#hidden infinity and i are at a stalemate

[impossiblycolorfulpanda]

"ATLA's not about Aang putting down the Fire Lord, it's about kids overcoming struggles and changing a corrupt system."

Somehow, I keep seeing this trend and I'm left asking why exactly is it being said.

It literally was explained, repeatedly, throughout the whole series, that Aang had to be the one who puts down the Fire Lord.

Yes, it showed kids having to go through struggles and asking how they're gonna save the whole world. but none of that undermines the fact that the narrative wants the main character to go one-on-one with the main antagonist. A very classical plot.

It is very common for the main characters to have depth and personal struggles during their hero's journey, even while dealing with a Big Bad, and will sometimes even give the Big Bad some depth.

Star Wars. Kung Fu Panda. Disney Renascence. The Infinity Saga of the MCU.

ATLA is no different from everything else we've seen. If Iroh was Ursa's brother and if one of the 3 warmongering fire lords instigated the 100-year war and reigned all the way until the end of the war's final year, virtually nothing would change. In fact, it would enhance the dynamic between the Fire Lord and the Gaang and give Iroh actual valid reasons why he couldn't assume the throne.

But then that leads me to this:

"Adding more depth and screen-time to Ozai will undermine Zuko and Azula's respective characterizations."

How? Just how?

Yes, there are times when villains become overly sympathetic and are easily excused for all sorts of mistakes, regardless of how severe they are, and forcing sympathy on villains tends to get old which makes us appreciate more 2-dimensional classical villains. But 3-dimensional villainy is not required to overlap with sympathetic villainy.

Sozin was very much rounded and had depth but had no tragic back-story to speak of and committed heinous acts entirely of his own accord. Imagine if he was Zuko and Azula's father, and develops Azulon's and Ozai's characteristics by the time of the present. What about that is so uncompelling and how would it detract from Zuko and Azula's place in the story? Doesn't make sense.

If it really wasn't about the main hero and the main villain going at it, then a more peaceful solution would be for the Gaang and white lotus to come forward and reveal secrets hidden in the catacombs of the truth about why the war really started. This should put the FN in a state of confusion and division. Aang should even try to destroy the comet as it enters the atmosphere for it was the key to beginning the war and the key to the FN's victory. The comet's presence clearly gives Firebenders too much of an edge, throwing the power system out of balance. It shouldn't be around. With the FN's ace in the hole gone, the war will be stuck in a stalemate, and the FN may choose to give up at some point.

Bottom line: It's not that deep. Don't overthink it. It doesn't have to be one or the other. You can balance out basic plot with character depth.

[asroarke]

Have you lost inspiration to complete Hidden Infinity?

I’m actually working on an update right now.

I wouldn’t say I’ve lost inspiration. I’ve lost motivation. I am going to finish it, but it will take time. Hidden Infinity rant below the read more:

The thing about Hidden Infinity is that I had always said I was never going to write it. The reason I said that was because the last time I tackled an alternate POV of a story I had already written, it did not go over well. In my opinion, I’m Gonna Watch You Walk Away was actually better than the original (lots of people disagree) and I worked my ass off on it. I find writing the alternate POVs to be much more work than the originals because it has to coincide with the original story’s canon while also being original enough in its own right to be interesting. But that one got very minimal feedback, which is frustrating considering how many people were asking (some demanding) for it. And this lack of feedback really made me feel insecure as a writer, kind of throwing me into a writer’s block (which I’m not the kind of person who gets writer’s block easily. I really only get it when I get radio silence on my work.)

So, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake with Double Infinity. I was very determined that I wasn’t going to write Clarke’s POV because I knew that no matter how much work I put into it, I was not going to get a lot of feedback on it. But then months went by and people kept asking for her POV. I wrote a little blurb on Christmas because I kept getting these asks for it, figuring that everyone was just kind of missing Double Infinity (I am too. I fucking loved writing that fic and am constantly chasing my next “Double Infinity”). Then, all the requests for it amplified, people who I’ve never heard from before begging me to write it. So, I gave in and started working on it. But the very people who begged me on a regular basis to write it have not given me any feedback on it. It has twice as many subscribers as it has kudos. I get messages asking for updates but then when I do update… radio silence.

For those of you who were around when I was actually writing Double Infinity, you will remember that I posted an update almost every single day. Each update was around 5k each. I was cranking out 5k every single day (often more) on that fic because I was so energized by the positive feedback I was getting. On Hidden Infinity, I’m at the point where I’m lucky if I can write 500 words in a day before I start questioning if anyone is even going to read this fic or if it’s even worth my time or if everyone is just waiting for me to get to the storage unit chapter or the jealousy chapter since apparently that’s the only reason some people were wanting this fic.

Long story short… I will finish Hidden Infinity, but I have no motivation to do it quickly. I’m kicking myself for starting this project when I literally knew it would turn out this way. I love the work itself, rereading the updates so far has been a joy. And I love getting to return to the Double Infinity story, because I have so many happy memories associated with writing this work. But this will be the absolute last time I do a full alternate POV of one of my stories.

[starkerforlife6969]

The Upper Hand - Starker

TW: violence, dark tony, overly protective tony, kidnapping

It’s not often that people get the upper hand on him.

In fact, it never happens. Tony wouldn’t allow it to happen. He plans everything. And it’s not that he’s a control freak and needs things just so, it’s that he expects a certain level from life. Whether that’s silk bedsheets or high-quality drains in the basement, he wants the best. 

Peter Parker is the best. The best thing that ever happened to Tony. 

He’s another reason, an important reason, the most important reason why Tony can’t afford to let people get the upper hand on him. 

The safest thing to do would be to stop. To get a handle on it. To hire a storage unit and move the cage there. And he had plans to do that, really he did, but then Peter had batted his pretty eyelashes and said in that honey-sweet tone, shy and petal-perfect: 

“Wouldn’t it be nice, if um…if you wanted, maybe we could…we could live together?” And he’d looked bare and vulnerable and hopeful, and Tony had kissed him hard on the mouth, rewarding his bravery. 

“My home is your home, sweetheart,” he’d vowed. And that had always been true. Been true the moment he’d first laid eyes on the boy. 

But it had meant, with Peter moving into the manor, that Tony hadn’t quite had the time to arrange for a storage unit. For clean up. For safety precautions. 

“You sick- you sick fuck!” Beck screams, waving the keys victoriously. Tony eyes him, going for bored. Beck is dripping with blood, cocky and stupid with his luck (and it’s luck, luck and absolutely no skill at all. He caught Tony off guard, and like he said, it’s not often that anyone- especially not pieces of shit like Beck- gets the upper hand on him). “You sick fuck!” He yells again, staggering until he’s leaning against the desk. He rummages through the drawers, presumably looking for something to staunch the bleeding. 

“Quin,” Tony murmurs, voice gentle, even as he tries the door. It won’t budge, he knows that. “Don’t do anything stupid.” 

“Or what?” Beck laughs hysterically, “you don’t have any power from where I’m standing. Look who has all the power now, bitch!”

“I have all the power.” Tony hisses, tone dark, “I always have the power.”

Beck spits at them, and then races for the stairs. 

Tony waits, listening.

The door of the basement rattles. Beck’s cries of despair grow louder. 

“Thank goodness for the sound proofing, am I right?” Tony drawls loudly, resting his forehead against the glass door of the cage he’s trapped in. His own cage. It might even serve him right if Quentin escaped. He’s been so stupid.

Beck reappears, shaking with ire. “Where are the keys to the door?” 

“Now why,” Tony wets his lips, arching an eyebrow, “would I tell you that?” 

“Because you’re down here too.” Beck whispers, “you’ll starve to death.”

Tony grins. 

Beck starts searching the drawers. More frantic this time. 

Tony really needs to think. He needs a plan now. The key for the basement door is in his pocket. If he could get Beck to open the door to the cage, take him out- maybe. He can’t get out of the cage without Beck, and Beck can’t get out of the basement without him. It looks like a stalemate then, at least for the time being. 

“Fuck!” Beck yells, kicking at the upturned desk in frustration. He’s wobbly on his legs. 

Tony offers him a sympathetic smile.

—

This, Tony thinks, watching as Beck starts to doze off from a mixture of exhaustion, dehydration and blood loss, could be a problem. He does’t want Beck to die down here, because then he’d be stuck. 

“Hey!” Tony snaps, knocking on the glass, “get over here, you piece of shit, I’ll give you the key. Just open the door.”

“Key…” Beck slurs, head dropping down onto his chest. 

Tony’s about to start jangling the key like he’s luring a dog with a treat when his heart goes cold.

The basement door unlocks and creaks open. Golden light spills down the stairs. 

Beck doesn’t even seem to notice. 

Tony can hardly breathe. 

“Hey, T?” Comes Peter’s gentle, sleep ruffled voice. It’s drowsy and around a yawn and utterly adorable. 

“Fuck,” Tony whispers to himself. 

“Are you down here? I don’t wanna disturb you, I’m just…” Peter’s voice is sweet and shy, “It’s three am and you should get some sleep.” 

“Baby…” Tony whispers. It’s all crashing. It’s crashing around him. He tries to be silent.

Beck lets out a loud, gurgling cough. 

There’s a beat. 

“Tony?” Peter calls, more worried now. And then his footsteps, as he pads barefoot down the steps. Each one a descent closer to the truth, to the depravity, there’s no way out of this. This is a new cage. A worse cage. There’s no plan for this. 

He turns, he can’t help it, he has to see- and there he is. His boy. Peter, frozen on the step. 

He’s in the satin robe Tony bought him, and an oversized tee, and his hair is ruffled and mussed from where he likes to smoosh into all the pillows. His honey eyes are wide with horror. 

They cast over the scene. Quentin, almost out cold, missing teeth and covered in blood, and Tony, pristine, trapped in the cage. 

Peter doesn’t move. He stares: frozen. 

“Peter, sweetheart,” Tony murmurs, and then his voice cracks. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

Peter trembles. His entire body shaking and Tony just wants to wrap him up in a hug. His boy looks at Beck. 

“Is that…” Peter whispers, “is he…is he dead?” There’s terror in his voice. 

“Just passed out, I think.” Tony murmurs, keeping his voice soothing. “He got the upper had on me.”

“Is that…it looks like Beck. He’s been missing for weeks, Tony, has he…oh god…”

“He hurt you, baby, I wasn’t gonna let that stand-“

“Oh my god,” Peter covers his mouth, chocking on a sob. “Tony!”

His crying stirs Beck, who seems to come back to life with a sudden flood of adrenaline. 

“Peter!” Beck yells, staggering to his feet, seeing the open basement door. 

Peter lets out a scream of terror, turning and fleeing up the stairs. Tony can only watch in horror as Beck runs after him. 

He beats at the glass, roars like a trapped animal, but there’s nothing he can do. 

He doesn’t know what’s happening up there. Beck’s probably run out- he’d know better by now, than to try to hurt Peter. He’s called the police. Or Pete’s called the police, and they’re coming. Tony sinks slowly to the ground in quiet contemplation.

He had a good run. He got everything he wanted in life. He knew love. Maybe Peter will visit him in prison. Peter’s beautifully, naively loyal like that. Tony will break out for him- as long as Peter can forgive him, and Peter will eventually.

Right? The thought that he might not makes Tony shut his eyes against the onslaught of pain. What if his boy can never look at him again, what if he’s lost it- his soulmate? 

The thoughts take him to a place of nothing. A tortured infinity. When suddenly-

There’s a horrible clattering and a thumping, and Beck’s, very much dead, body comes careening down the stairs.

Tony jerks up, gets to his feet, and watches as Peter walks down after it. Tony immediately scans him for bruises. There’s blood speckled on his cheek (it’s a very good look) and tears glistening in his eyes. He looks okay, he looks-

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Peter sniffles miserably, finally coming down the stairs and standing before Tony. The glass parts them horribly, Tony wants to reach out and touch. Peter looks small and sad. “He was gonna- he wouldn’t give me the keys. He was gonna turn you in.”

It’s starting to dawn on him. Tony can hardly believe it. “Pete…”

“I begged him,” Peter cries, with his perfect little face. “I just wanted the keys, and if he promised not to tell anyone, it would be- he could leave, but he- I had to-“ and he starts to cry.

Tony presses himself against the glass. “You’ve saved me, baby, shhh, you didn’t do anything wrong. My precious boy, my angel, it’s okay. It’s okay.” 

Peter has to take a few moments to compose himself, before he can stop shaking. And then, miraculously, Tony’s very own guardian angel (and isn’t that funny, he’d thought he was protecting Peter all this time, but he should have known) slides the key into the lock. 

Peter pulls open the door, and stands there, looking at Tony meaningfully. 

Tony gets it. 

He races to his boy, sweeps him into an embrace and peppers him with kisses. Whispers a litany of reassurance and praise. 

He carries Peter upstairs, barely suppressing anger at the state of the living room and kitchen. There’s been a struggle, Peter’s probably more hurt than Tony can see. 

He lowers his boy into a hot bath, full of bubbles and Peter’s favourite fragrance, and the boy’s starting to slump now, his honey eyed angel, adrenaline slipping out of his system. There are bruises forming on his ribs and it’s probably a good thing Beck's dead because Tony would have to make him pay. 

“Sleep, little one,” Tony whispers, kissing Peter’s damp forehead, and letting him nap in the safety of the jacuzzi bath. 

He cleans the mess of the kitchen and the living room. Then he goes to deal with the basement. Beck is dead, and Tony drags his body into the cage. He reorganises his desk and mops up the blood. 

He locks the basement door behind him. 

——

Peter’s still asleep in the bath, so Tony showers quickly, changes into fresh pyjamas, and comes to carry his boy to bed. He wraps him in a towel, dresses him in silk, and tucks him in, sliding in beside him and combing his fingers through that butter-soft hair. 

His Peter, his angel. “What did I do to deserve you?” Tony marvels aloud, “my sunshine, honey, boy. My sweetheart,”

“I love you,” Peter whispers sleepily, eyes still closed. “You should keep a spare key hidden in the cage.” 

Tony blinks. His heart bursts with love. “I adore you, Peter Parker.”

There are problems to deal with, a dead body in the basement, bruises on his boy that Tony will kiss but one more thing is in Tony’s mind. 

The only person to ever really get the upper hand on him, is Peter Parker. And Tony wouldn’t have it any other way. 

 i love you guys!

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 3

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: continuing fic, long-term, on-going &c. Am I the only one kinda loving Jim? Any desire for a separate fic starring Jim Hutton??? Let me know???

Warnings: high quality hand holding? Drinking.

Abstract: You and John Deacon exchange hands; a certain blond drummer interrupts the whole some enchanted evening thing.  

You leaned into John Deacon. His skin smelled of cardamom. Unexpectedly rich and earthy all at once. More of that tricky dichotomy. You saw the texture of his button-down, cotton and clean, and you could spot the lone speck of lint on his necktie. You could see his pores, quite small--lucky him, you thought. You saw the small spot on his neck where he nicked himself shaving that morning. You could see the natural auburn color of his hair; a hair color most women would sell their first born child to have. You kept leaning in, until you saw the saw the exact color of his eyes. You weren’t sure you could even call it exact since they were chameleon eyes. They changed, you figured, with the light. One second more blue, another more teal, always undercut with a steely grey. The color of storm clouds in autumn. His smile had become serious, curious.

The distance between you became alive; it was tangible, and you swore you could feel the air between you pressing in, pulling you towards each other against your wills. No, you knew that was a lie; you both wanted this, there was nothing about this remotely resembling against anyone’s will. You were dancing without moving. If distance were measured in dreams, you’d be perpetually anchored on the precipice of your heart’s desire. This was the verge of something new. You were ready to risk big to get big. You didn’t want to merely impress him with your boldness, you wanted to catch him off guard; you found you learned more about person doing something unexpected than what they figured you’d do. You were the element of surprise. Calling his bluff you continued to lean in.

Close to his lips, you angled you neck up slightly. A fraction of a breath from touching his flushed cheek with your lips. One turn, and his lips would be on yours. You could have kissed him. You wanted to kiss him. This was the essence of power, you thought. Being able to kiss someone you wanted to kiss, who very well probably wanted desperately to kiss you too, and then finding the self-control to prolong the moment, to stretch it out to infinity, to a place that existed beyond time. To fully live in a moment, and not give into it, that must be power.

His hand was still lightly cupping your chin, he could have tilted your head, too. Tilted it to the kissing point, the point of no return, but he didn’t do that either. You guessed this had nothing to do with desire or courage; this was deliberate for you both. A deliberate choice to wait. You could feel his breath on your cheek, and with each slow rhythm, a baseline unheard before, a part of your resolve surrendered. That was when his hand dropped from your chin to find one of your hands.

Deacon’s hand rested on yours, which rested on one of your thighs. This small gesture was quite sensational. It was as if all your nerve endings, all your mind’s prowess, your heart, and everything you were was all concentrating on the sensation of this layered and delicate touch. Breathing didn’t matter anymore, your beating heart ceased to be of concern; his hand on yours, covering your hand, innocently and deliberately touching your thigh was the only experience you cared about. Music, you thought, surely could never express this event. Words had never failed you, music had never escaped your interpretation, and yet you now found yourself up against an ineffable person performing an ineffable act all within the boundaries of a matter of seconds on inches of skin.

John was impressed. He sensed you were both playing the same winning hand. He found most stalemates were useless; someone always left disappointed, unfulfilled, unsatisfied, but this was something else entirely. The woman before him had been intimidated--starstruck, even--only seconds before, too sweetly shy to look into his eyes, but now! you were on the attack, poised to kiss, and yet frozen, waiting for him to make the first move. You were shrewd, a characteristic he liked to a fault. Holding your hand, all he could contemplate was kissing you someplace private, so the moment would be only yours, where no one but you and he would have the memory of it ever happening; a beginning belonging only to you. This romanticized notion was the only barrier keeping him from kissing you immediately in this bursting room.

He tried to distract himself with finding the perfect word for the color of your hair. Licorice maybe? He thought of his leather jacket, well-worn, dependable--maybe that was the color of your hair? Onyx, perhaps? He could be buried in your hair, and count himself a happy man, he thought. These thoughts were not helping his excitement or anticipation. You were as clear to him now as any song he had written, as any memory he had. What were memories before you?

This was foolish, he reminded himself. Did he even know your name? And that’s when you said:

“You want to kiss a woman you know

nothing about?” It wasn’t a whisper, but closer to an accusation, and it was meant only for him.

“A woman I know nothing about?” He sounded suspicious, it was the soft sound of rubbing crushed velvet; a secret promise was hidden in his question. He pulled away from your closeness, keeping his hand on yours. “A woman I know nothing about?” he questioned again, a clever smile appeared on his face, and you knew he had you.

Deacon gently turned your hand over in his, and he touched your fingertips. “Calluses,” he said simply. “This tells me you’re a musician.” He sheepishly showed you the calluses on his own hands. He then looked in your eyes, “and the fact you’re wearing glasses at a party tells me you either hate contact lenses, or aren’t vain enough to want to wear them; I think it’s the latter. You blushed when we spoke initially, which means to me I either said something you didn’t like, or something you liked a little too much. And the fact that I haven’t blushed merely due to our proximity shows me I want to, more than anything, impress you.”

This last statement shocked you, “You, a rock-star, want to impress me?”

The truth of this he couldn’t deny.

And that’s when John Deacon blushed.

You squeezed his hand in yours (how long had you been touching hands, you wondered?) and snorted at the absurdity of the situation. When he continued to gaze at you, you worried he thought you were laughing at him; he studied you so closely, as if he were trying to guess your mind.

He chuckled, without pretension, to himself, “You’re right. It sounds ridiculous out loud.”

“I can’t think of a confession you could make that would be foolish, John Deacon.” You slip your hand holding into a handshake. “My name is Y/N L/N, and I can’t think of anything less ridiculous than meeting you here tonight.”

That happened to be when a chandelier, ridiculously, fell from the ceiling six rooms away and one story up; but the circumstances of that, for now, were unknown to you, and blissfully unimportant.

Though Deacon had his suspicions he knew exactly what had occurred, he chose to ignore the hullabaloo in favor of you.

Smiling at the inherent music in your name, he repeated it. “Y/N, this cannot be the last time I see you, the last time we talk.”

“Is there a danger of that?” You asked, somewhat sadly.

“If we get separated, or pulled apart by...others.”

“I can give you my phone number?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do you have anything I can write on?”

His body language was immediately crestfallen. A songwriter with no paper, no pen. Maybe, he feared, he was just a hack.    

 Jim had been watching you both. His drink, held forgotten in his hand, was untouched. You were his favorite show, a story he couldn’t get enough of. He couldn’t wait to tell Freddie, perhaps the only other person in the world who wanted to see Deacy find happiness more than Jim did. Freddie would be so obnoxiously jealous knowing Jim had maybe set this all into motion.

That’s when Jim passed you a napkin and a pen.

You and John turned to look at Jim concurrently.

“Really, if you expected me to leave and give you privacy, Deacy, you aren’t as quick-witted as I tell everyone you are.” Jim was shaking his head in mock-disappointment.

Deacy laughed, and you found yourself craving his laugh the more you heard it. It was a crackling fire, a waspish wind. You took the napkin and wrote your number on it. For good measure, you added your name, and “the girl who leaned in” just to cover your bases. You handed it to Deacy.

He studied your handwriting, all loops and hard-pressed upon the paper as if you were afraid the ink would vanish before he could read it. He put the napkin in his jeans pocket, and lifted his glass to you.

“I have an amendment to your toast, if that’s acceptable?”

“Impress me, Deacy.”

He blushed at the use of his nickname. It had never sounded so alive as when you said it; it was an endearment, he thought, in your voice from your lips. Lips he had been so close to touching. A keen ache shot through his chest, then. A longing he didn’t entirely understand yet.

“To the girl who leaned in.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Jim reached his glass out to Deacy’s so fast you couldn’t tell who was more invested in the proceedings, you or him.

You lifted your glass, too, laughing with Jim and the rock-star.

Your glasses clinked like an unspoken contract beyond “let’s drink” or “to your health.” It was a contract of kismet.   

Jim’s attention shifted, and suddenly he made an exasperated sound, and the look on his face switched from enjoyment to well-humored annoyance. You followed the direction of his gaze, beyond Deacy’s shoulder.

“Oh my god!” You whispered, lifting a hand to your mouth. And that’s when a blond God came into the room and your life forever.

His black blazer had lapels spangled in rainbow sequence, and his colored sunglasses couldn’t hide the blue of his eyes. He was almost too gorgeous to be legal. He was danger personified. He rushed over to Deacy, and as he crossed the room, everyone in an expanding wave, from a ground zero starting at the one and only Roger Taylor, people lost track of their conversations, their dance steps halted mid-move. Momentarily, all action paused. It was as if he spread exceptionally temporary acute amnesia with him wherever he went. He was bewildering. In view, as he passed, all was forgotten, and then seconds later all returned to business as usual. People took up their conversions, dances resumed. Though it was as if some forgotten knowledge was omnipresent now: Roger was in this room, Roger could be won in this room.

You had never seen someone so aggressive without being angry in your life. Was this passion, perhaps? You could see what Lydia saw in him. Deacy, still looking at you, perhaps read some of this on your face, for lines creased between his eyebrows that told you he was resigned to this, used to this, expected this even--he thought you wanted Roger now. Who wouldn’t? You, more than Deacy knew yet, appreciated how hard it was having a best friend who was, through no fault of their own, naturally stunning. You chose this moment to wink at Deacy.

He winked back, and the insecurity slipped away just as fast as it had appeared.

“Let me guess…” he sighed.

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll hold you in suspense for long.” Jim rolled his eyes, sipping his drink.

“DEACY, mate--” Roger benevolently put a hand on Deacy’s shoulder and stood between the two of you. “Listen, if you had been there,” he shifted his lingering eyes to you, “instead of chatting up this lovely bird,” then back to Deacy, “I SWEAR, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“I highly doubt that.” Deacy ran a hand through his hair, which springed about in sympathy.

“You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I just couldn’t help myself.” Roger was on his way to drunk city, population most of the people at this party. “In fact,” He slurred, his gazing shifting back to you, “I might not be able to help myself to not help myself to you.”

Deacy stood, and put a protective arm around his friend, “Rog, firstly, if you’re referring to the chandelier we heard, the only thing I could have done to alter its trajectory would be considered manslaughter in several countries. Secondly, that’s exactly what I’ll do to you if you don’t keep your grease-gun away from Y/N, here.”

You couldn’t decide if it was a threat or a joke or a bit of both. You also couldn’t help the grin that spread across your face. It was the grin of early holiday presents. The grin of winning something you didn’t even know you wanted but did. The grin of waking up on the first day of summer vacation. You looked at Jim and the look on his face told you all you needed to know: he was doing everything in his power to not laugh.

“Will you ever drop the car bit?” Roger was trying hard to sound angry, though you suspected he not only loved the teasing, but would dearly miss it if it ever actually vanished from their friendship.

“Will you ever drop the car bit?” Deacy questioned.

As seriously as he could manage, Roger asked his cohort, “Well, who is she, then? Your...friend?”

“Rog, this is Y/N L/N. Y/N, this is Roger Taylor. Famous drummer, dear friend, and infamous car-adulterer.”

You and Roger shook hands, “I heard your name somewhere tonight, I’m sure of it.”

“I think you know my friend, Lydia?” You tried to prod his memory. Deacy looked at you, swallowing up every scrap of personal information you dropped.

Roger’s whole body changed at the mention of Lydia’s name. It was the feeling of heat returning to the body after a walk in the dead of winter. It was the feeling of a song you never skip. He glowed. Which was saying something as he was the type of person, you thought, who was never strictly turned off for anyone.

“You mean to tell me you came here with the Goddess in Red?”

“The scary yet fascinating thing here is that he could still be talking about his car.” Jim pondered aloud.

“She’s playing hard to get, the little minx.” Roger looked genuinely upset.

You laughed, “Yes, that’s Lydia without question. Actually, I haven’t seen her since we arrived.”

“That’s by design, I’m afraid; we’re playing a game.” Roger’s smile was a pinwheel. Let’s play, it said. “Wanna join us, love?”  

[beautyandhealththings-blog]

Call of Duty Infinite Warfare Xbox One with Zombies Brand New Factory Sealed

https://earnmonify.com/?p=2340

This listing is for physical software not a download offer. Pictures are actual pictures. PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS VERSION DOESN'T COME WITH TERMINAL MAP. I have listing same game with terminal map. Internet Connection is required!. Infinity Ward, the award-winning studio that helped create the blockbuster Call of Duty franchise, reaches new heights with Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare. At its core, Infinite Warfare returns to the roots of the franchise where cinematic, immersive storytelling takes center stage as told through an unfolding large-scale war and epic battles that deliver an authentic Call of Duty experience. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare delivers something for every Call of Duty fan with three unique game modes: Campaign, Multiplayer, and Zombies. Delivering a rich and engaging narrative in a setting unlike anything to date in a Call of Duty game, the campaign is a return to the franchise’s gritty, military roots throughout new environments never before seen in the franchise. The player will embark on a classic war story about grand scale warfare; all set in a grounded future where human conflict has spread throughout our solar system. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare Infinity Ward, the award-winning studio that helped create the Call of Duty franchise, reaches new heights with Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare. Infinite Warfare returns to the roots of the franchise with large-scale war, epic battles, and cinematic, immersive military storytelling and takes players on a journey from Earth to beyond our atmosphere. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare delivers something for every Call of Duty fan with three unique game modes: Campaign, Multiplayer, and Zombies. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare delivers something for every Call of Duty fan with three unique game modes: Campaign, Multiplayer, and Zombies. Delivering a rich and engaging narrative in a setting unlike anything to date in a Call of Duty game, the campaign is a return to the franchise’s gritty, military roots throughout new environments never before seen in the franchise. The player will embark on a classic war story about grand scale warfare; all set in a grounded future where human conflict has spread throughout our solar system. Multiplayer brings ground-breaking gameplay innovations to deliver the deepest and most engaging Call of Duty experience to date. The title introduces stunning, never before seen, multi-planetary environments, new weaponry, and all-new player abilities to Call of Duty. In addition, the new cooperative zombies experience will thrill players with an original direction featuring fun and unique gameplay, all wrapped into an entertaining narrative sure to excite fans. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare will take players on an unforgettable journey as they engage in battles from Earth to beyond our atmosphere against a relentless, enemy faction that threatens our very way of life. It’s grand scale war and hallmark boots-on-the-ground Call of Duty action with memorable characters, rich emotional arcs, and stunning new environments, all within an epic new setting. A Call of Duty Campaign to Remember Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare puts storytelling front and center, in a deeply engaging narrative. It features jaw-dropping set-pieces and blockbuster cinematic moments, while also delivering a gripping portrayal of war that harkens back to the roots of the franchise. Infinity Ward also breaks new ground by thrusting the player into wartime leadership as Captain Reyes, a Tier 1 Special Operations pilot, who takes the helm of the Retribution, one of Earth’s last remaining warships. In a time of unthinkable hardships, Reyes must lead the remnants of coalition forces against a relentless foe in a war that spans our solar system. Fighting a Fanatical Enemy The Settlement Defense Front (SetDef) represents a splinter group of insurgents that broke away from the United Nations Space Alliance during a war of secession, years ago. In the world of Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare, our planet has been stripped of its natural assets through population growth and industrial expansion. The people of Earth now rely upon colonies throughout the solar system to mine planets and asteroids for necessary fuel and other resources. The SetDef is a fascist power, comprised of brutal and militant radicals, toughened by the extreme conditions of offworld environments. They seek to control those outposts and their wealth, putting a stranglehold on the countries of Earth. After years of uneasy stalemate, diplomatic relations are strained, and it will take only the slightest nudge to lead to full-scale war. Gear Up For Intense Multiplayer Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare will feature an evolution of Call of Duty’s movement system with an emphasis on front-line engagement. Maps are designed to further leverage the movement system and immerse players into fast, fun, and frenetic gameplay that players have come to expect from Call of Duty. With its new approach to play, multiplayer will bring innovative gameplay that challenges players to achieve their goals in creative ways based on their specific play style. Battle the Living Dead in a Zombies Thriller Infinite Warfare Zombies brings a totally fun, wickedly fresh take to Call of Duty Zombies. Zombies in Spaceland will transport players back in time to a 1980's amusement park complete with a plethora of rides, an awesome arcade, and a funky, functioning rollercoaster. Embrace previously beloved aspects of the mode like tons of easter eggs, power ups, perks, and radical weapons while experiencing innovations like brand-new team mechanics, the After Life Arcade, and Fate and Fortune Cards. And, of course, a killer good 80s soundtrack. -Spaceland takes players on a roaring trip back into the 1980's with a nighttime setting sure to spook the faint of heart. -The park features unique areas at every twist and turn with settings ranging from an alien village to a trip back in time showcasing the glory of early space travel. -With a plethora of retrofitted rides and games the park has been outfitted with death traps to help players survive the next zombie onslaught. -Players have the ability to uncover the mystery behind the park and its inhabitants by completing the many Easter Eggs hidden within its walls. Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare raises the bar yet again, delivering three stellar experiences in one exceptional package. Pre-order your copy today! Available November 4, 2016. Please NOTE: This game is UK Import Game it is Region Free PAL Game. HD TV and HDMI Cable connection may be required to play.