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kittyspring-creates · 3 years

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anyone who knows me knows I’m obsessed with werewolves. And a female werewolf makes me blush. So heres the rough draft of the first chapter, introduction to the town before the actual story begins

Oregan is made up of small towns, surrounded by forest life. Social communities that take pride in knowing one another. Crime spreads through the state regardless of the friendly atmosphere. Petty crimes, sometimes domestic crimes. But nothing as horrific as what's been happening in one of the bigger cities. Almost it's own big time concrete jungle. It was almost fitting a killer would manifest in such an area.

When the first body was found just outside the town, a fear ran through the police on the scene. Laying in a bloody pile in the grass was a married man. His face red and stained with what use to pump through his veins. His clothes scattered around the area, showing off the animalistic scratches. The flesh torn and the torso ripped open. The only thing missing was a heart, cleanly removed. The report came back as an animal attack and the body cleaned then returned to the family. No investigation was made. Not even when a second body was found a few weeks later.

The second victim a married man. Claw marks littered his body and left a sizable hole on his chest. The officers around the area ruled it as another animal attack. Requesting safety measures to be taken and a man hunt to start for the beast. A restriction of civilians in the forest was put in effect and a team of officers and hunters were put together. Eventually turning up nothing. Eventually the hunts were called off. With no more accidents the voluntaries returned to their every day lives. The restrictions were still in place as a precaution. But the county felt the danger had passed with only two tragedies in it's wake. That was until a very unwelcomed man rolled into town.

The sheriff of the town was given a heads up that the dc office was sending people over. That an agent from their sector was interested in the events. The man was disgruntled about the news. Knowing that an up roar would manifest once the DC official stepped into the police station.

John Doggett, dropped the phone on the receiver. Letting out a low grunt as he looked at the black object. A headache starting to form before the trouble even entered his quiet town. He ran a hand down his face, pressing his thumb into his cheek and dragging it over to his mouth. He let the limb fall to the arm of his chair. A gentle tapping came from his door. A tone he was familiar with. "Come in Monica" he spoke out. His voice rough with tired annoyance at what was to come. The door opened a sliver and a tall woman stepped into the small office. She gave a nervous smile to the man sitting behind his desk. "I have that field report from the jerkins" she began. Closing the door behind her, she held out a piece of paper. Looking it over to reference the information. "Nothing but fauna they said. Then Marcus shot one and Dave wrote out a report. Then... officer Scully fined him for hunting out of season." She summarized then placed the paper on the mans neat surface. He took in a long breath then reached for it.

The woman raised a brow as she looked him over. Taking in his expression. "You look troubled John" she pointed out. He let go of the paper and turned to her. "I am. I just got off the phone with Violent Crimes. They're sending a few agents over to investigate the deaths" he confessed to the officer. Leaning back in his chair a little as he looked up at her. She tilted her head slightly, her dark locks swaying with the movements. "But those were animal attacks" she reasoned to no one. "That's what I thought. But some big shot from DC thinks otherwise. He's gonna start a panic" he raised his voice slightly and the woman smiled. "Are you sure that's the issue and not a bit of guilt for chopping the deaths up to accidents" she frowned her brows in worry at her own words. The man glared passed her. "I'll be damned if there's a murderer running around under my nose. Or being incompetent" he mumbled the last part. Confessing a little unwillingly his real trouble.

Monica let out an appreciative noise. "John no one could ever think that. Everyone here thought it was an animal attack. Even I think it has to be a mountain lion. Besides what evidence does this agent have about the case. Their probably bored and looking for anything to get out of the city" she reasoned for him but he was unconvinced by her words. "He's gonna bring up the lack of autopsies. I should of had Scully look the bodies over" he spoke his thoughts. "And what create panic for no reason. Take a breath John, why don't you come out with me and the girls tonight" she offered, earning a smile from the serious man. "I don't think I fit in" he answered. He Stood up from the chair and walked around the objects in the room. Monica fallowed his movement and headed for the door. "Regardless If I caught it or not there will be an uproar. The agent will be here later tonight or in the morning" he warned, reaching for the door handle for her. He opened the door and she nodded. "I'll drink lightly tonight, compile everything I can on the incidents tomorrow" she promised, stepping out of the office. The door was closed after her in a silent goodbye.

With the news of the coming trouble, Monica found it hard to keep her mind on the night. Despite being a tight community they did have a red light district. A literal street full of clubs and pubs. A gay bar at the end and a 90's themed go go dance across the street. A place she usually loved. Unwinding on a Saturday night with her coworker and her friends. But the only thing on her mind was the case. She rubbed her thumb over her gin atonic, catching the condensation on the glass. Staring off at the wall, lost in thought. Till she was called. A soft voice spoke her name and she looked over at the seat next to her. A woman with piercing blue eyes stared at her. "Monica, what's wrong you're a thousand miles away" she asked, concern rather then drunken joy in her voice.

The raven haired woman forced a smile, thinning her lips by accident. "I- it's john" she began. Getting cut off by a a few 'oooo's. One more prominent then the rest. "OOoo man troubles" a woman with a thick British accent called out form her other side. The skinny gal sat down with two other woman. Her open backed, golden dress hanging off her body like she purposely bought a size to big. She set down two margarita glasses. Sliding one over to the strawberry blond beside Monica. "Uck, men are nothing but trouble. Like this guy keeps coming into the library and won't leave me alone. Even when I'm in the restricted section updating our ever evolving computers. There he is waiting for me" a blond woman pouted. Sighing out her frustration as she looked at the low spirited woman.

"Sounds like you need an officer Leyla" the British woman gestured to the other two sitting by her. Only the one drinking a margarita smiled. "Or a restraining order, that's a stalker Leyla" she added after taking a sip. She turned her attention back to Monica. "What's wrong" she asked again. "It's these deaths, the two men. Someone thinks their um not right" she tried to phrase. Not wanting to give information away to the three woman not police officers. "What, aren't they animal attacks. Of course their not right, the thing hasn't been caught ha" the British woman scuffed. "Right Dana" she gestured to the strawberry blond. The woman looked annoyed at being called out. "I don't know, I haven't seen a single body. I couldn't tell you anything about the cause of death" she informed. "Look whatever is bothering Doggett he's a big boy he can handle it himself" the silent woman spoke up from the end of the small table. She stood up and grabbed the blonds arm beside her. Pulling her out of the seat and on her feet. "Enough work lets get drunk and regret it in the morning" she laughed, causing Leyla to giggle.

"I'll drink to that" the British woman gobbled down what she could of her drink then stood up with the others. The three rushed away from the table harboring their reality and dived onto the dance floor. Dana giggled at them. She tossed her hair back with a shake of her head. Her smile fell as she looked at her friend. Seeing her worry undimmed by the conversation. "Don't listen to Phoebe, we all know men are play things to her." She scuffed, moving to take a sip of her margarita. With the wild women gone from the table, Monica turned to her co worker. She placed her hand on the drink and lowered it. The action confused the smaller. Before she could ask Monica began to tell her. "Someone from violent crimes is coming in tomorrow, they believe these animal attacks are really murders. John doesn't want someone stirring up trouble" she quickly told. Dana looked her over, her buzzed state fading with the news.

"Really I think he's beating himself up, chopping everything up to an animal attack instead of investigating further" Monica continued with a sigh. She looked down at the drink she held, staring at the bottom as she thought things over. Dana placed her hand on the woman's wrist, rubbing her thumb over the exposed skin. No words were spoken in the moment. The two officers sitting in the news of what will come. Their drinks long forgotten in contemplation.

As the night raged on Monica became to tired to continue their girls night. She called a cab and the group waited with her. Seeing her off when the car pulled up. They continued to wave even when she wasn't in sight. Dana watched longer then the others. Feeling the fear of what was coming. "Ello earth to Dana" her friend called for her. She turned to look at the group, her smile long gone. The thin woman raised her brow and crossed her arms. "Are you alright" Leyla asked in her ever questioning voice. She reached out for the older woman to check on her. "I'm fine" she obviously lied. The brunette rolled her eyes as she scuffed. The action mirrored by the woman in gold. Dana took in a deep breath. "Come on what did Monica say to put you in the glooms" Phoebe demanded. But the woman didn't answer her question. "We need to rein in our activities" she said instead. "No more hunting deer. We stick to smaller prey like rabbits and we leave no carcasses" she warned. Her voice stronger then it had been. "What are you talking about" her friends questioned.

"But Dana the blood moon is in cycle, you know what that does to us" Leyla tried to explain. Looking scared as she glanced at the moon in the night sky. A pink shade almost visible to her trained eyes. "I know, this couldn't of come at a worse time. But an investigator is coming to town. I don't want any of us discovered" the small woman whispered to them. Stepping closer to the group. They nodded at her. Conforming they will obey. "Fine when will they be here" Phoebe did little to hide her anger at the new rules. "Tomorrow" they were informed. "Tomorrow not tonight" she asked with a sly smile. "Yes why" Dana mirrored the smile, already knowing what was coming. The British woman reached down and lifted her foot off the ground. Taking off her heels. As she did so the other woman fallowed.

"One last night of un tamed fun, we rush through the trees till we hit the valley" she pointed out to the woods they were not allowed to be in anymore. Dana removed her heels, looking down the road for on lookers. The group buzzed with anticipation for her answer. Her smile grew and she nodded at them, shaking her bouncy hair excitedly. Taking one last look around the road, the four raced to the trees. Disappearing into the forest. Their bare feet hitting the ground hard. Tearing up the dirt and grass with each sprint.

It was the last thing Dana remembered. The feeling of dirt between her toes, wind rushing passed her ears. The feeling of her heart beat quickening. Her friends letting out small howls and giggles. Then darkness. A slight chill and the absents of familiar scents. An indication she was alone. Until she heard a gathering of voices. Deep and frightened. She snapped open her eyes, seeing the forest ground where she laid. The grounds contents sticking to her form. Her black dress nowhere to be seen. The voices got louder words became more distinct to her. She sat up quickly, leaves falling from her soiled hair. Her body covered in dirt and drying blood. Her hands to her forearm coated in the mixture. She gasped at the sight, her attention caught by the cracking of branches on the floor. The men were getting closer to her. She scurried to her dirty feet.

Her legs running once she was up. If she was chased there was no way anyone could keep up. Her speed reaching higher then the average person. She listened out to the forest. Searching for her friends, but she could not find them in the nearly dead night. She made her way as close to her apartment as she could. Cautiously she exited the trees and scurried to the building. Keeping watch out for anyone. She snuck in the back. Poking her head in to see if anyone was inside. The hall way was empty. Quickly she made her way up the stairs of the building. Making her way to her floor and her door. The wood unlocked as she pushed it open then slammed it closed. Tossing herself against it she let out a deep breath. "Auh that was close" she told herself. Once the danger had passed, the threat of being seen. She looked down at herself. Taking in how dirty she was from the forest. She inspected her arms. Letting them drop as she huffed out. Annoyed by the night.

#txf #au #werewolves #blood warning #dana scully #monica reyes #John Doggett #the x files #txf fanfic

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webcricket · 5 years

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Looking Glass

Chapter 25 - Corollaries

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1683

Summary: Tragedy derails halcyon days in the bunker and forces everyone involved to reevaluate their notions of safety. Warning for minor (canon in ep 13X23) character death. I’ve decided to stop pretending I know how many chapters this beast will end up being - this isn’t the final chapter as I originally intended (mostly because I want to keep them at the original 2K word limit and there is too much story left to cover and clearly I have no concept of what will make it beyond the final edit).

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Raining cats and dogs. Under the weather. Flying by the seat of one’s pants. Speak of the devil.

Castiel never fully appreciated the expressionistic origin of idioms peppering human speech until he glimpsed the vibrant magenta of your jacket fitted to a lifeless female form lying on the leaf-littered trail ahead and he experienced the resultant precipitous leaping of his heart into the upper echelons of his throat.

Swallowing hard against the ‘What if it were you? What if I failed to protect her?’ rise of anxiety to relocate the obstinate organ back into his vessel’s ribcage where it belongs, he closes his eyes in concentrated effort; in the lidded distancing from the light of day, he reminds himself the shattered shell, limbs limp and radiating residual heat, crumpled in the mist of cooling rain belonged to some other unfortunate soul, not you.

He left you safe in the bunker’s kitchen, breathing, physically intact, and very much alive, as you helped prep a mass lunch for the multitudes mere minutes ago. The knowledge, the fresh imprint in his mind’s eye of the slight questioning smile hovering on your mouth soundlessly saying you expected to hear the story later as an agitated and secretive Sam dragged him away from the task of scrubbing dishes to help handle a situation – this situation – however comforting in recollection, barely makes a diminishing dent in his reflexive fright at the sight of your jacket and the scent of you still lingering in the damp cloth mingling with the unmistakable odor of raw death.

The hitch and pause in his gait, the sharp gasp and blanching of pink lips as they press tautly together – the outer projections of disquiet as he battles to suppress his rebellious nerves and rapidly beating heart – presents the split-second opportunity for Jack to sprint past the distracted seraph.

“Maggie!” the boy shouts. Surging ahead, he circumvents Mary and Bobby on the well-worn path where they stand sentinel, gravely watching over the dead girl. Ruddy cheeks paling, his sneaker slips in the mossy earth, smearing through bloodied mud as he stumbles around the boulder where she drew a final breath and collapsed.

Sam’s lengthy stride and rational senses move him to the site in time to prohibit Jack from disturbing the scene further; grappling with the Nephilim’s shoulder to hold him back from kneeling to take the girl up in his arms, he manages to keep the boy from eroding what little detail remains that might clue them in to what happened.

“I-I said I’d protect her, and,” Jack’s guilty lament suspends fog-like in the air as he speaks, fingers uselessly flexing and balling into fists, “Sam…”

Cas forces his feet to convey him closer to the carnage. Blinking between Jack’s anguished aspect and the waterlogged coat, he tears his focus from the more personally emotionally unsettling elements to study the statically fixed girlish features of Maggie’s corpse; the peaceful ghostly skin-shade of pre-rigor smoothing the minute muscles of her face is perverted by brightly painted crimson where the bone cracks cleanly at her temple; rivulets of blood and rain mat her hair, the latter diluting the congealed edges of the fatal wound.

“Stop, Jack. This isn’t your fault,” Sam consoles in the rain-pattered hush, stating what they all – save the grief-stricken Jack – are thinking.

A pang of empathy at Jack feeling personally responsible for whatever befell her resonates in Castiel’s heart; the angel knows from long practice it’s often easier to assume self-blame and contend with the tangibility of failure in place of the seemingly unsurmountable impossibility of accepting that senseless tragedies do happen no matter how many vows one makes to prevent their occurrence. For all the fight for a righteous cause, free will and destiny coalesce into unpredictable outcomes. It’s a hard lesson to learn – one with which the angel constantly grapples and one made bearable by the bonds of friendship and love.

“What happened to her?” Dean huskily murmurs the question as if uttering it aloud will provide an instantaneous answer.

At the thought, Cas casts his blues skyward at the roiling grey abyss of clouds above; tiny droplets of rain smatter and collect on his unshaven cheeks, blending with the brimming brine of unshed tears to pool in the divot of his chin when his gaze again drops to settle on the distraught boy. If he could, he’d take this pain from Jack; he knows, in their way, Sam and Dean feel the same; since that feat is not within the realm of possibilities, perhaps Dean’s on to something and they can relieve the burden some by figuring out what really happened here.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t look supernatural,” Mary supplies to flesh out the unknowable.

Cas silently concurs with the assessment; someone, not something killed Maggie. Given the ambient air temperature, the wicking capabilities of water to rapidly cool core body heat, the angel determines the girl can’t have been left here more than a handful of hours ago.

Always ready with a surly remark in any incarnation, Bobby pipes in, “Looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until…”

“Who would do something like this?” Interrupting, regard drawn once more to the magenta fabric, remembering your walks together on this very same stretch of trail, the solitary outings you’ve taken since trusting in your safety, Castiel masks the fear in his tone with anger.

A lesser being might call it a tragic case of mistaken identity; for Lucifer, it was a fairly typical Thursday evening with a dash of prodigious fate thrown in for fun. The single regret clouding his glee and veiling the red glow of his pupils as the girl’s skull broke with a satisfying pop and an even more gratifying gurgle against the unforgiving mass of the boulder on the third strike was that – although she initially tricked his senses into thinking she was you wandering in the wilderness on account of outerwear absolutely reeking of his brother – she was not actually you.

Unfortunate for fulfilling his nefarious need to revenge an innocuous smack upside the head back on the bus, certainly; although he wouldn’t characterize it as a mistake. He knew before he throttled the scream in her throat and flicked her – sputtering for air like a boneless fish – onto the ground he had the wrong refugee. Too bad for her, on he devil’s non-existent moral compass, wrong exists as just as compelling a direction as right.

Finishing up the last of the dishes in the sink, you lay a gleaming plate carefully on the pile with a clink to dry and swipe the wetness coating your hands across the towel tucked into the waistband of your jeans. At the familiar bass angelic utterance of your name, you turn toward the doorway.

“Cas!” The smile skirting your mouth falters into a frown at the serious etch of lines hardening his countenance. Yanking the towel free and tossing it aside, you navigate the counter between you with an arm extended to meet him halfway. “What happened?” Your fingers delve beneath the hem of his coats, flattening to the rigid plane of his torso.

“We need to talk.” He peers beyond your fretfully widening eyes at the two other apocalypse expats currently inhabiting the space to aid in lunch clean up. One of them averts her inquisitive gaze back to the tabletop she’s polishing. “Leave us,” he growls; the order emerges significantly less kind than he is capable of being. “You too.” He gestures at the young man organizing a shelf.

“Cas,” you hiss chidingly under your breath, prodding his side. You’ve made great strides these past weeks in terms of angelic PR and here he is throwing everything out the window with rudeness.

He rolls his eyes almost imperceptibly. Almost. There isn’t time for niceties given the circumstances, although he knows you’re right. “I need to speak to Y/N alone. Leave us, please,” he amends and softens the request, punctuating his words with a strained smile for their benefit. It’s disingenuous, yet you appreciate the effort.

You mouth a polite thank you to your nodding cohorts for their understanding as they abandon their chores to slink out into the hall.

Upon their exit, Castiel engulfs you in a hug.

“Hey, I’ve got you,” you whisper, acquiescing to his tender demand for contact; rubbing circles into his back, sliding a palm to comb the chestnut curls at his nape, you wait for an explanation for his strange behavior.

Standing there, he lets the heat of you sink into his shrouded skin; he listens to the steady thrum of your heart and shallow respiration of life moving in and out of your lungs until nothing but the grounding succor of your body and soul quiet his senses. Exhaling a sigh into the crook of your neck, he shudders against you and pulls away to look into your eyes. Grey glints of somberness gild his irises. “Maggie’s dead.”

“Wh-what?”

“Mary and Bobby found her body in the woods, on the trail leading to town. That’s what Sam-”

“An accident?”

Regard falling to the sliver of space between you, he shakes his head.

You suck in a juddering breath. Choking on a wave of guilt, you remember your conversation when she took over your living quarters. “I-I told her it was safe here. I promised her-”

“This isn’t your fault. This isn’t anyone’s fault.” Repeating Sam’s earlier assertion to Jack – the words sounding no more reassuring to his ears than before – Cas folds you to his chest, tangles his fingers in your hair, and angles to kiss the top of your head. “We need your help. You’ve gotten to know these people better than any of us – is there anyone she was close to? Anyone who would know why she was out alone?”

“Yeah-” You nod in the solid casing of his embrace, sniffling back tears– “Allene. They’re friends.”

“Good, that’s good.” He balances a prickly cheek on your crown; feeling the warmth of your tears saturate his shirt, he resettles his arms to envelope you tighter.

Next: Ch. 26 - The World Ender (Final)

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel reader insert #spn x reader #castielxreader #castielxyou #castiel series #castiel fanfiction #castiel fanfic #spn reader insert #cas x reader #cas x you #reader x castiel #you x castiel #cricket writes cas

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xiiishadesofgrey · 5 years

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Kingdom Hearts III: A Long Time Coming

As we’re about a month after the release of KH3, I wanted to get out my thoughts on the game (there are spoilers below). I might be talking into the void, but hey, that’s what fandom’s all about. Anyway, let’s rock.

First things first: I loved the game. I’m biased, because I’ve been in love with this series ever since I saw the first trailer on tv all those years ago. I have some criticisms, but please never take those to mean that I don’t love this game because I do.

Story

My main issue with the plot of KH3 is that I think pacing was a weak point in this one. Now, I’m used to playing through mostly irrelevant Disney worlds the whole time and then getting a plot dump at the end. I know how this series works; that’s not my issue. The problem is that there are a lot of characters who would pop in to do something pivotal, and then make an equally swift exit without any real closure. Demyx and Vexen come to mind, but even the non-benched OrgXIII members didn’t do much besides serve in the boss rush and make their goodbyes (while the other fighters politely waited before continuing to rough you up). We knew there was going to be a huge cast of characters, but for the ones that served to move the plot forward, in a lot of cases I was left feeling like I didn’t have an answer for why the roles had to be filled by them in particular. (Connections to KHUX were blurry at best, though that’s more of an issue with series planning than with this game on its own. I’m okay with using Luxu as a cliffhanger, though, since that’s more of an intentional setup.) Motivations weren’t explored and many of the characters ended up just where they were before: lost, floating in the void.

I was also a little put out with the game’s treatment of the main heroes. Riku and Mickey spend 5/6 of the game throwing themselves against a wall, staunchly refusing Sora’s help. Meanwhile Sora (aka the player) is supposed to just wander around until the Power of Waking comes to him all deus ex machina style? That’s not a plan, and it makes for a meandering plot. And when you finally do get to the Realm of Darkness, lo and behold, the power was in him all along, meaning that we’ve all wasted a lot of time in what we’re supposed to believe is a pretty urgent situation. If I’m considering this within the framework of the KH universe, it means we should probably never take direction from Yen Sid again. If I look at if from a real world perspective, it’s a rather poor excuse for the player to visit the obligatory worlds while the main plot gets compressed to a cutscene movie at the end of the game. Either way, it leaves a bad taste in the mouth.

And finally, I was truly disappointed with KH3′s treatment of Kairi. I try to be understanding. I get it, she’s not the main character. But here’s the thing: the writers set Kairi up to be in a position of agency, if not power. She has a keyblade, she has the benefit of legitimate training in no less than a genuine hyperbolic time chamber (more than Sora has ever had the benefit of, mind you), and she has a history of being eager to pull her weight as a Guardian of Light. Plus, she’s a Princess of Heart. You’d think this would lead to her being able to contribute to the fight in more ways than just believing in Sora enough to keep him from keeling over when he loses his cool (another thing I took a bit of issue with, but I won’t digress here). But no, Kairi is demoted very solidly to damsel in distress when the plot finally sees fit to release her and Lea from their bubble. To be blunt, I call bullshit. I think she deserved better as a character, and I think if they weren’t going to do anything with her having a keyblade, they shouldn’t have wasted all that time making it happen. In the last fight, she and Lea were more liabilities than anything. I think they both deserved better than that.

End(?)

Obviously, the end of the game contains a culmination of the complaints I’ve mentioned. I’m overjoyed that my favorite characters get their lives back, but a lot of that takes place without direct player contribution (for example, Roxas showing up by himself, having melded with a replica body offscreen, or Namine being a footnote in the closing scenes). I acknowledge that the player character doesn’t need to (and shouldn’t) be the sole instigator of action in a game, but for some of these instances, having these points basically narrated to me felt like things were coming together because they had to for the plot to resolve, and not because our own actions had led to an optimal outcome. I didn’t feel like we had earned all of the pieces falling into place the way they did.

I mentioned unclear motivations before. All I will say about Xehanort is that I don’t quite see the connection between the story they’ve been selling us for him literally this entire time and the story he painted for his motivations at the very end. I don’t feel one way or the other about them trying to redeem him, but I don’t feel that that was a well-established path to try to take with the character they’d built. It’s important to give evidence throughout if that’s the final claim you’re going to stand on, and nothing in any previous game has ever hinted at the “noble reset” MO.

And then, there’s Sora. My precious sunshine child. They damseled Kairi so hard that Sora died got lost in an alternate universe. I had two problems with this: 1) it just made me sad, and 2) it was like...completely unaddressed. I get it, you’re leading into the next saga, and that’s admittedly an excellent hook. But like, I feel like a plot point as pivotal as the main character functionally disappearing warrants some sort of ... visible reaction from his friends and comrades??? To have that emotional fallout completely unaddressed makes me feel like the story wasn’t complete. And not to make a somewhat unrelated gripe, but I feel like if they had space to make us watch the entire Let It Go song, they had space to let the audience know that Sora’s disappearance actually had some effect on the people he’d saved.

Experience

So, given all that grumbling, what did I feel about the overall experience of the game? I actually thought it was very positive. The gameplay - both exploration and combat - was very smooth and exciting. The worlds we visited were well-executed and fun (though San Fransokyo felt deceptively small, somehow). The graphics were awesome. (I’d been concerned that the new engine would lose some of the Kingdom Hearts feel, but I think they really nailed it.) Yoko Shimomura triumphed as always with a stellar soundtrack. (I found myself humming along to the Arendelle and Corona themes for hours.) The plot, obviously, was great despite my issues with the execution in this particular chapter. I think that most of the problems that I mentioned earlier with pacing and details stem from there being what I consider to be too many plotlines to handle in one ~40 hour game. I wouldn’t want another side game of course, but I think that the telling of the story might have benefited from the Dark Seeker saga continuing into a KH4. The plot is sprawling, as we all know, and it just needed a little more space to resolve everything cleanly.

(Side note: I missed my FF friends, but I understand why they weren’t present. Like I said, there was too much going on as it is.)

Aside from that, I personally got to spend a lot more time with my brother than I have ... probably since KH2 came out, to be honest. We promised to only play together, and we took turns with the controller just like we had to do in the good ol’ days when we were kids. And we’ve always played the main games together, so this was a really nice throwback. Closing this chapter of the story was impactful for us as individuals, but sharing the experience was just as great. After several years of being pretty closed off, I feel like this reminded me how to be a kinder sister. So, I thank the KH franchise from the bottom of my heart for that.

All things said, I really enjoyed the hell out of playing this game. At the end of the day, I think that’s all you can ask of a game, really. This one did much more than that, though. It largely followed through on my hopes for the characters, and definitely fulfilled my technical expectations. Most importantly, it felt like it came through on my immense emotional investment in the series. I cried (a lot), like I knew I would. Heck, I might even play it again sometime. lol ...Maybe not right away, since I still have to heal emotionally. But yeah. Thank you for the ride, KH. I won’t make this sound like a goodbye because you still owe me some closure. But thanks.

Here’s to the next half a lifetime. :)

#kingdom hearts #KH #kingdom hearts 3 #KH3 #Source: me

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