falling heavily, eyes bracketed with tears. “I’m sorry,” Finn finishes lamely.
Lame or not, it’s apparently what Chop had been waiting for. His tensed shoulders sag and he surges forward to wrap Finn in a fierce embrace that conveys even more than his words had. Finn twines his arms around him as well, recognizing that this is different from any other slap-of-the-back hug they’ve shared before.
“You’re a complete and utter bellend and I’ll never let you live it down,” Chop promises wetly in Finn’s ear. After a beat he pulls away and plops back in the chair he’d abandoned, rubbing at his face roughly. “Gary is just grabbing summat to eat, so while we’re alone you can tell me what the hell you were thinking.”
Finn swallows his own emotional lump, a new pain recording itself tight in his chest. Rae. “It was her Chop,” is all he gets out before he has to clench his lips and fists against the returning panic. He can hear the beeping on his heart monitor increase, and hopes Chop won’t notice.
The room is quiet for a long moment before Chop asks, “Pussy unicorn?” Finn looks up at that, the tiniest smile momentarily cracking his lips despite it all. Chop grins back, knowing full well how his cheeky response would deflate the tension in the room, before his expression grows serious again. “I figured that much, lad. Knew it had to be someone you cared about.” When Finn doesn’t respond, he adds, “we’ll find her mate, it’ll be alrigh’.”
It wasn’t alright. It’s going on three days since the fire and Finn’s still not seen nor heard anything from Rae. Chop had used his charm on Izzy, – a nurse at the hospital who Chop’s not-so-secretly in love with (and Finn’s pretty sure she fancies him right back) – convincing her to look up Rachel Earl in the patient system. She hadn’t come up, which was simultaneously reassuring and unnerving. It could mean she was safe, fine even, but then where was she? And what if she wasn’t fine to the point where she couldn’t tell anyone her name? What if she was alone, labelled a random Jane Doe? Finn had thrown these same questions at Chop, who then had to physically restrain him from barging into every room in the burn unit.
It didn’t help that Finn was making himself sick over the fact that he never gave Rae his number. At the time he hadn’t even thought of it since he always called her first, but now he kept staring at his phone willing it to ring, though he knew it wouldn’t. He’d taken to dialing her number sporadically, as if the irregular attempts would surprise it into answering, hoping to even just hear her voice through the message on her answering machine. But at the back of his mind sits the image of said machine crudely melting in her front room and he knows it’s useless.
Finn’s hope that she would show up at his was purposeless too, seeing as although Rae knew he lived on the same stretch of road, she wouldn’t know what building it was. That didn’t stop him from chain smoking on his balcony on the rare occasions he was home, hoping to catch a glimpse of her on the street below.
To top it off he’d been suspended from active duty. The chief had been furious at his stunt, going on the same rant Chop had, and Finn knew he deserved it. He was surprised he hadn’t been sacked actually, concluding he’d probably looked pathetic enough to warrant some leniency. Doctors and his dad had insisted on bed rest but Finn was too antsy, adamant that he would work a desk job until his suspension was over. He didn’t need to be at home drowning in anxiety. It felt better keeping busy, when he could feel the aches of his joints and the roughness of his healing skin against paper. The physical discomfort both a reminder and a welcomed distraction. Plus at his desk he had resources, and he’d spent his time phoning every hospital and clinic in a 50 mile radius to no avail.
He’d started sleeping at the station too, even going as far as to bring in a set of clothes and a shower caddy. He told the lads it was easier to not commute but no one bought that flimsy excuse. By now the whole company knew what had happened; about the missing girl. About Rae, the flame to Finn’s proverbial moth. There was no need to mention that the true reason he’d set up camp was because it was the only place he figured she could find him. Which she had to do, because he would not accept any scenario of her not being out there, somewhere.
“Mate, you should go home. Get some rest.” Chop is perched on the corner of Finn’s desk, arms folded and ankles crossed.
“M'fine here. Busy,” Finn replies without looking up, making a show of shuffling papers around.
“Finn -”
“I’m not going home,” he interrupts defiantly, biting back the she can’t find me at home that wants to chase after his words. Finn looks over at him with finality and Chop exhales heavily, scrubbing at his face.
“How about you run a little errand then? Grab some drinks and sandwiches from the cafe for the crew. You know, see the outside? Get some fresh air or summat.” Finn starts to protest, reaching to grab for a file folder but Chop’s hand lands on it first. “You can come right back and I’ll be here the whole time, alrigh’? It ain’t healthy for you to be cooped up for so long.” Finn just stares at his hand on the file so Chop stands and opens the top drawer to pull out Finn’s Walkman and headphones, tossing them on the desk in front of him. “Go for a walk and listen to the bloody music you’re always on about. Need you out of my arse for a tick.”
Finn sighs dejectedly and stands. “Fine. But I’m coming right back, and I’m getting you the tuna mayo you hate.”
Chops flashes him a gap toothed grin. “Wouldn’t expect anything else, lad.” He claps Finn’s shoulders and steers him towards the exit.
“Bloody Chop,” Finn grumbles to himself, as he opens the door to the cafe. It’s crowded everywhere as it’s just gone noon, and he’s frustrated that this is going to take longer. He stares at his feet until he’s up next at the counter, avoiding eye contact to prevent any small talk. After he orders he secludes himself at a table in the corner away from the bustling customers, headphones on, Pulp’s Something Changed playing loudly. He can’t help but think of the list he’d been making for the mixtape that wasn’t about Rae (but was completely about Rae), this song in particular being the first track. Finn has to shut his eyes for a second to check his emotions and when he opens them he notices the woman behind the counter saying something, clearly annoyed, so he pauses his cassette to hear.
“Two teas?”
Finn is about to resume the song since he’d ordered much more than tea, but then she repeats herself.
“Two Earl Greys with a splash of milk, for Raymond?”
Finn nearly pulls the muscles in his neck he pivots so quickly. He knows that order, and he knows that name. Then he sees her, Rae, emerging from the crowd on the other side of the cafe. She looks fine, perfect even, and he’s so shocked and confused he can’t move for a second. Worries she’s just a mirage his sleep deprived mind has cooked up from his subconscious; a hologram of his hope projected in real life.
Rae picks up the teas, smiling down at the name scrawled on the sides of the cups. She looks up then and her eyes lock with Finn’s. Her mouth falls slightly, and a soft vulnerability overtakes her face. Finn thinks that maybe she’s about to cry and knows this must be the real thing, because the Rae in his head never has a reason for tears. The table wobbles on it’s legs and his chair topples to the ground as he trips over himself and air to just get to her.
“Finn. I was just heading to the station -” Rae starts, but the rest of her words are knocked out of her, along with the drinks in her hands, when Finn crashes into her body, grappling her to him.
Their trousers and shoes are soaked with hot tea but Finn doesn’t notice, doesn’t care about anything but the girl he’s constricting. Hands and arms and all of him greedy for her. His sole focus is the fact that she’s there, right there. Real. Alive. And holding him just as tightly.
The gap between their bodies is nonexistent, yet it’s filled with so much: apologies, gratitude, relief. Finn buries his face in her neck, inhaling that same apple scent, wishing they weren’t in the middle of a crowded room. He wants a wall or a bed or any applicable surface that he can press her into until she’s permanently moulded against him like a second skin. He feels the small area he’s tucked into grow humid from his panting breaths and tears he hadn’t known were falling, and the lack of oxygen reminds him of the fire and all his questions.
“What the hell happened Rae? Fuck, I – When  I saw your flat, when I heard it was you… I was so fucking scared. And then I couldn’t find you, and I thought…Where were you?”
“I’m sorry Finn,” Rae whispers urgently, as her hand cards through his hair. “I was helping Mrs. Dewhurst move her couch when it happened. We got out before it reached her floor but she was so shaken up I had to take her to her sister’s house which happens to be right by where my mum lives and when she found out about the fire she went mad 'cause she didn’t want me to move in the first place saying how unsafe it was in the city and she made me stay. Basically locked me in like a prisoner! Like I was the one who burned the bloody place down. I wanted to talk to you but I didn’t have your number or your address and I’m so sorry.” Rae’s explanation runs together, pleading for him to understand and Finn can only shake his head against her throat. “But it’s okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.”
Rae’s words quake in his ear and the last time her lips trembled they were against his own, and he needs to taste her now. Needs to feel them both shake with something other than worry. Finn kisses her lips her cheeks, eye lids, forehead, chin, jaw, coming back round to her tongue. Messy open mouthed kisses that, for Finn, are still not enough. He latches on like she was water and he’d been parched, which in a way he was. He’d been starving for days and now he was going to devour her; swallow her whole so he’d always know where she was.
“Oi, you trying to eat me?” Rae asks against his incessant mouth, and he has to laugh because of course she would know what he was thinking. Of course that’s something she would say. Of course she could ease all the tension in his body with a handful of words that cause a smile that takes over his entire being.
They part without really parting. Foreheads, noses, torsos still fused together. Finn moves his hands to grip her face between his palms, thumbs stroking her cheeks adoringly. “Hi, girl.”
Rae’s eyes close at the endearment and Finn wipes at a tear before it tracks down her skin.
“Hiya, Finnley.” Rae smiles small, before leaning into his touch and placing a gentle kiss to his palm. She looks down at the mess of tea and laughs through a fluttery breath. “Look at us. S'like we pissed ourselves.” Shifting her eyes to the side, they widen as her grip on his shirt tightens. “And people are watching.”
“Let them.” Finn licks over her bottom lip. He wants everyone in here to see this. Wants them to go home and tell their friends and families that they witnessed something so odd and beautiful and confusing that they’re not sure if it was real or just a scene from a movie. Rae laughs and it’s the same vibration through his chest and finally Finn’s happy again.
“Nice to be learning your kinks, but I think I’d rather be alone with you right now.” Rae wipes away the moisture from Finn’s cheeks. “Think it’s time you show me your place, hmm?”
The next time Finn kisses Rae it is just the two of them, but his rhythm is different. Stronger yet softer, with a tender harshness; contradictions of want and need. It’s the most aggressive gentleness he’s given to another person and he hopes she can taste his intention behind his teeth and on the tip of his tongue. He pulls her closer, and closer still, and when he wakes in the morning in a tangle of limbs, it’s with the memory of another perfect first.
A/N: We have reached the end! I’m relieved, are you? I apologize if that was just a shade too dramatic. I appreciate that the cheesy stuff isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, though it is definitely mine. I hope I didn’t go too overboard.
I should say that this whole thing started off from a prompt, which I didn’t mention in the beginning because, spoilers. I can’t seem to find the link to the post but it was basically “I’m a firefighter and you live near the station I work at and we talk/flirt. One day my team get called to put out a fire and it’s your home ablaze. You don’t make it.” Except I didn’t have the heart to kill off Rae. After the disaster of season 3, I feel like my fiction just has to be Rinn endgame.
As much as I complained about how hard this was for me to write, I’ve had a little spark of a light-bulb to write an epilogue for this universe. It might be more fluff and maybe even a little saucy? I’ve (surprisingly) gotten some requests for me to attempt smut, so maybe? If you guys are interested? Let me know if that’s something you want. If not, no hard feelings. I just don’t want to put myself through the stress for nothing haha.
Thank you so much for reading/liking/commenting/reblogging. You’re the best! xx
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theroguebadger · 7 years
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Review: Final Fantasy XV
That’s it! I’ve come up with a new review! (No spoilers)
Following a game's development from the day of its initial announcement can be a difficult prospect. For many AAA games, that can mean two or three years of patience, with only a new trailer every few months to keep the fire of anticipation burning. In this sense, Final Fantasy XV is the most extreme of anomalies. It was first unveiled as Final Fantasy Versus XIII, a companion story with loose links to Final Fantasy XIII, at E3 in 2006, a whopping ten years before it would finally see the light of day. In the following years, updates and new information were so scarce that many feared that the game would never see release; even when it was officially rebranded as Final Fantasy XV at E3 2013, seven years after its first trailer aired, fans were subjected to a three-year wait before they could get their hands on it, though two demos and several trailers filled the gap. With a game like this, whose development history was so troubled and uncertain, it isn't enough to simply ask whether or not the finished product is a satisfactory one. Perhaps more importantly, we have to ask: was it worth the wait?
Final Fantasy XV picks and chooses aspects from earlier series instalments and takes them for itself, whilst occasionally throwing something new into the mix. Reminiscent of Final Fantasy III and X-2, your party is limited to a smaller group of people – four, in this case – all of which are present from the opening stages of the story. Noctis Lucis Caelum, prince of the kingdom of Lucis, departs the capital city of Insomnia in the opening scenes, accompanied by three close friends: Ignis, a sensible caretaker charged with keeping Noctis out of trouble; Gladiolus, a combat instructor responsible for training Noctis's combat skills; and Prompto, a close friend of the prince's from his school days, who brings a carefree enthusiasm and his photography skills to the team.
Together, they set off on a road trip to attend Noctis's own wedding to Lunafreya, princess of distant kingdom Tenebrae. It all quickly goes wrong, of course. Insomnia is invaded by an imperial army       moments after you leave; your father the king is assassinated, your fiancée disappears on a journey of her own and the kingdom's Crystal, a magical relic needed to keep the world safe, is pilfered by the empire. As with much of the story, this is all communicated in a very rushed, head-scratching sort of way. The impact of events is made underwhelming by how little time or focus is dedicated to them. The invasion of Insomnia is shown to be a battle on a catastrophic scale, but the seconds-long cutscene that reveals it hardly adds anything to the immensity of the event.
With their mission now changed – they need to find Lunafreya, bring down the empire and restore the Crystal to Lucis – Noctis and company's true journey begins. Here the first portion of Lucis's open world becomes available to you, with the other sections locked behind early story progression. When you're not travelling between story areas – your means of transport being the Regalia, on foot or, eventually, via chocobo – you can tackle some of FF15's innumerable hunting missions, help out troubled NPCs at the various outposts or gather useful materials. Food sources will provide you with ingredients to bolster Ignis's list of recipes, which when prepared at camp will give the party a time-limited boost to various stats. In many cases, the right meal can make all the difference in a tough fight, of which there are many outside of the mandatory story fights, and Ignis's own enthusiasm for the culinary arts makes the whole process quite charming to watch.
Alongside ingredients, you can also discover ore with which to customise your car, or sources of magic to craft spells for use in battle. Gone are the days of scrolling through your acquired spells to find the right one for the occasion. Final Fantasy XV has its own approach to magic, allowing you to mix and match your stock of each element to create stronger variants – the classic -aras and -agas – but the most crucial aspect is adding in items you've collected along your travels. These can do anything from increasing the uses of a particular spell (they're all finite and must be replenished) to adding extra effects such as healing Noctis or boosting the experience you earn from any battle in which they're cast. Fiddling around with different combinations is interesting enough at first, but after a while I couldn't help but wish they'd stuck with something more traditional. Having these usage-limited tools of devastation is a novel concept, but friendly fire means you're just as likely to set your team ablaze as you are to turn the tide of battle with a well-placed, triple-cast Firaga.
Combat puts you solely in control of Noctis, with your allies only controllable through the activation of their own specific skills. Whilst your teammates are limited to two weapons of specific types – Gladiolus uses greatswords and shields, for example – Noctis can wield anything and everything, including the Royal Arms of the Lucis line. His unique, princely abilities allow him to teleport around the battlefield, instantly warping to a distant enemy and landing a fearsome blow that only grows stronger the further he warps. In bigger, more chaotic battles, the combat truly shines; at times, it feels as if Noctis's friends only fight with him to better enable his showy fighting style, and it works. Incapacitating a group of enemies with well-timed warp-strikes before following up with a combo attack – Gladiolus is capable of massive damage, whereas Ignis provides support and Prompto destabilises and hinders the enemy – is never unsatisfying.
The combat system only begins to exhibit major faults when you face off against certain screen-filling enemies, so large in size and scale that the camera doesn't know what to do or where to look. The hit-detection on these enemies is similarly inconsistent, meaning what you intended to be a critical blow with a warp-strike actually results in you sliding along the enemy's bulk before clipping through them and becoming lodged inside. These encounters are limited, however, and for the most part the fast-paced battles continue to be one of Final Fantasy XV's triumphs. It's a system where simplicity proves to be the a viable approach, though fans of Final Fantasy's turn-based roots might yearn for something more traditional. Summoning, a recurring feature of Final Fantasy combat, has also been overhauled – don't expect a designated summoner class in this game. The small but familiar selection of summons are a real spectacle to behold, towering high above the battlefield as they unleash a devastating ability. With their acquisition tied to story progression, however, there's no satisfaction or challenge in acquiring them, and their specific summon requirements – they're more likely to appear based on factors such as allies being knocked out or Noctis entering the danger state – make them awkward and fiddly at times, resulting in a mountain-sized, god-like creature appearing to end a battle against low-level enemies, or at the very end of a lengthy boss battle where their intervention would have been better appreciated early on.
Where Final Fantasy XV truly struggles is in telling its story. Its more recent predecessors had particular narrative issues – FF13's reliance on handing the player files to read in order to properly learn about the world, for instance – but never before have I felt that a Final Fantasy game's story is in dire need of fixing – until now. The problems start early and rarely abate, with one of FF15's rare, albeit beautiful, CGI cutscenes showing the king's death in mere seconds. The actual invasion of Insomnia, home to all four party members, is detailed mostly via radio transmissions heard by the group. After a little bit of moping, Noctis seemingly forgets his father has died at all; he doesn't move on from grieving so much as that particular plot thread is abandoned entirely. Later, another brief cutscene introduces you to the main group of antagonists, some of whom are never actually seen again. Whilst the open-world does a good enough job of showing the player a living, breathing Lucis, full of settlements big and small, their people engaging in conversations about anything from everyday minutia to whichever crisis is ongoing at that point in the game, the empire receives barely any development at all. Knowing your enemy is a major part of becoming invested in the experience, but I found myself unable to care about what little I knew of Noctis's foes.
By the end of the game, the imperial presence in FF15's world of Eos meant little more to me than the aircraft that would so routinely interrupt my travels to drop a group of Magitek Soldiers on my team. If you engage in optional activities to even the smallest extent, these altercations will be your main source of interaction with the antagonistic empire; what few officers and leaders they have disappear permanently not long after being introduced to you, and not necessarily because they were defeated. It's a baffling inadequacy in a game that took a decade to make. Final Fantasy has for years been a name synonymous with rich world-building and compelling stories, but Final Fantasy XV's decade-long development has produced an incoherent, muddled narrative that fails to match the scope and depth the developers no doubt intended for their world. Whilst the plot and its delivery do bring down the overall experience, there is a great deal of good to balance out the bad.
In some ways, Final Fantasy XV is both endearing and spectacular. Someone on the development team clearly understood how great an impact the little things can have, and it's in subtlety and nuance that FF15 is at its most charming. Although driving the Regalia is almost entirely an on-rails affair, it's made more enjoyable by the group's humourous exchanges and, best of all, the ability to listen to the soundtracks of previous Final Fantasy instalments, which can be purchased from vendors across Lucis. The track listings aren't complete, but there's something undeniably nostalgic about listening to FF10's Blitz Off or Blinded by Light from FF13, not to mention classic tracks from the series' earliest instalments. When you're done for the day and settle down at a camp or inn, you'll get to see the photographs Prompto has taken that day, and you can save any you like. Some are fairly typical – locations you've visited, people you've met – but the rest have real potential to amuse or delight. Alongside pictures of the group posing together by a landmark, I had photos of the four of them mid-battle with fearsome daemons – powerful enemies that only appear at night – or trekking across Lucis with a town visible in the distance and the sun just right in the sky beyond. Having Noctis and company settle down at night with a meal to pore over Prompto's handiwork always succeeds in strengthening your connection to them and the bond they so clearly share; it's just a shame that the rest of the cast wasn't treated so lovingly. From helpful mechanic Cindy, with her inexplicable accent and ridiculous attire, to fearsome warrior Aranea, anyone who isn't a part of Team Noctis will receive little in the way of character development, if they get anything at all. It's another jarring disappointment from a series that has in the past so consistently created compelling and likeable supporting casts.
It's often people like those who will be issuing your quests, but outside of a few generic lines of dialogue you'll learn almost nothing about them, and lesser NPCs are recycled with a consistency that would be impressive were it not so tedious. One man, a hunter named Dave of all things, pops up in settlements across Lucis, tasking the group with going to a nearby location and retrieving the dog tags of a fallen hunter. His dialogue rarely differs each time – “Fancy meeting you here. Mind collecting some dog tags for me?” – but he somehow has more of a presence than many of the game's more prominent characters. Rather than taking a copy-paste approach to side quests to the extent that they're almost MMO-esque in depth and variety, more time could have been taken to show us more of what we need and want to know. For all of the occasional chatter about her, Lunafreya has shockingly little to do in the game, which is worrying indeed given that as the Oracle she acts as a liaison between humans and the gods. By the end of the game, I could only find three aspects to her character: she and Noctis were in a long-distance relationship, she could communicate with the gods and she opposed the empire. Beyond that, there's little to learn. With so many excellent leading ladies to draw from in the series' history, it's a shame that Lunafreya contributes so little. Outside of Noctis's group, characters seem to exist only to push the heroes in a certain direction, lacking a real purpose or personality of their own.
That's the prevailing problem with Final Fantasy XV: it feels aimless. Winning battles and accomplishing certain feats awards you with experience points and AP with which to power up your party members, but it hardly feels rewarding. Most enemy encounters can be won with minimal effort, making the huge number of side missions and hunts feel completely unnecessary. The story will drag you from place to place on the whims of one person or another, but when the credits rolled I found myself with more questions than answers, and not for lack of paying attention. It's easy to get lost in the experience, to allow yourself to wander the wilds of Eos, undertaking hunts to eliminate powerful enemies before you seclude yourself at a nearby fishing spot, but the facade crumbles when you go anywhere near a main story mission. Final Fantasy has been erratic in quality post-FFX, but never before have the problems been so glaring, so detrimental to the overall experience. With ten years of development time, no matter how troubled those early years might have been, it shouldn't have been like this.
7/10
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entergamingxp · 4 years
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DualShockers’ Favorite Games of 2019 — Tomas’ Top 10
December 26, 2019 10:00 AM EST
Astral Chain, Death Stranding, Super Mario Maker 2, and Erica were some of my favorite games from 2019, with plenty of others in the running.
As 2019 comes to a close, DualShockers and our staff are reflecting on this year’s batch of games and what were their personal highlights within the last year. Unlike the official Game of the Year 2019 awards for DualShockers, there are little-to-no-rules on our individual Top 10 posts. For instance, any game — not just 2019 releases — can be considered.
2019 has been a very odd year for games. While we didn’t have any heavy hitters like The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, Super Mario Odyssey, God of War, or Red Dead Redemption 2, everyone had their niche catered to, so I think DualShockers‘ personal GOTY lists will be quite varied this year. I have rounded up the 10 games that stood out to me the most in 2019, and they are all quite different from each other.
Of course, I did not have the time nor the patience to get through every single game that came out this year. That means some notable releases like Resident Evil 2, Gears 5, and DualShockers‘ Game of the Year Judgment did not make my list. Some great games were also just barely beat out, but I’d still recommend Ape Out, Baba is You, Samurai Shodown and Mortal Kombat 11 if you are looking for a good time. Without further ado, here are my 10 favorite games of 2019:
10. Erica
While this live-action interactive game is very short and definitely won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, it is an experience that has certainly stuck with me this year. Unlike most FMV heavy games, Erica doesn’t try to justify its use of live-action through its premise, it’s just how Flavourworks wanted to tell this story. That was an incredibly risky move, but the experience is held up by good writing and a great performance by Holly Earl.
I always love trying games that are innovative, weird, and unorthodox and Erica was able to check all of those boxes. For that reason, it’s still on my mind at the end of 2019 despite a couple of problems. If you’re done with Telling Lies and are looking for another intriguing FMV game, Erica should be on your radar. The game, not the person. That’d be quite creepy.
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Erica.
9. Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order
After Star Wars Battlefront 2 got struck down, EA’s Star Wars games have become even more powerful than you could possibly imagine. While the discourse surrounding Star Wars is hitting an apex of toxicity following the release of The Rise of Skywalker, fans should still remember that the franchise received two great additions this year: The Mandalorian and Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.
Capping off a great year for Respawn Entertainment, this game finally provided the engaging single-player focused Star Wars experience that players have been yearning for ever since EA and Disney struck their Star Wars game deal all those years ago. In fact, the only reason this game isn’t higher on this list is that I haven’t beaten it yet, and I’m sure my love for it will only grow as I play it more.
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order.
8. Lonely Mountains: Downhill
I initially slept on this game upon its October release, even though I enjoyed my time trying it at E3. When I recently got an Xbox One and Game Pass, I decided to download this game and have been hooked on it ever since. Lonely Mountains: Downhill is a great podcast game, and I have now played it while listening to everything from stand up comedy to podcasts to the last democratic debate. Still, even if I wasn’t listening to anything, the game remained enjoyable.
Just like the Trials series, half of the fun is in mastering the course, and a few unique objectives across the game’s sixteen tracks and four mountains add to its replayability. Lonely Mountains: Downhill can still be quite difficult and somewhat irritating at points when you just can’t get a part of the course down, but overall Lonely Mountains: Downhill is a soothing and relaxing game to play if you aren’t doing anything else or want to do something more than just listen to John Mulaney, Ben Hanson, or Andrew Yang.
7. Super Mario Maker 2
I’m not much of a creator, but I’ve had a ton of fun seeing what everyone’s made in Super Mario Maker 2. Whether I’m rating levels for StephenPlays’ Morning Mario, getting random grab bags of levels in multiplayer or endless mode, or just browsing for myself, I am always surprised by the masterpieces and monstrosities that people can come up with if you give them the right tools.
On top of all of that, the story mode provides a meaty and varied single-player 2D Mario experience, which is something that the series has needed for years. It is my favorite platformer of 2019, and the first of many indicators on this list that 2019 has been an amazing year for Nintendo Switch. Also, Super Mario Maker 2’s multiplayer is terrible, but I love it.
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Super Mario Maker 2.
6. Super Smash Bros. Ultimate
Super Smash Bros. Ultimate also made my top 10 list last year. In that article, I said it could make the list this year if the game added Geno. While they weren’t added to the game, we still got exciting characters like Joker, Hero, Terry Bogard, and most surprisingly Banjo.
Thanks to its hefty post-launch support and just being a damn good game in general, Super Smash Bros. Ultimate is one of my most played Nintendo Switch games of the year and has managed to make my top 10 once again. Even though it didn’t work last time, I will say it again: now just add Geno, Sakurai, and we’ll talk about Super Smash Bros. Ultimate making it onto my 2020 GOTY list as well.
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Super Smash Bros. Ultimate.
5. Tetris 99
I was simply addicted to Tetris 99 earlier this year. I played it every day non-stop and had to actively draw myself away from playing it when I had other things to take care of. While battle royale and puzzle games don’t seem like they would mix, boy howdy they certainly do. While Fortnite remains the king and Apex Legends brought a lot of innovation to the genre, Tetris 99 proved that the mechanics of battle royale aren’t limited to just shooters.
Tetris was already great on its own–just look at last year’s Tetris Effect–and splicing battle royale mechanics in there only embellished the whole multiplayer experience. As the game has received some single-player and local multiplayer modes since launch, Arika and Nintendo’s game has cemented itself as one of the best Tetris titles of all time. It’s becoming a mobile game too. That’s always a good sign, right?
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Tetris 99.
4. Death Stranding
I really like Death Stranding, but for the opposite reasons of most people. Many despise the traversal mechanics and adore Kojima’s writing. I can barely stand many of Kojima’s cringey scenes, but love the melancholic but tense and engaging delivery mechanics. Death Stranding tends to struggle anytime other than when it does do that. While the writing can be bad and the shooting sucks, I was still totally engrossed by Death Stranding and couldn’t put it down until I finished it. Its “Strand Genre” mechanics are also very innovative, showing how multiplayer elements can be combined with a single-player experience for maximum impact.
We’ll be seeing this game’s influence on the industry over the next couple of years, whether that be via making traversal interesting alongside the online mechanics. We need more games like Death Stranding. Still, I don’t think I can ever hear another line as terrible as “Like Mario and Princess Beach.”
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Death Stranding.
3. Dicey Dungeons
PLAY THIS GAME!!! Dicey Dungeons is dice-based in both a mechanical and literal sense, and is by far the most underrated title on this list. It turns standard roguelike and deck-building mechanics on their heads with its dice-based actions and differing playstyles between its six characters. I tend to be very lukewarm on deck-building or card games, and while games like Slay the Spire are fun, that still served as a roadblock for me.
Dicey Dungeons made deck-building interesting by turning genre conventions on their head in its various playstyles. It is a game that everyone should give a whirl, even if they don’t typically like roguelikes or deck-based games. Dicey Dungeons never stops being fun and is far and away the best indie game I played this year. I don’t have a joke for this one, but I think the jokes have been on a good roll thus far.
2. The Outer Worlds
The Outer Worlds was everything people wanted it to be and more. While studios like BioWare and Bethesda have seemed to abandon their roots in recent years, The Outer Worlds revels in its old-school RPG design. It isn’t the largest or most grandiose game out there, but it is certainly one of the most well-written and replayable RPGs in a long time.
I’d rather play a 30-hour RPG 4 times than a 120 hour RPG one time. The Outer Worlds seems to understand that mentality and delivered an experience that can be quite diverse depending on one’s character build and choices. It was just barely edged out of being my game of the year and is certainly a must-play for those who have ever remotely enjoyed an RPG at some point in their lives. On that positive note, Parvati is my daughter and if any of you hurt her, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.
Check out DualShockers‘ review of The Outer Worlds.
1. Astral Chain
I don’t really have any problems with Astral Chain and it’s super innovative, which is why I gave it a 10 earlier this year. Astral Chain features the tight and rewarding action PlatinumGames is known for but is quite accessible at the same time. Its detective case-solving portions feel like better versions of similar segments in the Batman: Arkham games. Astral Chain is one of the best-looking games on Nintendo Switch. And finally, the Legion is the most innovative thing to happen to action games since Bayonetta’s Witch Time. Creating a unique weapon-user relationship I’ve never seen in a game before, Astral Chain remains fun and manageable while still tasking players with controlling two things at once.
Just like many of the other games on this list, Astral Chain is a trailblazer within its genre and will push the industry forward. While 2019 didn’t have one or two truly groundbreaking games like previous years, games like Astral Chain show that the game industry is at an all-time high when it comes to creativity and quality. I don’t have a joke this time either, seriously.
Check out DualShockers‘ review of Astral Chain.
Check out the rest of the DualShockers staff Top 10 lists and our official Game of the Year Awards:
December 23: DualShockers Game of the Year Awards 2019 December 25: Lou Contaldi, Editor-in-Chief // Logan Moore, Managing Editor December 26: Tomas Franzese, News Editor // Ryan Meitzler, Features Editor  December 27: Mike Long, Community Manager // Scott White, Staff Writer December 28: Chris Compendio, Contributor // Mario Rivera, Video Manager December 29: Scott Meaney, Community Director // Allisa James, Senior Staff Writer // Ben Bayliss, Senior Staff Writer December 30: Cameron Hawkins, Staff Writer // David Gill, Senior Staff Writer // Portia Lightfoot, Contributor December 31: Iyane Agossah, Senior Staff Writer // Michael Ruiz, Senior Staff Writer // Rachael Fiddis, Contributor January 1: Ricky Frech, Senior Staff Writer // Tanner Pierce, Staff Writer
December 26, 2019 10:00 AM EST
from EnterGamingXP https://entergamingxp.com/2019/12/dualshockers-favorite-games-of-2019-tomas-top-10/?utm_source=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_campaign=dualshockers-favorite-games-of-2019-tomas-top-10
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