#from opening mission right until the very end & every single one of the side quests

[the-penguinspy]

just finished playing nier:automata. im

[merakiaes]

Hate You, Hate You Not - Armitage Hux

Pairing: General Armitage Hux x reader

Requested: By anon. 

Prompts: #1 & #58 from the fluff-list. 

Warnings/notes: (SHOULD I MAKE A PART 2 WITH MORE ROMANCE IN IT?) This ended up being much longer than I planned so it's most likely very boring and dull😭 Might be a bit, if not a lot, out of character since this is kinda my test-run for Hux and Star Wars in general. Getting the characters mannerisms in might take some practice. Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. This is the first time ever that I write for Star Wars and the first time in like 5-6 months that I’m writing in general so I’m a bit rusty. Please reblog and leave comments to keep my motivation going and let me know if you’d like to be added to a Star Wars taglist <3 

Wordcount: 5632

Summary: One of Kylo Ren’s many tantrums results in your room being inhabitable for a night, which in turn results in you having to share a room - and bed - with the person you hate the most. 

Everyone who had ever, at some point in their lives, worked alongside Kylo Ren in his quest to bring the Order to power, knew how much of a hassle and inconvenience his temper, or lack thereof, could be.

Not much was needed for him to lose his cool and it happened on a much too frequent basis than what was considered normal for a man in his early 30s, at least according to you.

Of course, however, you couldn’t actually tell him that, nor could you think it, with the risk of him probing your mind.

So every time he came back from a failed mission and completely obliterated your hard work, you could do nothing but bite your tongue, clear your head and repair the damages like you’d done oh, so many times before.

That’s what you got for being one of the highest-ranked engineers of the Order, you supposed.

But on this day you would’ve, for the first time in your life, very much preferred to repair the damages left behind by your tantrum-prone leader like you always did. Because if that punishment had to be compared to the one you were now facing, you would’ve chosen the former without even a shadow of a doubt.

But, unfortunately, that was not an option this time around, as the room that had fallen victim to the sizzling beam of Kylo Ren’s lightsaber was your bedroom.

Well, not originally, of course, but sparks had flown from the totaled control panels and a piece of supposedly fireproof metal scrap had caught on fire before you and the other engineers reached the room for a damage-control, starting of as a small flame and then proceeding to spread like wildfire as fire did, in ways completely unbeknownst to you as, like already mentioned, the place was supposed to be safe from fires.  

The licking flames had managed to melt through several walls before you got to the scene, and one of those walls was the wall to your bedroom.

It was late when it happened, only fifteen minutes before you were supposed to end your shift, and as you were on the verge of having a mental fucking breakdown, you personally requested an audience with Kylo and were granted permission by him after a very carefully-worded explanation to start early in the morning.

But that only took care of one of your problems, and only temporarily at that. Now you were left with the issue of finding other sleeping accommodations since your room was currently not habitable. You had no choice but to ask for another room and, of course, Hux thought that to be the perfect time to crack a sarcastic joke about throwing you into one of the prisoner cells.

You had never, in all your years of being alive, glared so fiercely at another human being as you did then. And in your moment of anger, you accidentally let your walls down and let your thoughts run freely through your head – your annoyance directed at the General, but also at Kylo Ren, being exposed.

You felt it before you saw it – that little prickle in your head, that little sting of your mind being probed – and only a second later, Kylo Ren turned his masked head in your direction, walked up to you with patronizingly slow steps and spoke:

“I think you’ll find that General Hux’s quarters will suffice for the night, until repairs can be done to your own. He has more than enough space for both of you.”

He turned his head to look at the baffled man standing behind him, all of the attitude he had previously been harboring against you now completely melted away.

“Isn’t that right, General?” Kylo continued asking, giving him the time he needed to regain his composure.

The general in question had never been very good at holding his tongue, not even when receiving orders from superiors, and was quick to protest.

As anyone would’ve been able to guess, that didn’t go very well, and you weren't even gonna try hiding the satisfaction you got from seeing Hux be force-choked against a wall for speaking out of turn.

No matter how good both of you were at hiding your spiteful thoughts toward him, Kylo knew how much the two of you hated him. And more than anything, he knew how much you hated each other.

Kylo had become very predictable to you during the time you had been there and you knew his ways good enough to know that he wouldn’t have wasted petty energy in putting the two most hateful people he knew in the same room if he hadn’t been pushed to do so.

You knew that you weren’t the reason in this scenario, despite the fact that he had probably felt your spite directed towards him, which only left one option; and that option was the bitter, infuriatingly stubborn ginger currently walking by your side.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye and glared, clenching and unclenching your fists at your sides in the same manner you had been doing ever since Kylo had ruled his decision final and dismissed you for the night.

His eyes remained trained on the metallic corridor that seemed to be stretched out for miles in front of you and your blood boiled at the sight.

You would’ve lost your shit if he’d had the nerve to even consider looking at you after putting you in this situation, but at the same time, you were also on the verge of losing your shit about him having the audacity to ignore you.

You wanted to scream at him like you’d never screamed at anyone before, but you knew that doing that would only fuel the petty grudge Kylo had against the two of you and give him more ways to cause you torment. The only thing you and the general would ever have in common was not wanting that.

But still, what harm could a tiny bit of friendly banter do?

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, Armitage?” The question you’d been sucking on for the past few minutes finally slipped out into the air, making your anger known.

“Don’t call me that.”

“My apologies.” You sarcastically shot back with a dry laugh. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you, general?”

“No, it was awfully tempting.” Was all that he replied, his eyes not once flickering and neither his stone-cold scowl nor fast-paced stride faltering.

Well, you might have absolutely despised each other but in the very least, you never bothered lying to each other. That had to count for something, right? Not that either of you cared.

No more words were exchanged, and that was probably for the best. Engineers and stormtroopers all moved out of your way as the two of you marched through the corridors, side by side, knowing better at this point than to get on your bad sides when you were together and this obviously angry both with each other and in general.

Soon enough, you finally reached the corridor in which Hux’s sleeping quarters were located and once the mechanic doors slid open, you pushed yourself past him into the room before he even got the chance to react.

He fumed behind you as he watched you make yourself at home, dropping your dirty jacket on his perfectly made bed.

“You’ll take the floor, then?” You asked as you turned around, crossing your arms over your chest and shooting him a forced smile.

“Hardly.” He spat, eyes narrowing, and you scoffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“You must be a real hit with the ladies with those manners.”

At that, he stepped further into his room, allowing the sensory-triggered door to shut behind him, successfully shutting the two of you in together.

“I don’t have time for fooling around with women.” He spat out the last word with such malice that you automatically raised an eyebrow.

“Well, that explains it.” You mused, the corner of your lip tugging upwards ever so slightly.

“Explains what, exactly?” His eyes narrowed further, and this time it was his turn to cross his arms.

“That stick you have up your ass.” You wasted no time in shooting back, and before he got a chance to reply, you continued. “I know this might be news to you seeing as you’re, well, you, but gentlemen are supposed to sacrifice their comfort and offer themselves to take the floor when a lady, due to unfortunate circumstances, is forced to stay in their room.”

You sarcastically smiled at him and sank down his bed, something that he, judging by the snarl overtaking his face, didn’t appreciate.

“You, a lady? That will be the day.” He scoffed. “Even calling you a woman is a stretch with your mannerisms.”

You could only roll your eyes.

“Well, I’m not sharing a bed with you.” The glare that had temporarily been exchanged for a teasing smirk returned to your face. “I’d rather share a bed with Millicent.”

As you said that, you picked up a single strand of cat hair from his bed, held it up for further inspection and raised your lip in disgust.

He stared at you dead serious, hands clasped behind his back and eyes burning holes into the side of your face.

“You’re allergic to cats.” He pointed out, making your head whip back around to face him with a glare equally as fierce as the one you were met with.

“Yes, that’s my point.” You deadpanned. “But it would seem that said point just went right over your thick-skulled head.”

“Do you think I am any happier about this than you are?” He scowled, and you stood up, slowly approaching him and coming to a stop right in front of him.

He took a small step back, a move that made your lip tug upward ever so slightly. The fact that he was so obviously not as tough as he wanted people to believe gave you a special kind of satisfaction and he knew it, judging by the way he only turned stiffer after that.

“You should be.” You smiled sweetly at him, keeping your eyes connected to his. “Because you’re sure as hell lucky I haven’t choked the life out of you yet for getting us into this situation in the first place.”

He glared and you glared right back, challenging, no, daring him to fight back. You knew that he wanted to, you could see that he wanted to, but in the end, not even he was that stupid.

So he said nothing, and once you realized you had finally managed to successfully back him into a corner, you backed away from him again and plastered on another forced, overly sweet smile.

“Now, I need to take a shower. I reek of burnt plastic.” You stated flatly and pushed past him, making a beeline for the one extra door in the room that you could only assume was his bathroom.  

You heard the squeak of his shoes rubbing against the floor as he quickly turned around behind you, and then came the determined steps and the proximity of his body closing in on you. However, before he got the chance to object or reach you, you entered his bathroom and slammed the door shut in his face, smiling contently to yourself as you listened to the muffled string of curses that followed.

You didn’t spend any more time thinking about it, though, not wasting any time before doing what you came in there to do.

You got out of your horrid-smelling clothes, released your equally as nasty-smelling hait from its ponytail and stepped into the shower.

If there was one thing you appreciated a little extra about living at the Starkiller Base, it was that everyone used the same scented soap. Because that meant that you wouldn’t have to go around smelling specifically like Hux, but rather just like you always smelled.

Once you finished washing your hair and body, you had to stop and think for a bit.

Your clothes obviously still reeked and needed a proper wash before they could be worn again, and you obviously couldn’t go naked.

After much thought back and forth, you finally settled with your own leggings as they were the one piece of clothing from your previous attire that smelled the least of smoke, and a plain black, long-sleeved undershirt that you found in a pile of Hux’s clean laundry.

Once you vad gotten dressed, braided your hair and re-entered the bedroom accompanied by a stream of steam, you found it to be empty, Hux nowhere in sight.

You couldn’t deny that you wondered where he’d gone off to, but you shook your head free of his face pretty quickly, settling with believing that he just went to take his frustration out on some poor stormtrooper or low-rank intern like he so often did when things didn’t go his way, much like Kylo Ren beat the shit out of any control panel he could get his hands on.

While you awaited his return, you occupied yourself with going around the room and lighting the small night-lamps like you normally did in your own room before going to bed.

That obviously didn’t take long, however, so you were soon enough once again left alone with your boredom and started walking around the room, inspecting all of Hux’s belongings.

You realized pretty quickly that he was not a person to whom inanimate things had much sentimental value, as he definitely didn’t have much to his name aside from the basic interior that all of the sleeping quarters on the base had.

He had a ring on his drawer, a few books in one of his two bookshelves while the other stood empty, a small bed in a corner for his cat, clothes in his wardrobe, and that was pretty much it. He had no pictures of family, no real personal belongings that could signify any kind of emotional value.

But then again, who did in these parts?

“Is that my shirt?”

You jumped when you heard the sudden voice behind you, quickly turning around where you stood twirling the ring you had found in the light of the lamp standing beside you.

Your eyes found his form immediately, shocked meeting stern.

“Why are you wearing my shirt?” He almost instantly repeated himself when not getting a reply the first time, slowly beginning to walk in your direction with his hands clasped behind his back.

You quickly put the ring back down on the dresser and turned towards him, regaining your composure.

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed, my room and everything in it was burnt to a crisp. The smokey smell on my clothes was giving me a headache and kind of would have ruined the purpose of taking a shower so when I just so conveniently noticed a pile of clean clothes, I helped myself.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, and to you, it wasn’t.

Hux, however, didn’t seem amused in the slightest.

“Yes, you seem to have a habit of thinking you’re entitled to everything you want.” He spat back at you, coming to a stop while there was still a good amount of distance between the two of you.

Any chill you had previously had melted right off and your annoyance quickly returned at the sound of his words.

“Oh, do excuse me. I just thought one headache would be enough.” You retorted and rolled your eyes, before sighing and crossing your arms over your chest. “So, how are we doing this? It’s late and I need to be up early to see to the repairs.”

“I thought that I made myself clear.” Hux was quick to scoff, his glare not faltering for as much as a second. “I’m not giving you my bed.”

Once again, all you could do was roll your eyes. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to suck it up then.” You stated flatly and sat down on the bed, wasting no time in starting to divide the pillows into two piles rather than one.

You took a few seconds to adjust the pillows to suit your needs before looking back up, eyebrow raised at the fact that he had yet to say or do anything.

Your eyes once again met his and you almost laughed out loud at the sight you were faced with, but thankfully managed to control yourself and avoid making the situation even harder than it already was.  

Long story short, Hux had never looked more horrified than he did in that moment.

He basically looked at you like you had killed his cat, and that was putting it lightly.

You took a few seconds to just enjoy watching him squirm and silently scramble to make sense of the situation, but even you knew when enough was enough and raised a questioning eyebrow at him in an attempt to get him moving.

“Well? What’s it going to be?” You asked. “It’s either this or the floor, just like it was for me.”

Hux opened his mouth, hesitated, and then closed it again. He obviously hadn’t been expecting you to actually agree on sharing his bed with him and now that you had, he was left at loss for words as he clearly hadn’t been preparing for anything other than you sleeping on the floor.

But after a good moment of just standing there and looking like an idiot, he finally picked himself back up, squared his shoulders and walked around the bed to the other side with frustrated strides and a snarling lip.

The feigned confidence melted right off, however, when he reached his destination and awkwardly shuffled into bed while simultaneously avoiding your amused and mocking stare, silently grabbing the extra blanket that was folded upon his bedside table.  

Both of you laid down on your backs and a heavy silence fell like a thick blanket over the room. The only sound you could hear for a few moments were each other’s breaths and your own heartbeats. For a moment, only for a microscopical moment, you were actually on your way to admit to yourself that it was kind of nice.

But that thought went flying out the window just as quickly as it had knocked on the door of your mind when Hux broke the silence by beginning to adjust himself to get ready to sleep, and in the process of doing so made the active choice to tug the pillows from right under your head.

The back of your head hit the mattress with a soft thump and you closed your eyes, your lips pulling into a straight, tight line and one, sharp breath being released through your nose as you attempted to keep your cool.

You took a moment to calm down, before you turned your head to his side of the bed where he now laid with his back to you and tugged the pillows back – maybe with a little too much force than necessary.

Hux had quickly rolled over to his other side to take them back and in anger and an eagerness to get to sleep, you exclaimed: “Stop stealing the pillows!”

He met you with a stare cold enough to have anyone else shaking in their boots and spat back. “They’re my pillows.”

You grumbled under your breath and let go of one of the two pillows, letting him pull it back to his side while you held on to the last one.

You stared at each other for a moment, both of you eventually coming to a silent, mutual agreement that you were too tired to fight and therefore he'd let you keep the pillow you were holding on to as if your life depended on it.

He, once again, laid down and turned his back to you, his hands holding on to the pillows under his head while you struggled to get comfortable again, this time with only one pillow.

“Why is your bed so damn hard?” You muttered under your breath as you angrily shoved your elbow into the mattress in an attempt to make it more comfortable – as if that was ever going to help.

“Stop complaining.” He only snapped back.

“How could I when I’m stuck in a bed with you?”

“You could’ve asked for other accommodations when you had the chance.”

“And what, be the next victim of Ren’s lightsaber?” You scoffed. “I’m the one in charge of the repairs that are needed every time he throws a wobbly. I’ve seen the kind of damage that thing can do and I’m not in any hurry to find myself at the receiving end of it.”

You muttered the last part under your breath as you finally managed to get relatively comfortable, plopping back down on your back and folding your hands over your stomach.

“How did you know I’m allergic to cats, anyway?” The question spilled out before you could stop yourself, and before you could even register that it was on the way.

Where did that even come from? Cats weren’t even close to being the subject at hand.

Hux didn’t seem to care much about the random change of subject, however, simply muttering back a reply. “You start sniffling and scratching your arms every time you’re in the same room as me for more than five minutes.”

He was clearly tired. Tired in general or just tired of you, you didn’t really know, but you guessed that it was a mixture of both since that was the case for you.

“Maybe I’m just allergic to you.” You muttered back with a shrug, even though he couldn’t see you, and he scoffed at that.

“Had that been the case I’m fairly certain it would go both ways and, unlike you, I don’t go around oozing snot everywhere I go.”

“I don’t go oozing snot everywhere.” You calmly protested, throwing the back of his head a disapproving glare before turning to lay on your side so that your back was now turned to his.

He didn’t say anything else and neither did you, sleep coming in and catching you completely by surprise and having you knocked out within the next two minutes.

When you woke up early that next morning, Hux was unsurprisingly already gone, Millicent instead laying in his place and looking right at you.

With a disgusted snarl and hesitant movements, you reached over to the other side of the bed and awkwardly patted her head twice, probably very much in the incorrect manner as you had no experience whatsoever with animals.

You got out of bed after that, put on your jacket and shoes, and wasted no time in getting to work once you’d gotten some food into your system, your team joining you in the damage-inflicted area to start on repairs like you’d done so many times before.

Everything was going fine and dandy, just a light-reckon day that started off like any other – if you didn’t count waking up in Hux’s bed with his cat – but a few hours into your workday, the unmistakable sound of Kylo Ren’s heavy steps could be heard echoing through the entire corridor you found yourself working in.

A big share of the Order’s pilots had been either killed or badly hurt a few days prior in an ambush. No one had expected any pilots to be needed for at least a few days but Kylo had gotten a sudden lead on the map that would take him to Luke Skywalker and was now walking around the base recruiting anyone capable of helping him get what he wanted.

Unfortunately for you, you were not only a highly-ranked engineer, but also a pretty decent pilot, and couldn’t say anything in protest when you were whisked away to a ship.

As anyone who wasn’t driven by an unhealthy obsession would have been able to guess, the lead was just too good to be true with a way too simple access.

Just like the last lead, this one fell through when it was revealed to be another ambush. You weren’t completely sure what happened, but over the comms, you had heard something about Leia Organa and some scavenger. 

You didn’t have time to think about retired war heroes though, no matter how much you’d love to pry and the get in on the gossip, as you had to shoot yourself through a big fleet of Resistance starfighter corps, barely getting through with your ship intact.

Your fellow pilots were shot down one by one, only a small amount of you managing to get out of there. And even then, you were met by more starfighter corps just as quickly as you’d gotten away from the last line.

Everything was just a mess after that. You weren’t able to get through to anyone over the comms, only barely being able to make out a “pull back!” before your comm system was blown to pieces along with one of your main engines.

Along with several other ships, you were forced to crash-land on a small planet filled with thick woods and when your ship collided with the ground, your head slammed into the controls, rendering you unconscious for who knows how long.

By the time you came back to it, you were hanging upside down, the only thing preventing you from falling down being the seatbelt keeping you strapped in.

You struggled to get out of there but you managed, and had to take a moment to get your surroundings to stop spinning before moving forward to look for survivors as well as a ship that wasn’t completely beyond salvation.  

You weren’t sure who you’d find, but the person you’d shared a bed with the previous night was definitely the last person you’d expect to have crashed in the same place as you. 

And still, you recognized his ship immediately. After all, you were the one who had personalized it to fit his liking.

Lucky for you, his ship seemed to have gotten a pretty soft landing. As you circled around it, you were able to determine that no major engines had been blown out. Damaged? Definitely. But they looked intact enough to at least be able to put some more distance between you and the Resistance pilots and get you to a safer place. Hopefully, the inside would be as untouched as the outside.

The ramp was lowered to the ground but didn’t look broken, so you wasted no time in jogging inside.

The lights were out completely in the entrance area, and just flickering in the ceiling when you came further in.

The first thing you noticed when you entered the piloting pit was that the pilot was not breathing. How could you tell from that far a distance? Well, let’s just say that something that was not supposed to be stuck in his eye, was stuck in his eye.

Upon further inspection, you noticed another body on the floor. However, this one was very much alive.

You would’ve expected to be met by a desperate “help me”, maybe even some begging and pleading or in the very least a “please”, but instead, even when in the process of bleeding out on the floor, Hux narrowed his eyes at you as you approached him and asked you with ragged breaths:

“Is that my shirt?”

You panted as you dropped to your knees at his side, still pretty shaken up from your own crash. “What? No.” You replied in a breath, and you wasted no time in starting to inspect his injuries.

“Yes, it is.”

“Why would I be wearing your shirt?” You asked simply, struggling to see in the dark as the flickering lights weren’t providing much assistance by means of light.

“That’s my shirt.” He kept insisting, and flinched when your hand made contact with his lower abdomen.

Only then did your eyes register the glimmering piece of metal through your blurred and disoriented vision, sticking out of his side.

You flinched at the sight, not needing any more light than you had to know that it was really bad. 

Your heart suddenly picked up in speed in your chest, and your hands began shaking as they became covered in his blood.

You had never been in the middle of the action before now, you’d always just been surrounded by metal and electricity. The most exciting thing you’d ever experienced was when a new engineer circuited a control panel the wrong way, resulting in it blowing up right by your workplace.

But it wasn’t the action in itself that had your heart about ready to burst through your chest, nor was it the blood in general, but rather the fact that it was his blood covering your hands.

His life was completely dependent on you at this moment and you had absolutely no idea how to behave accordingly.

But if there was something you knew, it was that the last thing you were supposed to do was to show a dying man your panic, so you took a deep breath and tried your hardest to steady your racing heart, going back to the conversation at hand.

“How could you tell the difference, really?” You asked. “All of our shirts look the same. All black, all equally as sufficient when used to stop blood flows.”

As you said that last part, you released another breath and ripped off a big chunk of the lower part of the shirt you were wearing.

A shirt that was, in fact, Hux's.

The man in question let his head fall back against the wall that he was propped against and his eyes squeezed shut when feeling your hands return to his side.

“Do you always wear shirts several sizes too big?” He managed to get out through clenched teeth and you replied without missing a beat.

“There was a mix-up in the laundry room.”

“So it isn’t your shirt?” He continued to be persistent and despite the seriousness of the situation, you couldn’t help but to let a small smile slip.

“Do you want to keep fighting about whether or not this shirt is mine or would you rather maybe, oh, I don’t know, focus on getting the hell out of here?” You asked him lightly and at that, he raised his head to meet your eyes with a distrusting glare.

“Why are you helping me?”

You raised your eyebrow at him, sparing just a second to meet his eyes. “You have a piece of metal stuck in your side, why the hell would I not help you?” You asked and as quickly as you had looked up, you looked back down at your hands to see what you were doing.

“You hate me, and I hate you.” He deadpanned, and you couldn’t deny you felt your heart tug in your chest.

“Who told you I hated you?” You asked, and listened as he let out a dry, struggling laugh.

“You did. On countless occasions.”

He hissed when you accidentally bumped your hand against the piece of metal. You quietly apologized but didn’t stop, knowing you didn’t have much time before the enemy would catch up with you.

“Thinking that I’m entitled to everything I want isn’t the only bad habit I have. I also have a tendency to overexaggerate.” You joked with a smile. “I do find you insufferably infuriating, though.”                                              

Another chuckle left his lips. “Likewise.” He said and dropped his head back against the wall.

You said nothing more, ripping another two pieces off of the shirt, tying them together and wrapping it around his waist like you had the first piece. You tightened this knot significantly more than the first one, though, right above the piece of metal, and just as quickly as he had relaxed, he jerked back forward with a yell.

“I need to stop the bleeding, you need to keep still.” You hurriedly scolded and sternly pushed him back down by his chest.

He muttered bitterly in return, but didn’t protest.

“I bet you’re enjoying this.” He seethed, and you raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Whenever I’m feeling down, I just think back to the multiple times I’ve had the pleasure of witnessing you being force-thrown across a room by Ren. Puts a smile on my face every time. But that doesn’t automatically mean I want you to die. So stop wallowing in your internalized self-hatred and put your hand over mine.” You told him, trying your hardest to keep a lighthearted attitude, more so for your own sake than his at this point as you were literally about to pass out.

But he did as told, contributing with the strength he had left when you got to your feet and started pulling him up and into one of the seats that were still intact.

He put a trembling hand over yours and in turn, you put your other one over his and pushed down. He hissed and you gave him a moment to adjust, and when you were sure he was pressing hard enough with his own hand, you slowly removed both of yours and fastened his seatbelt.

“Keep pressure and hold on tight. This is most likely going to be a rough ride.” You warned him, and he slowly looked up at you through a mess of ginger hair.

“It can’t be any worse than the ride here.” He retorted and you nodded, taking that as a “go ahead”.

You wasted no time in getting into the pilot’s seat after pulling the previous pilot out, as well as the thick tree branch on which his head had been impaled, and started up the controls. It took a few tries to get out of the hole the ship hade gotten stuck in when crashing, but soon enough you were up in the sky.

With a bit of dumb luck, you eventually reached your destination and got brought back in to the base by your team of fellow engineers, all ready to repair the wrecked ship.

Hux was immediately taken to the medical bay while you stayed behind to help with the ships, and from two ends of the base, the two of you silently and separately came to realize that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t hate each other as much as you thought, after all.

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

hey love🥺🥺

can i request smth for aragorn pls🥺🥺 prob based on this post cus hes so crazy HOT in this but yeah everything else is up to u!! hope ur having a wonderful day<3

Yes girl here we go. I hope this is alright.

Aragorn x Elven reader - Find Me

Summary: With your elven duties done for the time being, your heart yearns for a certain Ranger as he travels in the wilds of Middle Earth.

Warning: fluff, Aragorn just being a beautiful softy

Folding your arms you look out upon the great valley of Rivendell, with her beautiful elven homes, shimmering waterfalls, and never ending ability to always have singing nearby from elven voices of pure golden honey.

You truly love this place with all of your very heart and soul, it has been your home for the past four-thousand years or so, but in the recent five-hundred have you been traveling throughout the wilds of middle earth in search of adventure. But it would just so happen that on one of your travels through a lonely mountain range did you happen to come face to face with the dirty but admittedly handsome likeness of a Ranger.

His crystal blue eyes grew wide in awe and wonder as your angelic form drew forth from the woodland, it was like all troubles and fear had vacated from his body the moment those beautiful ocean irises saw your smiling face. He was undoubtedly aware that you were in fact an elf, but his heart swelled anyways and he blessed whoever would listen for a single chance in all his lifetime to have seen your face just this once.

Though this would not be the last time you’d meet him, far from it, it just so happened that when looking upon his scruffy face did you feel an intense pull to him in a way that you couldn’t explain, nor have ever felt before. It was a strange but wonderful feeling all in one, that night would the two of you talk for hours. Leading into a week of traveling with him, this Ranger seemed content and joyous with your company.

It did not take long for feelings to grow and spark into a magnificent fire, swirling with admiration, respect, trust, and love for one another. It did not feel rushed, it felt completely right, like you had waited this long for something so pure and meaningful, and were not disappointed in the slightest.

This handsome Ranger would not utter his true name until the next time you two would meet, a year and a half later after you had to assist Elrond with something gravely important dealing with some strange pack of dwarves and a quest to claim their homeland. The things you do for that elf.

Though when you returned to the wilds, and it did take some skilled tracking, you had found him once more and still looking as dashing as ever. Though this time he greeted you with a chaste kiss, his eyes so full of love and relief for your safe return to him after such a long time apart. Under the stars, wrapped up in his arms with the light of a lowly burning fire flicking shadows across your faces. Did the Ranger tell you his name, Aragorn, your heart leapt with joy once the words had parted from his lips.

Aragorn.

You would learn of his heritage and that he was the rightful king of the great white city, so far away. But just the same you would accept him anyways, he was grateful and loved you twice as much. In the next couple years would you leave for Rivendell and your duties then return to your Ranger, staying with him for months on end, the two of you soaking up every moment together with stories, fleeting glances, laughter, and the sweetest of kisses.

Though right now, standing on a grand balcony in your true home of Rivendell do you feel that familiar pang of longing deep in your heart, you miss Aragorn more then you’d be able to say with words. But Elrond has needed you recently, claiming no other elf can slay so many orcs with such stealth and precision. Indeed a truthful compliment, and yes you’ve upheld to your duties to protect the realm, but you can’t help but feel called to your Ranger.

He misses you deeply.

You tilt your head to the sky as a light soft breeze caresses your face, you can hear the familiar patter of light footsteps as they walk down the steps behind you. Crossing the opened room, the source of the intrusion stands by your side, yet he is still a calm and comforting presence, “My dear Y/N, you have done well to protect these lands in the past couple months. But I can’t help but notice how your smile seems fleeting these days. What troubles you?”

Sighing you glance at Lord Elrond, “The Ranger.”

“Aragorn.” He says knowingly with the tiniest of smiles.

“Yes. It has been many moons since last we parted, I worry for him. But I understand that I must keep to my duties here. So I will stay.”

Elrond smiles like a kind father, “So it would appear that the world would have you two meet once again. I ask you this, Y/N. Would you find your Ranger and bring him to Rivendell, I very much would like to speak to him again.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, your heart practically leaping with joy, “I would be honored.” You laugh, “Like you had to ask my dear friend, he will not be able to hide from me. I will find him in due time.”

The old elf smiles, “I do not doubt it. Your tracking skills are rather outstanding, though your heart leads you in more ways then you know.”

“Always with the wise words,” You tease, “you’re around Gandalf too much I can tell.”

“Oh Y/N.” A small chuckle escapes him, “Maybe so....but I must tell you, your horse will be awaiting you at dawn. Your weapons and travel pack just the same, stay safe, I fear more beasts lurk around every corner these days.” He warns.

“Well, perhaps it’s a good thing I know how to use a sword. And with my bow, they’ll never see me coming.” You add with a sly grin, he nods in agreeance.

“Til we meet again, Y/N.” Finally speaks Lord Elrond handing you a small smile as he turns to leave and go about his other duties.

“Farewell.” 

In the early hours of the morning, just before the sun began her bright ascent into the clouds, did you make way for the mountain pass. Atop of your dashing steed, sword at your hip, bow held to your back, and determination in your heart.

To find your sweet Aragorn.

It had been many days, then turning into a couple weeks of riding and endless tracking before finally, finally, did your elven eyes land on a familiar boot print in the mud. A horses hoof by its side, not even three days old, he is close now. But as you take another few steps does your nose crinkle in disgust, you follow the scent to a tree where a dead orc is laying upon the ground rotting from a slice to its neck and chest.

Aragorn.

He was without a doubt here, the evidence is truly telling. You turn, quickly throwing yourself atop your horse before taking off in the direction of the tracks. Just as you’d thought, it would take about a day and a half to find him. His trail leading into the woods, a thicker more secluded wood, full of great green pines and giant ferns littering the opened ground. Sliding off of your horse, you walk around to her front, grabbing the leather reins to lead her forward into the unknown.

Not even an hour later do your pointed ears pick up the sounds of someone trying to dig out roots, if they were attempting to be quiet, mission failed. Not wanting to be made known of your presence, you leave your loyal steed by a downed log and stealthy walk your way to the source of the noise.

Is it him?

As silent as an owl in flight do you unsheathe your shimmering silver sword, it flashes in the dying sunlight as you take cautious feather light steps to a certain Ranger, he’s almost hilariously oblivious to your staring. You watch as he cuts out a thick root from the disturbed earth, you glance to your right and notice his horse, it feeds unaware to your presence.

With a smirk do you take another couple steps forward, he doesn’t even know, another step now and you’re an arms reach away. As sly as a fox do you bring your sleek blade to the side of his throat, he tenses immediately.

“What’s this? A Ranger caught off his guard?” You smirk, a mischievous tinge to your voice as he lets out a breath. His body relaxing once again as you move your blade from his throat, sheathing it once more.

A smile graces his lips as he slowly stands up, turning around to face you with those beautiful blue eyes of his, “Y/N.” You smirk at him. He’s so close now.

“Aragorn.”

You don’t have time to speak another word, for your king has captured you in his arms, blessing your lips with a warm kiss, it’s full of love, longing, and adoration. You can tell how much he’s missed you after these longs months apart, hopefully he’s able to tell how much you happen to feel the same. After another couple wonderful seconds does he pull away for breath, his hands hugging your sides close as he presses his forehead to yours.

“Meleth nin.” Whispers your Ranger, “What brings you to the wilds? I thought Lord Elrond was in grave need of you for something important?”

You smile, “That time has passed. My duties are done for now, I could not bare to keep away from you for much longer. It would have driven me mad.” He tilts his head to kiss the tip of your nose affectionately.

“You’ve blessed my soul once more, Y/N. My moon amongst the darkness, I am grateful to see your face once again.”

“Aragorn.” You speak breathlessly at his heartfelt words, you hug him tighter, a warmness blooming from deep within your chest, “Come with me back to Rivendell. Elrond has missed your company and I would very much enjoy having you close.”

“Then I am yours my lady.” He whispers lovingly into the evening air, your heart flutters with excitement.

The journey back to Rivendell felt much shorter and less lonely with your dirty faced Ranger by your side keeping you company and warm on the cool nights as you both slept underneath the thousands of dazzling stars. Soon enough your horses had made their way onto the white stone path leading into the great kingdom. Birds chirp happily from nearby as you both listen to the soft roaring of the waterfalls.

You and Aragorn ride up to the front, a long stairwell in front of you leading into a large gathering area, your horse neighs as footsteps be fall upon the pale stone steps. Your elven eyes glance up to find Lindir as he carefully walks down the steps, stopping on a flat platform just above more of the marble stairs.

“My Lady Y/N, Aragorn, it is a pleasant sight to see the both of you doing well on this fine morning.” States Lindir with a genuine smile.

You laugh, “You mean to say, it’s good that we have not been slain by goblins in the dead of night?” Aragorn chuckles from behind you as he sits upon his steed.

The elven man blinks, a small laugh escapes him, “Perhaps that was what I happened to be implying. These days we can never be to careful, terrible beasts lurking around every corner it seems.” He pauses for a moment, remembering what he came down here for, “Forgive me, I meant to ask if you’d join Lord Elrond for breakfast, he is eager to speak with Aragorn...I will have my men take care of your horses. You two must be tired, I will have baths prepared for you two at once. Excuse me for now, my friends.” Rambles Lindir as both you and Aragorn jump down from your horses, two elves coming to your aid as they take the leather reigns from each of your hands.

As they guide the loyal beasts away, you turn to take a step up the stairs, stopping to look at Aragorn, “Now you.” Your eyes trail him up and down, “definitely need a bath.”

He jogs up the steps, coming to a halt next to you, “Have you seem your face melleth nin.” He teases, though you don’t have a speck of dirt on your skin, being an elf does have its perks like that.

You laugh, “I don’t need to my love, I’m already the most radiant creature you’ve ever been lucky enough to see.” The most adorable smile breaks out upon his dirt smudged face as a light pink dusts his scruffy cheeks, even knowing you for so long are you still able to make him blush.

“Perhaps I cannot disagree there. Now let’s get something to eat.” He adds with a smile, a flash of excitement crossing his features as he thinks of actual real food. 

You playfully scoff, “And you a bath.”

“Am I not the most radiant creature in all the land?” He teases.

Rolling your eyes you let out a chuckle before continuing to walk up the stairs, “Aragorn. Come on.” He smiles while watching you lead, feeling rather blessed to have you so near once again.

——

Breakfast had been delicious without a doubt and your bath was warm and definitely needed, even if you can’t seem to get as dirty as a certain someone. Now dressed in your normal elven attire do you wander around the halls of Rivendell in search of your Ranger who has appeared to have gotten himself lost. Well not really, you’ve more so misplaced him, this kingdom is rather big after all.

Not even ten minutes later do you find him, he’s standing on the edge of a crystal blue pool, watching as some beautifully colored fish swim around the water unbothered and free. You slowly walk into the opening of the large room, taking light steps to see if you can sneak up on him again. Your breathing is low as you skillfully take your time to cross the room.

But alas your plans are foiled once he happens to glance in your direction, his blue eyes locking onto your smirking face as he takes you all in, “Were you trying to scare me?” He wonders in that velvety voice of his.

You bite your lip, taking a few more casual steps forward as you gently touch the side of his arm, “Me? Scaring you? I would never do such a thing.” You play off, he laces his arm through yours as you both begin walking towards a balcony.

“Your absence these last couple months have been more taxing then I had first realized.” Begins your sweet Aragorn, shifting the mood to a more serious tone, “But I am glad to have you now, my dear Y/N, thank you for coming back to me.”

You hand him a kind smile, “I will always come back to you, in every lifetime, you may be the most skilled hunter I have ever known. But I will always be able to find my way to you.” You lightly squeeze his bicep with your free hand, “I love you more then life, you know this.”

His eyes look to the floor for a moment, “Are you still certain?” He asks, finding your gaze once again, though you know exactly what it means.

You nod, “Without a doubt in my heart, I am.”

He brings you to the balcony overlooking all of Rivendell in all of her grand beauty, his face true as he looks deeply into your eyes, “You know what your choice means Y/N, my life may be longer then most men’s, but I don’t want you to give up your life for mine.”

You gently touch the side of his cheek, your other hand pressed against his chest as he holds onto it tightly, “Aragorn. I have lived many lifetimes on this earth, and in every one of them alone. Indeed I am very old, but I would rather be apart of yours then suffer another three thousand alone. It is not your fault that I feel this way for you, you have to understand that.”

He sighs, looking deeply into your loving eyes, “But your life here.”

Shaking your head you smile, “My true family has been sleeping in the ground since the last great war for middle earth, all I have left his Elrond. I made my choice the moment I decided to follow you into the wilds. You are all that I want, all that I care for in this life, do not push me away because you think I should live longer.”

He frowns, “I would never do that to you, I swear it. I just want you to be happy, that is all I care about.” Oh, Aragorn you sweet man.

You remove your hand from his cheek to gently hold his arm that’s wrapped around your side, “I am, and I plan to follow you to death, I don’t believe even a Balrog could make me leave your side.”

He chuckles holding you closer, “Y/N, I do not deserve you.”

You let out a quick laugh, “Definitely not.”

[trashcatsnark]

WHY THE FUCK WERE UP SO LATE??? FUCKING UR SO LUCKY I CANT BEAT UR ASS OTHERWISE ITD BE KNUCKLE CITY

anyway, speaking about johnny boy i was thinking about him + nibbles and our like collective desicion that he is essiently a cat and it is really weirdly fitting that it just makes me like ???? so like cats themselves are a reoccuring motif within the game from the start, when u go to viks, when ur chatting up takemura and at the end with the rooftop that also doubles as like the millionith matrix reference. they follow v and they take up the role of the bakeneko, which i think in the game is defined by them appearing near death ? or just disaster. the obvious thing is that it is to do with v's inpending death and their whole sitation but like the general point is like the cat symbolises the death that follows v as the cat follows them. this puts johnny in an interesting sitation from his catlike nature to how he seems to like and get along with nibbles, he is linked with cats. he is also the parasite that is killing v. he is V's bakeneko. their signal of death. the events start because of his relic, jackie dies for him, and soon does most of the cast from act 1, and a large part of the death from then on is a direct result of them trying to solve the relic and johnny's whole presence is a signal for hey v ur fucking dying. he is death for them. the bakeneko.

makes me wonder if his catlike attributes were intentionally done cause that boy aint right or we just accidently walked on a really thematic fitting landmind

Spoilers within, again, also leave my sleeping schedule alone, I do not function. Additionally, I have a lot to say about Nibbles, omens, cats, and pets then how they all relate back to Johnny so congrats on opening a flood gate my friend!

 think the thematic thing with Johnny and cats and the bakeneko has to 1000000 percent be intentional, because he even sees a cat when Alt is kidnapped. And that goes back to Cyberpunk Red. Like that was used and utilized and then became such a large part of the story. 

Johnny is clearly meant to be a bakeneko; he’s actively next to the cat in that conversation, leaves when it does, see the same cat before Alt’s death, and is again the visual representation of what is happening to V. He is the symbol of their death, whether he wants to be or not. 

I think it’s also interesting to note, the Bakeneko, which is described as an omen of death and misfortune isn’t the only way we see cats used thematically within the game. Albeit, this way is more subtle and perhaps intentionally so. We also see the maneki-neko; the lucky cat statues are everywhere in game. In V’s apartment, Misty’s shop, Vik’s clinic. Everyyyyyywhereeeeee. 

So, we see two mythological cats from Japanese culture. One brings misfortune and one brings good luck. And Johnny exemplifies both. 

Johnny is a visual representation of all that is destroying V. His mere existence and presence a constant reminder that their death is around the corner. An ever present omen that V’s clock is ticking. He also often pops up to have a comment just before massive relic malfunctions and disasters. The end of every main game quest is punctuated with a relic malfunction and a lecture from Johnny. 

But without the chip and by extension Johnny, V would already be dead. If the chip hadn’t been the exact right place to be damaged and activated by the gunshot; it would have killed V right then and there. And while this wasn’t an active choice on Johnny’s part, he is the visual representation of the chip. Even then, he later does make an active choice to save V’s life. When V is hit with the worst malfunction yet; Johnny grabs them, “you aren’t dying yet, I got you” and he takes them to safety. He refuses to watch V seize and die in a puddle of their own sick in the middle of nowhere (for me it’s always at the sunset hotel, idk if this changes based on the order you do the events tho) So, he takes control, he eases their pain and takes them somewhere safe, somewhere that means something to him, and swears to die for them. 

Luck both good and bad. Fortune and misfortune. A sign of better days and an omen of death. A maneki-neko and a bakeneko. The time bomb in V’s head and the guy who saved their life. He is both. 

Now, stepping away from the mythological aspects. Lets talk about Nibbles the cat, Johnny, and pets within Cyberpunk 2077. Animals and by extension pets are considered a luxury in Night City. They’re taxed to fuck and back, generally only the wealthy can have them. Its also often brought up that real friends and family who stick by you are very difficult to come by. V becomes through Nibbles one of the rare people to have a pet. One of the other people who had a pet is, Barry their neighbor. 

Barry and his mission is one of the first you can unlock and see in the game. He’s V’s downstairs neighbor and his story is played out so fucking similarly to V’s. Barry lost his best friend, he’s quit his job because he can’t handle the weight of the NCPD’s corruption, and he’s thinking of taking his own life.  V has lost Jackie, its stated in game they get less work than usual because of Konpeki (cant be put on a crew), and very early on can say to Misty “be better off putting in my head”. 

But for Barry that friend ends up being a pet tortoise. And its clear what that tortoise represents; a constant companion, a safe place, and a comfort. Something Barry couldn’t find among his peers until later on when they learn just how much he’s been hurting. And this is treated as such a tragedy, that he only has a pet to turn to. 

And so V gets a cat, because they too are fucking hurting and having a little meowing bundle of skin running around their apartment helps. Something to come home to, something to make that apartment a little less empty, a little more alive. 

So, how does this particular aspect of Nibbles/cats/pets relate to Johnny, I hear you wondering (as well as wondering when Im going to shut up). Well, we know Johnny is linked symbolically with cats and thats the choice of pet for V. And we knows pets have been likened to support without judgement; a companion who you can tell everything too and they won’t abandon you. 

And while Johnny has heaps of judgment and is a dick. He is V’s only constant companion. I know a good junk of people don’t like him or his commentary; but imagine V’s life without Johnny in it through the game events. Imagine how lonely they’d be. 

Johnny is the only one who knows everything and is there with V from the start to the final moments in Mikoshi. 

Vik and Misty know, but they’re no edgerunners, they have no idea everything V is doing out there. Part of why as much as I do love Vik, his frustration with V hurts so much in the end because he talks like V hasn’t done anything to save themselves. Because, Vik doesn’t know what V’s been doing this whole time. 

Each part of the main quests in Act 2 are linked to an NPC; Judy, Panam, and Takemura. And not one of them know or are there throughout the entirety of V’s journey. Judy doesn’t get told the full details of what’s happening until later in and stops helping V one Evelyn is saved. Panam doesn’t learn the full details or anything really about the chip until much later. And her quests become her own personal journey once V finds Hellman. And then depending on V’s choices, Panam can come in to help at the end. Takemura knows V is dying and is there to help with the parade and then he’s gone; either dead or in hiding. He refers to anything that doesn’t involve him as V’s shady dealings and leaves it at that. He’s there to interrogate Hellman but he doesn’t know all V did to find him. None of them know everything, none of them have been there the whole time. And that’s not a condemnation of them, I do not expect them to drop everything to be glued to V’s side 24/7 but, I can’t fucking imagine how alone V feels. 

River has no involvement in any main quests and only finds out anything if V chooses to romance him. Kerry knows what Johnny told him and depending on the ending may even leave V. Again, wanna be clear, that isn’t a condemnation on his character. I understand why he does this and i understand his hurt and how it led him to that. 

But this is about how truly fucking alone V is in all of this. Not a single person there start to finish, not a single person knowing all that they have suffered, all that they have been through and are going through. 

Except Johnny. He tells V in the oil fields, closest to him by far, there 24/7, yet they don’t seem to hate him. And he’s that for V too; there the entire way, their demon never leaving.  Johnny knows everything happening; because he’s part of what’s happening. He’s been there through every struggle, every step, every slap in the face as V’s tried to save themselves. Has felt their pain as they lose themselves, has known the people who’ve had to die for them to get this far, as felt their heart break when all they found was betrayal by the Voodoo Boys, Ai Alt asking how V’s life is her problem, getting recommended a hospice by Hellman. 

And as dickish as he is, his comments help. V always has someone there, as much as he sucks. He always has something stupid or naggy to say to help keep some of that weight off their shoulders. Imagine if they didn’t even have that. If Johnny never talked to them, never showed his face. 

A constant companion, like a supportive pet cat except he can talk and did a lot of meth. 

And this is a sidenote that has nothing to do with cats specifically, but that through Samurai music this isn’t the first time Johnny could be compared to an omen. Its no secret that the music was largely created around the game and as such, many of his songs have direct parallels and messages related to the game. Never Fade Away while in universe written in regards to Alt’s death also has so much in common with his journey with V. This brings me to the song Black Dog.

“Black Dog inside my head, guiding me until the end.”

Black Dogs are figures in Irish Mythology  who much like bakeneko’s are talked about in game; are omens of death and misfortune. I just find it interesting I suppose, like Johnny is either a dirty alley cat or a big mangy dog, but either way he’s here cause someones about to die.

Okay this is well over a thousand words, Imma shut up now. This is probably a mess, but anyone here for coherency is in the wrong place. 

[elliemarchetti]

The Most Macabre of Scenes, The Most Terrible of Nightmares

As I hope the few souls reading this have already guessed, requests are open for anything on LOTR and The Hobbit. However, in this chapter the journey of the Fellowship continues, but various shadows loom over their safety and the hearts of its members.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Words: 2643

The attack was short and violent, but fortunately no one was injured. It was about midnight on their eighth day of travel when the Orcs stroke, a raid planned down to the last detail, one might say, as they had took advantage of the current, the crescent moon that lit up the sky and the abundance of strangely bright stars, reflecting like torches on the River’s surface. Their black-feathered arrows had fallen like lethal rain upon the Fellowship, but except for a few torn cloaks, there had been no damage. Hidden among the ferns of the western shore, as awake as they could be, everyone thought about what they saw in the sky after their enemies had unexpectedly retreated, trying to give a name to the great winged creature, blacker than the pits of the night, which had emerged from the south. Fierce voices rose up to greet it from across the water, and Elva could still feel the chills running through her and clutching at her heart, deadly cold like the memory of an old wound. She had killed it, with a single shot from the bow she had received as a gift in Lorien, but she was sure there were others, and she wanted nothing more than to get as far away as possible from that irreparably corrupted land. After that vision, Haldir had no longer spoken, but he was frowning and his mind was probably in Lothlorien, lost in calculating how long such a beast would take to reach the ends of the mallorn’s forest. Lying next to him, Elva wished she was able to say out loud that he could return, if he wished, that no one would’ve wanted him any harm for placing his homeland before a mission that didn’t even belonged to him, and that Galadriel herself would’ve probably been grateful for the warning, but selfishly, she couldn’t, so she hugged tighter her knees under the cloak, a reassurance and a way to fight the changing of the weather. When the day came, the mood of the world about them had become soft and sad. Slowly the dawn grew to a pale light, diffused and shadowless. There was mist on the River, and white fog swathed the shore, making the far bank impossible to see.

“I can’t abide fog,” said Sam, “but this seems to be a lucky one: now perhaps we can get away without those cursed goblins seeing us.”

“Perhaps so,” said Aragorn. “But it will be hard to find the path unless the fog lifts a little later on, and we must, if we are to pass Sarn Gebir and come to the Emyn Muil.”

“I don’t see why we should pass the Rapids or follow the River any further,” said Boromir. “If the Emyn Muil lie before us, then we can abandon these cockle-boats and strike westward and southward, until we come to the Entwash and cross into my own land.”

“We can, if we are making for Minas Tirith,” said Aragorn, “but that’s not yet agreed, and such a course may be more perilous than it sounds: the Entwash’s vale is flat and fenny, fog a deadly peril for those on foot and laden. I wouldn’t abandon our boats until we must, for the River is at least a path that cannot be missed.”

“But the Enemy holds the eastern bank,” objected Boromir, “and even if you pass the Gates of Argonath, coming unmolested to the Tindrock, what will you do then? Leap down the Falls and land in the marshes?”

The tones were heating up, and Elva thought it was time to intervene: “It’s not the way of the Men of Minas Tirith to desert their friends at need, and we’ll need your strength, if ever we are to reach the Tindrock.”

The mortal seemed satisfied with those words, and decided he would go as far as the tall isle, but no further.

“There I shall turn to my home,” he announced, “alone if my help hasn’t earned the reward of any companionship.”

Elva prayed that someone had decided to pursue that mission, but in order to keep an army as powerful as that of Boromir's father, if everyone chose to follow Aragorn, she would be the one to separate from the rest of the companions, this decided a long time ago, perhaps at the very moment Gandalf had chosen her for the Quest. That gloomy possibility, which was so far from her ideals, prompted her to wait for the mist to rise in silence, even as she and Haldir went exploring forward along the shore, while the others remained by the boats. She hoped to find some way by which they could carry everything to the smoother water beyond the Rapids, but even if the elven boats wouldn’t sink, that didn’t ensure they could come through Sarn Gebir alive, for none ever done so yet, and no road was made by the Men of Gondor in this region, for even in their great days their realm didn’t reach up Anduin beyond the Emyn Muil.

“There is a portage-way somewhere on the western shore, if I can find it,” revealed Haldir, so softly that for a moment Elva hardly noticed.

"I didn't tell the others," the elf went on, "because I was afraid they wouldn't believe me, after my miscalculations pushed us towards the Orcs attack; besides, I fought those creatures for a good part of my own adult life, and I could’ve imagined their simple but ingenious plan."

"No one was injured, that's the important thing," Elva replied, thinking that if anyone had risked being hit, it would’ve been him, as an arrow had ripped off both the cloak and the skin of the jacket from his shoulders.

"But if that had happened, the fault would’ve been mine alone, and whoever had accused me, even if only in grief, would’ve been right: you have already lost the Istar, and before I should’ve warned Aragorn it wasn’t wise to continue at night as he suggested, but I didn't, and now I don't want to deceive anyone until I’m sure that my memory doesn’t deceive me," he replied, resolute in the bitterness of someone who can't forgive himself.

"Why are you telling me, then?" Elva asked, unable to stop.

"Because I'm sure I can trust you, and I know you’ve faced the guilt, same or not, even if I still don’t know what you’re carrying it for,” he replied, with a naked and vulnerable honesty, which hit right to the point. She didn't like talking about her past, much less what she felt about it, yet he must’ve seen a difficult life in her eyes, a life that perhaps could’ve been more like his, if only she had been born in another realm. Like Lorien, Mirkwood was a wonderful but tricky place, where growing up as a half-breed wasn't easy at all, especially when you needed to do it by yourself. Getting to know Legolas, and later becoming his confidant and friend, had been a blessing, and she kept telling herself that her true life had begun the day a young prince was bewitched by the ability of a simple recruit with a bow and with words. She hadn't treated him well, weary as every orphan is, and perhaps that was precisely what had intrigued him, since at court no one spoke to him as an equal, much less had the courage to say what they really though, too busy trying to win the future king’s favours, since with the one in charge was so hard. Speaking of Thranduil, he had welcomed her as if she were his own daughter, instructing and having her instructed in the best possible way; but the king was a cold and distant father, rigid in his manner and limited in his displays of affection, not exactly what a girl without parents desires most. If loving Legolas as a brother had been simple, as natural as breathing and almost a matter of survival, the same couldn't be said of the oldest of the Greenleafs, but she had learned that too, and with it the art of concealing her heart, although with Haldir it was so difficult.

"And how can I know I should have the same trust in you?" she asked, her heart heavy. She needed to believe that he wouldn’t leave the Fellowship, even if she followed Boromir and everyone else went by water, and she needed to know if he would understand her decision, or if he would end up misinterpreting it.

"You can't, but to convince you otherwise, I'll tell you something that I'm sure should’ve remained a secret: Galadriel's Mirror showed me three visions, three possible futures, I find myself believing. I still don't want to talk about two, because it doesn't seem wise, but the most macabre of scenes, the most terrible of nightmares that I thought I could have, I feel like sharing: I don't know if the Fellowship had failed in its intent, or if it's the fate that awaits my homeland anyway, if events should take that turn, but darkness had fallen over the forest of golden trees when a flock of huge winged creatures, like the one you killed last night, swept over Calas Galadhon. The Lord and the Lady fought side by side with every common citizen, and a shower of arrows capable of obscuring the stars was sent from each talan towards the sky. I don't know how the battle could end, as my vision was limited to that, but I have seen you fight with us, and defend our young and old as if they were your own. I don't pretend to understand what those images meant, and why the Mirror decided to show them to me, but I believe it was the beginning of Lorien's Winter, the first day of a downhill road to inevitable ruin, yet you were there by our side, and I don't think you'd fight for the land of someone you don’t trust,” he concluded, just as enigmatic as his ruler. Did he meant he understood her malfidence towards the Galadhrim, or was it really just his way of assuming that she would always trust him, to the point of risking death for a place that did not belong to her? There was no way of knowing but asking, and it didn't seem appropriate, fearing that he too might ask her what the Mirror had shown her. Death, she might’ve replied, no matter it was the mallorn’s, his people’s or Haldir’s himself, but she didn't want to talk about it anymore, she just wanted to forget his pale skin in the moonlight, the dust, sweat and blood surrounding her like a sea that smelled of the Enemy's wickedness instead of salt, so she fell silent.

“It cannot yet have perished,” muttered Haldir under his breath, after a while. “Light boats used to journey out of Wilderland down to Osgiliath, and still did so until a few years ago, when the Orcs of Mordor began to multiply.”

“Even if we find the path, peril will grow with every mile we go forward, for it lies ahead on every southward road,” replied Elva

They found what they were looking for just before noon, with the head of the Rapids half a mile below them: a track leading to a good landing, a little more than a mile long, was still serviceable, not far beyond the stream clear and smooth again, though running swiftly. The hardest task was to get the boats and baggage to the old portage-way, lying well back from the water-side near which they were camped, and running under the lee of a rock-wall, a furlong or more from the shore. “I fear we must leave the River now, and make for the portage-way as best we can from here,” said Haldir, once back.

“That wouldn’t be easy, even if we were all Men,” said Boromir.

“Yet such as we are we will try it,” Aragorn replied peremptorily.

“We will!” confirmed Gimli, and although the task was difficult, it was nevertheless completed, the goods taken out of the boats and brought to the top of the bank, where there was a level space, and the boats themselves drawn out of the water and carried up, proving to be far less heavy than any had expected; at last, all was removed to be laid on the portage-way and with little further hindrance, save from sprawling briars and many fallen stones, they moved forward all together. Fog still hung in veils upon the crumbling rock-wall, and to their left mist shrouded the River: they could hear it rushing and foaming over the sharp shelves and stony teeth of Sarn Gebir, but they couldn't see it. There the portage-way, turning back to the water-side, ran gently down to the shallow edge of a little pool scooped in the river-side, not by hand, but by the water swirling down from Sarn Gebir against a low pier of rock that jutted out some way into the stream. Beyond it the shore rose sheer into a grey cliff, and there was no further passage for those on foot. Already the short afternoon was past, and a dim cloudy dusk was closing in. Sitting beside the water, they listened to the confused rush and roar of the Rapids hidden in the mist; they were tired and sleepy, and their hearts were as gloomy as the dying day at the thought of spending there another night, even if it seemed inevitable, given the general fatigue. Luckily, nothing worse than a brief drizzle of rain an hour before dawn happened, and as soon as it was fully light and the fog was thinning, they started. Keeping as close as they could to the western side, they saw the dim shapes of the low cliffs rising ever higher, shadowy walls with their feet in the hurrying river. In the mid-morning the clouds drew down lower, and it began to rain heavily, forcing them to drew the skin-covers over their boats to prevent them from being flooded and drifted on; little could be seen before or about them through the grey falling curtains but it didn’t last long, the sky above growing lighter and suddenly opening, dismissing fogs and mists too. Before the travellers lay a wide ravine, with great rocky sides to which clung, upon shelves and in narrow crevices, a few trees; as they sped along with little hope of stopping or turning, whatever might meet ahead, Elva peered forward, seeing in the distance two great rocks approaching. Like pinnacles or pillars of stone they stood, tall, sheer and ominous, creating a narrow gap among which the boats could only pass one by one. They were the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings, vast grey figures silent but threatening, shaped and fashioned as two great kings of stone with blurred eyes and crannied brows frowning upon the North. The left hand of each was raised palm outwards in gesture of warning, while in each right hand there was an axe and upon each head there was a crumbling helm and crown. Great power and majesty they still wore, the silent wardens of a long-vanished Kingdom, instilling awe and fear in the Fellowship travelling in boats frail and fleeting as little leaves, under the enduring shadow of the sentinels of Numenor. Passing into the dark chasm of the Gates, sheer rose the dreadful cliffs on either side, while the black waters roared and echoed, and a wind screamed over them. What a horrible place it was, but it must’ve been even worse for Aragorn, a king in exile who was finally returning to his land only to see it filled with the noise of wind, rushing water and echoing stone.

[watarigarasu]

Sweet Nothings

Pairing: Kíli x Reader

Word count: 3,898

Warnings: None

Author’s note: None

Synopsis: Kíli is not aware of the impact his words have upon you.

„Is she avoiding me?” Kíli inquired, his piercing gaze glued to your back when you were riding a horse barely few steps ahead, leaving the Durin brothers at the very end of The Company. Not that any of them were complaining, on the contrary, it was a perfect opportunity to finally share a word or two about the current situation, which—surprisingly or not—seemed to be way more serious than the wargs chasing after you all. “I mean it, she did not spare me a single glance since we escaped the Goblin Town!”

“I think you may be a little bit overacting,” Fíli stated matter-of-factly. “Tell me, when was the last time you had a conversation with Bifur, hm?”

“And why would I have a conversation with him?” he frowned in confusion.

“To prove my point that sometimes you chat with one person, then another and there is nothing odd about it. It does not mean that she is avoiding you, she is simply… occupied.”

Kíli thought for a while about his brother’s words, valuing them as most likely wiser but not convincing in the slightest. It has been two whole, long days since you managed to escape the Goblin Town and so, two whole, long days since he had a chance to hear your voice calling his name or to see you laugh at something he said. The bitter sensation was growing in his mind, making him wonder whether you were bored by him already or maybe he unintentionally did something to offend you… He was not perfect, often acting before thinking but he would never make anything to hurt your feelings and especially not to alienate you.

“Or maybe…” Kíli lowered his voice to the conspirational whisper. “She thinks I am too old for her.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Seriously!” he hissed and slowed his pony down a little bit to give even more space between them and The Company heading further east. “When I think about it now, this might be the reason. Before reaching Rivendell we were chatting and somehow it slipped me that I am seventy seven. Seventy seven, Fíli! How old do you think she is?! Humans age different so maybe… five? The gap would be devastating, no wonder she does not want to talk to me anymore!”

Fíli barely could contain the amused smile, hearing more and more ridiculous explanations flowing from his brother’s mouth.

“I can assure you that this is not the issue. And I highly doubt that she is five.”

At that point, Kíli was ready to tear his hair out. He has been observing you for some time, desperately trying to find out what could be the reason for your cold behaviour toward him but no matter for how long he was deducing, there was no conclusion. You were acting as normal as always with everyone else beside him and this fact hurt him much more than he wanted to admit.

“But,” Fíli continued, noticing Kíli’s discouragement. “I can try doing a little reconnaissance if you want.”

His eyes immediately shone with new excitement and the happy expression did not fade from his face for the rest of the day, until the camp had to be settled again. Many hours later, when the sky became completely dark and the only source of light was a campfire, Kíli sat at the opposite side of you, pretending to be focused on his bowl of soup but realized that he has completely lost the appetite.

You were so close and so far away at the same time.

Naturally, his first idea was to simply approach you and ask about the change in your behaviour on the same day he realized it, but he found himself unable to speak to you. You were busy packing your stuff and he stood there, like a total oaf, staring at you completely silently, when no words escaped his lips and none seemed to be appropriate for the situation. Kíli has never felt as helpless as then, the courage leaving him when he was too afraid of accidentally pushing you further away.

He cared, he cared so much that it made him back away. After all, watching you happily spend time with the others was a better option than seeing you upset at him.

Kíli sighed deeply and took a small sip of the dinner, forcing himself to eat, knowing that he will need energy tomorrow morning. For now, he was hoping for Fíli to find a reason, his calm and collected attitude could provide more informations that if he approached you, acting so strange and very unlike him. Perhaps that was the reason—his behaviour tiring you, although at the beginning of the quest you were not giving him signs as such.

On the contrary, you seemed to be very pleased with his company during your first night as a guard.

“I just want to make sure that you won’t mess something up,” he teased you then, sitting next to you on the mossy ground, back resting against a giant, fallen tree trunk.

“It is more likely that I will mess something up if you will keep distracting me with your talking, Kíli,” you stated, peeking at him and the sword he was holding on the knees, preparing to sharpen it before the next day of march.

“Fair point,” he winked. “Consider it as a training then. How well can you be aware of your surroundings with such a great distraction?”

There was something in the depth of his voice, how low it was, how slightly hoarse after the long day, which made your heart melt with warmth and spill all over your body like a golden honey, the tingly, lovely sensation bringing smile to your lips. His eyes were so dark and mesmerizing you could stare at them for hours and still not get bored, the emotions visible in them like in an open book. It never failed to amaze you how in one moment he could look at you with such a gentle, caring manner and in the next one, if the enemies were approaching, there was a wild rage within them, burning passion and unstoppable bravery.

You thought that he was not afraid of anything, not even for a moment.

“Is this how low you think of me?” you gasped and placed a hand over your heart in a theatrical manner. “I would never get distracted, not when the whole Company is counting one me.”

“You take this so seriously.”

“And you do not? I mean,” you paused for a while, recollecting your thoughts. “We are a team and we need to protect each other. If I can help by staying awake and looking for intruders then I will do my best then.”

“Just like you did your best when Balin asked you to protect the campfire from the rain when everyone was packing and you stood over the ember with your coat spread open like some kind of winged animal?” he chuckled and even though you did not consider it as embarrassing, the way he laughed at the memory itched your heart a little bit.

“If you are going to mock me for doing what others asked me to, then–“

“I am not mocking you,” he interrupted, now the tone of his voice much more serious. “I did not mean that. I actually think it was very sweet of you, even though you were completely soaked afterwards and the fire went off anyway.”

“How is that sweet in any way then?”

“In a way, my dear, that you are hardworking and caring.”

It was nice, hearing the compliment from him, especially since you were not expecting it barely few moments ago.

“Obviously,” Kíli continued, now looking back at his weapon and sharpening the edge. “I could go on and on. This is only the tiny peak of your virtues and there is still much more to discover.”

“I think you are exaggerating,” you added, wondering how did he manage to say things like that so naturally, with so much ease, seemingly completely unaware of how much they affected you.

“No way! I intend to name more, if not all of them. Then you will see that I was right and as a prize I will want you to admit that out loud. Moreover, in front of everyone.”

“In your dreams, Kíli!”

“Oh, but you will! You will say that Kíli, the Son of Durin was right all the way and you, my lass, have never been so wrong in your whole life.”

It was hard to not laugh at his words, especially considering the hilarious tone of the voice he used to recite the statement. You almost did not notice when half of the night passed by then, the peaceful forest allowing the whole Company to rest before the dawn.

Kíli cherished this memory as promising. He was coming back to it many times before falling asleep, recalling your smile and words, trying to remember as much as possible from it. He did not lie when he made the vow of naming all your advantages and so, the next day he surprised with yet another detail about your personality, you did not previously pay attention to.

“And what do we have there?” Kíli mused as he approached you, while you were trying to sew up the hole in your breeches left by a branch during the warg’s chase. “If that is not our beloved, very talented and no less skilled friend?”

You peeked at him, confused.

“At that point you are just making it up.”

“How could I.” He showed you his bright teeth in a charming smile.

“I am just sewing up my trousers, everyone can do that,” you pointed out, which made Kíli gasp loudly.

“But can they do it with such a precision? Could they ever look so adorable with that focused face? And do they have that tiny, sweet little wrinkle at the bridge of the nose? I highly doubt that!”

You muttered something about him being ridiculous and incomprehensible, and came back to your work, not wanting him to notice how the amount of compliments—although, most likely, said as a joke—was embarrassing you.

The scenario repeated few more times, each one of them Kíli surprising you with the amount of knowledge and wide vocabulary. You were scolding yourself for allowing the first impression of him to take over your judgment because the more you knew him, the more interesting he was, day after day proving you that in reality, there was still a lot to learn about him.

The compliments he was giving to you were fancy and often making you laugh. Before his little mission to apparently embarrass you with calling out loud every single thing you did right, you doubted that anyone paid attention to the way you were tying shoelaces or styling your hair. And yet, there he was, attentive and always ready to tell you how good you looked, how smart you were, how clever you acted or how your presence brightened up the whole surroundings.

And it was sweet, Kíli’s charm obviously reaching your heart and causing the butterflies to fly in your stomach whenever you spotted him nearby. Soon, you found yourself waiting with an anticipation for the next day just to see him again, to hear him tell some funny story from Ered Luin, to watch him practice shooting with the bow. His adorable, cheerful face occupied most of your thoughts, even in the times where it surely should not—eventually resulting in you falling to the shallow but cold stream after stepping on a particularly slippery stone and Kíli, naturally, shouting after you:

“Hold on, my damsel in distress, your savior is here!”

“Who do you call a damsel in distress?” you frowned while standing up, the water reaching a little above your ankles, but before you could go out of the stream, Kíli was already next to you, effortlessly picking you up as if you weighted nothing more than a feather and throwing you over his shoulder. “What are you–?!”

“I am assisting my lady not-in-distress in crossing the river, what else?”

“Put me down right now, immediately,” you demanded, noticing the curious stares from the rest of The Company who must have noticed your absence. “Kíli, please.”

But he did not listen, instead walking with you out of the small river and only then letting you go on the dry ground. Adjusting your clothes, you murmured a simple: “Thank you”, still rather awestruck. You were familiar with the differences between Men and Dwarves and yet, witnessing him in action was always impressive.

“I am much stronger than I look, I know,” he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “I also have many other ace’s up my sleeves, you will see.”

His boldness was both intimidating and alluring and you did not want to lie to yourself, pretending that you did not like it. Perhaps it would be better to face him about this, to talk about yours and his feelings and then decide what to do next. The rest of The Company was not blind, they must have seen what was going on between you two and they deserved an explanation, too.

Your plans changed drastically when you found out the harsh truth during an innocent coincidence, which allowed you to see his real intentions—and the conclusion broke your heart.

Rivendell was like a dream, a town in clouds, completely separated from the dangers of the outside world and it was hard to tell whether you were staying there for few hours, days or even years. Overwhelming peace and harmony blinded your senses and muted the natural instincts which were telling you that soon it was the time to move forward. Until then, however, not you, nor the rest of The Company could deny an invitation for dinner with music and chatting.

Sitting at the opposite side of the table, you peeked at Kíli from time to time, in between admiring the unusual landscape. The Elves, although visibly not understanding Dwarves’ manners, were kind and gentle, bringing new plates and playing on the instruments to make your stay as pleasant as possible. Golden sun spilled over the marble floor and in its light you noticed how Kíli’s hair, now neatly washed and pinned with a bead, were having some burning red and deep chocolate reflections. What caught your attention the most, however, were his eyes and the soft, loving gaze, which happened to not linger on you for more than a second.

Instead, you noticed the meaningful looks and discreet smiles sent to the Elves.

Deciding to focus on your meal, you started to feverishly wonder, when did you make a mistake and how could you not notice the simple fact that it was not Kíli’s attraction toward you causing him to act this way, but rather his personality and natural charisma. He was so open, easily astonished by anything new, eager to try everything and never hesitating to make a first step. It was in his nature to charm, to talk, to flirt, to love and to live.

You were not a difference in his life, but an opportunity.

Despite what you hoped for, the first and last night in Rivendell was full of sorrow and unanswered questions.

“May I join?” Fíli’s voice brought you back to present, to the camp in the woods, the fire in front of you and the bowl full of still untouched soup.

“Sure.” You moved aside to give him more space to sit on the fallen tree trunk, which was now used as a bench.

“I thought you seem troubled,” he continued. “Can I help you somehow?”

If his attentiveness surprised you, you did not let it show.

“I am just tired,” you lied. “It has been a long day.”

“Indeed…” He accepted your excuse and pointed at the bowl. “You do not have to eat that if you do not want to, you know? Nobody will get angry.”

Only then you remembered about your dinner and looked at it as if the bowl has just magically appeared in your hands.

“You may be right,” you nodded. “I am not hungry.”

“Well then, I can only hope that this is not some illness spreading because Kíli seems to lost his appetite, too.”

Immediately you peeked at the other side of the campfire and spotted him sitting next to Bombur, blank gaze glued to the burning wood. Apparently, he was no less troubled than you were.

“I hope so, too,” you muttered and eventually decided to try a first spoon.

If you want something done, do it yourself—or so Kíli repeated to himself while marching angrily toward the front of The Company, where you were walking side by side with Ori. Fíli’s intervention was helpful, obviously, but it still led him nowhere, not knowing what exactly caused you avoid him all of a sudden. His ominous words were not making it easier either.

“She is worried.”

Kíli blinked few times, hoping for the further explanation which did not come.

“About what…?”

“Something regarding you, I guess.” Fíli shrugged. “I do not know the details.”

“That much I know, brother, I was hoping for the details precisely! How can I do anything about it when I have no idea what is going on?” Kíli kicked the small rock which was laying on his way on the road. “I would even apologize but I do not know what for, so that would never work.”

His brother’s look was very meaningful, just like the smile on his lips.

“You like her.”

“Of course I do, everyone likes her.”

“No, no. You like her. More than the others.”

Kíli glared at him suspiciously.

“Whatever you are implying…”

“You know very well what I am implying.”

“… It won’t work because she currently hates me.”

“She does not hate you,” Fíli sighed. “Listen, just try talking to her. I can assure you that if you talk it thoroughly, everything will be fine.”

Kíli was not sure about it but he did not have many other options. Eventually, he decided to approach you and confront about the whole situation, hoping that you won’t try to escape this time. When he finally fell into step with you, he called your name, the look of determination on his face.

“Can we talk for a moment?” he asked and noticed how for a single second your eyes wandered around in an attempt to find yet another excuse—but found none.

“Sure…” you nodded then and slowed down the pace so you could stay alone with him at the end of the group. “What do you want to talk about?”

“About us.”

“Us?” you snorted.

“Yes.” Kíli gently touched your arm and stopped you mid-tracks, making you face him. “What happened? I thought we were doing just fine, why the sudden change?”

It was painful to look at those dark eyes of his, full of remorse and confusion. There was no doubt that he genuinely did not see his own mistake and you could not decide whether it angered or upset you more. Either way, he deserved an explanation.

“We were doing perfectly fine,” you admitted slowly. “Bu the point is… Oh, Kíli, you cannot say all those words and expect me to not fall in love with you.”

Your confession made him speechless. He was staring at you as if he saw you for the first time—or as if you were some kind of goddess allowing only him to experience your presence. He opened his mouth, attempting to answer you but could not find the right words and so he closed them, reminding you of a fish out of water.

Crossing the arms, you patiently waited for his answer, feeling the thrill of fear over what you were going to hear. That your emotions were ridiculous? That you should not take the innocent game that seriously?

“I–Are you in love with me?” Kíli simply wondered and when the word ‘love’ escaped his mouth, he smiled.

Truly, honestly, hopefully.

“Of course I am,” you sighed deeply. “But unfortunately, it was a little bit too late when I realized that you are not.”

Then it struck him. The memory of the evening spent in Rivendell, how cheerful you were while approaching this place and how your attitude drastically changed over the dinner. The funny situation when he accidentally mistook an Elf with She-Elf still echoing in his mind but not as vivid and clear as the pained look on your face back then. There was a sadness behind your smile and he was too excited to notice it.

Your name danced on his tongue when he whispered it and approached you, cupping both of your hands in his and licking his lips before giving you an answer.

“You are mistaken,” he started. “I am in love with you and Mahal knows that I was since I first laid my eyes upon you. Everything I said about you was no less that truth itself and I really do admire you in everything you do. Even in the way you gracelessly fell into that river.”

Light peeking from between the branches landed on the side of his face, giving his eyes more depth and colour, and he squeezed your hands tighter after noticing how the corners of your lips were trembling, the happiness after hearing his confession not possible to hide anymore.

“And regarding to what happened in Rivendell,” Kíli continued. “I was just being a fool and you should know that sometimes I tend to be one. A really big, Dwarven oaf. It was certainly one of those moments but it would never change the way I feel about you, only you. You are everything to me and I love you just the way you are. I love your smile and your laugh, the stories you are telling, how helpful and dedicated you are and how huge your heart is! I love that you decided to join us on this adventure because I love seeing you everyday, saying ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ to you. And I love your flaws, too, the ones I did not mention before. You are aware that I am not free of them either, but that is exactly what makes us us and I would never change anything in you because in my eyes you are perfect just the way you are, with everything you carry in your soul. Only that way the picture is complete.”

Sunlight swirled in the corners of your teary eyes, Kíli’s hand never letting go of yours and The Company far ahead of you two. Still, there was no rush to chase after them, not when you have just realized that all you have ever wanted was right in front of you.

Kíli took a step closer and in an answer you slowly leaned forward, closing your eyes, until your forehead rested against his and the tips of your noses barely brushed against each other. It was a perfect afternoon, the one worth remembering, as you stood there in the middle on the forest bathed in the bright, golden sunlight, and there was nothing which could disturb the peace of your connected hearts.

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

My So Called Rise Against Life

All lyrics written and owned by Rise Against

No band, not even AFI, sings the soundtrack of the last 20 years of my life like Rise Against has. I was dragged to my first Rise Against show by Emily. Emily, the suicide girl, quite possibly the hottest girl in Corpus Christi, barely 5'1 and 98 pounds soaking wet, covered in tattoos and with Angelina Jolie's lips. To this day I cannot imagine why a girl who looked like that wanted to hang with me. I had never been to a gig at that little club called The Underground where the disenfranchised youth of Corpus Christi congregated. This was the very cusp of my punk rock midlife crisis and I went in scared to death because I'd heard concerts of this nature were violent.

At this point I was already considering the decision to become straightedge. I was curious but knew little about it. The sum of my knowledge was this: two of the guys in AFI were, and the guy at the mall was. The memory of this guy never leaves me. Like a stray dog with a tennis ball, catching a welcoming scent on the air, then chasing after a passing stranger who never looked down, I chased after him and each year I spent in that fruitless pursuit felt like seven. His friendship I would never win, but he would remain on the outskirts of my life, like the brass ring I reached for again and again only to fall on my face. I would see him that night too, but I didn't know this when Em invited me out. It was billed as a hardcore show. I had no idea what hardcore was back then, I just assumed it meant a rough crowd of millitant straightedge vegans that would have a sixth sense that I wasn't one of them and chase me out the doors. Rise Against was headlining and an equally unknown band called Avenged Sevenfold was opening. I'd never heard of either. Emily wanted me to go and I wanted to get out of the house for the night so it wasn't that hard for her to twist my arm in the matter. I met her at her apartment which was filth ridden, with drug paraphernalia everywhere, a wall size Misfits poster that took up the entire SIDE of her apartment, and electric guitars propped next to skateboards. As she slipped out of her clothes and into something slinky much to my viewing pleasure, she pointed me to her freezer with a purloined bottle of tropical Schnapps from the liquor store she was working for. Toasting in miniature tea cups I downed the bright blue liquid. I remember it so well, the frost covered bottle, cold in my hand, the electric blueness pouring into what looked like a child's tea party set up. This wasn't the last drink I would take, that would come two months later, yet I remember every detail of the experience. Suited up in skimpiness, we were off to the races. We hauled ass in Emily's SUV and she sat behind the wheel, dwarfed by it's hugeness and her smallness, joint in hand, careening down the expressway and swerving around orange construction barrels. As we exited into the worst part of town I had ever seen I must have looked uneasy. She turned to me and proudly exclaimed "Don't worry, I know this place! I used to score crack here!" We walked in and the first person I saw was the straightedge boy, who was taking money at the door. It was a good sign of things to come. It would also mean I would completely ignore Avenged Sevenfold's set in s stupid quest to get his attention long enough to make conversation. But Em was a champ, she stayed with me through the whole thing. In fact, I don't remember having the guts to say a word. She talked to him, I watched him talking to her and twenty feet away M. Shadows was screaming his sexy, tattooed, egotistical lungs out but I was utterly oblivious. From there we went to the merch booth where Em bought me an Avenged Sevenfold poster that I kept for years on my wall before finally giving it away right on the cusp of actually starting to listen to them. She also bought me a Rise Against patch that is still on my Dickies bag today though it is nothing more than a mess of black thread. We wandered over to the PETA booth, watched some gruesome videos, signed up for mail and picked up a cookbook I would later use to make one of the mall kids a vegan birthday cake. Then Emily spied someone she knew and I followed her over, still looking suspiciously through the crowd sure someone was just going to come up and punch me for no apparent reason. Still following, I watched as she struck up a conversation with this cute guy in glasses. I politely listened in as they talked about how they haven't seen each other since Warped Tour. For the life of me I can't remember what they talked about. I was distracted by a guy that looked like Davey Havok. Their conversation muffled to a drone until the guy looked at his watch and said "Oh crap!! I need to be on

stage! I'll talk to after the show!" and it was at that moment I realized Emily had been talking to Joe Principe of Rise Against. This was our cue as well though there was already too much of a crowd to get near the front. There were maybe one hundred people there and Tim held every one in the palm of his hand. I was amazed. I had never heard them before in my life so I can't tell you the set list but I knew from that time on I wanted to hear more. At the end Emily and I waited at the stage to talk to Tim. I had no idea what to say so I just shook his hand and now I wish I had held on a little longer. Emily got a shirt signed and talked to him for a while. Again I was too preoccupied with the AFI look-alikes in the crowd that I wasn't paying much attention. To this day I wonder if the dude I thought looked like Davey was actually Zacky Vengeance. I'll never know for sure. Soon enough Joe was with us again and he and Emily were engaged in conversation when he turned to me and said "Did that hurt?" I had NO idea what he was talking about, I was too overwhelmed by his very presence. I actually thought he was pointing past me to the PETA booth and I stupidly sputtered "What KFC is doing to chickens?" I swear to god when I'm miserable and in need of cheering up sometimes all it takes to make me smile is thinking "Hey, Joe laughed at my joke." The night drew to an end, Emily went out with the band, and being married, I went home. Next to singing a line with Dave Peters of Throwdown, that first night with Rise Against was the best night of the last ten years of my life. The next time I would see Rise Against they would be back in Corpus, opening for Bad Religion. This happened during what I call "The Emo Dave Era". I met Dave because of Rise Against. He was a little emo boy wearing a Rise Against shirt, skipping school at the mall. I stopped him and asked him about it and well that was it, he just kept coming around. I would end up knowing him for five years and eventually hiring him to work for me. By the second time they came to town Siren Song of The Counterculture was out and I remember bragging to Dave that if it was any other band I would have just downloaded it, but for them I would actually spend my hard earned money. I remember DRINKING in the songs, trying so hard to memorize all of the tracks before the gig hit. I remember the second Rise Against gig for many reasons. It was the first gig I went to alone at a time I was in the grip of panic attacks whenever I had to be in wide open spaces by myself. Two of my "mall daughters" met me at the gates and stayed with me the whole night. I remember that. I remember Dave hitting the merch table before me and buying me Rise Against stickers that I regarded like they were jewels and kept them in some special place until I hid them so well I hid them from myself. Dave and I and the girls were in the front row together, and sadly none of them I am in contact with now. Not only that, but Dave and one of the girls I was up front with would end up working for me and stealing over $1300 from my business during their tenure as my employees. Years from knowing this though we happily stood side by side and sang along for the whole set. What I remember most about that second gig was standing in front of Joe and when he sang "Single file like soldiers on a mission." I saluted him and he saluted back. Tim was wearing the exact same shirt he wore at the first gig but I was probably the only one to notice it. And when Tim asked "Who was here at our first gig when only 20 people showed up?" I proudly raised my hand. All the memorizing I did was pretty much for naught because I was so excited to be in the front row I damn near forgot every word to every song, but for some reason I knew every word to 1,000 Good Intentions. The first Rise Against show was in August, I can't tell you the date of the second one. I made my commitment to becoming straightedge sometime between December and January. I don't know the exact date because I was so scared about the whole

thing I kept it to myself "You're the new revolution The angst filled adolescent You fit the stereotype well..."

.All I know for sure was that I'd been edge several months by the second Rise Against gig at Concrete Street in Corpus. he second Rise Against gig also brings to mind another phantom of my past: a girl I was close to named Amanda (not the Amanda I went to Warped Tour w/, that Amanda I've always called Di because her screen name was Dionysus). This was Amanda's first night aout after being kidnapped and raped. Her parents were druggies and didn't want the cops involved so the guys who did it just got away with it and I'd see them at the mall all the time afterward and I couldn't do shit. It was her and her big sister who met me at the gates and stayed with me all night. I loved those girls. . . . Again, digressing. From First To Last opened and we spent the whole set talking about how much they looked like AFI. I ended up leaving the gig early, going to the house of one of them who still lived with his folks, ringing the doorbell and leaving a note in the mail box that said 'YOUR SON RAPES LITTLE GIRLS----just thought you should know'. It didn't really help anything but it made me feel better. During this mindlessly courageous time I was blinded by my commitment. I jumped into being edge with a fervor reserved for things like joining the Hari Krishnas or Jehovah's Witnesses. It was a complete make over of every idea I'd ever held. I didn't know a great deal but once I found it, I knew it was all I had been looking for. The only other person I actually knew who was edge was the straightedge boy, who now had become god-like in my mind. He was the first face of straightedge for me, the ideal, the standard, the one thing I felt I had to live up to. Sadly, by this time he was long gone, moving away from the mall where we worked and on to better things. This fact only drove me forward in a Holy Grail level quest to find him. When he was there I was terrified of speaking to him and then when he wasn't I kicked myself for not having the courage. I was sure that if I did make my way to him, he could impart some knowledge, some advice that would make my whole solitary experience make sense. The soundtrack of that quest was Blood to Bleed: "Steps I take in your footsteps Aren't getting me closer to what is left of the dreams of what I once claimed to know Within my bones this resonates...." Within weeks of each other three amazing things happened: Ceci, my best friend Amanda(Dionysus) and I went to Warped Tour to see AFI and in the process saw Rise Against as well. Then The Sufferer and the Witness came out, and at the same time Jadey and Ceci came to visit me in Corpus for quite possibly the most idyllic summer of my life. It was that summer we saw Rise Against for the third time. At that Warped Tour again we were in front of Joe, and again when Tim sang "Single file like soldiers on a mission... " we saluted Joe and he saluted us back and it was like a little piece of heaven fell to earth, the moment was so perfect. The set was

short because it was Warped Tour but we didn't care. We were together, we loved each other and we sang along with every song we knew. Sufferer and Witness came out in July right in time for Warped Tour and the girls coming down for a visit. I remember this so well because I had a cd of the straightedge boy's band and it seemed so important for me to play it for Jadey and Ceci. Do you remember that line in The Lost Boys: "Now you know what we are, now you know what you are." ? That was how it felt for me, this romanticized notion that my edge was not my own and it was all owing and belonged to someone else. I wanted to be able to trace it like a family tree to say, if I had not met him I would not have found out about AFI, I would not have made my committment, we would have never met, so therefore the life and friendship we have shared has all traced back to THIS. Well, they weren't all that impressed. I have a very clear memory of us being outside the Sonic Drive In and Jadey asking me "Please turn that noise off and put in something else." That something else was the The Sufferer And The Witnessand it stayed in the player for the rest of the trip. Ready To Fall was the song that defined the next year, much later, that I made my edge my own. In my journey I had looked to so many others for advice or reassurance or validation. I did this because I didn't believe in myself. I thought I was weak and sought in others what would make me strong. Sometimes I received it, like messages sent back and forth the guys in Throwdown and the near religious experience of seeing them live all the times I have, of singing a line with Dave, shaking his hand. Most of the time though my search was in vain. I remember very clearly seeking out help online. One guy told me I would never know who I was until I went to a hardcore show. This wasn't exactly bad advice, hardcore shows had the most amazing energy flowing through them and it did feel good to be surrounded by like minded people. The only thing I really learned about myself through going to hardcore shows was that if God had wanted me to hardcore dance, He would not have given me boobs. There was another guy who told me only the most insecure person would EVER wear a straightedge shirt out in public and if you were sincere about it, you'd keep it to yourself. I thought that guy was nuts. The whole POINT of being edge to me was proving I was not like the idiots around me. "With your eyes Glazed and half-smiled Explain to me the details of your God-given right You point your finger In my face but You can't remember what you did last night" I asked another guy what to do if I was tempted to drink again and he told me if I was tempted I was never really straightedge to begin with and I should just do the scene a favor and kill myself already. Then there were the kids that thought I was just the bees knees and were coming to ME for advice. I had no idea what to tell these kids, but I wasn't about to tell them not to wear sXe gear or kill themselves. Because of my own search for answers I refused to turn any kid away. One day they were telling me I was their hero and begging for advice, the next they were telling me I was out of my mind and to get lost. It took a good four years before I learned not to believe them in either case. "This could be my great awakening But how would I know when it's all noise to me? Are these words falling on deaf ears?" Right in the middle of this I had the good fortune to meet a guy named Chris X from Philly. He neither worshipped nor ignored me. He was simply THERE. I have the most vivid memory of this one morning. I had the same dream about the straightedge boy only this time I stepped out and stopped him and asked him if the hormones levels in milk made people more aggressive the way steroids did and asked if I should stop drinking it. Why this popped into my head I will never know. As usual the alarm rang before the blurry form opened his mouth and imparted wisdom. I woke up at 5 am and suddenly HAD to know

the answer to the question. It happened that Chris X was up too. I contacted him and he took the time out of his morning to discuss this with me completely out of the blue. I don't know why this sticks out in my memory but it does: Him being up at five am and taking an hour out of his morning to answer some moronic question from a girl he didn't know and being so nice about it. He is still edge, we are still friends and he is still there when I need him. He is the exception to the rule. Friends fell away and I remained steadfast, yet alone. Slowly though there came the time when I realized I needed to look no further than in the mirror. It wasn't like this was a new thing. I was told this many times and yet I never believed it. Right about this time Rise Against released Ready To Fall: "But here in this moment like the eye of the storm It all came clear to me I found a shoulder to lean on An infallible reason to live all by itself I took one last look from the heights that I once loved And then I ran like hell" The heights I once loved were ego driven, the compulsion to wear a straightedge shirt every day and X's for every gig and dare anyone to tell me otherwise. It was that romanticized notion of my edge,--that it hadn't been mine and all I was, was owed to someone else. It was as if I believed someone had physically stood between me and a fridge full of alcohol that first year and kept me from it. Or that someone had been there to comfort me when my husband was drunk or in a bad mood and was calling me names or throwing me around because I dared come home with a book of Marxist writing or simply did not shut up and go along or renounce my beliefs. I healed myself, I comforted myself and I did almost all of it completely alone. It was slow in dawning but it finally came to me that I was the only one I had to inspire or impress, and my own approval was all I needed. This revelation was scored by every track on Sufferer and Witness. The fourth time I saw Rise Against, I met Ceci in Austin to see them at Stubb's. Stubb's BBQ is a grand place to see any band because if you get there early enough, you can have lunch on the balcony while watching the band's sound check. We found this out the first time we went there, seeing The Rollins Band open up for X. Going to the Rise Against show I told myself "It's not big deal, I've seen them three times before, I'm just going to kick back and eat and enjoy the sound check" but as soon as Tim and Joe took the stage I could barely consume a thing I was so overwhelmed. As we waited in line after lunch for the doors to reopen, I met Ceci's brother Jordan who is, wildly enough, still my friend. Jordan. He hovers on the edges of my life, always there with a kind word whether I actually deserved it or not. He is the only good thing to come out of my friendship with Ceci. Evergreen Terrace opened that show and we were right in front of the guy in the Straightedge Soldier tshirt and that and a brilliant cover of "Mad World" was all I remembered of their set. Circa Survive came on next and Ceci and I took turns booing them and flipping them off. Not that they were necessarily bad, but we were in no mood to entertain the mopey emo set at that point. Soon we were all piled together up front, again in front of Joe. I didn't get to salute him at that gig. Ceci's arms were too tightly around me. Ceci, her girlfriend Grace, Jordan and my husband were tangled in a sea of arms, so tightly that I wasn't sure of whose hand I was holding most of the night. Though by that time I was perfectly comfortable in my commitment, Blood to Bleed still only reminded me of one person and Ceci knew this. I felt she understood me then, I felt she was one of the very few who knew me best. Beside me was my husband, but in my heart was a dream of someone else, of someone who shared my commitment and my ideals, a dream of an idea more than a person, the perfect guy/relationship/life I would never have. Two months later I would find out my husband was seeing a girl from work

that had got him hooked on heroin. Two months later he would come to where I worked and attack me in front of multiple witnesses and when called, the police would do nothing. Two months later I would sit sobbing in the back of a police car because I was too afraid to go into my own apartment and get my things. When responding to my call the enormous officer would glare down at me and say "Why are you afraid to walk in your own home? Are you on drugs or are you just retarded?" Instead of accompanying me inside to get my things they would search me for drugs. Two months later I would realize why Henry Rollins hated cops so much. Two months later. after ten years together, I would leave my husband. I did not know any of this then. All I knew was that in that instant my heart was bleeding inside of me for want of some friendship I would never have, the one thing I believed would make my life complete. It was that friendship, that idea of a person, of perfection, of everything I wanted myself and my life to be, that seemed like the holy grail of the second part of my life. Looking back, maybe it held value only because it was unobtainable. I had not yet learned to find it in myself so I sought it so furiously in a stranger. So, with the ridiculously angelic vision of the first straightedge boy I ever met in my head, and my unfaithful husband beside me, in that crowd at Stubb's, Rise Against tore into Blood To Bleed. It was our first time to hear it live together as they had not played it at Warped Tour. Ceci looked down at me, wrapped her arms around me and held me tight because she knew exactly who I was thinking of and why. As she held on to me with one hand and ran a hand through my hair, we both screamed out those lyrics that had haunted me and driven me on for years. "This place rings with echos of lives once lived, but now are lost Times spent wondering about tomorrow I don't care if we lose it all tonight Up in flames, burning bright.... Within my bones this resonates Boiling blood will circulate Could you tell me again what you did this for?" And just like I was blind to what was about to erupt with my husband I was just as blind to time bomb ticking inside of Ceci that would turn her into a complete stranger the next time we met, at the very same place it would turn out. Had I known that this was the last time she would hold my hand and sing with me and look down on me with love and empathy in her eyes, I would not have wasted my sorrow in grieving for a friendship that never was and instead would have known to grieve for the real friendship I was losing. I should have grieved for hers, but in retrospect, it was no more real than the idea of the one I chased after so fruitlessly. "I don't love you anymore is all I remember you telling me never have I felt so cold But I've no more blood to bleed Cuz my heart has been draining into the sea...." And the strange footnote to that day, that time, that moment of hope and loss and all that was to come is this: Even though his friendship I never actually earned, in his status of a wise, polite stranger, that straightedge boy I never really knew was far more civil than Ceci. His responses, however short they were, however long it took to get them, were genuine. It is such a small thing, his honesty, yet it is more than I can say for ninety percent of the people I've known in the last several years. Another song we sang together that night was Prayer of the Refugee. I had no idea then but that song was about to describe my life. "We are the angry and desperate The hungry and the cold We are the ones who kept quiet and always did what we were told But we've been sweating while you slept so calm in the safety of your homes We've been pulling at the nails that hold up everything you own."

The split with my husband was brutal. First I had to deal with police that didn't care, who told me at one point "Well, if he tries to kill you, call us back, otherwise there's nothing we can do. He's your husband and he has the same right to live here as you do." Thanks to the police not doing anything, I was thrown out of the apartment I had paid for for ten years. The battered women's shelter was full and I would have found myself homeless had it not been for my friend Lilo. Suddenly I was having to start from scratch and then, upon finding a place, having to pack up ten years worth of my life and move it all by myself. "I hit the ground and I'm still running but I need a place to stay tonight I swear I'll be gone in the morning I just need some place warm to close my eyes." Every day I worked until the afternoon, went home and packed until 2 am, fell asleep until 5 am and then got up and did it all again. Then once I was packed I had to move it all. I can't remember why I didn't ask for help but I moved it all alone except for the bed, entertainment center and tv. "The drones all slave away They're working overtime They serve a faceless queen They never question why Disciples of a god That neither lives nor breathes But we've got bills to pay Yeah we've got mouths to feed I won't go back..." This was such a strange time. There was no way to hide what was going on: my husband came to where I worked and jumped me in front of everyone there, I had to tell my boss "My husband kicked me out and I'm homeless at the moment, could I possibly get my check a day or two early to put a deposit down on an apartment?" and I had to own up to the fact that I was straightedge and my husband was a heroin addict. "We're broken but still breathing We are wounded but we are healing We pick up right where we left off Breathe on the ashes that remain So that these coals may become fire To guide our way.." This made my life suddenly seem a really bad B movie. There was nothing to do but go on. I would have asked myself "What would that straightedge guy do in this situation?" if I'd had any idea. Instead I asked "What would Dave Peters of Throwdown do?" and of course the obvious answer was "punch something". As much as I wanted to, I couldn't do that. However, I knew for sure what he wouldn't do and that was curl up in a ball and cry. So I didn't do that either. It was a such horrible time and yet when I look back all I remember is my own strength and the exhilaration I felt when I finally left. "So give me the drug Keep me alive Give me what's left of my life Don't let me go... Pull this plug, let me breathe On my own, I'm finally free..."

Lilo and Di swore I looked great, like I had suddenly gotten 10 years younger. They said I was glowing, but unless I had come in contact with radium I certainly didn't see how. I remember thinking "Well hell, maybe the Socialists were right. Maybe 16 hour days are the way to salvation." "Wake me up inside Tell me there's a reason To take another step To get up off my knees and, Follow this path of most resistance. And where ever it takes us, Whatever it faces and wherever it leads" As I came into my own power, the straightedge boy who had loomed so god-like over the first years of my commitment shrank back down to human size. Deep down I still hoped that if he was to know of all I had gone through he would be a little proud of me for surviving with my integrity intact. But if he didn't, well that was okay too. Survive I did, survive I continue to. "Somewhere between happy, and total fucking wreck Feet sometimes on solid ground, sometimes at the edge To spend your waking moments, simply killing time Is to give up on your hopes and dreams, to give up on your... Life for you, has been less than kind So take a number, stand in line We've all been sorry, we've all been hurt But how we survive, is what makes us who we are" When I had my own place and my own life again, to celebrate I bought myself a Christmas present: a tattoo of a sparrow carrying brass knuckles in her beak. It reminded me of this lyric that had been echoing in my head the whole time: "And if strength was born from heartbreak Then mountains I could move If walls could speak I pray that they would tell me what to do." I enjoyed more than six months of solitude in my cozy little apartment on Airline. I filled my weekends with walks on the beach, solitary shopping excursions for meatless dinners, and nights were spent at the House of Rock and the Underground watching bands, enjoying the freedom of staying out without getting yelled at or called names. I spent Christmas alone on Lilo's floor stuffing myself with processed cheeseballs and watching movies. It was my first UnChristmas. The Jehovah's Witnesses would have been proud! "Warm yourself by the fire, son, And the morning will come soon. I’ll tell you stories of a better time, In a place that we once knew. Before we packed our bags And left all this behind us in the dust, We had a place that we could call home, And a life no one could touch."

But I am flawed and cowed and crippled by the Christian concept of forgiveness. And by the time I would be seeing Rise Against again, my husband would be back by my side. In West Texas his mom had ran him through the MHMR system, let them start him on 7 different drugs, ---including three different tranquilizers and pills for hallucinations and seizures, which he never once had,--- used him to get on welfare, disability, and Medicare. Once he's served the purpose, she called a friend in the sheriff's department and had him pulled from her house, drugged out of his mind on meds at the time, and stuck on a bus to Corpus Christi. The Glasscock County Sherriff's Department called me at work to TELL me "Your husband is on a bus to Corpus, he'll be there at two am. He's your responsibility now." On the bus, because of his state of stupor, he was robbed of everything but his clothes and as much as I wanted to just shove him into the closest homeless shelter, I couldn't. Had it been me, as unlikely as that would be, I would want someone to have compassion. "We are the children you reject and disregard These aching cries come from the bottom of our hearts You can't disown us now, we are your own flesh and blood And we don't disappear just because your eyes are shut" I took him in. At first it was easy. Thanks to the drugs he was sleeping 18 hours a day. Finally I started to investigate what they had him on, what he could do without and how to get him back to normal. I'm not sure how I did it, but I weened him off of every drug he was on. At first it was out of necessity since I was making too much money for him to stay on state sponsored help and he'd have run out eventually. Looking back though, had he sustained that amount of drug intake for long he would have probably died. So he was back for good and conversely Ceci and Jadey and nearly every other friend I had at the time would have turned their backs on me and flocked to other, cooler individuals. All those kids that convinced me they would have killed themselves, starved themselves, cut themselves to shreds, OD'ed, etc had they not met me, who all imposed their problems and lives on mine for five years or more and took up every spare moment of my time and every inch of my heart all turned 18 at once. In turning 18 they realized they knew it all and I was no longer worth their time. "And if you think your words will ever make a difference Think again and carry on..." My husband and I are still together, but all those friends are long gone. I wish I could say he gave up all his demons, but he didn't. He simply traded the big ones for a myriad of lesser evils. He will never be straightedge. And though he claims to be proud of me, to this day he is convinced, utterly falsely, I am hiding some secret affair with the straightedge boy from years ago. I sat him down one day and asked "Do you get that we are straightedge? Do you get that in being straightedge we could not possibly cheat on our significant others and remain straightedge? Do you get that no matter how much he influenced me I barely knew him and he barely gave me the time of day? Do you get that what you are accusing me of is utterly impossible?”

Despite his insistence on this, the idea doesn't bother him enough for him to give up his own addictions and become edge himself. He no longer asks me to change and he is no longer violent, thank god. I no longer ask him to change, though I pray every day he will. We have been together for twenty years now and I have never been with anyone else. This doesn't keep me from dreaming of some nice sXe man who shares my ideals. But I think of it much like I imagine racing on the autobahn, knowing it will never actually happen and knowing I’d never do it even if I could. "We live on front porches and swing life away We get by just fine here on minimum wage If love is a labor I'll slave til the end..." Things in my life settled down for a bit as we prepared to see the boys again at Stubb's BBQ. Through myspace I found my friend Linda that I had not spoken to in fifteen years. As we sat on the balcony at Stubb's I kept one eye on the stage and the other on the door waiting to see her again. When she walked through the doors it was like the last fifteen years never even happened and instantly we picked up right where we left off and again were tearing through Austin with her at the wheel like we had so many times in the past. Because of this joyful reunion I was not first in line when the doors opened, I was buying rainbow necklaces in the gay shops in town and snickering over whether the guy behind the counter was flirting with my husband or not. - That was a strange memory for me, being in the very back of the audience for once, singing alone as Aaron sat on a rock and read a Robert Jordan novel. I was happy to be there, the music was incredible, but the feeling was all wrong. I was isolated and alone, in the back row with my fist raised and Aaron tugging at my arm every other song asking "What song is this? Do I know this one?". I wondered if Ceci was there in the front row, holding on to someone else and convincing them she would have killed herself if they hadn't come into her life. I imagined others in the front row, in our place, saluting Joe, singing our songs while I was the interloper that did not belong anymore. We walked out of the sold out show before the encore, a long drive home facing us. Aaron never lets me stay for the encores. He always wants to hit the road. As we walked to the car, with Worth Dying For wafting through the air above us, I blew a kiss to the wind and told Ceci goodbye. "Feel me rise in the strength I've found inside the warm embracing air Like a glacier melting watch me dissipate I searched for love in an empty world but all I found was hate" It was the lyrics of Rise Against that echoed in my head when I sat down to read the words of Marx and Lenin for the first time as a whole other world opened up for me. It was Rise Against that drove me on as I worked sixty hour weeks. "We're losing daylight but I can't work any faster Under the veil of dust we go on..." Their lyrics saw me through every major event of the last several years of my life. Appeal to Reason was released in the Fall of 2008 and though the year found me miserably poor and unemployed, I still bought it the day it came out. It was on my mp3 player and as I sat in the welfare office applying for food stamps I would hear the lyrics "Despite these petty fortunes we still can't afford a life...." for the first time and I would pause a moment just for the whole zeitgeist effect of it. For Christmas of 2008 I received an email from Ceci after a year and a half of ignoring my every attempt at contacting her. I had tried everything, even terribly childish measures to get some kind of reaction but every letter---first polite, then angry, then groveling-- every call, email, and package was met with silence. A year and a half passed and then I got the email saying "I got the new Rise Against and it made me realize how much I loved and missed you and loved AFI and I want to be friends again. I know you can't forgive me but can we be friends again? There's this song on that new Rise Against that

reminds me of you." True to the bond we had once held there was certainly a song on the new Rise Against that reminded me of us too: "Identities assume us as nine and five add up Synchronizing watches To the seconds that we lost I looked up and saw you I know that you saw me We froze but for a moment In empathy I brought down the sky for you but all you did was shrug" This was exactly what happened the last time we saw each other when she turned up her nose and pretended not to know who I was, just a week after sending me a letter saying how much she loved me. This led to the year plus of her not speaking to and ignoring all attempts at contact I made, even the immature ones. "And if you see me please just walk on by Walk on by Forget my name and I'll forget it too Failed attempts at living simple lives Simple lives Always keep me coming back to you." But too much time had passed and although that Christian weakness crippled me so with my husband, for once I stood strong and had no trouble in keeping the door to my heart shut. I told her not to contact me again. "I count the times that I've been sorry Now my compassion slowly drowns If there's a time these walls could guard you Then let that time be right now."

That doesn't mean that my mind does not still light to her like a bee to a flower, the years we were friends, that feeling of love and camaraderie and the bond I imagined we had. The last three Rise Against albums play the soundtrack of our friendship whenever I turn them on. When I play Appeal to Reason I wonder if this song reminds her of me:

"It kills me not to know this but I've all but just forgotten what the color of her eyes were and her scars or how she got them" If I close my eyes I am there again in that Port Aransas condo, the night we met face to face after talking online for so long. We are huddled together in the bedroom sharing the earphones of a cd player listening to Placebo's Sleeping With Ghosts. I am pulling down the zipper of my boot and showing her three freshly razored X's cut into my ankle, the blood still stuck to a wad of tissue pressed between my sock and skin. She is crying and wrapping her arms around me and telling me she understands everything and that someday she will show me her scars too. "I'll show you mine If you'll show me yours first Let's compare scars I'll tell you whose is worse Let's unwrite these pages and replace them with our own words..." She never did show me her scars. I wonder now if she even had any. There are lots of songs that transport me back then when she was my world. But now I know nothing about her nor anyone else I knew then was real and I wonder if that song ever reminds her of me and the way she led me to believe I was her lifeline, right up until the moment she cut me off and forgot me like a favorite toy after adolescence destroys the need for such playthings. "As the telling signs of age rain down a single tear is dropping through the valleys of an aging face that this world has forgotten ..." This is the music that accompanied my feet hitting the pavement of park sidewalks and treadmills, it is the melodies that buoyed me through endless work weeks and settled into the recesses of my heart in times of quiet contemplation. As I read words written years ago by writers we were never allowed to study in school, it is the soundtrack that played in my mind when those concepts began to make sense. When I read Ten Days that Shook the World by John Reed, what I was hearing in my head was

"but these ghosts come alive like water and wine walk through these streets singing songs and carrying signs, to them these streets belong.." As I struggled to understand the Communist Manifesto I was thinking to myself: "Unknowing, we lie and wait for the rain To wash away what they have made Face down in the dirt with your foot on my back In the distance I hear thunder crack C'mon Stand up! This system of power and privilege is about to come to an end Here come the clouds The first drop is falling down" I look back at many things and laugh. I remember when I was first looking for straightedge shirts I came upon one that said SUPPORT LEFTIST HARDCORE. I had no earthly idea what it meant and was way too scared to ask anyone. Now I can quote Trotsky. When I first turned edge I stopped eating meat for several months until my husband found out and started calling me a Communist. At the time it seemed like the worst thing in the world to be called. He still calls me a Communist but now with laughable results. I'll cock my head, say something to him in Russian, he'll mumble under his breath 'Yeah you only say that because you've had sex with the entire Communist party!", I'll roll my eyes and we go back to our common denominators of movie quotes, comic books, and making fun of people. I always loved the way the Russian alphabet looked and shortly after we were married I got a tramp stamp with his initials in Russian. He now claims it actually means "Welcome aboard, Comrade." I just laugh and we kid each other and life goes on. In the great Holy Grail of a search for wisdom that I thought could only come from the first straightedge boy I knew, I had one great fear: what if I found him again and he was no longer edge? I was terrified of this, sure that if he fell I would too, that if that touchstone was gone, all would be lost. This no longer worries me. I would be sad if it happened, but it would not affect my journey nor cause me to stumble because I have found my own way. It was hard way full of work, trial and error and pure blind luck. Maybe it would have been easier if things had gone differently and yet it is all mine and no one else's.

I have now seen Rise Against eight times each with its own small dramas, like when I was working for Job Corps, worked an 18 hour day, literally passed out in my car from low blood sugar and exhaustion—luckily before I had started the engine. I somehow made it home, downed two peanut butter sandwiches and went to the show where I had no energy to dance, but just stood there and sang.

The last show was the best in years for me. I was in the second row behind a little boy and his mom. His mom was my age and it was her son’s first concert. He was there to see NOFX. They put on an incredible show and I did my best to keep the crowd off the kid. As a reward, the mother gave me their spot and they went to the back when Rise Against came on. I had not been in the front row since that show with Ceci. I felt like I was twenty again. Rise Against is the music that scores ALL of this in my memory. It is the sound of hope and loss, of new directions and ideas, of the brass ring becoming just another small cog in the great, silent machinations of my soul. It is the music of discovering that the strength of the world lies inside my own heart. It is the sound of me walking away from what I loved, it is the joyous noise of friends you're certain is lost forever coming back to you. This is my so-called Rise Against life

[themilky-way]

nightcrawler {t.holland}

gif credit: tommyhoelland2013

pairing: mafia!tom holland x fem!reader

summary: your original task was to satisfy your midnight cravings. what you find is something you don’t quite expect. based on this ask. 

warnings: minor hints of violence, mentions of stalking, language, and SMALL  nsfw bc its mafia!tom what do you want from mE

author’s note: haven’t written for tom in a while and this request spurred up some thoughts lmao. ALSO i tweaked this a lil bit hope u don’t mind :)

----------

everything residing inside the proportionally small bedroom was brought to life in almost an instant. with a single yank, the curtains covering the glass windows gave way to a clear view of the moon, allowing its illuminating rays to seep through. the outline of a messy, disheveled bed was puzzled together, with accompanying piles of clothes scattered across the room. a pair of slippers waited patiently next to the door for their owner to retrieve them, and with the sudden entry of glimmering light, it wouldn’t be long until someone did. 

it had all started with a simple rumble of your stomach. there wasn’t much to it, nor would you have ever thought it would escalate this bad. you had been given quite a luscious meal, large enough to get you through the night without residual hunger. so, the idea of skipping dessert altogether seemed appropriately reasonable. however, as the night wore on, you began noticing a distinct noise deep in your belly. you ignored it at first, but as soon as you’d permit your eyes to close, the feeling returned more painful than before. now, here you were: on a mission to indulge in a much-needed snack. 

you should at least have a bite, he had told you. you might regret it if you don’t. it had been silly of you to have denied his suggestion. he had meant well by it, too-always had, and most likely always will-but now the thought of possibly being caught by him doing exactly what you had refused to do was awkward. the spoon in your hand was already digging into a scoop of ice cream amidst this ludicrous internal conflict of yours, and as soon as the rich flavor of chocolate reached your senses, everything troubling you faded away. should listen to him more often, you pondered. 

 the old-fashioned clock hanging from above the fridge appeared to stop clicking with each mouthful of the decadent dessert, and if the man who had offered you a home in his luxurious estate teased you for this later, you simply would not care. after a particularly large bite though, an echoed grunt sounded in the next room, causing you to set the nearly empty jar on the counter. whoever that was-they sounded angry. your curious mind prompted your feet to move cautiously across the cold tiles with no regard to the possibility of it being an intruder. it seemed as if tonight you were on a quest to find something-anything-that would give you a thrill. yes, if someone was in fact in his home, and if by chance you were the one who discovered them, it wouldn’t be so exhilarating. yet, as your feet traversed further into the dark halls, and your brain continued joining dangerous situations together, you mindlessly wandered into something damn near close to threatening.

“tom?” a faint, quivering voice questioned. an innocent, ignorant little mouse caught in a trap. a pair of eyes shot up to meet your horror-struck features, taking in every possible detail they could make out through the obscurity of the room. then, he smiled. a small, deceiving curve of his lips made your heart jump hurdles, and right now, it was difficult to pinpoint whether it was fear or something a little more than infatuation. 

“darling, i’m so glad you decided to join us.” the dark-suited man stood up straight, a hand extended towards you invitingly. by now, it was evident that tom never asked politely, never offered anything to anyone; he just took whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. which is why his rough palm had now enveloped your tiny one. he adjusted the cushion behind you so you could have a seat, advising you that your line of vision had to be vast if you were to see what came next. 

“what-no! who the hell is that! why is he-oh god-why is he tied up!” a meek attempt at rising up from the couch was ceased by a strong pair of hands gripping either of your thighs. it shouldn’t have provided you a passive wave of goosebumps on your skin, not from something so minimal. he felt them, too; the rush of your skin and how it was suddenly so cold, and now it was damn near-boiling. his orbs were obsidian, a single glare from them mixed with the timidness of your own. “i’m sorry. can you just tell me, please?” you amended weakly. 

“oh, honey, you don’t have to be sorry.” a gentle stroke to your hair was followed by a reassuring grin. tom tugged a loose strand of your behind your ear before turning to the side, nudging to the half-beaten person in the middle of the room. “but he does.”

with the light adjusting accordingly now, the features of this stranger didn’t seem to be so unfamiliar anymore. upon closer inspection, the realization hit you like a blow to the chest. “oh my god, is that-”

“the fucking man who’s been bothering you? yeah, that’s the one.” it came out of tom’s throat as a growl, every word dripping with disgust at the mere acknowledgment. “should’ve talked to me about it-put an end to this son of a bitch sooner.” the grasp on your fragile legs turned tighter, your mouth falling open at the flutter of pain that came with it. “close your pretty little mouth before i forget we have company, baby.”

in an instant, he wasn’t centimeters close to your face anymore; his hands no longer held your aching skin, but rather the other man’s throat. a whirlwind of threats, punches, and blows encaptured your entire focus, and to say it didn’t entice you (among other things) would be a blatant lie. fully prominent on tom’s neck, the darkened profile of his snake tattoo maneuvered with every searing hit he made. the moon-the very same one you saw only minutes ago-casted a shadow on his rings, and the one you’d caught yourself staring at one too many times glistened back. perhaps this was your own personal heaven? or were you possibly in a drug-induced coma; the man looking at you once every few seconds with a mischievous glint in his eye a mere conjuring of your brain? 

a command was given, and an obedient man went on to lift your stalker’s limp form from the chair. you had almost missed it, given your disorganized (and very much hormonal) state of mind. tom came to rest beside you once he gave instructions to another one of his men, a leg crossing over the other as his arms snaked around the couch. he didn’t say anything, regardless of how intensely you were looking at him. all he did was relax, or appear to be, while his men scurried to obey their boss. a few seconds later, one of the few you recognized handed you a tub of ice cream, red velvet flavored this time, and a clean spoon. a look of confusion spread on your face, unbeknownst to just about anything you believed to be certain. all tom did was laugh at your concern, assuring you he wouldn’t bother you with witty remarks if you satiated your craving. 

“wait, how did you know i was eating some in the first place?” you ask mid spoonful. you miss the drop of creamy texture that starts to drizzle on the side of your mouth, but tom sure doesn’t. with a slow, swift movement of his hand, his thumb is wiping it off before putting it into his mouth. 

“darling, you may think i know nothing when it comes to you, but i know everything.”

[sage-nebula]

Game Review — Hyrule Warriors: Age of Calamity

Well, it’s that time. While some might already know at least a good chunk of my feelings due to one or two posts I’ve made while playing, I’ve now beaten the newest Hyrule Warriors game (at least in terms of the main story + secret ending) and I think it’s time for me to write up a review. 

Overall Score: 5.5/10

I know there are probably at least a few Legend of Zelda fans out there who want to tear me apart right now, but I urge them to actually read everything I have to say before they do. I’ve been a fan of this series since I was nine years old (I started with Ocarina of Time and Link’s Awakening simultaneously), and while my favorite Zelda game was Majora’s Mask for a very long time, Breath of the Wild unseated it and also took the spot as my favorite video game of all time, period. Thus, my expectations for this game were already pretty high, and the fact that Nintendo lied in the marketing . . . well, we’ll get to that. But overall the point that I’m trying to make is that I am a diehard Legend of Zelda fan, and I did like the original Hyrule Warriors as well, so this isn’t a case of “she just doesn’t like Zelda” or “she just doesn’t like Hyrule Warriors.” I promise my opinions are more educated than that. So with that said, let’s get to it (under a cut / on my blog for formatting reasons).

The Pros:

The little touches to make sure that Age of Calamity felt like it belonged in the same realm as Breath of the Wild made my heart sing the moment I first played the demo. Hearing the same menu sounds, seeing the same UI — all of that made me feel like I was returning home, and I really hadn’t realized just how much I missed the world of Breath of the Wild until that moment. While it is a Hyrule Warriors game for sure, it’s clear that they didn’t want to make it “Hyrule Warriors 2″ as much as they wanted to make it a Zelda game befitting Breath of the Wild, and I really appreciated the respect that went into that.

Overall, the voice acting was pretty top notch. Zelda’s voice still bothers me—there are times when she sounds okay, but I still wish they’d chosen a different actress to voice her—and Riju’s voice was a little weird, but overall the voice acting was just as good as it was in Breath of the Wild and I was happy to see every single cutscene voiced.

They put a lot of effort into giving everyone distinctive playstyles, even when it came to two characters of the same race who use the same weapons (e.g. Revali and Teba). The Neo Champions weren’t just clones of the previous Champions; rather, they stood out in their playstyle so that while you might like playing as one, perhaps you don’t like the other as much. (For instance, I hated playing as Revali, but Teba was very fun to play as.) And while I did stick with Link most of the time, there were enough characters that I really enjoyed playing as that it was no problem at all to me when I needed to switch characters mid-battle. In particular, I really loved playing as Impa and Urbosa aside from Link, with Riju, Zelda, and Teba as backups.

The music was incredible, but that’s to be expected from a Zelda game, let’s be honest. Of particular note is this track, which filled my heart with awe every time I heard it due to the inclusion of the Song of the Hero (seriously, when that choir kicks in at about 1:45 . . . [chef’s kiss]). But really, the entire soundtrack was incredible. I don’t think there was a single bad song. Which, again, is typical of a Zelda game, but I still feel it bears note.

Being able to pilot the Divine Beasts was AWESOME, no doubt about it. The best one (in my opinion) was Vah Naboris, followed by Vah Medoh. Vah Medoh was the easiest to use, but Vah Naboris was the most fun. After that comes Vah Ruta, which seemed always on the verge of dying, and then Vah Rudania. I just didn’t have as much fun with those two.

As far as I can tell, there aren’t any Points of No Return as far as the overworld quests go. While this does offer a gameplay and story segregation break (e.g. you can still face the Yiga as enemies even after they join you), at the same time I like it because you have to complete all the quests to get 100% completion, and it’d be rather awful if quests were deleted / cut off after a certain story point without warning.

Similarly, you can replay even main story quests at any time, which is useful for gathering materials you might need for other quests (or gathering apples which you need for healing and which, for some reason—I’ll save this for a later section).

The Neutrals:

Terrako. I just . . . okay. On the one hand, I hate Terrako because it is the catalyst for all the bullshit that happens in the plot, and the fact that Terrako was actually the most important one all along is annoying af. (Who will be key in defeating Calamity Ganon: The Hero & Princess of prophecy, or one eggy boi? The answer may surprise you!) But on the other hand, Terrako actually has a personality and is kind of cute as hell, and it was really sad when he succumbed to the brainwashing and you had to murder him. The memories Zelda has of King Rhoam taking Terrako away when she was a child as she sobbed and screamed for him to stop were also painful. So it’s like, I would like Terrako if, say, he’d been introduced in Breath of the Wild 2 as a tiny Guardian that Zelda built after the events of Breath of the Wild as like, a little companion / pet of sorts. In theory I like him as Zelda and Link’s child. On the other, I hate its role in this game, so I have really complicated feelings on Terrako over all. (I also apparently can’t decide which pronouns to use, but somehow I get the feeling that Terrako doesn’t even know what pronouns are and thus probably wouldn’t care.)

While the missions themselves were usually fun, the gameplay really isn’t friendly to anyone with any sort of carpal tunnel or anything similar. That is to say, a little bit of button mashing like this game’s gameplay requires made my thumb and wrist ache something awful. As a result, while I did have fun playing, I also experienced pain playing, and so I can’t really decide if this is good or bad, especially since there at least was some strategy involved depending on who you chose to play as (yet I feel it was less finessed than in Breath of the Wild, but since it’s a Warriors game that’s not too surprising to me).

The missions were fun, but they followed a similar format to the first Hyrule Warriors where you were going to be doing the same tasks over and over and over in different missions (e.g. capture the outposts, etc). The one plus is that I feel there was a bit more variety here in that there were escort missions and the like too, but again, that wasn’t too much and so it could get a little tiring after a bit. 

It was nice being able to see a lot of characters from Breath of the Wild that I loved again, but honestly? I feel like it was mostly a wasted opportunity because none of them (at least no one in the main group) received any more development or fleshing out that we didn’t already see in Breath of the Wild. In fact, arguably they were flattened. Revali was an arrogant, argumentative jerk from start to finish, with none of the respect he had for Zelda or any softer sides showing through. We saw that Mipha had a crush on Link and that she was protective over Sidon, but we already saw that in the original game + Champion’s Ballad. We saw that Urbosa was caring, but again, we’d already seen that . . . and so on. This was an opportunity to delve into each of them deeper, but the game just rehashed what we already knew of them from the previous game rather than going into it in any more depth. Arguably the only ones we got to see more sides of were, of all characters, Kohga and Rhoam, and even that wasn’t much. So while it was nice to see these characters again and spend more time with them, I also feel that there was a major wasted opportunity in terms of writing and characterization, particularly since we never saw any major bonding moments with them unlike what we saw in the Champion’s Ballad on photo day.

I LOVED Purah, but I was insanely disappointed that she wasn’t a playable character. At first I thought it might be because they didn’t want to give us two Sheikah, but they were fine giving us two Rito, two Zora, etc, so I don’t see why Purah couldn’t have been playable. Yeah, she’s a scientist, but she’s also a freaking ninja. You can’t tell me she wouldn’t be able to defend herself. So while I’m happy that she had such a big role in the plot (bigger than Robbie, arguably), it disappoints me that we weren’t able to play as her.

Astor is a fascinating character, and I feel it’s at least heavily implied that he was the oracle who foretold Calamity Ganon’s return in the actual timeline. But that’s not specified and we really don’t learn anything about him other than Ganon apparently chose Astor himself, and wanted to use him as his right-hand, so that was a bit of a letdown all things considered. If he was the prophet, why didn’t Rhoam say anything? And how could Calamity Ganon choose Astor from the Dark World, or wherever he was sealed this time? Before playing my original thought was that Astor was basically like Agahnim — that is, a manifestation of Ganon that he uses to act while he’s still sealed in the Dark World, rather than an actual person who exists. But that doesn’t seem to have been the case, so . . . who knows.

Some of the maps could be really frustrating, in that the path to take either wasn’t clear enough or there were gates closed with no clear clues on how to open them, blocking off an outpost you needed to get it. My method of getting around this was usually to tell one of the A.I. characters to go there and then follow them (or switch to another character and tell the character I had been playing with to go there and trust the A.I. to accomplish it, etc) but it was still pretty annoying. That said, at least there were ways around it, and the maps themselves tended to be pretty big and well detailed, so I don’t hate the map design too terribly.

Did Sooga die? I honestly could not tell. On the one hand, it sure seemed like he died considering he was never again shown in a cutscene after Astor betrayed the Yiga Clan. On the other, I seem to vaguely remember seeing him on the battlefield sometimes and I find it very strange that Kohga wouldn’t mention wanting to avenge Sooga in particular if he was dead. But I honestly couldn’t figure out whether Sooga was dead or alive, so this goes in the neutral category for now because I don’t know whether to be mad about it or not.

The Cons:

NINTENDO. FUCKING. LIED. ABOUT WHAT. THIS GAME. WAS SUPPOSED. TO BE. Yes, that needed to be bolded, and yes, it needed to be in all caps. Nintendo advertised Age of Calamity as a canon prequel to Breath of the Wild. They did it over, and over, and over again. And do you know what? They lied! Because Age of Calamity is not, and could never be, a canon prequel to Breath of the Wild. It can’t be, because it’s an Everybody Lives AU that negates Breath of the Wild in its entirety. And as someone who downloaded the demo thinking that this was going to be a canon prequel—as someone who tried to hold out hope for that even with the warning signs in the demo—that made me really angry, upset, and concerned about the canon sequel. Because you see, Breath of the Wild merged the original three timelines so that we wouldn’t have to deal with split timeline nonsense anymore. But now Nintendo, for some incomprehensible reason given that Aonuma himself was allegedly the one who didn’t want to have to deal with split timelines anymore, went ahead and created a new one. And my concern is whether any of the bullshit that happened in Age of Calamity will affect Breath of the Wild 2 or not. Realistically it shouldn’t, given that Age of Calamity can’t lead into Breath of the Wild at all. But with the Neo Champions having gone to Age of Calamity to help them, I have concerns. Major concerns. If Age of Calamity affects Breath of the Wild 2 in any way, I’m going to be livid. And before I continue, let me just take a moment to say this: It’s not that I wanted to see the Champions be murdered, per se. I love all four of the Champions and I think that their deaths were absolutely tragic. But at the same time, that was kind of the entire point, or at least part of it. The fall of Hyrule and the death of the Champions were traumatic scars on the land. Countless people died that day, on top of the Champions being murdered in their Divine Beasts. Link himself technically died, or at least very nearly did. Entire villages were wiped out. You can still see those ruins on the landscape, untouched, crawling with monsters. But despite that, over the past 100 years, Hyrule has rebuilt. People are still alive, and are still thriving in different villages across the landscape. Many have not forgotten the past, especially those who had sent Champions to defend Hyrule 100 years ago. But they’ve still continued living, and in that, have refused to let Calamity Ganon defeat them. Moreover, the battle from 100 years ago is not finished yet. Zelda has trapped Ganon in the castle with her and waits for Link to come help her finish things, which they do. The Champions died, but Hyrule did not lose. Hyrule put the battle on pause until they could win, which they did. Breath of the Wild, through having a massive tragedy take place in its backstory, gives us a tale about how victory can be grasped from the ashes, about how you can be broken, but not beaten, and how you can still push yourself up and win no matter how long it takes. That is a beautiful, a powerful story, and taking the Everybody Lives route completely demolishes that.  So suffice it to say, I thought the story presented in Age of Calamity was complete garbage.

But honestly, it isn’t just the story completely demolishing and trashing all over the themes of Breath of the Wild that makes it bad, but it’s also what was done with the characters. There were so many pointless retcons of established story and character elements that were thrown completely out the window that a.) destroyed character relationships and b.) flattened characters and took away what made them well-written in the first place. As just a few examples: — It is established in Creating a Champion (the Breath of the Wild compendium) that Link pulled the Master Sword from its pedestal when he was around 11 or 12 years old, and thus was known to be the Hero from that point forward. Note that he had already been in the knights at this point; we know from Mipha’s diary in the original game that he visited Zora’s Domain as a small child and was already sparring with adult knights at that time (which seems crazy, but he is the Hero, so). Nevertheless, being the Hero made Link realize just how much was riding on him, and how everyone in the kingdom was now looking to him as the Hero who would save them, personally. This caused Link to completely shut down his emotions out of anxiety of letting the people down or disappointing them in any way. He also stopped talking for the most part, again afraid that he would say the wrong thing and disappoint everyone. But in Age of Calamity, this is thrown out the window. From a gameplay perspective I get that perhaps they didn’t want you to have the Master Sword at the start, but since you can keep strengthening the Master Sword anyway there’s no reason why they couldn’t have just started it off as a kind of weak weapon that you power up over time. More importantly though is that Link has the same exact personality that he had in the memories in Breath of the Wild, even though he is not the Hero at the start of the game. I mean, he is, but no one knows that yet, and as such he has no reason to be stoic and silent, because his reason for being that way in Breath of the Wild’s backstory is completely gone. We could have gotten to see a goofier, more personable Link (even if they still wanted to keep him mostly silent), but instead we got a stoic, silent Link for literally no reason. It makes absolutely no sense.  — As an added contradiction to the above, Mipha tells Link in Age of Calamity that he “hasn’t changed a bit” when they meet again in Zora’s Domain. This is in direct contrast to her diary, wherein she notes that the wild boy she met when they were both children has changed completely when they meet again as teenagers into someone stolid, though she’s not aware of the reason why. So once again, they doubled down on removing backstory that made Link into a more complex, well-written character. — To that end, Link and Zelda’s relationship is also rewritten entirely (and by rewritten, I mean “had all complexity stripped from it and with it any meaningful development). Since Link is appointed Zelda’s personal knight because he fights well instead of because he’s the Hero, Zelda has absolutely no reason to resent him being appointed her knight here like she did in the original history. You see, in the original history, Zelda resented Link for seemingly stepping into his destiny with zero effort given, and also thought (because of her own insecurities and the rumors that Rhoam told her to her face were being circulated about her being “heir to a throne of nothing”) that he looked down on her for not being able to awaken her powers and step into hers. For this reason, she spent most of her time either avoiding him or yelling at him, though she notes in her diary that she feels bad for doing so because she knows that it’s not fair of her to treat him badly when he’s technically just trying to do his job. It’s not until he saves her from Yiga assassins that she starts to do a hard reassessment of her treatment of him, and starts to try to get to know him better . . . which results in her getting him to open up to her, and her being able to open up to him in turn, and both of them becoming each other’s confidant. This in turn makes it understandable when it’s Link’s near death which finally allows Zelda to come into her powers; on top of having lost everyone and seemingly everything else, Zelda saw the one person she could be vulnerable in front of about to die protecting her. Link was so important to her by that point, regardless of whether you see her feelings for him as romantic or not, because he supported her emotionally on top of being there for her in physical defense. That is why her powers awakened when they did, why he was the final trigger. But in Age of Calamity, none of that happens. Zelda doesn’t resent Link because he’s not the Hero at the time he’s appointed her personal knight. Even when he gets the Master Sword later, Zelda is just sad about it rather than holding any sort of resentment or anger toward him. We never see them bond or become close; unlike in Breath of the Wild, where we have memories of Zelda trying to feed him a frog, opening a conversation about fate and destiny and whether one could make a choice in opposition to those things, or scolding him while patching up his wounds, all we get here are repeated scenes of Link defending Zelda from attacks. That’s it. We never see her have any sort of actual conversation with him, we never see them bond or have any non-battle related moments together. We certainly never get an indication that Link opens up to her either, which means that each time he protects her here it’s less “I’m protecting the one person who I’ve been able to open up to about who I really am” and more “it’s all about my paycheck.” Link and Zelda’s relationship, whether you saw it as romantic or not, was the core relationship in Breath of the Wild. And yet, in an alleged prequel (that wasn’t really a prequel after all!), it’s pretty much nonexistent.  — Moreover, Zelda’s character gets flattened, too. Here’s the thing about Zelda in Breath of the Wild: She’s written like a real person. She has many good qualities (selfless, devoted, intelligent), but also many flaws (stubborn, short-tempered, quick to judgement). The way Zelda decided she knew all she needed to know about Link right away and reacted accordingly (and by “reacted accordingly” I mean “treated him badly”) was a result of her flaws. But Zelda realizing that what she was doing was wrong and endeavoring to make things right was a direct result of her good qualities. Breath of the Wild’s Zelda is not a perfect person, not because she has a difficult time unlocking her powers (pretty much anyone would in her position, she was dealt the shittiest hand in the world), but because she’s a realistic person who has flaws and makes mistakes and is just doing her best in a world that is determined to knock her down at any opportunity. As a result, we see a lot of emotional range from Zelda throughout the memories in Breath of the Wild. We see her curious and inquisitive, we see her frustrated, we see her sad, anxious, angry, playful, determined, loving, impatient, brave. She’s a compelling character because she is a character, rather than the Deus Ex Machina perfect princess who exists only to either be rescued or be a holy figure who seals away the evil at the end. (Which I mean, she does seal away the evil at the end, but that’s far and away not the only thing she does.)  But in Age of Calamity we see . . . basically none of that. There are very brief moments where Zelda is curious about technology, or where she daintily laughs at something Terrako does. She does get determination and her anxieties wiped away after she awakens her power near the end. But for 90% of the game all we see from her is her being anxious or sad about her power. We don’t see her get irrationally resentful of or angry toward Link. We don’t see her getting impatient, making hasty judgments about people or animals (remember, she also judged her horse as unworthy of the royal bridle before Link helped her learn how to bond with her horse properly), or doing mischievous things like trying to make her personal knight eat a frog for Science. I’m going to be perfectly honest with you: While I deeply felt for Zelda in the flashbacks of Breath of the Wild, I got tired of her constant “:( I’m useless :(” angst in Age of Calamity. It got old pretty quickly. And most of all, I was so disappointed to see that the character I loved was now just here to be a woobie, rescued by Link half a dozen times and sad for most of the story. Breath of the Wild’s Zelda is my favorite Zelda, and she was done such an injustice in this game. It was immensely disappointing.  — Link and Zelda were not the only issues here, though. The way the Yiga Clan also needs to be talked about, and in order to discuss them, I have to first remind everyone of their history. So. 10,000 years ago. Civilization was thriving thanks to Sheikah scientists and innovators, who created things such as the Sheikah Slate, the Guardians, and the Divine Beasts. It was this technology that allowed Hyrule to triumph over Calamity Ganon the first time he came around to play (or at least that time that he came around to play), and they won pretty handily at that. However, the Hyrulean King at the time quickly grew suspicious and fearful of the Sheikah. Although the Sheikah had faithfully served the Hyrulean Royal Family for milennia due to their goddess-given oaths, the King of Hyrule felt that the Sheikah not only could, but would use their technology to rebel against Hyrule and dismantle the Royal Family. As a result, he: - Exiled the Sheikah from Central Hyrule, as well as any villages or towns where Hylians lived. - Criminalized Sheikah technology, which included imprisoning (or even executing) any Sheikah known to be conducting scientific research, as well as destroying Sheikah technology (or burying what could not be destroyed, such as the Divine Beasts and Guardians).  - Essentially legalized Sheikah oppression. The people of Hyrule backed the king in his decree, for the most part, buying into the bigotry and prejudice that spurred it on. The Sheikah had everything taken from them and destroyed: their homes, their research, their artifacts, everything. And while some Sheikah remained loyal to the oaths they swore to the goddesses and decided to keep peacefully in a newly formed, yet secret out of fear of retaliation, village (Kakariko), another group of Sheikah were rightfully fucking pissed at being oppressed and subjugated for no good reason, especially right after they helped save the world. Their opinion on the matter was “fuck that guy, AND his entire family.” These Sheikah became known as the Yiga Clan. Now, why they felt it was a good idea to side with Calamity Ganon is not entirely clear, given that destroying the world would also mean destroying them. But I think that on top of being furious with the Royal Family for this betrayal, they were also furious with the goddesses, because not a single goddess stepped in to defend them when they were being betrayed and oppressed. The Sheikah had kept loyal to their oaths for millennia, and yet this was how they were repaid. If you think about it like that, then the Yiga siding with the one who would destroy everything and everyone the goddesses had ever created makes a twisted kind of sense, even though it assures their own destruction right along with it. And now that we’ve refreshed that backstory . . . let us visit what happens with the Yiga in Age of Calamity. So. First, we see that Astor is the one who has convinced Kohga to go along with reviving Calamity Ganon, even though that doesn’t really make sense since serving Calamity Ganon has kind of been the Yiga’s thing from the get-go, and that they didn’t hate Zelda and Link because Astor told them to, but rather because Zelda was a member of the Royal Family (a.k.a. the people the Yiga have held a grudge against for 10,000 years), and Link is the knight defending her / the Hero. Next, we see that they’re completely aimless without instructions from Astor, which again, doesn’t really make sense considering their goals have always been pretty clear and they’ve been a tightly-run organization from the beginning no matter how bumbling Kohga is. Finally, Age of Calamity has them join the Royal Family and heroes despite this being the antithesis of what they’ve been devoted to for, again, 10,000 years.  And here’s the problem with that: In Age of Calamity, Kohga’s alleged reasoning for wanting to join with Zelda (and bowing to her, what the fuck) is because Astor used Yiga Clan foot soldiers (and I think Sooga? It was unclear) to fuel Evil Terrako to resurrect Calamity Ganon. Kohga felt betrayed by this and thus decided to take Astor down. Given that the Yiga Clan have been established to hold grudges over betrayal for millennia, Kohga turning on Astor makes sense. However, it was also already established that the Yiga wanted to revive Calamity Ganon to destroy the entire damn world even though it would mean their deaths as well, because they hated the Royal Family and goddesses just that much. So Kohga deciding to join the Royal Family, and actually bowing to Zelda, makes absolutely zero sense and cannot be excused just because they gave him a line about gagging at the fact that he joined up with Zelda. It’s a complete dismissal of and slap in the face to the legitimate reasons that the Yiga Clan had for defecting from the Sheikah, and does absolutely nothing to address the oppression the Sheikah people suffered as a direct result of the Hyrulean Royal Family’s laws. And yes, that was 10,000 years ago and Zelda herself had nothing to do with it, but we also have little evidence that the current Royal Family has done anything to change it, at least for reasons other than their own benefit. It’s stated in Creating a Champion that King Rhoam was the first king since then to reach out to the Sheikah to try to repair that relationship, and that he only did so when the prophecy about Calamity Ganon rising again was made. Moreover, he made sure to keep a very tight watch on the Sheikah scientists, indicating that he still may not trust them. So whiel the actual betrayal was 10,000 years ago, it’s clear that the Royal Family has not once in 10,000 years attempted to genuinely make up for the oppression that was forced upon the Sheikah, and so the Yiga Clan have every right to still be absolutely fucking furious about it. I can’t blame them for that at all, and I hated seeing Kohga bow to Zelda like that for that reason. (All of this said, no, it doesn’t excuse their other bastardry, such as stealing the Thunder Helm, or murdering the wife of someone who tried to peacefully defect and then threatening to also murder his young children if he didn’t continue to do Yiga missions. The Yiga do some truly fucked up things and that bastardry is not excused by their sad history. However, when it comes to the Royal Family their resentment and fury makes sense, and I hate that this wasn’t addressed in a game that wanted you to team up with the Yiga. They’re not the haha funny bad guys, they’re people who had a legitimate reason to be furious, and the Sheikah as a whole were never given anything remotely close to reparations by the Hyrulean Royal Family. This is something I hope is addressed in Breath of the Wild 2, although my expectations for that are pretty low.) — Finally, while a much lesser note than all of the above, I also found Riju’s characterization to be questionable. I might be misremembering her small part in Breath of the Wild, but while we learn from her diary that she does have some doubts about her ability to lead the Gerudo at her age (particularly given that the Thunder Helm was stolen from her), I don’t remember her having such low confidence, or being so meek so that she would constantly need Urbosa supporting her. I feel like they may have characterized her that way because she’s a child, which I mean, I guess I understand, but it just felt like an alteration of her character to me. I could be wrong since it’s been a while since I played through that part of Breath of the Wild, but that aspect of her character just felt off to me.

Moving on from the story and the characters, I also have to say that the amount of graphical inconsistencies in this game were really just . . . impressive in number. I’m talking specifically about Link’s different outfits, and whether he would actually be wearing them in cutscenes or not, because honestly? You could never know if he was going to be in the outfit you put him in, or if he was going to be in the Default Outfit for any given cutscene. I get the feeling that the difference lies somewhere in-between whether something was a pre-rendered cutscene or like, a quick time event one, but nonetheless it just felt incredibly sloppy and kind of defeated the purpose, at times, of being able to dress Link how you wanted him.

I had issues with the gameplay at times as well, apart from what I already mentioned before. Namely, I found it incredibly frustrating how sometimes, despite being locked on to an enemy, the Sheikah Slate apps wouldn’t actually target that enemy (e.g. Stasis activating on a bokoblin instead of the targeted attacking Lynel). Similarly, I wasn’t a fan of how A.I. characters couldn’t be easily pointed around the map at times, refusing to go to certain locations until you swtiched to them and forced them to go there (e.g. when you had to manually make them jump down to the field during the Akkala Citadel battle).

Why in the actual hell can you not a.) eat ingredients other than apples during battle to heal, and b.) BUY APPLES LIKE ANY OTHER INGREDIENT? Holy fuck it was so goddamn annoying having to go into random battles to try and scrounge up apples from crates and boxes, and only really being able to do it from lower level battles because higher level battles wouldn’t give them as readily to "increase difficulty” (more like to increase frustration). I see no reason why you couldn’t purchase apples from shops, or eat other food items like berries or fish like you could in Breath of the Wild. Apples didn’t even heal that much health, so you had to mash several of them at once late game, and you could only hold a small number and couldn’t buy more . . . frustrating. Just absolutely frustrating for no good reason. (Like if it was a harder difficulty restriction I’d understand, but for normal difficulty? Jeez.)

All in all, if Nintendo had just been upfront and honest about this being an alternate universe game from the very start, I probably wouldn’t have been as furious as the story as I was. I would have still been disappointed, but the anger wouldn’t have been there at the very least. But the weren’t honest—they lied in order to get people to buy the game, and so that dragged the score down along with everything else. While I did like some aspects of this game, overall I feel that it could have been so much better, and all I can hope is that none of it affects Breath of the Wild 2 in any way, shape, or form.

[raffinit]

Sylvaina AU where Sylvanas saves Jaina in Thros before KAtherine and the Alliance?

i hacked the system at work for this

i hope you’re ready for 3k of drama

--------

Sylvanas pursed her lips. “Must you do this?”

“You know I do. I want to.”

She’d known the answer and still she loathed it. Sighing, she regarded the figure silhouetted against the moonlight; pale hair illuminated like the very cast of Elune herself. She approached carefully, for however long that they shared a bed — there were still many facets to her lover that Sylvanas did not quite yet know.

Gently, she reached out and dared to lay a hand on the other woman’s shoulder. “Jaina,” she murmured; almost beseeching. Almost. “You know this is a suicide mission.”

Jaina sighed, but leaned gratefully into her touch. Emboldened, she pressed forward, until they were flush together.

Nuzzling softly into Jaina’s hair, she said, “At least keep Alina with you.”

Sighing once more, Jaina turned her head to brace her temple against Sylvanas’ chin. “No,” she said quietly. “I need to do this alone. There’s no telling what sort of reception I’ll get — what more with Forsaken at my heels?”

For however much she loathed to admit it, Jaina was right. Their relationship was a closely guarded secret. To have a dark ranger come to the Lord Admiral’s aid in such a time would cause an uproar she had no mood to engage in.

Sylvanas made a low grumble of annoyance in her throat. “What are you hoping to gain from this?” She slid her hand idly along Jaina’s midriff, tracing her thumb over the ridge of every buckle and strap within reach.

“You know what.”

“I know what the Alliance hopes to gain. The Alliance is not synonymous to your personhood, you realise.”

Jaina was quiet for a long moment; lips pursed and eyes faraway. Finally, at length, she said, “Forgiveness, I suppose. Closure. I’m honestly not sure anymore.”

“Hmm. You know there’s a chance they’ll throw you behind bars before you open your mouth.”

Jaina shrugged. “If that is my mother’s wish, then so be it.”

“Jaina —”

She pulled away then, and Sylvanas quelled the urge to keep her in place. Jaina turned, expression grim and knowing. “You have to promise me you won’t storm Kul Tiras.”

“I won’t let you martyr yourself to soothe your guilty conscience,” she protested.

Jaina reached out and took one of Sylvanas’ hands between her own, squeezing gently, eyes almost pleading. “I’m asking you to trust me.”

“I trust you,” she said brusquely, turning her hand inward to twine their fingers and squeezing tight enough for Jaina’s brows to furrow. “I do not trust them.”

“Please,” Jaina murmured, then brought their joined hands up to her lips. “I need to do this.”

Sylvanas frowned, eyes narrowing slightly at the affection. It was soft; too soft to be without a motive. Jaina didn’t make it a habit to scheme in such a way, but even the Lord Admiral was not above using their devotion to one another for a single-minded purpose. 

Still, she felt her unbeating heart waver. Grumbling, she said, “...fine. But keep your ring on you. I will not let them sentence you to death for the ignorance of your father.”

Jaina smiled fondly and raised on her tiptoes to kiss Sylvanas softly. “I won’t be alone. Genn will be there with me —”

“That in no way soothes me.”

Chuckling, Jaina wrapped her arms fully around Sylvanas’ shoulders and brought them nose-to-nose. “I’ll make it up to you when I come back.”

Sylvanas pulled her close, kneading Jaina’s hips. “All I ask is that you return to me. In one piece.”

Jaina smiled wryly. “Dark Lady,” she purred teasingly. “What’s the point of having the Banshee Queen as a lover if she can’t even put me back together in death?”

“Don’t tease about that,” Sylvanas chided her gently. “I would give all of my val’kyr to keep you. You know that. I would even bargain with Bwonsamdi.”

“I know,” Jaina promised, kissing her tenderly. “And I would crawl on the beds of my nails back to you.”

“Let us hope that isn’t an option,” Sylvanas muttered, wrapping her arms tightly around Jaina.

-------

Were she in any kinder of a mood, Sylvanas would have gloated. Were it not for the unbridled fury brewing in her chest as her eyes skimmed over the scrawled letter from Alina, she would have laughed. Instead, she felt only a cold, brewing rage.

“Blightcaller,” she snarled.

The Ranger Lord materialised in a plume of mist. “Dark Lady.”

“Proudmoore’s mother. Where is she.”

“The Lady Proudmoore’s ship, my Queen. Headed somewhere along the western coast.”

Sylvanas said nothing else; she tore open a portal and marched through. The pathways between her personal quarters and Jaina’s were plenty and direct — and ones that she took great advantage of.

She emerged within the Lord Admiral’s private quarters of the flagship, bleeding fury and purpling mist. She heard a cry of surprise and turned; her blood-red eyes narrowing at the sight of the older Proudmoore.

Katherine staggered back in alarm. The resemblance between her and Jaina stirred something twisting and raw in Sylvanas’ chest, like oil fed into an already roaring flame. “You! What’re you doing here —”

“Jaina. Where is Jaina.”

The Lady Proudmoore continued to gape and sputter, eyes darting towards the door. “Guards!”

Sylvanas advanced on her menacingly. Mist and tendrils bled like a cape from her shoulders as several lashed out against the door to Jaina’s quarters and secured its latching. “I will ask you only once more,” she growled, face burning with fury. “Where. Is. She.”

Katherine stared up at her, pale and wide-eyed like a doe caught in a hunter’s trap. The answer came hoarse and guilty. “You’re too late. Whatever it is you wish of her — she’s out of your reach.”

“Do not presume to know what I am capable of, Lady Proudmoore,” she warned. “For your own sake. Now speak.”

“Not even the Banshee Queen would dare set foot on Fate’s End,” Katherine mumbled. “You wouldn’t make it out alive...or dead.”

A chill rose along Sylvanas’ spine. Fate’s End. Thros. The Blighted Lands. The cursed realm of Gorak Tul. Her claws itched to sink into Katherine’s chest; to pry that wretched heart from within the woman’s body, but she knew Jaina would never forgive her. 

“You sentenced your own daughter — your last living child —”

“I didn’t know!” Katherine cried. “I didn’t know Priscilla would ever —”

Sylvanas’ eyes blazed, daring her to speak more lies, but Katherine merely swallowed back her words.

“Your daughter returned in an act of goodwill and guilt for the sins of her father before her. She returned to her homeland prepared to suffer as a criminal despite her better judgement. She knew the outcome would be bleak, but to do this. All because she held some misplaced hope that you would be sensible enough to listen.”

Katherine’s face twisted briefly, caught between agony, shame and grief before it smoothed over with indifference. “What does it matter to you, monster?”

It was then that Sylvanas laughed. Cruelly. “My dear Lady Proudmoore,” she cooed, though the sweetness of her voice promised only a slow and painful torment. “It matters to you; that my love for Jaina is the only thing staying my hand from killing you where you stand.”

Katherine blanched. “You l—”

She wasted no more time. Pulling the shadows around her, she disappeared in a great whirl of power, a low, building Wail echoing in her wake.

------

The shores of Fate’s End all but bristled with ancient power. Encompassing and overbearing enough to almost make her skin crawl. Almost. She strode through the cloying fog with single-minded purpose; single-minded intent. There was a figure coalescing in the distance — made of the earth and wood bridling with old magic.

Her voice carried on the fog and mist, echoing and sharp. “High Thornspeaker.”

The great beast regarded her with no expression, its voice like the grating bark and stone. “How curious. You are no mainlander. No living creature of this earth. Who dares —”

“I have no qualms with your kin,” she said briskly. “There is a being here not meant for the realm. Return her to me and I will leave you in peace.”

“None who have entered Thros have ever returned. Some pathways are best left closed, lest those on the other side set foot upon them.”

“Oh, we are well past peeking, old bear.”

The voice made Sylvanas bristle like a cat; she took Deathwhisper in hand and spun about, nocking an arrow.

“Gorak Tul!” the old bear gasped. “It cannot be!”

“Spare your exclamations for later,” Sylvanas spat, shedding her earthly figure and pulling into the mist and shadows of her banshee form. “We end this now.”

She slaughtered her way through them all; she did not stop to think. She did not care to do so. All she cared to think of was Jaina. By the time the shadows were beaten back, the path was clear.

The old bear approached her warily, gleaming eyes peering into her face with thought. “Your powers...they may help you after all.”

“Gorak Tul will not stand in my way,” she murmured, glancing at him sidelong. “Open the path, Thornspeaker.”

“I am called Ulfar,” he said. “And I shall guide you. Perhaps you may yet succeed in your quest.”

-----

The land of Thros was almost cold enough to chill her. It reeked of ancient magic and old earth; corrupt and rotting like sunken ships eaten away by salt and time. She moved carefully but with haste.

A flash of movement caught her and she jerked — a figure. A child. Sylvanas knew that fair hair and bright blue eyes.

“It’s...all my fault…”

“Jaina,” she said, but the vision fled, its sobs echoing in the hollow space.

“Warchief!”

Sylvanas whirled about, daggers in hand, teeth bared — then paused in genuine surprise. “Lady Proudmoore,” she said, eyeing the figure warily. Was it yet another phantom? “What are you doing here?”

Katherine swallowed back a breath, eyes darting about them in muted fear. “The Tidesages still serve our family with loyalty. Brother Pike showed me the way. An Alliance champion escorted me, but — they sacrificed their life for mine.”

Scowling, she sheathed her knives. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here; only how.”

Quietly, Katherine said, “Jaina is my daughter. I’ve failed her enough. She is here somewhere...suffering. I won’t leave her to suffer any longer.”

“By your own doing,” Sylvanas replied harshly, spinning on her heels and marching forward into the mist. “Keep up, Lady Proudmoore. Vengeful spirits have no sympathy for belated guilt.”

They ventured deeper and deeper within the realm; plagued by each haunting memory of Jaina's life. Sylvanas knew these ghosts all too well, knew their insidious whispers and bristled at them when they dared to encroach on her personal space. The corrupted arcane and fel magic that fueled her kept them at bay, but every step they took weighed heavier and heavier on Katherine.

The anguish on Jaina’s mother’s face was almost something to relish — had it not come at the heels of Jaina’s own pain. Sylvanas’ ears flicked and flattened to her skull as she continued onwards, baring her teeth and hissing when shimmering figures appeared.

“You let your personal biases taint the Kirin Tor! I was a fool to think you could be our leader!”

Katherine let out a pained moan. “My dearest Jaina...reason alone cannot dictate all of your choices. If you abandon your feelings, only an empty darkness will remain.”

The irony was almost enough to make Sylvanas laugh. “They lied to her,” she growled. “She was nothing more than a scapegoat.” She lifted a hand and set her tendrils upon the phantom of Rhonin, curling her fist tight until they wound in purple chains around him.

Rhonin made a monstrous roar, splitting apart and crumbling like a fine china vase. He fell away into nothing; but so did Jaina.

Sylvanas swore under her breath and strode ahead quickly. They encountered Daelin Proudmoore; his voice booming and dripping with accusation. It made her bristle openly with the way Jaina cowered, the guilt that bled off the mage’s shoulders as Varian Wrynn took his place.

“You were at my side in the Undercity. We had them cornered! Justice was within my grasp! I could have ended them all! Sylvanas... Thrall... Think what our world could have been without them and their twisted Horde! But you... You stayed my blade. How many Alliance soldiers died that day? And in all the battles that followed?”

“They did nothing to deserve it then!” Jaina cried. “You can’t kill them for the sake of hindsight. The Horde has suffered the same as us.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Sylvanas said, though she knew Jaina could not hear. “The Alliance will always justify the death of my people. Forsaken and Horde.” She nocked an arrow and aimed for Varian’s throat. Levelling Deathwhisper, she fired.

He fell with a roar of outrage, crumbling to his knees. “We will not be denied...our vengeance…”

Sylvanas took some vicious pleasure of kicking his form into nothingness. “Be quiet, old man. Go in peace while I’m generous enough to grant you it.”

Katherine trailed after her wordlessly, eyes haunted and thoughtful. “Seeking an end to bloodshed is a noble pursuit. I wish her father could have learned that lesson.”

“There is a saying we share,” Sylvanas said, trekking onwards quickly. “About old dogs and new tricks. And letting sleeping dogs lie.”

“Yes,” Katherine replied faintly. “The past is the past. Jaina shouldn’t need to bear it all on her shoulders.” Her head shot up abruptly then, eyes sharp. “I hear something.”

Sylvanas’ ears swivelled intently. She could hear nothing but the low howls of the wind.

Katherine’s eyes widened. “Daelin!”

“You stood and watched as those animals cut me down. What has your betrayal earned you?”

A familiar voice came, trembling and thick. “Father... please…”

“They took your father...betrayed your king...and you did nothing! Will you abandon all your allies to the Horde?”

Sylvanas rushed forward — there. A fountain. A familiar place. Daelin Proudmoore and Jaina.

“You have always been naive, my daughter.”

“I won't let you do it, father!”

Sylvanas snarled as Daelin lifted a hand — bracing tense as he swept it down abruptly between him and Jaina. 

“You don't understand!” Jaina begged.

Daelin sneered and lifted eerie milky eyes that honed in on Sylvanas with startling lucidity. “I understand more than you suspect, my dear.”

Sylvanas met them without fear, ears pressed flat to her skull as she bared her teeth in a hiss. Her hand reached for a dagger; she flung without thought or care, only instinct as it tore through the imperious face of Daelin Proudmoore.

“She couldn’t save him…” Katherine mumbled, with dawning realisation. “From himself.”

“I’m starting to see that Jaina’s tendencies for martyrdom is a family trait,” she drawled.

A spectre of Jaina took shape in the middle of a hollow. The lost, helpless look on her face was too real, too raw and searching that it stirred an ache in Sylvanas’ chest.

She made to move forward — then froze entirely.

That armour. That wretched face.

The shadows came alive around her, writhing like snakes and hungry limbs as her banshee form strained beneath her skin.

“We're too late. This entire city must be purged.”

Jaina stepped back, shaking her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Arthas. I can’t watch you do this.”

Arthas’ face twisted then, colour draining from his skin, his hair, his armour. Everything bleeding away to ice. “You’ve been tainted, Jaina. I can smell it on you. You reek of their corruption — of her touch.”

“Arthas, please,” Jaina begged. “This is madness.”

“Madness?” he hissed, as his eyes began to glow. “I will show you the true meaning of madness.”

“You will not have her!” Sylvanas roared. She burst forth with a shriek, unravelling into her banshee form, claws outstretched. Her tendrils wound viciously around him, a cloak of darkness engulfing him as he struggled and kicked and swore at her. She tore into him incandescent fury, growing brighter and stronger with each pass of her claws into his flesh. She split his grinning mouth, took his glowing eyes and at last — ripped his blackened heart from his chest.

Arthas slumped forward onto his knees, maimed and mauled, unseeing eyes staring at them as Sylvanas coalesced before him.

“Madness,” he mumbled, with a jaw barely clinging on by a sinew.

Sylvanas curled her lip and spat at him; it landed on his cheek, like a tear. Then the Menethil prince was gone.

“S-Sylvanas…? Is that...really you?”

She turned to the figure; the spectre that seemed unwilling to fade away the same as the others. She stepped closer slowly, reaching out a hand.

Pale and drawn, Jaina recoiled, flinching as she turned wounded eyes at them both; Katherine and Sylvanas. She staggered back slightly, bringing her hands up to her ears. “Please,” she whispered. “I’ve heard enough. Don’t bring them into this, too.”

“She thinks we’re ghosts,” Katherine breathed. “She thinks we’re here to condemn her.” She stepped closer to Jaina, gentling her voice into a maternal coo. “Jaina, darling, it’s us. It’s me.”

Jaina shook her head, chest heaving with rising panic.

Sylvanas stepped forward, reaching up to caress Jaina’s face tenderly. She watched as pale lashes flickered, blue eyes darting up nervously, and felt a pang in her chest. 

“Dalah’surfal,” she whispered, stroking Jaina’s cheek. “I’m here.”

Jaina’s breath came in a gasp, eyes widening as the colour began to return to her cheeks. She pressed it eagerly into Sylvanas’ hand, reaching up with trembling hands to cradle it against her skin.

“Sylvanas,” she whispered, breathless with wonder. “You’re really here.”

“I promised you,” Sylvanas said, brushing Jaina’s hair back behind an ear gently. “Not even death would keep us apart.” She turned slightly and jerked her head towards where Katherine watched on; awkward and unsure.

Jaina gasped quietly, casting a darting look between them. “Mother…?” She waited for no answer, only threw herself into Katherine’s arms as well.

Katherine held on tightly, burying her face into Jaina’s hair as she caressed it with her hand. “My girl,” she sighed. “We have much to speak of. Could you ever forgive me, my dear?”

Sylvanas gave Jaina’s arm a squeeze. “We must go,” she said. “There will be time for reconciliation after we leave this cursed realm.”

[wisegiverchaos]

My Dream Last Night

 CONTEXT: I was thinking about sports bras during the day prior to going to bed, so I began the dream in some sort of store perusing sports bras. As is standard with dreams, the locations flowed into each other as if they all exist whithin a single monolithic, labyrinthine structure. The store flowed from a women’s clothing section into Target’s home section, past ottomans and blankets and candles. From the home section it became a back hallway (think employee corridors at malls) which emptied into several different spaces via doorways. The doorway I eventually take in the dream leads to a darkened picturesque chapel. After passing through the chapel I’ll stumble into a spacious office space with multiple individual offices, and a reception area with a couch and a couple of comfortable chairs. (The bad guy that pops up appears to be the Darkling from Shadow and Bone, which makes sense, I guess, because I find him attractive. His minions are generic bad guys as well as Dakota Fanning at 14 and Alexander Ludwig at the same age.) The reception doors of the office lead outside, where I’ll find myself on a wooded mountain containing the occasional house, as well as some towering trees. I rejoin my team (which I apparently have) and end up near a house toward the foot of the mountain, when a dam bursts. (Makes total sense because I was just reading a book wherein a dam burst and many people were killed. It also included a mountain slope with many trees at one point in the story, so that’s probably where that came from.) We must climb trees in an effort to avoid being swept away. So there you go, that’s what I’ve got.

    I held the package of sports bras, debating. They were cute, and a really good price, but there were five in there, and I’d only been after two. It was a steal, I decided, nodding to myself. If I could find my size I was taking them home. I began to dig through the hanging packages, on a mission. My concentration was broken by a rising clamor coming from the store to my right, and I looked for the cause of the sound. After a moment, a crowd of people charged into view, the fear on their faces communicating better than words that they were fleeing something. Suddenly feeling a sick lance of fright slash through my gut, I turned on my heel and ran, not interested in being trampled. I dodged piles of blankets and candles and leapt over ottomans, some endlessly consumerist part of my brain registering that “huh, those are cute,” as I fled.

    I burst through a large set of swinging doors, through which I’d seen many an employee disappear, and found myself in a large receiving bay. To my left yawned a seemingly endless hallway, studded with doors on either side. I chose the hallway. I was about forty feet into the hall when the swinging doors burst open under the flood of people. I poured on the speed. Up ahead, I noticed one of the doors was slightly ajar, and I angled for it. I skidded to a stop, swung inside, and slammed and locked the door. I leaned heavily against it, listening to the horde of frightened humans stampede past, and I noticed absently that I had locked myself into a broom cupboard. A cramped cleaning closet. I jumped as the door handle was jostled several times, and I pushed my weight into the door just in case. The thunder of footsteps began to recede, along with shouts and the occasional scream. I sank to the floor and rested my head on my knees.

    I awoke sometime later, minutes or hours, I’m not sure, shocked to realize I’d actually fallen asleep. That seemed foolish, given that I didn’t even know what I’d been running from so recently. On my knees, I turned to the door and pressed my ear to it, straining to hear even the smallest sound. There was nothing. I slowly unlocked the door, keeping as quiet as possible. I still winced when the lock popped open, as loud as a gunshot to my paranoid ears. I waited with bated breath for any response to the noise, but the hallway outside remained stubbornly quiet.

         Inch by fraction of an inch, I pushed the door open (less than halfway), glad to be lower to the ground in case anyone was out there. Seeing no one to the left (from which direction I’d come) I poked my head around the door and searched the other end of the hall. Empty. There seemed to be no indication of the swarm of frightened people that had crashed through. I squinted. There were a few scuff marks on the floors and along the walls. To be fair, those could have come from before. There! On the floor up ahead, lay a single shoe.

   Shaking my head, I straightened to my feet. I considered returning the way I’d come, but dismissed the notion with a shiver. I had a bad feeling about going back, what I might see. So instead I turned right, and crept down the hallway, gently trying different doors to see if they’d open. I found another closet like mine, this one stacked with rolls of toilet paper, shelves of soaps, and paper towels; supplies rather than cleaning agents.

   Further down, I had luck with another door. When the door cracked open, I could sense that it was an actual room, rather than a closet, and I paused, waiting. When there was no sound or response, I pulled it open far enough to peek inside. All was dark. Without giving myself time to talk some sense into myself, I slipped inside, the door closing and plunging myself into inky darkness. I stood still, blinking, and waited for my eyes to adjust. I could feel that I was in a very large, open space. As I gained some vision, I could see that I was in a chapel with soaring, vaulted ceilings, a weak sliver of light emanating from behind a pulpit. I turned in a small circle, taking in what little I could make out, and nearly shrieked as I realized I was not alone.

   Rows and rows of pews lined the sides of the cavernous space, every one of them filled to capacity with motionless figures. They were so still, that for a moment I wondered if the pews were holding mannequins for the store. The notion was dispelled, however, when I realized I could hear them breathing in the stillness. On tiptoe, I approached the nearest pew, situated against the back wall. I peered at the woman seated in front of me, feeling at any moment she might jump at me and shout and I would absolutely pee my pants. But she just sat placidly, staring straight ahead, blinking occasionally. Her hands rested in her lap, palms pressed together as if she’d been praying. I looked at the man to her left, and the woman to her right, and they sat in exactly the same position, palms together, staring straight ahead with no expression.

              Eerie.

    I nearly screamed when I heard the door handle begin to turn behind me. Finding no empty spaces of the pews, to try and blend in, I clambered onto the back of the pew, jostling the strange, empty people. From the pew, I leapt at the wall, just managing to catch hold of the bottom of the nearest rafter, which arced toward the ceiling. I scrambled into a secure position, clutching to the beam like a monkey, just as the door swung open. A pair of men entered, talking quietly to one another, each with a scary-looking rifle slung over his shoulder. They walked below me, ostensibly unaware of my presence. They paused in the middle of the chapel, and I lost sight of them for a moment when the door swung shut and  the sliver of light that had illuminated them disappeared. I blinked, waiting for my vision to readjust. The men continued chatting.

   When I could finally see again, I stretched my leg as far as I could go, relieved when I felt my toes hit the next rafter over. I carefully rested more and more of my weight on it until I could safely heave the rest of my body over. In this manner, I slowly made my not-so-graceful way across the chapel. I froze every so often, especially as I neared the men’s location, certain they would hear my movements and soft swearing; but any sounds I made were eaten up by the high ceilings, which also explained why I couldn’t make out anything specific that the men were saying. When I reached the far end of the chapel, I could make out the faint, dark outline of a second door. I settled in to wait, realizing there’d be no getting down and through the door without them noticing.

    Happily, I didn’t have to wait very long. After a couple of minutes walking between the frozen people, snapping or waving in front of their faces, the men seemed to bore. They wound their way back to the door through which they’d entered and left. I remembered just in time to close my eyes to retain what little night-vision I’d achieved. Shaking my head to myself, I lowered my body carefully from the beam, until my questing toes encountered the back of a pew. My other foot joined it, and I bounced quietly to the floor. I put my ear to the new door, and hearing nothing, I pushed it open enough to slip through.

  I was blinded again, this time by a normal level of light rather than a lack thereof. Blinking rapidly, I took in my new surroundings. I was in an office, of sorts. Dim, half lighting revealed various cubicles stretched in front of me that ran to my right, and a hall of actual, private offices with windows and blinds to the left. I chose left, creeping down the hall. I peeked into the offices and continued on, pausing at one with a door on the opposite side of the small room. After a brief look around, I padded into the office, heading for the door. I listened again, heard nothing again, and turned the knob. I pulled the door halfway open, and peeked outside. It was a reception area, open and airy, admitting natural light from large windowed doors to the outside. Empty.

   I let out a quiet sigh of relief, the air whooshing out of my and slumping my shoulders. I opened the door the rest of the way and as I stepped through a quiet voice whispered, “Freeze.” I froze. My foot mid-step, my hand clamped around the doorknob. I wanted to look round, see who had spoken, but my head wouldn’t move. Indeed, my entire body suddenly seemed to be more inclined to follow the command of an unknown stranger than my own; I couldn’t even put my foot the rest of the way down. I jumped when a hand clamped onto my forearm… or rather, my heart jumped, and my adrenaline spiked. My body, however, remained still. Frozen, as commanded. What the –?

  “Relax your body, but don’t move after,” came the voice again. I registered a man’s voice before becoming distracted by my body inexplicably following his instructions. My foot came down, and drew back so I was standing rather than walking, my arms dropped loosely to my sides. “What –?” I started to ask, but he cut me off, “Don’t make a sound.” My mouth wouldn’t move, and after some effort, I realized I couldn’t hum or even breathe loudly. My heart pounded, and my traitorous knees felt weak. “Walk to the nearest sofa, then sit down and be still.” Before his words fully registered, my body was carrying me into the reception area toward a couch situated between two armchairs. I reached the couch, and as my body turned around to sit, I could finally see the stranger.

   He was somewhere near thirty, wearing a neat suit with no tie. He had dark hair, swept precisely off his forehead, and a closely trimmed beard. I was registering my surprise at his youth and (embarrassing as it is to admit) good looks, when I felt my knees bend, and my backside hit the couch. I sat, my back ramrod straight, and stared at the human puppeteer. Looking me over appraisingly, he instructed me to place my palms together and rest them on my knees, which I did. The strange, unmoving people in the chapel suddenly made a lot of sense.

    The man nodded to himself, as if checking off a task, then un-buttoned his jacket and sat down beside me, lounging back. Without warning, he placed a firm hand on my back. Again, I would have jumped had his command not rooted me in place. The man reached into his pocket with his other hand, withdrew a phone, and began texting someone. When he finished, he returned it and sat quietly, waiting. His right hand occasionally stroked my back absentmindedly, making me tense.

    I could tense! A flood of relief rushed through me at that tiny bit of agency. While we waited, I tensed all of the muscles I could, starting from my toes and moving up. I couldn’t move anything around, and simply tensing or flexing took massive effort, but it was something. Sadly, I could do nothing with my hands, barely managing a twitch, but the rest of my muscles responded and I was able to flex my arms and even my shoulders lightly. The man’s hand on my back stilled, and my stomach dropped. I’d been so focused on trying to move I’d failed to consider he might notice. There was a roaring in my ears as I waited for his reaction.

       He said nothing, and after a moment, his hand resumed lazily tracing patterns into my back. The relief I felt would’ve normally caused my shoulders to slump, but they stayed still as instructed. I concentrated my focus on my hands. The twitch had been better than nothing, and I could work with that. I couldn’t even begin to pull my hands apart, so instead I worked to flex my fingers, or maybe twist my palms against each other, taking care not to even twitch my shoulders. With the man leaning back into the couch, I couldn’t see him, only his legs next to mine, and an occasional flash of his arm in my periphery. I wondered if he was watching me, or merely staring off into space, so confident in his little trick that he didn’t feel the need to monitor me.

   I had finally gotten my fingers to bend consistently, though they stayed glued together, when I heard footsteps approaching. The hand dropped from my back and the man stood, re-buttoning his jacket, and walked somewhere to my left and back. My body tensed, wishing to run, but knowing I couldn’t.

  I had an idea burrowing into my head that if I could break one of his specific commands, even separating my hands, I’d be able to regain full control. With the man’s attention focused on the incoming footsteps, I put my all into twisting my palms against each other. I strained until the fingers of my right hand pointed straight up, while the left remained pointed ahead. With herculean effort, I pulled my right hand toward my chest while pushing the left straight forward. I just needed my palms to separate!

    Voiced greetings snapped my attention to the present, and my hands back into position. I could’ve screamed with frustration. I looked left, wondering if they’d noticed. Standing where they were, I couldn’t see them, even straining my eyes as hard as I was. After a beat, the man led the well dressed newcomers into my field of vision. My eyes widened slightly, and the three smiled at my minute reaction. They were teenagers. A boy and a girl, both blonde and pretty, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. I looked between the three of them, puzzled.  

    The man stepped forward, “I apologize for the wait, and I thank you for your patience,” he began, smiling at his own joke as if I’d had a choice. “My friends here were seeing to other matters,” he continued, nodding to the teens, “their skills being something of a precious commodity, and I didn’t wish to rush them. Besides,” he mused, eyes twinkling mischievously, “I rather enjoyed our time together.” I would have frowned if I could, but he read my confusion (and annoyance?) in my eyes as if he’d had practice reading frozen faces. Which, I supposed, he had.

     “I have a number of questions to ask you, and, not wishing to waste time waiting for you to pick over what you’d like to tell me, I’ve brought my dear friend Annika here to find the truth.” The girl gave a smile and a small wave when her name was mentioned. “Annika has the incredible ability to hear the thoughts inside your head,” claimed the man. I stared at him. He smiled indulgently at the cynicism he read on me, as well as my internal speculation as to his sanity. “You find your body controlled by the mere words of another and telepathy is beyond belief?” He laughed softly when I looked at the floor in consternation.

                  That was a good point.

   Sliding his hands into his pockets, the man stepped forward. “I’m going to ask you a series of questions, and when you think of the answer she’ll tell me what it is. It’s quite handy, because it’s not really possible to lie this way. When I say ‘don’t think of a pink elephant’ that’s exactly what flashes through your head.” He shrugged, “In the same vein, when I ask you a question, the correct, honest answer is the first thing that pops up. The notion to lie or make up a story comes after, and by that point Annika has already told me the truth. It’s a wonderful, painless way to obtain information, don’t you think?” he concluded, looking pleased with himself.

   My eyes stayed on the floor. If I could have furrowed my brow, I would have. I was utterly baffled by this current turn of events. I couldn’t fathom any possible line of questioning they’d have for me, let alone one that would require such lengths to ensure honesty. His point had convinced me she was legitimate, or at the very least he believed she was.. All I could do was watch their feet as they approached me. The boy perched on the arm of the couch, and the girl, Annika, sat down on my right side. The man resumed his place at my left, sitting forward attentively this time, his knee touching mine. I watched Annika’s hand take hold of my wrist, her hand dainty and warm, skin to skin. My scalp started to prickle, and I dimly wondered why she didn’t take one of my hands if she had to touch me. Internally rolling my eyes, I concluded that she didn’t want to break Mr. Suit’s favorite pose.

    She let out a small giggle, and my eyes snapped to her face. The man tilted his head and she turned her gaze to him, opening her mouth to speak, a pretty smile on her face. She paused and briefly turned back to me and said, “Thank you!” before again facing the man. I stared at her hand on my arm. Shit. She giggled again and told the man, “She’s funny.” A brow lifted and she continued, “She words things in her head in a way that just makes me laugh.” My heart began to race again.

   I’d thought I believed him, but had I really? She couldn’t…

 “I can,” she laughed, and my heart stuttered. “She only has my name, so she’s been calling you funny names in her head. Not like, bad names or anything, but it’s still funny.” She turned to the boy, “Nothing funny for you I’m afraid, Andrew, she was just calling you ‘the boy’, but you, sir,” She turned back. “You’re ‘puppeteer’, you’re ‘Mr. Suit’, you’re ‘creepy-evil-guy-who-shouldn’t-be-so-attractive’..” She trailed off with a giggle. My cheeks burned. “Aw, she’s blushing!” laughed the boy, Andrew. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the impossible embarrassment. “You guessed right, you know,” Annika chimed, my eyes cracking open to peek at her. “We are twins!” I wanted to nod politely, but of course couldn’t. Her uncanny ability told her anyway, and she smiled.

   “She’s really nice, all things considered. Most people are cursing me out in their heads by now.” My thoughts flashed to a moment prior. Smiling patiently, she patted my hand, “You didn’t call me anything. Thinking ‘shit’ was just you realizing that this was actually, really happening.” She turned to the suit conspiratorially, “She thought I was pretty you know. She’s scared out of her mind and she’s still really sweet. Oh, and his name is Mr. Flint, by the way,” she said, turning back to me, “he does wear great suits, though.” The man smiled indulgently, and I went back to staring at the floor. Could you please not do that? I thought. She squeezed my hand softly. I took that as a ‘no’. A kind one, in spite of the circumstances. She looked at “Mr. Flint”, then turned to me. “Let’s start with your name.” Ava. “And how you came to be sneaking through these offices.”

   Unable to talk, I thought about my day leading up to this moment. How had a simple trip to the store turned into a psychic interrogation? I had no idea who these people were, why they were here, or the purpose behind the chapel of zombies, as I’d taken to thinking of them. Annika tilted her head, frowning. “Is that true, Ava?” Hearing her use my name, my eyes jumped to meet hers. She gazed at me with concern. I don’t know anything, I thought, I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t know why. I don’t understand what’s happening. I blinked rapidly, quickly clearing the embarrassed/frightened tears that were trying to blur my vision. Her eyes softened. She looked at “Mr. Flint” and tilted her head to the left, gesturing with her chin.

     They stood, walking out of sight, Andrew trailing behind them. I stared after them, trying in vain to pick out specific words from the quiet murmur I could hear. Failing that, I began to flex my fingers again. They were easier to bend this time. Maybe it was because he was no longer touching me. Maybe his commands wore off after a little time. It still took immense effort, but twisting my palms took much less time, and I began the pull-push motion I’d been attempting earlier. I was so close. I could hear them talking, was it louder? Were they moving closer? I could feel sweat beading under my hair. Less than a half inch. My muscles shook, fighting each other.

    My palms parted, and it felt like I could finally breathe. Strength flooded my limbs and I leapt to my feet. Not pausing to wait for them to notice, I charged through the door and outside.

                                                                       * * *

     Blinking in the sun, I found myself on a mountainside, lush and verdant. I looked around, for a moment, then charged down the slope. Dodging trees and leaping boulders, I whooped. It sure was nice outside. I tumbled down the hill and nearly bowled over a small group of people. When we righted ourselves, I was thrilled to recognize my friends. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, we resumed our descent, passing the occasional house.

    As we neared the foot of the mountain, we heard a deep boom, followed by a thunderous roar. The dam had burst. The water was coming. Concluding we lacked sufficient time to make it across the bowl to our vehicles that awaited us on the opposite slope, we searched for higher ground. (That wouldn’t require re-climbing the mountain we’d just descended.)

   The house nearest to us stood in the shade of two massive trees, their trunks so thick it would take at least four of us to wrap our arms around their trunks. We scrambled onto the roof from the top of a shed  next to the house. We ran across the roof, teasing those who tripped even as we lifted them back up. We split into two groups, one for each tree. Two by two, we leapt from the roof onto the nearest branches and began to climb. Shouting taunts and jokes to one another, we situated ourselves as securely as we could, and held on for dear life. The crashing water felled dozens upon dozens of smaller trees, and with a great creaking groan, the house was ripped from its foundation and swept away.

Well, that’s all, folks. It was a weird one, but really, when aren’t my dreams weird?

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Nicole's Rambling: The Avengers Problem (for PS4)

Let's start with the usual chanting: ❗this is my opinion, it's biased as hell (since I grew up with Marvel comic books and movies) and you don't have to agree❗

I was wondering why Avengers game gets so hated... So I took a look and I played it myself. Let’s have a look.

SPOILERS AHEAD

First off: the game isn't in any way horribly bad. It's just a button smasher with a story that has its good and bad beats. It's not memorable at all, but it could've gone way more downhill in my opinion.

At the start of the game, you meet the mighty Avengers through child fan's eyes - it's pure fanservice and let's be honest, it's dope. It was sweet, but pretty dragged, to be honest. I really didn't need to play as all five Avengers (HAWKEYE IS MISSING, AGAIN) in the first hour of the game, but sure, why not?

For the most part, you see the squad through Kamala Khan's eyes. For those who might have not a clue who the hell Kamala is; I am not wondering about why you don't know who the hell she is. She's a Marvel heroine who outed in 2013 and who will have her own spinoff on Disney+.

And again, Ms Marvel is fine, but not memorable at all. I've never, until this day, met anyone who would say that 'Ms Marvel is my favourite superhero'. I was halfway through the game before I even realized it's Ms Marvel - AFTER SHE PULLED HER DAMN COSTUME OUT. That can be due to my utter ignorance or because I heard of her so little that I can count it on my fingers. In all honesty, I loved Kamala as the story progressed, the gal's not bad at all - but as the whole game, she had good and bad beats. There were times where I wished to play as Iron Man and the game forced me to play as her... Whatever.

Let's look at the three problems I have with this game and three positives I found in the game:

0. (Technically zero since it's a personal problem of mine) The soundtrack and the voice actors:

By any means, I am not trying to say they should hire RDJ for the role of Iron Man and Mark Ruffalo for the role of Banner... But it was so hard to distinguish the voice of Nolan North (For example: Nathan Drake x Iron Man) and Troy Baker (Samuel Drake x Bruce Banner). For me, as for a PS4 gamer, it's annoying to hear the same voices again and again in every game I am genuinely excited about (Idk how Xbox players are familiar with them). Of course, there's even Laura Bailey as the Black Widow; I feel like these are the three only people who do voice acting for games these days and sure, I should've seen that coming.

Side note: Nolan North is not a good fit for Iron Man in the slightest in my opinion, but if you like his Iron Man, that's cool as well!

The soundtrack... M A N, the soundtrack. When I heard Marvel gave a green light to the Avengers game, I expected to hear at least the iconic Alan Silvestri's 'The Avengers'. Problem with this is simple: Marvel had spoiled its consumers with good and memorable soundtracks (don't you tell me you don't remember as they all gathered for the first time). Since it was Marvel itself who gave the green light for this project, which was supposed to be based loosely on the movies' and comic book success, I hoped to get all of it.

It's not Iron Man when AC/DC song isn't playing in the background as he flies through a canyon for his life. I mean, Iron Maiden are fine; but come on. COME ON. It's not the same. It's not the Avengers (WITHOUT HAWKEYE) without their significant theme.

1. IT. BUGS. ALL. THE. TIME and the combat is incredibly repetitive:

When I was little, I was a rage gamer. I could barely play Crash Bandicoot or Rayman without losing my cool. Since then, I grew up, skilled and etc. I try not to rage when playing games since it's simply not worth it.

But when you're replaying a boring mission for the tenth part and you're almost over and SUDDENLY, the game bugs out and you lose control over the character (it starts running in circles, etc.) it sucks shit. And don't let me start on the minor bugs. Like when you don't cross the platform by one pixel and the game doesn't let you make combos when you're in the air and bug into a tree when you bug into a wall, a rock, fucking nothing... Bruh. It was released in August, shouldn't these bugs be fixed by now? The game is fucking broken, hoes. It barely feels like a game ready to launch at times.

When you're so lucky that you don't bug out in the middle of doing something, the combat... It isn't bad. It's not terrible, but the Avengers deserved something better. It didn't deserve mediocre combat that repeats itself in every level. Once you find yourself good combo, you're done for. You can use it to finish the game if you will.

2. There's too many missions, too much information and too much things player has to understand if he wants to play the game properly:

Okay, this might seem to be a little confusing; I didn't understand the game system at all when I first ran it on my PS4. There's story missions, HARM training sessions, daily missions for particular heroes, faction missions (SHIELD, Pym, Stark, etc.) and character-side-story missions, and a lot more.

Trust me, it doesn't sound that hard, but once you open the map menu for yourself... Oh boy, that's a different story. And if it only was the map menu. The inventory and such aren't too collected all together either. Before you can safely tell what is what, it will take you at least a whole afternoon. Also, the fact that game just spills it on you just like that, one thing after another, it doesn't help the overall feel.

On top of that, there are MULTIPLE currencies in the game; some even involve microtransaction. It mostly is involving the customization of the Avengers, so it's not THAT big of a deal; you can get one currency by collecting boxes and stuff, but it takes ages before you can buy one single thingy.

Also, if you would like to get stuff (very useful stuff) from factions (SHIELD and Pym mainly), you have to do in-factions daily quests, which usually require to do a certain amount of things as a particular hero (you can do some quests with Ms Marvel only, some with Black Widow, it usually involves the damage dealt while playing as a character etc.). And if you forget to fetch these minies? Well, no faction points for you, bucko.

The system feels overall too complicated in the begging and even after finishing the game, I am not certain by some.

3. The gameplay of the one and only... Natasha Romanov, and the entirety of Steve Rogers:

Right off the bat: IT. SUCKS. SHIT.

This was your shot in opening our mouths and showing why Black Widow BELONGS to the Avengers in the first place. Like, sure, storywise you proved the point, but gameplaywise... That's a different story.

Out of the bunch, Natasha feels the slowest, most clumsy and overall not too pleasant to play as. Mainly is because her attacks do... Nothing. The gun reloading is basically constant when I have to put it simply and it takes about 3-5 seconds for her to even reload; which can be a matter of life and death inside the game. Sure, she can make herself invisible; but that's like... It. It's not that it would be suffering when you are forced to play as Nat... But not a pleasant experience either.

On the other hand, maybe it's just me. I have friends who told me the same about her gameplay, but maybe there's someone who enjoys the Black Widow. It's my personal with the entirety of the gameplay.

Steve, on the other hand, isn't hard to play as. It's just fucking boring. At the start of the game, I couldn't wait to play as Steve's character. He seemed to be awesome - Jesus fuck, how could I be so wrong? As I said, he's incredibly boring and dry, his skills would do the same amount of work if they even weren't there. I think that Rogers is there just for the shock value (as a value that doesn't even work in the slightest) and nothing more.

As you learn to do the tricks and combos with them, it gets slightly better and skill tree and equipment upgrades can help almost unnoticeable... But really, Steve and Natasha are the absolute worst.

Now the reasons why the game convinced me it isn't a hot mess as I initially thought:

1. The characters, dynamics, chemistry and the overall story:

Sure, it is mainly a basic plotline, a cookie-cutter one, full of cliché - Avengers have to regroup after a traumatic event and you're the one who has to find them and bring them together.

Yet it is quite interesting; the game leads you to believe that Steve Rogers is dead after an event called the 'A-Day' (which you won't believe even if the game does the hardest to make you to, constantly remaining you that 'Oh boy, Cap died, did you know that?') and the Avengers had left to exile because they were considered as big bad for the people and the country. They have their emotional baggage and the banter between Banner and Stark (though it ends too soon), is just the thing that makes them human and relatable.

Even the villains are quite compelling; not like ultra super convincing, but the game can turn around when you least expect it to; which is definitely a huge plus.

The characters were done GOOD. The dialogues are full of personality and jokes you'd expect from each one of them; Banner is a wallflower cutie, Tony fishes for compliments all the time, Natasha is the big independent woman she always was and Thor? CHEF'S KISS, I swear. It hits the Shakespearean vibe perfectly and at the same time, he still is charming and quite funny to hang around.

Every time you can listen to a chit-chat between two characters, it is a great pleasure for you as a Marvel fan. Also, I need to say that regardless of my personal issue with the dub (regarding Tony and Bruce; since they're the people you spend most of your time with), the dialogues for these two characters are on point without a doubt. And I kinda grew fond of the in-game Bruce Banner throughout the course of the game, to be honest.

There are references, jokes, inside jokes, one-liners... The dialogue was done amazingly and that's a huge   T H A N K   Y O U  to the developers.

2. The mind-blowing gameplay of... Tony Stark and Thor and AI, while not being too bright, getting stronger as you do:

In what the Natasha gameplay lacks, these two give you exactly what would you expect and way, way more than you'd ask for. Again, it mainly reflects the personal gameplay preferences of the player; let me tell you why I think these gameplays are, in my opinion, the best.

a) Tony's gadgets and weaponry: The suit itself is bloody brilliant. Once you master the ability to attack and fly at the same time, you have the moments when you can not only feel like Iron Man - but really be Iron Man. It's not even that your gameplay would suddenly become 10x easier; it significantly becomes funnier.

b) Thor's heavy fist-to-fist and Mjolnir preferences: the Mjolnir is bloody brilliant as well. Thor's combat is mainly physically based, but when you want to throw the hammer around like the madman you are, you can suit yourself. You can use the lightning if you please and you can fly if this style of combat suits you. It's all in your hands. Thor can take quite a bit of damage, which is significantly supporting you in this style. If you accidentally drop Mjolnir? Well, call it back and smash them!

Also, regarding the AI... As I said, they're certainly not the brightest sparks in the flame; yet thanks to the power getting bigger as you level up and continue with your story and a huge variety of enemies - from turrets to flying men with flamethrowers. It is just button smasher, but a pleasing one in this regard, I must say.

3. The fanservice to comic book fans, movie fans and loyalty to the property:

As one IGN review once said... "This game makes you feel like Batman." And this game more or less accomplished it as well, but diluted and stripped down. Of course, in no way I can compare this to the masterpiece to the Arkham saga; these games are brilliant.

But there are moments when the game can just drag you inside the story and tell you: "You're Iron Man now, boss. It's in your hands." And it's there. I think the only issue was that the team of devs just took too big of a bite. I wouldn't mind stand-alone titles emerging into one and big Avengers game. That would be fun as well and I would spend my time with it gladly.

To end it: it's a mess, but a good mess you might like. If I was to rate it, would be 5.1/10 Wait until it is on sale, don't rush it. I'm overall disappointed and I most likely will forget I have ever played it.

[philliamwrites]

i could make you need me all the time (pt.2)

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Akechi

Tags: #justice rank 8 spoilers, #slight angst, #persona 5 royal spoilers, #new semester spoilers

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Akechi is counting numbered days, preparing himself for the end. Akira being himself doesn't help.

Note: Part 2 | Inspired by ‘Make it Holy’ by The Staves.

i could make you need me all the time

    Lavenza is not what Akechi has expected. Not that he’s expected anything specific in the first place, but a little child with golden eyes, staring at him with such an intense gaze that he is the one looking away first, is new. Akira being too prying for his own good is nothing new though. He stays after everyone leaves the nurse’s room, leaning against a white wall between two areca palms while watching Akechi on his quest to find band-aids he doesn’t even need.

    Nothing and everything changed after Christmas Eve.

    They aren’t fooling around in Save Rooms anymore. No one buys their ‘Forgot something and have to go back’-trick because no one leaves Akira and him alone for even a second. Akira thinks it’s rude. Akechi doesn’t really care. If possible, he doesn’t want to see him at all.

    “My sports uniform looks good on you,” Akira says. There’s a slight tilt to his voice Akechi’s heart always responds to with a little jolt—the eradicated-the-enemy-fashionably-tilt, the-I’m-your-rival-don’t-get-too-cocky-tilt, the post-orgasm-satisfied-tilt. Where once adrenaline shot through his body, only electricity remains that paralyses him.

    It’s the first time his body simply shuts down instead of running or fighting, effectively betraying him.

    Avoiding Akira is like trying to run away from a bee while wearing cologne that smells of pansies. It isn’t too evident in Maruki’s palace. Any slip-up means potentionally risking all their lives, so Akira approaches him for obligations only. Healing, consultation, strategy. Akechi lets him, always catching him staring at his ass though.

    Everything gets trickier when they’re in the real world. There’s only so long Akechi can hide in his cold one-room apartment, emptied by Shido’s henchmen at some point during his disappearance in December, before a phone call or message summons him to meet with the rest. He does want to defeat Maruki. He does not want to achieve it by pretending to be friends.

    “If you have time to simply stand there, why not use it to plan our next infiltration?” Akechi asks without looking back, pretending that rummaging through the cupboards requires his whole attention. He’s a man on a mission, adamant that if he only ignores Akira long enough, he’ll just lose interest like a child growing bored with their toys.

    He underestimates him.

    Again.

    “Morgana and the rest have that covered.” Footsteps draw closer. Akechi’s body tenses into one hard, solid muscle. “I’m here because there’s something we need to talk about.”

    “Is that so?” Akechi closes a cabinet door with a loud bang, marching to the other side of the room. “Because I have nothing to say to you.”

    There are million things he wants, maybe needs to say, but simply thinking about them closes Akechi’s throat off, choking him with this bitter taste of rotten glory and ruined dreams. He’d rather die than allow this weakness to take hold of him.

    “Akechi.”

    He ignores him, rummaging through a drawer that’s crammed full of snacks. No band-aids. He hates this place.

    “Akechi.”

    Dull pain throbs at the back of his head. He tells Robin Hood to make Loki stop, but silence in return reminds him that since the boiler room, Robin has been gone. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. It isn’t as easy falling asleep again after waking from a nightmare where he hears Robin’s atrocious screams still ringing in his head.

    He tears through the next drawer, refusing to think about anything else except band-aids, band-aids, band-aids, what shitty nurse room doesn’t have band-aids—

    “Goro.”

    Akira is so close; he feels his warm breath on the back of his neck.

    Fight, flight or stay to be devoured. Akechi barely turns his head, eyes creeping up slowly to Akira’s face. Being this close was never a problem before—Akechi has had enough time to count every single lash, black as spilt ink, cursing them curling like crescent moons and throwing long shadows over high, winged cheekbones he can draw with closed eyes on paper. This face is as familiar as his own. He’s seen it angry, laughing, frowning; wearing a wicked, cruel smile, contort in hot, all-consuming pleasure: slightly open mouth with pink, swollen lips, blushing, hot cheeks. Dead, empty eyes. Red, thick blood between slanted eyebrows.

    In his nightmares, Akechi hears Robin’s scared screams in the boiler room, and sees Akira’s slack face slam on the prosecutor’s desk.

    No. There really is nothing to say.

    “Goro?” Akira’s voice is barely a whisper. “You’re shaking.”

    If there is a time for his body to betray him, it isn’t now. Akechi turns away, his mission forgotten. Right now, he needs to get as far away from here as possible. Akechi never feared his mistakes to catch up to him some day, but Akira, alive and kicking Akira, proves him wrong over and over again. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for me to go,” he says.

    He shoves Akira out of his way, quickly pulling his hand back as if burnt by this simple touch. He manages to cross the room halfway before Akira’s voice makes him stop.

    “Were you looking for this?”

    He turns around. Akira is holding a partially opened package of band-aids, presenting them like bait to prey that doesn’t know any better. Akechi wants to bare his teeth.

    “I’m not here to play games,” he hisses, stomping towards Akira who beelines towards him as well, approaching Akechi too fast. Two feet until they crash like stars and swallow everything. One foot until they collide like cars and explode into tiny, burning pieces. Before they set the room in flames, Akira halts.

    “Good,” he says and takes Akechi’s wrist—far gentler than he’d expected or liked, and leads him to the sitting area near the door where he can see the exit so close and yet so far. “Because I’m not playing.”

    Akechi clicks his tongue.

    He drops begrudgingly into an armchair, folding one leg over the other and crossing his arms. Akira knees down in front of him, just a few inches away from his legs. It reminds Akechi of a similar image several months ago, only he was still acting for an audience that never cared about him in the first place, and Akira was wearing a tight, black latex cop uniform.

    Only one of those things makes him want to go back to that time.

    “Let me,” Akira says, holding out one hand to Akechi like a knight asking for allowance to kiss his maiden’s fair hand.

    “I’m not a little kid,” Akechi hisses but it lacks its usual venom. Akira doesn’t pressure. Wordlessly, he waits, the inside of his palm lying open, vulnerable.

    Akechi stares daggers at it, hoping it will simply disappear. When the result disappoints, he takes the easy route and slaps his hand in Akira’s. “Just hurry up.”

    Akira hums. He’s inspecting Akechi’s hand, searching for the injury like a scientist looking for the answer of the afterlife. His hold is light like a feather, careful and hesitant, as if the universe granted him the honour to look after a priceless treasure that builds kingdoms and burns countries.

    “Where do you need it?”

    “I can do it on my own.”

    “Oh, I don’t doubt your abilities.” Fumbling with the bandage, Akira pulls his eyebrows together in concentration, a little smile flirting with his lips. Akechi knows it, the everything-is-a-game-to-me-smile but this time stakes are too high for him to join. “But humour me. Now, where do I put it on?”

    He glares at him. Seeing no way to win, he turns his hand, his palm fitting perfectly against Akira’s, showing the little, shallow cut on one finger.

    Akira stares at it, very unimpressed. “Are you an actual child?”

    Akechi pulls his hand away—too slow. Akira’s fingers latch around his wrist, holding him in place. “Wait, wait, I’m joking.”

    “You’re not funny,” Akechi replies drily. He watches Akira put a bandage around his finger, smoothing it out with his thumb.

    “This…” He digs his thumb slightly where the wound is, making it burn but Akechi doesn’t flinch. “… looks like a ring, doesn’t it?”

    Akechi raises one eyebrow. “It doesn’t.”

    “Like a wedding ring,” Akira continues as if he didn’t say anything. Akechi looks down at the band-aid around his ring finger. He feels too awake all of a sudden, yet extremely tired. Everything buzzes, from his head to his toes, and he can’t tell if it’s Maruki’s Actualized Happy World or Akira touching him or the fact that he should not be. He remains very still, like a corpse, and stares over Akira’s curly mop of hair at the mirror hanging at the opposite end of the room. Brown eyes stare back at him—unflinching, lifeless like the glassy eyes of a dead fish until he blinks and it’s just his normal, usual face.

    “Don’t tell me you’re entertaining the absurd idea of marriage,” he mocks, a crooked smile cutting his mouth into two red lines. “What are you, a lonely housewife in her thirties?”

    “What can I say, I’m a romantic at heart,” Akira answers. He isn’t smiling.

    Akechi’s grin dies. “If you have time to think about something this foolish, then there will be no problem in securing the path to the treasure tomorrow, right?” His voice sounds weird to his own ears. He feels sick.

    Finally, his hand is set free as Akira places it carefully on Akechi’s knee.

    “You’re smart enough to figure out where I’m going with this conversation,” Akira says, rising to his feet. He seems a little absent minded, his eyes unfocused and thoughts far away from this room. “Think about my proposal.”

    “Propo—” Akechi jumps to his feet, his ears buzzing with a swarm of angry bees. He’s so close to Akira, their chest almost touch. He smells it again: coffee, washing powder, sweat. No blood this time. It feels wrong. “I have no interest in entertaining this stupid idea.”

    “Do you hate it because it’s a social construct and divorce is way too expensive,” Akira asks, his eyes snapping back to Akechi and focusing with too much determination in them on him. “Or is it the thought of living with someone that allows you to be vulnerable that scares you.”

I’m not scared of anything, Akechi wants to say. What comes out instead is, “Why did you ask if you know the answer already?”

“Because I want to hear it from you. I want to know what you want.”

    What does Goro Akechi want? No one has asked him this before, so he’s taken aback a second, speechless. A lump grows in his throat, burning every time he swallows.

    “I don’t want someone else to decide how I live my life,” he says eventually. Slowly, word for word so Akira understands that what makes Goro Akechi the person he is, is something he was never allowed to have in the first place and the crave for it now is like craving air underwater. “I don’t want to be someone’s puppet.”

    Akira’s voice grows louder. “Then what do you want?”

    Akechi’s body shudders with rage. I want to live.

    He turns around, blinking furiously against the burning in his eyes. “We’re done talking. You can contact me if there are important things we need to discuss. That’s what I want.”

    There is no answer, but he knows he’s got his point across. Some people take Akira’s silence for what it is, when sometimes it speaks louder than his words. Right now, he feels it like a solid pressure against his skin, leaving dents and reshaping his body and he’s afraid to turn around and look in the mirror again.

    Marriage.

    Marriage with Akira Kurusu of all people.

    What an absolutely stupid, horrendous idea. What a horrifying dream and scary hope to plant into someone whose soil is home to maggots and vermin that only know the taste of blood. Akechi takes that seed and hides it somewhere deep, deep inside his chest where the dirt hasn’t reached; an almost forgotten place that still loves toy guns and collects Phoenix Ranger Featherman stickers to put them on his bento lunch box.

    That is the only part of himself he wishes Akira could get to know before the end as well.

[youngster-monster]

After me comes the flood

christmas gift for my dear friend @baronetcoins. love you bud, and merry christmas ✨

[set in an AU where their Awoken Hunter, Ayin, came in time to save Cayde during Forsaken, but not his Ghost.]

Ayin paces outside the hangar like a cabal warhound waiting for its beastmaster to cry havoc. The City has been long emptied by the late hour. She’s thankful for it. There is no one here but the Traveler to witness her agitation, the way Light bleeds out of her in fiery sparks trailing down her fingers. She hasn’t had such a weak grasp on her Light for years — not since she was a kinderguardian — but tonight she doesn’t care to control it.

She’s not supposed to be here. In fairness no one’s supposed to be anywhere but in bed at this hour, but she in particular was meant to be out of the City two hours ago, bound for Europa on a mission with her team. 

Something came up.

Something is yet another group of Guardians in the Crucible encasing their opponents in ice coffins. Something is the Kinderguardian she met earlier, who turned to stasis out of curiosity. Something is the complete silence from the Vanguard while the protectors of the City collude with the Darkness.

If they won’t do anything about this, then it’s her duty to convince them… before she does it herself.

Resolution renewed, she strides into the hangar.

It’s empty as expected, mechanics and engineers gone to catch some shut-eye as ship traffic slows for the night. The only source of movement left is the flicker of an old camping light propped up on Holliday’s workbench. Cayde is bent over it, grumbling over some piece of intel or other. Every so often he’ll shift and obscure the feeble light, casting his long shadow over the floor.

She clears her throat lest she catches a knife in the throat. He gets jumpy without Sundance warning him of approaching people.

Cayde whirls around, lifts a hand to his chest as if to still a beating heart he doesn’t, technically, have. “Oh,” he says, relaxing. “It’s you. Hi!”

“Waiting for someone else?”

“Kind of expecting Ikora to come drag me to bed, actually.” He turns to fully  face her and folds his arms with a tired sigh. “Lemme tell you, if you’d told me during her Crucible days that she’d be such a mother hen I’d have called you mad.”

Ayin is hardly prone to mothering anyone, let alone Cayde, but even she can’t deny the spark of concern igniting inside her at the sight of him. His eyes are dim with exhaustion, whatever machinery that keeps him alive running on a third of the power it needs. But more than that he looks weary. Havy. There’s something weighing him down that wasn’t there before.

(Its name is grief, the same one that hounds his footsteps since the Prison of Elders, taking the space Sundance used to fill. He’s better than he used to be — better at hiding it in the daylight at least. But here, with only her as a witness, he lets the full brunt of it show plain on his face.)

“You look terrible,” she says, because it’s easier than I’m worried about you.

“Thanks,” he replies, only half sarcastic, because it’s easier than putting into words the anger-grief-bittersweetness that comes with pity or concern (both interchangeable). Like so many things, Ayin only knows to notice it because she’s done it herself, learned it from him. “So, what can I do for you, Crusader?”

The nickname is affectionate, an in-joke. It’s also a reminder, though he never means it that way.

“I have…” She pauses, unsure how to bring it up. “Concerns.”

“Concerns?”

“About Guardians using stasis.”

“Aah, that’s what I thought.” 

Cayde chuckles, but his whole demeanor changes as he steels himself for a serious conversation. She’s more familiar than most with the seriousness he hides under his jokey behavior, but it’s always a relief to see him take this so seriously. Even if everyone stopped listening to her, she knows Cayde would always let her say her piece.

“Do you know what I saw in the Crucible today?”

“No?”

“Ice bursting through armor. Tornadoes of hail. Stasis, everywhere. And all Shaxx had to say about it was that it’s a tool. ‘A weapon like any other’. He let it happen, like it’s not the very thing we’ve been fighting against all our lives.” Again she starts to pace, almost against her will. Tension runs through her limbs, fingers curling around the hilt of an imaginary knife. She hates this game of politics, of begging the Vanguard to take action when it would only take a word from them to unleash her on this new enemy. “This can’t go on, Cayde. You — the Vanguard — can’t turn a blind eye this time. The Darkness has already taken Io, Titan, Mercury- and now it’s taking Guardians? It’s not going to stop. Not unless we stop it. And this? This ain’t it.”

Out the corner of her eyes she sees him shift, tilt his head in consideration.

“So, what are you suggesting? That we should ban stasis?”

His sceptical tone makes the spark of righteousness flare. He doesn’t get it— be he will, soon. He has to understand she’s right on this. “Yes, exactly!”

Calmly, almost placating, he replies, “People are gonna try their hands at it whether we allow it or not.”

“But if you forbid it, I can hunt them down for it. Bring them to justice.”

Her voice rings in the heavy silence. For a moment, nothing breaks the silence but her breathing and the soft whirring emitting from Cayde. Then,

“Ayin...”

He sounds nearly pleading, but she can’t allow him to interrupt her. Not yet. She can still convince him, she knows it. He has to see her point. He must. 

Breathing deeply, she tries to leash her enthusiasm lest he mistakes it for fanaticism. 

Without his support, she can’t reach the Vanguard, and without the Vanguard, there’s nothing she can do. She learned that from the new Dredgens, and the Renegade who runs after them. It takes more than a single man to take such widespread evil down. Aying doesn’t have that much time. She needs resources, the space and power to lock up her targets, keep them off the streets. She needs the system on her side.

“It’s our job to keep the people of the City safe. Our duty. How can civilians trust us to do that when any Guardian could be another Dredgen Yor in disguise? How can they trust us, when nothing is done to keep them safe from ourselves? We can’t bother with compromise with so much on the line-”

“Ayin.”

She stops her pacing, turns around, ready to beg for a moment more of his attention—

His eyes stop her in her tracks.

Why does he look so sad?

Cayde holds her stare for a second. His shoulders are tense, betraying his seemingly-relaxed position. He looks just like when he has to announce the loss of one of his Hunters, or when he has to send a fireteam on a mission they’re unlikely to come back from unscathed, if at all. Like the words are stuck in his throat, tangled in the wires.

Eventually he gives up on words altogether — she can see it in the working of his jaw, the way the light behind his teeth dims as his vocal processor goes idle again.

Slowly (like he doesn’t want to do it. Like he’s afraid he’ll spook her) he offers her his hand, palm up. Under her watchful gaze, he shifts his fingers minutely—

And frost blooms over the leather of his glove.

Ayin’s breath freezes in her lungs.

Silence settles over them like the second before thunder. Both stare at the ice crystal suspended over his hand. Ayin with mounting horror, and Cayde as an excuse to avoid her eyes. Then, a flick of his wrist shatters it. The shards turn to fine glittering dust on their way down, and then to nothing, never touching the ground. 

For a moment Ayin is overwhelmed by feelings — shock, betrayal, sadness, fear, burning anger. They tangle together, blades interlocked into a sharp ball of hurt, until all she can feel is an odd sort of numbness. Like she’s been cut open and sedated.

“Why?” She whispers.

His sigh turns into fog, briefly leaving his face as nothing but two burning eyes staring at her through the faint cloud.

“You know why I hate being Vanguard so much?”

Ayin snarls at the non sequitur. 

She’s not usually so prone to losing her temper, but the betrayal lit a fire inside her she doesn’t feel like quenching.

“Is this really about hating your job?” 

She hates the way her voice cracks at the end, but Cayde, mercifully, doesn’t react in any way to it. He just shakes his head, faceplate shifting minutely in frustration like he’s trying to explain something and can’t find the words that will make her listen.

“I wouldn’t- It’s about doing the damn job.” He rubs his head like he has a headache, pushes his hood back as his hand trails down to the back of his neck, resting there for a moment. “You said it was your duty- you know what’s a Hunter's duty? It’s being out there, charting unknown places, going where no one’s gone before, all that jazz. Not being stuck in the City. Being a Vanguard, it means sucking at being a Hunter, and- I’m good at being a Hunter, right?”

He’s got the stereotypical recklessness in spades, that’s for sure. 

Not, that’s unfair. Cayde has a core of steel that won’t let him back down in the face of insurmountable odds. That’s what makes him a good Hunter. Reckless as it may seems, it’s a true quality, one she admires and has always tried to emulate. It only makes her angrier at the powder ice still caught in the folds of his clothes. He should have known better.

Unphased by her lack of response, he continues. 

“Turns out that might not even be true, huh? Told them spending that much time in the Tower would make me go soft.” He does that heartbreaking thing, where he tilts his head slightly like he’s expecting Sundance to appear just over his shoulder with something witty to say. “But- it made me think about it. The whole duty thing. I spent all of my time as a Vanguard doing everything I could to go back in the field like I’d do my job better there- and when it went wrong, I had to reflect on like- my mistakes and stuff. And I thought- maybe I approached the issue the wrong way, you know?”

“You’re not answering my question.”

She’s proud to hear her voice stay level despite her frustration. She wants to trust Cayde, trust that he’ll eventually get to the point and explain to her… What? That it all makes sense? That it’s going to be fine? At this point Ayin’s not sure whether she’d rather hear reassurances or apologies. 

Actually she might punch him if he apologies. He’s made a terrible choice: the only thing worse than this would be that he’s unsure about it himself. And as little as she’s willing to be convinced— she wants to be. She wants, for once, to be proven wrong, to see that stasis isn’t as evil as she assumed.

 Anything that will make Cayde’s use of it more bearable.

“I’m gettin’ to it! What I mean is- Hunters are s’posed to scout ahead. First ones in the field, to gather intel and make sure everyone’s got the info they need to do their job and come back safe. We’re the literal vanguard. And with the Darkness moving into the system- we need that kind of assurance. We need someone to jump into the unknown and tell us how far the bottom is.” 

“Somebody always needs to go first,” Ayin says softly, like muscle memory.

Cayde doesn’t bother finishing the saying. She knows it as well as he does. “I can’t do much without a Ghost, but I can do this. I can be there when Guardians need someone to turn to when their new powers go awry. And… yeah, I can be here when one of them needs to be stopped. That’s good enough for me.”

Ayin crushes the hint of pity that rises in her. It wouldn’t go appreciated: Hunters, as a rule, would sooner die than be pitied. And if she lets herself feel pity then she’ll start to think about it. 

She’ll think about the fact that her best friend, her family, is running out of time.

It’s already a miracle he survived the Prison of Elders. Most ghostless don’t make it an hour past their Ghost’s death. But she was there, and she couldn’t save Sundance, but she could save him, and she did. When the night is dark and she finds herself regretting not being fast enough, she always turns to that thought for comfort: she got him out alive. He won’t be there forever, but at least she has a few decades left with him before he ends up like Banshee and starts forgetting her face.

(If she told him about that fear, she knows the first words out of Cayde’s mouth would be “I’d never forget you”. But he doesn’t get to choose. She’s long given up on hoping for the best.)

And now— now he looks her in the eyes, and he tells her he made the one choice that’s sure to shorten these years they have left. She’s seen what happened to Eramis. She can’t bear to imagine it. The dark ice crawling over his limbs, choking what’s left of his light. 

It breaks her heart. 

Not only because she loves him, and she doesn’t want him to be hurt. But because he made the one choice that could drive her away from him.

Taking in the Darkness, supporting the Guardian who made the same terrible decision, accepting help from the very enemy you seek to destroy. This— this isn’t a mystery that needs to be solved. This isn’t terra incognita that needs to be charted. At least not by them. if anyone should do it it’s one of the Awoken Techeuns, or the Warlocks already banished from the City because of their heretical research. Hell, even Eris could do it. Someone who’s already dipped into the dark and is eager to learn more.

Someone who’s already lost. 

Not the one person Ayin can’t bear to lose.

She swallows past the lump in her throat. She closes her shaking hands into fists. Her heart beats unevenly with anger and grief. She pushes all those useless signals aside, tries to find her way to the rational mindset that earned her the nickname of Crusader.

Don’t think about the implications. About the pain and the loss. Set it all aside. Just like in battle.

A great calm settles in her.

“How… could you.” 

Her voice is nearly as cold as the power she came here to plead against.

“I’m sorry, Ayin, but-”

“Don’t. Apologize,” She grits out through clenched teeth. “You’ve seen what happens to those who use stasis! How could you be so- so stupid?”

His eyes narrow, light dimming ever so slightly. “I’m not an idiot, Ayin. I know what I’m doing.”

There’s an edge to Cayde’s voice this time. A note of warning. 

But Ayin is far past listening to the sirens. She is the warning. The receding of the water before a tidal wave; the purple skies before a hurricane.

“Do you? What is this, then, an overly complicated suicide attempt? I didn’t save your ass in the Prison of Elders so you could throw it away-”

“Throwing it away? There’s more to fighting a war than killing the enemy faster than it can kill you. At least I’m helping people.”

The anger simmering in her guts flares, shattering her artificial calm. Her whole body tenses like it’s getting ready to go for the kill.

“Are you saying I’m not?”

He takes a step forward, gestures toward the Hangar — the damage from the Red War that they never got to repairing, the pictures of Guardians swallowed by the encroaching Darkness they pinned to a wall as a memorial. Proofs of past catastrophes.

“Nothing we’ve done so far managed to stop the Darkness. Maybe stasis will help, maybe it won’t, but we have to try.”

“And risk playing right into their hands?”

“If that’s what it takes to survive, yes!”

“We’re supposed to fight the Darkness, not join-”

“World’s changing, kiddo. We do what we have to do to survive-”

“Don’t. Call me. Kid.”

Cayde is reckless, impulsive, and he doesn’t know when to quit. Dogged determination has gotten him out of problems more often than he can count.

But sometimes, it also means he doesn’t think before he talks, and he says things such as,

“Why should I, when you’re just as naive?”

The silence that follows is a living thing. It stretches until it fills every inch of the space and curls around Ayin, swallowing her as well. It’s like she’s trapped inside of her own body, deaf to anything but the hammering of her heart and the roaring of the fire inside her chest. Her mind is stuck in a loop—

(how dare you how dare you how dare you)

(why would you cut me off like that why why why)

(betrayer)

When she comes back to herself there are sparks slowly dying on her fingers, and Cayde’s pinned against the pillar he was leaning against.

They make an odd tableau, the two of them. Her, hand outstretched, still as a marble statue, and Cayde, stopped mid-movement, his own hand reaching for her as if to apologize again, a knife sticking out of the hood of his cape, inches from his neck.

“Ayin, I didn’t mean-”

Then why did you say it?

She doesn’t voice the thought — doesn’t trust herself to stay calm, to miss the next time a knife slips from her fingers. She flexes her fingers, forces herself to relax, slows her breathing.

He lets his hand drop.

When she leaves, she doesn’t look back, and he doesn’t call for her.

[averagejoesolomon]

Happy Birthday @maceyjanemchenry!!  Have some cake.

Boards threaten to creak beneath her toes.  Her fingertips grace soundlessly against brick.  Every breath seems to betray her, obvious above the unbroken silence that otherwise rests on the backs of her eardrums.  The night weighs heavy on each individual moment and her steps vibrate through the darkness like a plucked piano string.   

Rarely does she partake in a mission with such high stakes.  Even more rare, is a mission worthy of the risk.

She’s made it past the hard part: a staircase that’s been standing since the nineteenth century.  It will sing the home’s entire history if she lands on the wrong step, so she dances to avoid a ghostly tune.  Next, she knows, is a hallway filled with kicked-off shoes, abandoned bags, and coats of every color.  She must follow it blindly, for fear that any light would shine straight upstairs.

At the end, she’s met with a handful of tiny red lights.  Some are blinking, some are still.  The brightest spot emanates from the digital clock on the microwave, displaying a time that she already knows in her gut.  It’s late.  It’s very, very late.

She’s in more familiar territory now, navigating by way of faint silhouette.  She’s able to feel her way past the pantry, the countertop, and the stove. Cool stone sends goosebumps up her arm as she runs her finger along the edge, shuffling silently across hardwood until—

The fridge.

She has to be very careful with her next move, because she has learned in the past that refrigerator doors can be surprisingly loud.  There’s always a chance that it squeaks.  Or maybe there’s something piled on the other side, just waiting to fall out.  Her shoulders tense as she pulls the handle, a slow sickly stick peeling open inch by inch.

The light flickers on, blinding against her seemingly endless quest through darkness, and that’s when she sees him.

Cam’s dad is the kind of guy who’s always smiling, even when he’s not.  Even when—at 12:37 AM—he has every right not to be.  “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

His arms are crossed, and he’s leaning up against the counter like he was made to be there.  She’s so used to seeing him in work clothes, or gym clothes, or even Armani suits (which, she supposes, are still technically work clothes), that it feels strange to see him in pajamas.  Comfy plaid pants and a t-shirt with her own handprints painted on.  Hair unbrushed.  Eyes glazed.

And an important realization comes to her as she examines her father in his sleepy state, so she says, “Aren’t you?”

The pause that follows is dense between the two of them, but he doesn’t move.  Doesn’t budge.  “I asked first.”

“I plead the fifth.”

“So you’re here for the cake, too?”

“Aren’t you the spy, here?” she says.  “You tell me.”

There’s a cool look of deliberation in his features, and Cammie knows better than to interrupt Dad when he’s thinking about a piece of chocolate cake.  The last piece, more specifically, slathered in cocoa buttercream and chilled after a long day in the scorching summer sun.

Finally, he reaches a breaking point, as Dad often does when there’s chocolate involved.  “How about,” he begins, “we split it, with the condition that neither of us tells Mom.”

“I want the chocolate flower on top.”

“You drive a hard bargain, kiddo.”  He holds out his hand to her, and the two of them shake by the golden light of the refrigerator bulb.  With their agreement settled, they both turn gleefully toward their shared chocolatey delight.

What they find instead is an empty shelf, where a single piece of cake one stood, saran wrapped atop a paper plate.

Cam looks at Dad.

Dad looks at Cam.

And behind them, a lamp flicks on, the click of the knob echoing throughout their DC townhouse.  The light sends the darkness through the cracks of the old home and, in its wake, reveals Mom sitting in the living room, fork in hand.  “Oh,” she says, voice dripping with faux innocence.  With only crumbs left on her plate, she takes a final swipe at the fork to get the last taste of buttercream.  “Were you two looking for this?”

The betrayal sits between them, a family divided.  Mom’s got this grin on her face that not even Dad can match, although he certainly does try his best.  “Cam?” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s get her.”

And the two of them attack, not with tackles or training, but rather with tickles and hugs.  They exact their revenge with the help of nearby pillows, and it doesn’t take long for Mom to start throwing them back.  Just like that, in no time at all, a house once dark in silence is now—and always—filled with light and laughter. 

[dungeons-and-danis]

How I Prepare For Major Arcs & Organize My DM Notes, As Well As Just General Narrative Advice!

So, I got a question quite a while back to try out this neat little trend of displaying and explaining away how I prepare for a session, as well as show how i organize and utilize my notes as a DM. I’m going to be using my upcoming, work-in-progress arc, “Nightingale”, as a visual reference throughout the post. 

So, I know i’ve released my DM’s notes on worldanvil before, but I gotta admit that the platform I most like to use for notes and plot setup is always OneNote, which I have for free via my college. It’s versatile, organized, and easy to navigate on any platform (even my phone!). So if you can get your hands on it, I highly recommend it.

PART ONE -- THE MAIN PAGE OF CENTRAL INFORMATION

What I like to do first, is create a central tab of navigation, the first thing that will pop up when I open my fresh set of notes! Things I like to include in that main tab would be any of the following:

Format Key

This will come in handy later, but essentially I have a key to differentiating different types of text throughout my notes and it looks like this (note: your notes DON’T have to look like this, but I recommend having a specific format for all these types of text to help keep you organized):

Reference Links

This is to link to articles I have on world anvil with more detailed information

Settings

NPC’s

Organizations/Factions

Misc.

Plot Setup/Brainstorming

This is helpful to get you started on your overarching plot! Be as messy as you want and DON’T DELETE ANYTHING, even if you think it’s stupid. All brainstorming is good brainstorming.

Objective

Themes

Relevant History

Hooks

Encounters

Small Outline of Main Questline

Reputation Points

I like, especially for big cities with lots of factions and NPC’s, to keep track of reputation and karma with a point system. Every good deed or bad deed, I like to record and assign a certain number of points to add or subtract from the total score of each faction, based off of just how good or bad that act was. This will help decide things in both the conclusion of that arc, as well as the conclusion of my campaign. This way, your actions really do have consequences.

PART TWO -- BUILDING THE PLOT IN ACTS

So I believe it is pertinent to keep things simple when it comes to notes, especially when it comes to major arcs where your players have a lot of freedom and you need to do a lot of writing in order to allow that freedom. So i like to build in 4 acts, each of them being dedicated to its own special needs. You can add however many acts as you might need, but this is just a base line! 

Act One: The Introduction

Act Two: Exploration/Information Gathering

Act Three: The Rising Action

Act Four: The Conclusion/The Climax

To add onto this, I usually put these acts as Major Groups in OneNote, and they look a little like this:

Act One; Introducing Your Players To The Setting

This, in my opinion, is the most important act of the four. I usually like to send my players into the setting with a BANG! Throw something at them that they don’t expect! An eerie exorcism, a public execution of an old friend, a plague that keeps the party away from public entrances, anything you can think of! The intro should be narrative heavy, not battle-heavy. That will just make your party snore. Give them a reason to fight, a reason to care about this story and its NPCs. Make sure that this first part is your best work, because it sets the story from here on out and will determine if your players are eager to return to the table. Do not forget to set the precedent of your arc’s main plot goal here. If you don’t do it now, it won’t make sense elsewhere. Make the PC’s care right away!

For example, some snippets of my introduction notes look a little bit like this (remember my format key from before? well here it is in use:)

Act Two; Exploration/Information Gathering

This is a big one, because this is where the majority of your work will go. This is the part where the players can roam around the setting, getting to know the NPC’s and the environment for themselves and make their own opinions on the current state of affairs wherever they are. I like to get super organized with this part, because it can get VERY hectic while going live. You want to write where you leave room for players to move, but also keep them focused on the task at hand. So whatever dialogue or side quests you introduce in exploration, keep it brief and drawing back to the central plot line at hand. 

I will expand more on this in PART 3, because it deserves its own section.

Act Three; The Rising Action

Yes, just like your english teacher taught you in 6th grade, there has to be a Rising Action in your plot line! This is self explanatory, it might seem. But this is the hardest part about writing up a plot line for D&D, because you never know how your players are going to change the plot. So keep things loose and relative, allowing for wiggle room and improvisation. But still, have a decent chunk of the plot ready to go in this act, because this will be the majority of your plot and usually where the information gathering from act two will start to come in handy. Things need to start coming to a head towards the end of this act, or else you’ll be stuck with a very unsatisfactory conclusion. Another helpful tip during this act, is to write down EVERY, and I mean EVERY SINGLE LITTLE question your players might have. Figure out an answer to all of them, even if the answer is “you’ll find out later”.

Act Four; The Conclusion/The Climax

This is the end. The part of your story where everything starts to come together into a full circle! You need to be prepared to answer all those questions your players had during act three, in one form or another. There’s nothing worse than ending an arc finding that there were a million plot holes that didn’t get accounted for. So prepare, prepare, prepare for this final act. On top of that, prepare for several outcomes on top of that! Don’t be afraid to change the ending on the fly, just make sure you answer those questions somehow--be it out right, or implied in the narrative. My best advice is to not write out the ending until you’re at least half way through act three. Because your player’s choices should matter, and should have a major effect on the ending. If they don’t, then whats the point in running a narrative-heavy campaign? This is where my reputation points have come in handy in the past.

PART 3 -- EXPANDING ON EXPLORATION

I wanted to give you guys a taste at how I organize my exploration section. And to be honest with you, it’s fairly to-the-point and straight forward. I’m using a city setting for my example, but I feel like this can apply to any settlement setting to be honest. But I usually like to start with a table of contents as the first page for me to land on when going to my Exploration section. It looks like this, and each link, links exactly to that page on the document so i don’t have to guess at where everything is.

I also have a page dedicated to general information about the city in my worldanvil, linked on the Reference Links page I mentioned before! But it’s always good to have a central source of information about your settlement when prepping.

Now, let’s take a look at what one of the shops looks like, as that’s most likely going to be the bulk of what you’re writing. We’re gonna start with my shop “Dagna’s General Goods Store”, which is simple enough. Here, you can see all the pages I have for this location:

These are specific to a certain encounter, but to put it in a more general sense, this is how I would organize any relevant location in a settlement:

Introduction

I like to introduce my players to the outside and inside of every establishment in my settlements. So, narrative of the outside... and then a narrative of the inside. For example, this one looks like this:

Then, from there, I can dive into whatever introducing encounters I may have planned for that shop on the same page. This is just to give the players an impression. I continue for this page like this:

I like to put in brackets before voicing a new character, how their voice may sound. But that’s just me!

The NPC(s)

Always have a page for NPC’s relative to the establishment! I usually like to link to my worldanvil at the top, but sometimes characters are so small that I don’t make them a page. For those instances, I like to write just a little bit about them under the following format:

Appearance

Personality (including voice/accent)

What They Know

Willing to Share

Not Willing to Share (requires skill checks, or otherwise)

I like to keep this brief as possible, because too much text will just overwhelm me when i’m actually DMing live. Don’t make them too complicated, unless they’re major NPC’s, otherwise you will suffer.

Whats For Sale

Self explanatory, especially for shops. If the establishment sells things, I like to take screenshots from the books and place them in this page. Or I make tables myself! Cause OneNote can do that lmao.

General Information

I like to split this up into three categories:

Schedules

What time does the establishment open and close? When is the owner there? When does the owner go to bed? Is there anything the people living there do at certain times that are of relevance? This all becomes helpful when trying to nail down routines and time tracking.

Points of Interest

Things the players can find! Maybe a secret heirloom, a private letter, or a family tree! Usually these require skill checks to find, but can also just be apart of the apparent environment!

Encounters

Events that happen to the players. This can happen at certain times, or only when the players are currently present! It’s entirely up to you. But don’t equate encounters with battle, encounters are just events, battle or otherwise!

Mine looks kind of like this, though it needs some more fleshing out-- which will come with time as my plot progresses.

Missions (if applicable)

This can split off into various sub pages, if need be, and may not even be applicable to this specific establishment! But sometimes, you can acquire missions from people and places. I like to write the mission pages in the Establishment or NPC pages that will give them out. 

And well, that’s about it! Sorry for the huge post, but it gave me some time to kill, so there you go! LOL Have fun with that, guys.