#if anyone reading this is not in a position where they can blind-purchase a game or would like to experience it another way:

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

I need you to know that your Ghost Trick posting has been my sole motivator to finally get this game lol. It's been sitting on my 'to buy/play' list forever and seeing you reblog about it has convinced me more than any traditional advert could ever do. As soon as my next paycheck comes in I'm getting it

>:D I'm so glad to hear this, Anon!! I only very recently got into it myself and was like “I GET IT NOW.” You can fit so many great characters and designs and story moments in this bad boy.

Play Ghost Trick, friends—you will not regret it!

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 16

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Previous Chapter

For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you -  Cecilia and the satellite

————

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the Battle of Culloden.

Chapter 16

There were three things Claire was keenly aware of in that moment. First, that they were weeks behind Jamie and the gap of time seemed to stretch out ahead of them like the horizon ‒ something they’d never quite reach. The second was the gentle weight of Fergus’s head resting against her shoulder blade while he held loosely to her as their horse kept pace just behind Murtagh’s. She hated to move Fergus, and to stall their progress in closing the gap, but the third thing she was aware of was her bladder getting squished ‒ yet again ‒ as her body tried to accommodate its steadily growing inhabitant.

“Wait!” she called ahead to Murtagh as she started to slow her horse’s pace. Murtagh’s head whipped back frantically, but seeing no present sign of danger, there was a flash of irritation on his face ‒ but only for a moment. He slowed to a stop.

“I’ll be quick.”

Fergus slipped off the horse first and grabbed the reins so Claire could dismount. She did hurry, but the frequent breaks surely weren’t helping them catch up.

Inverness had been a bitter disappointment, to learn that Jamie and Faith had left the very next morning after Culloden and taken Mary with them. They were chasing after ghosts, not knowing the plan or final destination. The matron of the boarding house had only been able to give them the direction that the carriage left in, and from there, their search party stopped at every village, small town, and tavern along the way to inquire if a coach had passed through about 3 weeks ago.

The faint thrill of confirming Claire’s suspicion that Jamie had gone to Inverness first had quickly waned as they cobbled together some sort of trajectory to follow.

Only days before, in their trek through the war-torn Highlands, they’d caught on to the coach’s trail, with confirmed sightings of it that matched the time it should have passed through.

Still… as hard as it was to chase after Jamie and Faith, weeks behind them, they did so knowing that by all indications, Jamie and Faith were still alive and free, traveling under a guise with Mary Hawkins. That kept them pushing forward.

They started to build a map in their minds, comparing the direction the coach was traveling with potential destinations on the other side of that. Like Aberdeen or Dundee, or perhaps even further, into Perth or Edinburgh or Glasgow. And though Mary traveled with them… surely they wouldn’t cross into England…

“There’s a village no more’n half a day’s ride,” Murtagh said as Claire mounted her horse again and held steady while Fergus clamored up behind her. “We should aim tae make it there before dark. See if there’s anyone in town we can talk tae.”

Claire nodded briskly. “I’m sure we can manage that.” She glanced over her shoulder at Fergus. “All set?”

“Oui.”

“Then lead the way, Murtagh.”

  And amidst all of this was a fourth awareness, ever-present since she’d opened her eyes that morning. Something never far from her mind and that kept her heart heavy even as they chased desperately after her husband and child.

This day was Faith’s second birthday. And Claire was missing it.

  “Ye’d swear th’ whole village was blind…” Murtagh groused, mostly to himself. Then his gaze locked with Fergus’s and this time he directed his next words to the boy. “No’ a single intelligent person anywhere to be found.”

He proceeded to prepare the fresh-caught game for their dinner, not expecting a reply. Fergus stayed silent and swung his gaze over to Claire, checking her reaction.

She smiled slightly, all that she could muster in the moment.

“Where will we go now?” Fergus asked her.

“We’ll still keep pressing southward along the most likely route they would be traveling.” She tried to look more confident in that plan, but caught Murtagh’s frown and figured it hadn’t been too reassuring to Fergus. “Not the first place we’ve stopped without getting answers,” she added as a reminder.

“I suppose,” was all Fergus said to that. He’d built a fire and stacked the wood how Claire had taught him, so that a new log would feed into the fire once the one before it had turned to ash.

They’d made it to the village well before dark and after their rather unsuccessful encounter with the locals, they’d had time to head out to the woods and set up camp. With limited funds that they weren’t sure how far would need to be stretched, they rarely ate in town or stayed at a tavern for the night.

When the food had been cooked over the fire, Claire divided up the portions, giving Murtagh the largest. He tore off some of the meat from his portion and pushed it back into Claire’s hands. “Ye dinna eat enough,” he said in response to her bewilderment.

They ate the bird and some of the potatoes Jenny had provided.

“It’s Faith’s birthday,” Claire said softly over the crackle of the fire. “She’s two.”

Her statement was met with resounding silence from Murtagh and Fergus, except for the soft Scottish harrumph from the older man that she couldn’t quite interpret.

She wasn’t sure what she expected out of telling them, other than it felt wrong to let the day pass without acknowledging it in some way.

Fergus wiped one greasy hand on his pants and reached into his bag propped next to him. He fished out his wooden horse and set it to stand in the grass between him and Claire while he chewed. “Sometimes we have to wait for things, Milady,” he said kindly ‒ sagely, even ‒ while talking around the mouthful of food.

She locked eyes with him and felt her vision swim with tears when he nodded encouragingly. They’d asked him to wait when it was his birthday ‒ smack dab in the middle of a war ‒ and he was still waiting. Still believing that his wish would come to fruition ‒ that it would be Jamie who picked out the horse for him. And in order for that to happen, Fergus had to believe that they would be reunited.

“We will see le petit again.”

“Yes, we will,” she murmured in agreement.

And she did believe that. It was only… she was desperate to find them and had hoped to be reunited with them swiftly. But the reality was setting in… of how long and how far they might be searching still.

And all the while, Claire was missing more days, more moments in her daughter’s life that she’d never get back. How many days had she already lost… and how many more would be swallowed up in the time it took to find her?

  That night, Claire couldn’t sleep. She gave up after a while of lying there in the dark, listening to the soft crackling of a dying fire and the rustling of the wind through the trees, and finally pulled herself into a seated position facing the fire instead.

She caught Murtagh’s gaze across the fire instantly. “Not you too?”

“Aye,” he sighed.

“What’s keeping you up, then?” she asked, mostly so he wouldn’t ask her first.

He paused, linking his fingers together over his propped up knees. “Was thinking o’ the wee lass,” Murtagh admitted hesitantly, and Claire felt an instant pang in her heart. “The last time I saw her… and better times, too. Before the rising. At Lallybroch.”

She smiled against the urge to cry ‒ lately, she seemed on the verge of tears at any moment, the cause of which could never be determined between her raging pregnancy hormones or the pain of separation from Jamie and Faith. More than likely, it was some tangled-up knot of both things, she reasoned.

“She is a canny wee lass, and sae bonny and sweet.”

She knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Murtagh cared for Faith ‒ had seen firsthand at Lallybroch how the baby could draw a smile out of the dour old man better than anyone else ‒ but she’d never heard him articulate it so.

And god, it hurt like nothing else ever had ‒ missing Faith and knowing she had other loved ones who were missing her just the same.

Murtagh breathed in deep, and let his breath out slowly, his gaze on the dwindling flames. “I’m only sorry and heartsick for my role in all this… that I played a part in why ye canna see yer lass now, on the anniversary o’ her birth.”

She felt her throat constrict and shook her head. How many rounds of the blame game had she played for herself? “No, Murtagh… I’m sorry,” she managed in a hoarse whisper. “For what I said when I came back. For striking you. I don’t blame you for any of this. I was terrified and angry that they weren’t back at Lallybroch like I’d hoped, and I took it out on you.” She thought of her conversation with Jenny, and the words they’d repeated to each other in reassurance, in absolution. “None of us knew. None of us chose this outcome.”

She stared across at his hardened face, the lines of it appearing sharper in the fading light of the fire. He didn’t speak, and she wondered if that meant he wouldn’t accept her words for himself.

“Please forgive me?”

“Och,” he said immediately. “There’s nothing tae forgive, lass.”

They fell quiet for a moment, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Had her words made any difference, or did he still blame himself even if she didn’t?

  There was a strange sense that they were merely retracing steps they’d already taken during the rising. That’s how it felt to Claire at least as they entered Kingussie, near where they had started training Jamie’s men back in August of last year.

They walked into Kingussie on account of Murtagh’s horse needing a new shoe. Upon arriving, Claire handed Murtagh a few coins for the blacksmith and considered out loud how much food she should purchase to replenish their stock.

It was then they all seemed to take notice of a handful of Redcoats exiting the tavern.

“Fergus, stay close to me,” Claire instructed as they parted with Murtagh.

She’d thought Fergus was right behind her as she walked through the small market and picked out some grains and vegetables to pair with the fish or meat that Murtagh usually provided for their meals.

She turned a corner and nearly knocked Fergus over. “Oh. Where have you been?” She set her basket down and her hands went instantly to her hips.

Fergus shook his head as if to indicate that was of little importance.

“Here, Milady.” He reached for her hand and dropped several coins into it.

Her eyes went wide with shock. “Fergus!”

He turned defensive at her tone, seeing she wasn’t exactly pleased. “I will not let you starve! And there is le bébé as well. I heard Murtagh say you need to eat well enough so it can grow.”

“Yes, but do you understand that there are very real consequences to stealing if you are caught?” she snapped at him in a harsh whisper. There was a flash of indignation in his eyes at that.

“I will not get caught.”

She grabbed him by the shoulder and tugged him over to a more secluded spot away from the market stalls.

“You might! There’s always the risk and ‒ for Christ’s sake, Fergus, there are British soldiers right here in town!”

“Where do you think I found those coins?”

She was horrified at what he’d just admitted, with the sudden urge to sequester him out of town immediately, should any of the Redcoats realized what had been done.

“Milord would not have doubted me,” he added accusingly, clearly in response to whatever he’d read in her face.

She recoiled from his words. “It’s not a matter of doubt, I‒”

There was a flicker of movement in her periphery and when she glanced over, what she found made her blood run cold.

Murtagh, on the other side of town from them, surrounded by the soldiers.

Fergus’s head whipped around and Claire had barely enough time to slip a hand over his mouth and hold him back with the other arm before he did something truly stupid.

“Don’t, Fergus,” she pleaded in a desperate whisper as he struggled to break free and rush toward Murtagh. “He’ll be alright. Don’t provoke them. He knows what to do.”

You’ll get yourself killed…

All the while, her heart thundered in her chest, and she hoped that what she’d said would remain true; Murtagh was a stubborn Scot through and through, but he wasn’t stupid. He was outnumbered five to one. Should these soldiers happen to have rosters of Jacobite soldiers, they wouldn’t find Murtagh’s name on it. Jamie had had the foresight to keep Murtagh and the Lallybroch men off of any records during the war.

And with a month having passed since the battle, Murtagh had put away his kilts at Claire’s insistence and now wore breeks. He didn’t look the part of a Jacobite soldier and there was no way these men could prove that Murtagh had fought.

Unless one of them recognized him…

Claire tried to steady her breathing and when she felt as though Fergus had gained some semblance of self-control, she let her hand fall away from his mouth, but still held him anchored in place beside her.

They watched the exchange between Murtagh and the soldiers but were too far away to catch what was being said.

But she took in the way the soldiers acted, the glances they shared, the way they held themselves tall and proud.

And the way Murtagh had to shrink in their presence.

The Redcoats were the recent victors, having put down the Jacobite rebellion. And to them, that meant they could assert their superiority over the people of Scotland as they saw fit.

Finally, the soldiers appeared to be ready to move on, some of them shifting their weight from one foot to the other and beginning to turn and break off from the group.

But one soldier still spoke to Murtagh until suddenly and unexpectedly, Claire and Fergus watched as he spat in Murtagh’s face.

Fergus flinched with his whole body. Claire subconsciously tightened her hold on him and something between a cry and a sound of disgust slipped out of her.

The soldiers moved away then, nothing escalating from them, but it was the sight of Murtagh standing tall and refusing to wipe his face in front of them that finally broke Claire.

There had been no reason for it; the man had spit on Murtagh simply because he could. Because he knew Murtagh wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.

And to watch helplessly while these men degraded Murtagh left her with an emblazoned fury building in her chest. They weren’t better than him. And she knew if it wasn’t for Fergus right beside her just then, she would’ve been tempted to do something about it herself.

But she wouldn’t risk her boy. And Murtagh wouldn’t want that either.

Fergus himself was seething at her side and she had to tug him away and turn him so she could look him in the eye.

“I will slit their throats,” he said with such conviction that she was stunned into silence for several beats.

“Look, I’m angry too,” she assured him. “But Murtagh is alright‒”

“They had no right to‒” “I know. I agree with you.”

“They should still pay for what they did.”

She drew in a deep breath and fished out the coins from her skirt pocket. “Let this be your revenge, hmm?”

Fergus seethed in front of her, sorting through his thoughts. “I wish I had waited to rob them until now,” he said finally. “I would have taken much more from them. Bastards.”

With that, she realized they’d reached a resolution, and with a heavy sigh, she placed one hand gently on the back of his neck to tug his head forward into the cradle of her chest. He went willingly, his slight arms snaking around her waist to hold tight. “It’d be much harder to look for Jamie and Faith if we’re on the run from the Redcoats,” she said softly, hoping this idea above all else might take root with Fergus. He was so god damn cavalier sometimes, he had no idea how often he’d scared the living daylights out of her by doing something careless and risky.

Fergus sighed heavily, still vibrating with frustration. “I know, Milady.”

They waited for Murtagh to find them, having come to some unspoken understanding not to bring up what happened with the soldiers or admit that they had witnessed it. When Murtagh did join them, he was terse and itching to move on from Kingussie as swiftly as could be arranged, which Claire didn’t begrudge him for.

Murtagh’s horse had been giving a new horseshoe and Claire had enlisted Fergus’s help in gathering a few more necessities to augment their dwindling supply. But there was usually another reason they spent time in each village before they could move on and Claire hesitantly pointed that out.

“Dinna need to ask around. I already learnt all we need to know.”

“Someone here saw Jamie and Faith?” she asked, feeling a little breathless. Fergus perked up at this.

“No’ exactly. But the blacksmith had a lot tae say about a certain devilish black beast he had the misfortune o’ re-shoeing a few weeks ago.”

“Donas!” Fergus said brightly.

“Aye.” He smiled slightly as he grabbed Fergus’s shoulder and gave him a playful shake. “So we’re on th’ right path, aye? Dinna fash, laddie.”

“Let’s not linger about then,” Claire said decidedly.

  She could tell there was something else going on with Murtagh, but chalked it up to the encounter with the Redcoats.

They’d ridden for as long as they could after leaving Kingussie before stopping for the night. Their evening passed in a similar fashion as it did every other night, with the one exception that Murtagh had found a moment when Fergus was out of earshot to ask Claire to wait up after the boy fell asleep.

Once he had, Murtagh jumped into his news without preamble.

“Black Jack Randall is dead.”

Her stomach dropped.

“What?” Her gaze flew to the outline of Fergus’s slumbering form under his blanket. He didn’t stir.

Of course she knew that bit of information. She hadn’t forgotten Frank’s discovery that Randall seemed to have died away from the battlefield, within a few days of it. The thought that he’d gotten to Jamie and Faith had haunted her, but she knew by the time she had traveled back here ‒ by the time she had learned the news even ‒ it would have been too late to do anything about it.

“How‒”

“Redcoats,” Murtagh muttered. “That’s why they stopped me.”

“I knew he was dead,” Claire admitted. “But the soldiers told you that?”

“Aye and there’s a bit more. They found his body at a tavern just outside Carrbridge.”

Carrbridge. They had gone through there as well, spoken with the owner of the tavern who confirmed that a carriage had passed through there. Said nothing of a dead body, though. Murtagh said as much and Claire shrugged.

“Suppose that might be bad for business. What else did you learn about this?”

“No’ much, but they are looking for whoever killed him. That’s why they stopped me to ask about my whereabouts, where I was from.” He absently tossed a leaf into the fire and watched it burn up. “The good news is they dinna seem to have connected it tae Jamie.”

Neither of them had said it, but both of them knew. It had to be Jamie.

“Well, I guess that’s something,” Claire agreed. “Did they‒ I don’t suppose it would matter to the soldiers but… no one else was hurt?”

Murtagh’s gaze locked onto hers and he smiled sympathetically. “Didna say. But we do know they came through Kingussie afterwards. Blacksmith confirmed as much.”

A cold feeling had crept in and Claire hated to put it into words. “He said he saw the horse. He didn’t say anything about Jamie or Faith, did he?”

“He did say there was a rather large man who helped him wi’ Donas. I didna press for details, but I’m sure that was Jamie.”

That she could believe… but what of Faith?

“He wouldna have kept going if Faith was lost,” Murtagh said bluntly. “What reason would he have?”

“Well, Mary was still with him. I imagine he wouldn’t just abandon her to the wilds of Scotland to fend for herself, she being an Englishwoman after all.”

Murtagh grunted softly at that. “Ye’re tired, a nighean,” he said gruffly, in a way that Claire knew to mean that he cared. “Get some sleep.”

She smiled half-heartedly at that ‒ and did stretch out on her spot near the fire for the night. But sleep evaded her, as it so often had on this journey.

Even if Faith survived… had she been hurt? Had Jamie? And had she been scared, in whatever events unfolded when they encountered Black Jack Randall?

Claire had told herself so many times that they must’ve slipped away from the British ‒ and thus Randall ‒ as her way of coping with the unknown. But now… to know that he had found them… sought them out, even…

Until they found them and she could see for herself that they were alright, she wouldn’t have a moment of peace.

  One day, a storm caught them unawares. Their last touchpoint to civilization was a day’s ride behind them, and they’d started their travel early that morning, when the clouds were only an unassuming, white canopy above them.

But then the sky darkened and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, and by the time they were scrambling towards the trees, they’d already been caught in the torrential downpour of rain.

Fergus argued for the cause to keep going, even through the storm, but Claire was firm in stating the risks that that would pose, such as hypothermia and pneumonia. Murtagh was more concerned about the risk of mudslides with the horses, but the two of them were at least united in the cause to wait out the storm.

That was how they found themselves wedged tightly under a small shelter they’d constructed, huddled in a line in front of a small fire at the edge of the shelter.

Yet another delay in their journey.

She glanced down at Fergus and saw his face drawn tight with concern. Slipping an arm around his shoulders, she tugged him even closer to her. “You know, in my time… there are horseless carriages called automobiles. What I wouldn’t give to have one of those right now…”

Fergus’s brows furrowed as he considered this. “How do they move without a horse?”

“They’re motorized. They have something called an engine that makes them run. And they can go even faster than a horse.”

She passed the time describing everything she could of a modern car to Fergus, and then moved on to tanks, trains, bicycles, and aeroplanes. Much like Jamie, the concept of flying through the sky fascinated Fergus.

And once she’d run out of modes of transportation to describe, she fell quiet and let Fergus (and Murtagh, she assumed) ponder these oddities of the future.

“It sounds so grand, Milady,” he said at length, leaning his head back against her shoulder. The rain lessened some, but was still steadily coming down.

“Hmm,” she murmured softly. “Maybe some things in comparison to this time might seem that way…”

But she’d seen the ugliness of the World War in her time, and she’d found beauty in this time, considered to be crude and uncivilized in comparison.

“Do you miss it at all?”

“No,” she said easily. “Although… the hot baths, yes. Especially now.”

Fergus pulled a face at that. “You can take hot baths in this time, Milady…” he said slowly, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing at him explaining that to her.

“Yes, I know, but it’s not nearly as much work in my time. Just turn on the faucet and it’s already hot.”

“... faucet? And how is it already hot?”

“Before ye begin tae explain that one, I think my heid’s already done in wi’ everything else ye’ve given me to consider,” Murtagh interjected suddenly.

“We can leave indoor plumbing for another day,” Claire agreed with a laugh.

  They had reached a long stretch of wild country with little in the way of civilization. A land they had traversed before, twice during the rising. And along with their trek through the remote Highlands wilderness was an impending sense of dread. What if they missed a checkpoint or overshot Jamie’s path? Could somewhere within this deserted expanse of land be where he would choose to hide out from the British?

They were steering towards the village of Kenmore, Murtagh having decided that was the most likely stop on the journey. And since he’d been right about Jamie’s instinct to flee to the north two years ago, Claire was inclined to trust his judgement on this. Especially since he knew the landscape of this place much better than she did.

The nights had become the only moments on this journey when Claire and Murtagh could speak without Fergus being awake and present for the conversation.

Not every night. But enough that it had become something of a routine more often than not.

“Strange, isn’t it?” Claire began one night when the howl of the wind coming down from the mountain kept her from sleep. “That we’ve found ourselves at this again… searching for weeks but never quite finding him.”

Murtagh grunted in acknowledgement, a cheerless smile in place. “Och, aye. Canna forget that silly tune you sang during that time even if I tried.”

“What? The one you taught me?”

“Nay, lass,” He fired back indignantly. “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.”

She laughed as the memory resurfaced. “I sang that to you once.”

“Aye,” he said sourly, “And it stuck.”

“Hmm, my apologies for all you’ve apparently suffered as a result. I happen to like that one.”

“Weel, it never would ha’ worked for our purposes,” he said as one last hit against her song.

The wind whipped through their camp again and Claire pulled her thick shawl tighter about her. With the wind, the mood shifted, bringing them back to their reality. They were hungry, tired, cold, on what seemed like an endless journey. Their small moment of joy dissipated, as if carried away on the harsh wind itself.

“What if we never find him?” Claire uttered the words just above a whisper. “He has no idea we’re looking for him.”

She had no doubt that if Jamie Fraser wanted to disappear into the night without a trace, he could do it. And what would stop him?

The difference between this time and before was that Jamie had been looking for a way to return to her. Now, he believed her gone.

“Found him once before,” Murtagh reminded her.

“Yes. Captured. I’m less worried about that this time, though.”

“Then what?”

Claire shrugged, trying to appear more unaffected by her fears. “He has Faith with him. He thinks I’m gone. He knows the Redcoats will either kill him or imprison him if they find him… so he’d make sure they couldn’t be found, right? By anyone.”

Murtagh made that Scottish sound at the back of his throat and didn’t say anything else.

“And Fergus…” She drew in a shaky breath. “Well, I just worry. He loves Jamie so much… and I don’t know‒” She thought of that day in Kingussie, how he’d said Jamie would never doubt him. “If it’s just me that Fergus has… what if that’s not… enough?”

“Claire.” Murtagh said her name in such a way that it felt as though he was gently chiding her. “The lad loves ye.”

Her throat clogged with emotion and she wiped gingerly at the silent tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Murtagh sighed heavily. “Ye didna see him. After Culloden. When I came back wi’ the news that Jamie would stay to fight… there was still a hope, ken? That Jamie could survive the battle. We waited for news o’ him for days and days. But ye and Faith were gone for good ‒ that’s what we kent at the time. For two weeks, Fergus grieved ye. Ye’re his family too. He doesna just want Jamie back… he needs ye both, ken.”

She nodded solemnly, still too choked up to speak as fresh tears clouded her eyes. He did something then he hadn’t yet in any of their late-night conversations; she watched as he stood and made his way over to her side of the fire, plopping down next to her. His arm went about her shoulders and gave her a gentle squeeze.

“S’alright, a nighean.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder, feeling more emotions in that moment than she could put into words, but taking comfort in Murtagh’s support and steadfast loyalty while everything else in her life felt shaky at best.

“I’m glad you’re here, searching with us.”

“Aye. I’m glad ye came back,” he said with tenderness in his voice. “And we’ll find Jamie and wee Faith. Dinna fash yerself.”

  They were just departing from Sterling when the choice had to be made. Before them laid two potential paths with no indication of which one the carriage had traveled.

Should they go west towards Glasgow? Or East along the river towards Edinburgh?

Jamie’s end goal was still hazy to them, but they were fairly sure by now that he wouldn’t proceed much farther south than either of those cities.

“The lowlands were largely on the side of the British, so either place is risky,” Claire pointed out.

“Aye,” Murtagh sneered, none too pleased to have left the Highlands either way. “But Glasgow wasna a point of conflict during the rising. Edinburgh is likely still crawling with Redcoats since they recaptured it months ago.”

Claire considered this, wondering what Jamie would choose. What would be safer for Faith. “So Glasgow?”

“Glasgow,” Murtagh agreed.

  “And how fast can they go, again?” Fergus’s curiosity had circled back around to the topic of cars, and Claire indulged him, having little else to pass the time while they traveled.

“There were some cars that could travel 80 miles per hour.”

“Eighty?” She knew he couldn’t really grasp it, having never traveled that fast before, but the number was very high. Much faster than they could manage on horseback.

“Oh, yes. Dangerously fast.” She couldn’t explain what prompted her next words, perhaps born out of her desire to protect those she could while struggling with the separation from Jamie and Faith. “They can be terribly dangerous. That’s how my parents were killed when I was young. A car accident.”

Fergus was quiet for a moment and she wished he wasn’t seated behind her so she could see his face.

“I did not know that, Milady,” he said softly, with an undercurrent of compassionate understanding she didn’t expect most eleven-year-olds possessed. His arms gave her waist a gentle squeeze and she patted his hands where they rested overlapping on her stomach.

“Didn’t seem relevant exactly when I was giving everyone the truth of the stones and where I’d come from. But yes, I should’ve told you. I lost them when I was five. After that, I went to stay with Uncle Lamb.”

She caught the slight chuckle from Fergus. Yes, those stories he had heard, some even before the truth of her origins, though those were always carefully constructed. He’d heard a few more on this journey and always delighted in them.

“I didn’t realize you were a girl then. With Uncle Lamb,” Fergus admitted and then, after some consideration, added, “I can’t imagine you as a child, Milady.”

“What, this whole time you thought I was an adult in all my stories with Uncle Lamb?”

“Yes,” he admitted with a laugh.

“I guess that makes sense. I always had trouble picturing my parents as younger than I would’ve known them. My Uncle Lamb too, for that matter.”

Their conversation lapsed in a comfortable sort of way. There was an intimacy in their shared experience and though Murtagh was only a few feet ahead of them, he felt miles away from their small bubble. And what Murtagh shared about Fergus’s grief was never very far from her mind.

“I used to play a game when I was little. After my parents died and I went to live with my uncle. I would pretend that they were out there in the world somewhere, still alive, and they would come get me eventually. It felt easier sometimes, if I could just pretend that I was waiting on them.”

“I used to play a game,” Fergus began quietly and Claire strained to listen, “that I had ended up at Maison Elise by mistake and my parents were looking for me all that time. I would imagine what it would be like to have them show up and take me away, to a home.”

“What was it like? What did you imagine?”

“It was one of those big houses that I would pass on my walks through Le Marais. Of course I’d never been inside a house that grand until Milord brought me to Monsieur Jared’s house. That house was more beautiful than any of my imaginings.”

She felt his head come to rest against her back again. “Of course, by then I did not need to imagine such things anymore.”

Her heart leapt to her throat and she gave another reassuring squeeze of his hands within her own.

  They’d lost the trail.

By now, they’d learned to not give up if they came up empty at the first and second stops, but by their sixth time coming up empty, the doubt began to set in.

“Do we double back?” Claire asked. “Head for Edinburgh?”

In some part of her brain, the question rolled around that maybe this had been Jamie’s plan all along. For weeks, she’d feared reaching a point where any trace of them simply vanished.

Murtagh seemed to catch that look of despair in her eyes. “We head back to our last confirmed sighting. Go from there.”

Back to Sterling. From his spot behind Murtagh, Claire watched as Fergus’s face fell at the realization of the time they’d wasted since choosing Glasgow.

  Fergus’s bedding was angled in such a way that when he curled up for the night, his head rested close to Claire’s.

“You’re quiet tonight,” she said softly to him, propping her head up on one hand. She studied his young face, glowing orange from the light of their campfire. “Are you feeling alright? You’re not sick, are you?”

“Oui, Milady, I am just tired.” He said all of this half-heartedly and without taking his gaze from the fire.

She reached out and brushed a hand over his messy curls. His eyes slid shut and he sighed. She thought of all he’d gone through in the last month and a half, from war to loss and disappearances of loved ones, to having one returned to him unexpectedly. And again she thought of his grief ‒ it struck a chord deep within her that she wasn’t soon to forget ‒ and wondered if Fergus was already bracing for some sort of loss with Jamie.

And that thought broke her heart clean in two. Because she couldn’t protect him from the hurt if anything did happen to Jamie, or if they failed to find him.

“Look at me, love.”

She waited until he had listened and tilted his head back to look at her. “I know we’ve been at this for a while. I’m tired, too. That’s alright.” She kept brushing back his curls from his forehead as she spoke. “And I know I can’t make any guarantees, but for what it’s worth, I believe we’ll find them. But no matter what, you have me. You have Murtagh. The baby, too, eventually,” she said with slight laughter in her voice. She was rewarded with a small smile out of Fergus.

“You have me, too, Milady. No matter what happens.”

She leaned across and kissed the top of his head. “It’ll be alright, love. Try and get some sleep.”

  Claire laid there in the dark looking up at the stars, long after Murtagh’s snores had begun and Fergus went still and quiet. Her thoughts swirling around Jamie and Faith, the heavy fears of losing them or never finding them, the worry over Fergus and how he was faring‒

She breathed in sharply and one hand flew to her stomach, though there was nothing to be felt under its palm. But there had been a quickening in her belly ‒ the first movement she’d felt of this baby from within.

“Oh…” she breathed out. Tears sprouted in her eyes and spilled over gently. She was scared to move in that moment, like she might startle the small thing somehow. It was so quick, she wondered if she had imagined it. But no, she knew that feeling from when she’d carried Faith. “Hello, you little darling,” she whispered into the night. “I’ve been so worried about you.”

Her hand rubbed slow circles over the firm, small bump. “Thank you for letting me know you’re still there.”

  Claire knew it was coming ‒ had remembered well enough from when she’d traveled through here with the Jacobite army ‒ and careened to the side in her saddle, trying to see around the bend.

Yes ‒ there it was!

“Fergus,” she called out, pulling her horse up alongside Murtagh’s. He looked at her, bewildered, and she grinned. “Look up ahead.”

Though they’d lost time in misjudging Jamie’s next steps, they had eventually caught the trail again after starting fresh from Sterling. Now, they were quite certain that Jamie and Faith were in‒

“Edinburgh!” Fergus exclaimed as the first sights of the city came into view. His gaze flew back to Claire’s. “We’re almost home, Milady!”

She felt her vision burn with tears and had to face forward to keep from crumbling as Fergus’s words landed.

This place had never been home to them, but Jamie and Faith had… and they were almost home again.

[aminiatureworld]

Storms

Ship: RFA + Minor Trio and GN!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,431 words total; about 700 per person

Premise: A rewrite of an old request I wrote back in 2017 (link here).

Author’s Note: These are less headcanons and more fics outlines lmao but hope you like this rewrite. I do considering I can barely stand reading the original, my writing has thankfully improved, and I hope it will continue to do so. I haven’t written in 2nd person in literal years (3rd person ftw) so I hope it doesn’t come off too strange. 

Two notes. Firstly I’ve done my best to make the reader gender neutral. If you catch any gendered terms feel free to tell me so I can fix it. Secondly, I haven’t played Another Story yet, rip my broke ass, so if V and Saeran are a bit out of character, that’s definitely why. I’m working on it haha. In regards to V I simply know almost nothing about his route, and in regards to Saeran I’ve decided to ignore what I know about his route, mostly because this was hitting 4,000 words at that point and an in depth HC involving canonical thing would probably be about that length. Sorry this is so long and thus the final HCs a bit rushed. Thanks for putting up with me! Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 link in reblog

Zen

Having a fear of thunderstorms was one of the most obnoxious fears on the planet sometimes. Especially when one is surround by 60 mph gusts of wind and the house one lives in feels like 80% glass.

This was the predicament you were left in when a series of storms passed through the first week you and Zen were officially dating. Oh joy.

Despite how in love you were with Zen, revealing one’s fears, especially when they seem vaguely irrational, is a difficult thing to do, so you teetered towards Option B

That being: Don’t tell anyone, keep calm, if you need to take a break go to the bathroom or say you forgot something in the bedroom. Okay? Okay.

However this flawless plan of attack lasted only about five minutes, and the first clap of thunder had you ready to bolt under the bed.

Zen, bless him, was utterly oblivious, listening to the backtrack of a song he was working on and occasionally making such benign comments as “that’s a lot of rain” or “wow that was loud”

Yeah. That was loud. Help me.

Eventually it got a bit… much, and you had to make your excuses about getting a book from the television/living room. Since it was in the “basement” part of the complex you’d figured that it’d be easier to hide out there. Just turn off all the lights, try to find earplugs, then count down the time until the storms were over.

Unfortunately the weather wasn’t adhering to this plan very well, how typical of it, as the storms were supposed to last until the early hours of the morning. And it wouldn’t exactly be unobtrusive to not eat.

So after ten minutes in the dark you went out to help Zen prepare dinner. At least no one needed to go to the grocery store. And today’s menu included Japchae, so always a treat! It was going to be okay, nothing was going to happen. It’s fine.

At least that’s what you told yourself until a particular bright flash of lightning streaked the sky and you promptly jumped and dropped the sweet potato noodles on the ground.

At this point Zen switched from oblivious to overly concerned. Say what you will about him but he was truly a sweetheart when he noticed something was wrong. As he helped you pick up the spilled noodles, assuring you that there was enough still in the package to use, he asked what was wrong

You explained that when you were little your grandparents had a house in a village in the countryside and one summer day lightning struck a powerline, causing it as well as two houses close to yours to burn down.

Zen responded with such concern. “Oh MC I’m so sorry to hear that! Was anyone hurt? No wonder you’re uncomfortable around storms now.”

“It was such a long time ago, and it’s so unlikely to happen again my lifetime… I don’t know why I’m still so afraid, it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to be afraid of something. You don’t have to hide your fears around me sweetheart. There’s no shame in it.”

Unfortunately words usually cannot make fears go away, but safe to say you were touched. Picking up the rest of the noodles and disposing them you and Zen shared a sweet series of hugs, and maybe you wouldn’t continued down that route if the water hadn’t begun to boil and dinner was once more brought back into stark focus.

Afterwards you guys ate in front of the tv, turning on a random crappy show and making fun of the announcer.

You could still hear the thunder every once in a while, but Zen made sure you felt safe and happy, cuddling you, doing something to draw your attention to him at the beginning of each clap of thunder, and keeping up a steady stream of conversation, even about the most mundane of things.

Your fear still wasn’t gone, and you still weren’t excited for the rest of the week, but at least you had someone with you who truly cared and was actively trying to make you feel better. You knew Zen would always be there for you, and that knowledge would carry you through the most anxious of times, to the other side.

You truly loved him so much.

Yoosung

Sometimes you wished that you could disappear into something as easily as Yoosung did, both with his games and with his studying.

Yoosung was in his first year of veterinarian medical school and, having just passed the first series of exams, had invited you over to the apartment he was leasing, for an evening of games, television, and overall hanging out. It would’ve been more of a date, but the weather was impressively stormy and, much to your relief, it was decided that staying inside was the better option.

Yoosung was loading up a game on the tv and you were checking to see what remained in the fridge, when a bolt of lightning raced across the sky; suddenly you became aware of just how very high up apartment buildings tended to be, and, much like usual, the logical part of your brain repeating Googled information about lightning rods was replaced by a static of anxiety floating around in your brain.

Returning to the TV room you nervously picked up the controller, hoping that Yoosung wouldn’t notice. Not that you didn’t trust him to understand, indeed you’d hardly met anyone as understanding as Yoosung, but it was more that years of being told “it’s just rain” had kinda gotten to your system.

The first half an hour or so was alright, the quiet mental notes you were taking told you that the storm was still far enough away, although there was no doubt it was getting closer; something reinforced by your, hopefully, discreet checking of the weather app.

When the storm arrived, oh boy did it arrive.

The winds felt unbearable, screaming terribly, rattling the windowpanes with fast, stinging rain, so much so the outside looked less like the outside and more like the middle of a whirlpool. A whirlpool that occasionally set itself on fire, the lightning dispersed by the odd shadows of the rain.

At this point all pretense fell out the window.

“MC?” Yoosung looked over as you’d dropped the remote and drawn your legs up to your chest, burying your face in your knees, all thoughts blocked out. “MC.” Yoosung said a little louder, putting his own remote down on the coffee table and scooting over to where you were sitting on the couch. “Hey.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, something vaguely uncomfortable considering the position you both were sitting in, but still a welcome presence, a bit of comfort making its way past your wall of fear.

“Not a huge fan of thunderstorms I see.” He said when the storm had calmed down a bit. You let out a shaky sort of laugh. Understatement of the century, wouldn’t you think?

“I have an idea!” Yoosung ran out of the room, leaving you to curl yourself up again, until he came back, a pair of headphones in hand.

“These are the best noise cancelling headphones I own, and they cost a fortune so they’d better work.” He placed them over your ears, and immediately you noticed how muffled the sound became. Evidently it must’ve shown on your face, because Yoosung smiled even wider, nodding gently before picking up his remote again.

As the storm continued so did the gaming. At some point you guys ended up thrown about the couch, cuddling each other, and occasionally knocking elbows when the gaming got intense. When things were finally over you two lay there a little longer, although you’d taken the headphones off.

“Thank you.” You whispered, content.

“For what?” Yoosung smiled. “That’s what boyfriends are for.”

“Not all boyfriends.” You countered “You’re special. The best boyfriend one could ask for.”

And you meant it.

Jaehee

I imagine both you and Jaehee not being huge fans of thunderstorms. They frightened you, and to Jaehee the volume gave her a headache, not to mention the fact you were both living in a cheap apartment on the ground floor while the coffee shop’s purchase was still new; and the whole structure had this obnoxious habit of vibrating with both the lightning and thunder, leaving everything a bit discombobulated and very unpleasant.

The coffee shop wasn’t much better really, open as it was, the whole front being 85% glass and only 15% brick.

So when you both checked your phones and saw that storms were on their way it was all about planning.

Since you couldn’t afford to close the shop for the week you instead put a large display in the windows, putting up cardboard trees, birds, and whatever else would block most of the view.

You went through the store, making sure everything unnecessary was unplugged.

Really it was probably a bit overkill, or at least Jumin and Seven certainly thought it was, but hey better safe than sorry.

The apartment was given the same treatment, blinds and shutters were closed, toasters and charging cords were unplugged, and Aspirin and earplugs were stocked up.

The week of the storms was really incredibly unpleasant, with you two sneaking in hugs and kisses whenever the line of customers was small, squeezing each other’s hands when a particularly bright streak of lightning flashed, or when the thunder seemed to become unbearable.

No dawdling home this week, much to the chagrin of both of you, who’d taking to park exploring and other such mundane things that both you and Jaehee had missed out on, her due to work and you due to being shut up in Rika’s apartment for eleven days.

Nevertheless neither of you were particularly keen to venture out in the middle of a storm, so instead you two headed home, a night’s worth of musicals and cuddling ahead of you.

Dinner was spent in front of the tv, although usually you two usually made a point to eat at the dining table it was in the most windowed room in the house and thus not meant to be.

Zen’s beautiful tenor might not have been enough to completely drown out the storms, but it was certainly a help, not to mention the large doses of cuddles you were giving one another.

But really the best part about it was just being able to talk freely about your fears, you both having the reference that those who don’t suffer with what’s widely considered an irrational fear in modern times don’t understand.

And that was really what kept it together for you two. You’ll always be there for one another, you’ll always understand one another.

Eventually the clock struck the hour and you both realized that not only would there be work tomorrow, but musicals can’t much be enjoyed when you’re only paying half attention.

You got ready for bed, both making a final sweep for plugged in appliances that might burn out if there should be an energy surge.

Right before you two drifted off to sleep you gave Jaehee a small kiss. “What was that for?” She whispered. Everything was so beautifully comfortable, so cozy and intimate, and your happiness in that moment overpowered all fear.

“I just love you, I love you so much.” You replied. Jaehee blushed, but returned the kiss.

“I love you too. Forever.”

Jumin

It’s not that you hid it from him because you were embarrassed, well at least that wasn’t the main reason. It was more Jumin’s habit of blowing everything out of proportion, to the point of hindrance. That was really what you were afraid of, you just needed calm, need comfort, not yoga or whatever was to be the cure. And not that Jumin couldn’t or wouldn’t give you comfort, but the likelihood of him giving you calm was maybe a bit more debatable.

So you tried to keep it hidden, mentioned nothing of it on your way out the door in the morning, avoiding the topic in the messenger, even when Seven started to go on and on about windspeed – did the bastard know something?

Things seemed to be going… okay? I mean they weren’t great, you were constantly pushing down the urge to hide in a closet or something, but hey Jumin wasn’t aware yet. Success?

The trip home was certainly unpleasant, and the text that your husband was working late again certainly didn’t seem promising, but hey there’d be Elizabeth, and the bedroom had amazing blackout curtains. So, yeah, it’d be fineeee.

At least it would be if the damn penthouse didn’t have windows for walls. Something that certainly wasn’t normal or part of the regular plan.

Nor was it really possible to take a nap with the thunder so loud and your thoughts running high, really it’d probably be better on the lower floors if you weren’t so sure of people being there.

At this point the plan became less of “don’t let Jumin know, play it cool” to “survive whatever the cost”, which yes perhaps was also an overreaction on your part, but you knew damn well that all rationality had long fled, and you weren’t about to go chasing after it, that wasn’t what you needed right now. Rationality was also what had you go into a google wormhole about terrifying lightning related accident. Need one say more?

So you picked up a perhaps a bit disgruntled Elizabeth the 3rd, and buried yourself under the covers, stroking her fur at regulated intervals, trying desperately to pay attention to the video you’d loaded on your phone, to less than perfect success.

You wouldn’t say that you were dozing when Jumin came home, it was more like you were so deep in your fears that you really didn’t have room to pay attention to anything else.

“MC?” Jumin was instantly alert when you didn’t run to greet him at the door, something that had really become tradition between the two of you. Him being also a bit of a worrier – and a bit being perhaps a gracious way of saying it, lovely though it can be – his first thoughts were that you’d hit your head and passed out somewhere, but the fact that Elizabeth had also not come to greet him clued him in that you two were most likely holed up somewhere, perhaps napping, as had happened a few times before.

His surprise then when you turned out to be in bed, distinctly not unconscious or asleep, holding onto Elizabeth like a vice, was really immense.

“Darling, is something wrong?” You knew he meant something rather more akin to “Something is definitely wrong and I’m very worried and hope you tell me, if not I might become a horrendous paranoiac and never stop bugging you but I also want to be polite about it.”

You folded quite quickly, deciding that it really wasn’t worth it, you were in such a state, and the anxiety was still in complete control of your brain, excuses weren’t about to be made.

In a moment Jumin had enveloped you in a hug, which you were glad to accept, discreetly kicking his phone away hoping that he’d not notice it and get it in his head to send for a meditative trainer or some such thing, since that wasn’t what you were looking for, at least not at the moment.

Thankfully though he seemed more focused on your wellbeing, asking you to talk through your anxiety, gently drawing circles on your back in an attempt to get rid of excess tension. It felt good to be able to release your stream of consciousness, even if it was a bit embarrassing. Every time you started feeling a bit overwhelming you’d insert an apology here and there but Jumin would simply shake his head and assure you it was fine

“After all, you were so patient and understanding when I went through a crisis of consciousness, when all my emotions were suddenly flooding my mind. You listened to me then, the least I can do is listen to you now.”

After you’d exhausted your thoughts and you two had laid there a bit, cuddled together, basking in each other’s presence, you two went to the kitchen, where Jumin insisted he’d make dinner himself.

You weren’t happy to be in the windowed room again, but one flick of a discreet switch and they were suddenly shuttered closed.

“You can do that?!”

“Of course?”

“Ugh, the idle rich.” You shook your head and Jumin feigned horror. This act went on throughout dinnertime, another thing to help soothe your nerves, as well as Elizabeth, who was being awfully nice, curled up in your lap.

Every clap of thunder and Jumin would hold your hand or give you a kiss or hug, again trying to distract you.

Afterwards it was watching trashy soap operas – really you couldn’t understand why Jumin adored these shows so much, he really did secretly have a flare for the dramatics – and more cuddling.

As the night got later and you got sleepier you realized that, though the anxiety wasn’t completely gone, you really were quite content.

“Ah, I wouldn’t mind this every time it stormed.”

Jumin chuckled at that. “Why not? Anything to make you comfortable and happy.”

“You’re going to spoil me terribly you know.”

“Again, why not? Comfort isn’t spoiling someone, and if it was I’d spoil you rotten. You deserve the universe, I’m just giving what I can.”

And really the comfort he gave you was worth five universes at that moment, but wasn’t he always worth that much?

Saeyoung

Saeyoung’s reaction to your fear would probably initially be teasing.

Not because he thought it was funny, more his brain still found sincerity a hard thing to grapple with, and he found his knee jerking reaction be to try and make fun, enough fun for you to forget about everything.

You knew this of course, had long ago learned his patterns, his mannerisms and habits, and initially you tried to play along with it, after all the only reason he knew you were afraid of thunderstorms was because he’d caught you running into the closet on the CCTV in Rika’s apartment. If it weren’t for that you would’ve been perfectly happy with him never finding out. Surely you could humor him a bit.

Well anxiety has a funny way of sharpening one’s nerves, and by the sixth joke you were ready to pull your hair out, both from Saeyoung and from the storm.

“Hey Saeyoung? I really do appreciate what you’re doing, don’t get me wrong, but I… I don’t think this is going to be the way to sort it out.”

“Oh… I see.” Saeyoung faltered. Saeran, who was also not a fan and was thus gaming, probably with the volume at unhealthy rates, still managed to snort out a “I could’ve told you that.” Saeyoung shook his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry MC… I, uhm. Yeah…” For a moment you both sat on his horrifically battered couch, the tension rising. Saeyoung screwed his face up in thought, before launching himself towards you, wrapping you up in a huge hug.

“I.. Saeyoung-?”

“Cuddles are a miracle cure.” He said, kissing you on the forehead. “They’ll chase away the storms, just you wait, and in the meantime, how about you teach me how to make something other than sandwiches.”

“I know you know how to cook.” You pointed out, at least happier with this approach, but Saeyoung shook his head.

“I forgot. I can now only make ham sandwiches, and that is truly a sad fate. Won’t you help me? Oh cook in shining armor.”

You rolled your eyes at that “Isn’t being the hero more of your route?” But agreed to make something with him.

Saeyoung really put everything into the “I forgot act”, and you soon found yourself distracted by his antics, peeling onions with a vegetable peeler, “accidentally” getting flour in your hair, tackling you with hugs and kisses the minute thunder or lightning even attempted an interruption. You found yourself either laughing or breathless from his attention, and when your anxiety was too difficult to ignore you allowed Seven to wrap you in a hug as you buried your head in his shoulder, his arms acting as a barrier for the sound.

Dinner took a horrendously long time to cook, something Saeran was sure to point out, but it really did help. As you two were cleaning up dishes Saeyoung paused for a moment.

“Being a hero really isn’t my thing you know.”

“Huh?” You’d sorta forgotten the earlier conversation amidst all the antics.

“You saved me MC, from myself, my own destruction. The least I could is chase away a few thunderstorms. I’d do anything to make you happy. So, I hope that you can be happy.

“What a silly thing to say.” You said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’m already so very happy, so incredibly glad to have you in my life. Indeed, if this isn’t happiness then there is no such thing.”

He really was your hero, your knight in peculiar armor. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

V/Jihyun Kim

V hated thunderstorms. Although he’d agreed to get his vision fixed, the date of the surgery was still some months off, and in the meantime every storm sent him in disarray, the sudden loudness of the thunder a disconcerting reminder of his own vulnerability, the fact that if even one thing in his life shifted he was likely to run right into it.

Being someone who had such a visceral hate, he was quick to become aware of your anxiety as well. It was something he just picked up on, before you had the chance to even think about hiding it from him.

“I see I’m not the only one who hates when it storms.”

You weren’t really surprised by his fear, he’d made it quite clear how he disliked to be reminded of the vulnerability that came from being blind, his eyes were already an ever present reminder of his past, a reminder of the feelings that had rotted inside him, which were so difficult to reconcile with.

So during the storms he ended up focusing most of his nervous energy on you, preferring that to morbid thoughts about the path his life had taken.

Coincidentally you tended to have the same reaction, and thus stormy days, though far from pleasant, became a semi-pleasant ritual, full of affection and comfort.

You pointed out the lightning and counted the miles out loud for him, something that helped him ground himself in the world, feel a little more in control of the situation, and in return he kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling you how your fears weren’t silly, how much it mattered to him that you were happy, and all the things you’d do together when the storms passed.

Sometimes you two turned on a podcast, or a video whose audio V had heard multiple times before, another exercise in familiarity that helped comfort you two. He also didn’t mind whether you kept the lights on or turned them off, only wishing to keep at least one window open, to keep track of the storm’s progress.

He also was in the habit of singing or humming at random intervals, his voice kept you in the moment, rather than in an endless loop of “what ifs”.

By the end of the storm you two were often exhausted, which is why they so often ended with you two tangled together, already half asleep.

One such time you were about to sleep, only barely awake to nod when V said the storm had passed.

“Jihyun,” you mumbled, hearing a hum in return. “I love you.”

V smiled, hearing that from you always felt like a moment of rejuvenation, of sudden clarity.

Kissing your forehead he hugged you a little tighter.

“I love you too.”

Saeran

Saeran loved storms. Loved the sheer, raw, uninhibited power they exuded, the proof of how natural ruled above all.

You knew that. You also knew that storms were, in fact, the bane of your existence, and that you’re rather die than sit up and watch them with him.

But you also didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to be a source of unhappiness in his life, so when Saeran eagerly looked out the window and called out “MC! It’s thundering!” You reluctantly dragged yourself over to watch with him.

At first it was alright if you focused on him more than on the outside, the awe and glee he took in watching the rain was endearing, the happiness marked so clearly and without inhibition. It was something that almost took your breath away in how beautiful it was, the joy of somehow who’d had so little of it.

Then the first clap of thunder arrived and you’d nearly sprained your wrist, slipping on the counter and banging your arm.

Saeran’s attention was immediately turned away from the thunderstorm and he looked at you curiously.

“Are you alright MC?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just, I’m fine.” You didn’t want him to know. It made him so happy, how could you ever take away from that, holding you bruised elbow you excused yourself to the bathroom for a moment, saying you needed make sure nothing was serious.

Of course that excuses could only last for so long, but the bathroom seemed such a comfort compared to the windowed rooms, and you lost track of all sense of time or space, curled up in a ball, leaning against the cold wall, the linoleum tiling keeping you grounded.

Eventually however it came to an end, and there was a short knock before Saeran turned the doorknob and opened the door.

“Something wrong?” He asked, immediately realizing the answer to that question after looking at your position. Kneeling down to face you he cupped your cheek. “Thunderstorms?”

You nodded, despite yourself. You really didn’t want to take this from him. But he didn’t seem to have felt like anything was taken, instead kissing you on the forehead and opening his arms for you to envelope yourself in them, something you did gratefully.

He held you, rocking you slightly, whispering random bits of words, random pieces of song, anything to keep your anxiety lower. Nudging the door shut once more you two stayed there for a while, and you finally felt yourself calm down.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

“For what?” His tone was that of genuine confusion.

“For taking away watching thunderstorms from you. I don’t want to take anything away from you of course, I really don’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh MC…” Saeran peppered your face with kisses. “You haven’t taken anything away from me. I can still watch the thunderstorms, can still love them. Your fear isn’t something to be ashamed of, we all fear things in our lives, all have things we’d rather throw aside. I’m always here for you, always. It’s something I chose, and would choose over and over again. And that choice doesn’t mean I cannot chose to love thunderstorms, or watch them. It just means I have to make sure you’re comfortable as well. Besides, I wouldn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable, not if I could do something about it. So don’t talk like that anymore, okay?”

You nodded, feeling reassured and slightly sheepish. He really was too good for words.

You two stayed in the bathroom until it became too uncomfortable, when you moved to the bed. It was a lovely evening, the storms having mellowed into a gentle rain.

Wrapped in Saeran’s arms you suddenly felt such a rush of emotions overcome you, contentment, bashfulness, love. Especially love.

You loved Saeran so much. And you always would.

Vanderwood

You’d really rather not tell Vanderwood.

You two were the cynics of the group, sarcastic, unfazed, or rather you hid your general emotions to the larger group in a swath of wit and humor. You really didn’t want to tell him that you were afraid of what was essentially a fear that had outlived its purpose.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Vanderwood with your true feelings, indeed sometimes you felt as if Vanderwood was the only person you could trust with your true feelings, a sentiment they had reciprocated multiple times.

It was moreso you already knew how much people saw your fear as overreacting. Didn’t need your partner to join the bandwagon of slight bafflement and bemusement, even if they couldn’t help themselves.

So there you were, sitting on the couch, storm on full display, trying not to dig your head into the side of the lazyboy as Vanderwood sat typing away on their computer.

Unfortunately the storm grew more and more violent, and you quickly grew more and more uncomfortable, your plans of nonchalance having really taken a critical hit.

Before you could think of a proper excuse to go into the bedroom closet and have a bit of a scream a huge clap of thunder shook the complex and the book you’d held in your hands plummeted to the ground.

Vanderwood immediately got up and shut the blinds. “I forgot you don’t like storms.” They said, closing the last of the blinds before turning around to your startled face.

“You know I don’t like thunderstorms?!”

“Was I not supposed to?” They looked vaguely confused, and not a bit amused.

“No.” You buried your hands in your palms.

“No I was or no I wasn’t?”

“You weren’t.” You groaned. “It’s embaraassing.”

“Why should it be embarrassing? Look, MC.” They walked over to you, taking your hands in theirs. “There are a lot of embarrassing things people are in life. Of which I’m at least half of them. I cannot say a lot of things with great confidence, but I can say this. You aren’t the least bit embarrassing for having an incredibly common and practical fear.”

“A fear that should’ve died out with the invention of bricks.” You muttered.

“Perhaps. But we both know that’s not how it works.” They replied. “So don’t feel the need to hide something like that. Okay?”

You nodded and Vanderwood smiled, before giving you a hug, something which you gladly reciprocated.

It was a quiet evening, one of easy cooking and laughing at miscellaneous videos, of making fun of spy shows and swapping stories.

In the end you probably shouldn’t’ve been so surprised.

Vanderwood was an amazing partner, caring, funny, observant, loving.

Perhaps it was okay to have such a fear around them. And if it was okay with Vanderwood than everyone else would have to suck it up, because really two people’s opinions mattered to you on the fact, yours and theirs. And in this instance you’d found yourselves completely in accord.

[minsyal]

Mutual Feelings Pt. 10, [Revali x Reader]

Summary: Read it yourself, lazy

The sun was unbearable. It had been a minute since you last visited Gerudo and the desert was even hotter than you last remembered. The City was cooler, but when you couldn’t bear to be within the City walls knowing you would have to sneak out at night, it was off limits. There was no way you were going to have the guards stopping you as you left only for Urbosa or one of the others to find out what you were doing. They’d think you were insane. To risk your life in the Yiga and monster-infested desert, especially at night, for a mythical flower would be idiotic.

Kara Kara was as lively as you recalled. With tired travelers lining the oasis, horny boys looking to sneak into Gerudo City, and hustlers insisting you purchase their goods it made for quite the atmosphere. Urbosa and Daruk greeted everyone with open arms as you pulled a small container from your satchel and handed it to Mipha. She cocked her head to the side, eyeing the thick liquid quizzically.

“It’s for your skin. It’ll protect against the sand and heat. Plus, you’ll be able to safely travel in the desert if needed without worry of dehydration.”

She nodded, securing it to her side, before turning her attention to the princess who was laying out the game plan. Zelda spoke quietly, wanting the conversation to remain as inconspicuous as the group could possibly be. There was no way to ensure clan members weren’t around and listening.

“I think we should split into two groups. One led by Urbosa, one by Revali.” Revali agreed with the princess, the suggestion inflating his ego. “Urbosa knows the desert better than anyone and Revali can easily navigate the skies if you get lost.”

“Sounds good t’ me!” Daruk pounded his hand on his chest.

“I’ll be traveling with Urbosa and Link… Mipha, would you mind joining us?” Mipha opportunely agreed to her request. “That leaves Revali with Daruk and [Name].”

“A good choice in pairing.” Urbosa noted, a knowing smirk on her face as she eyed you. “We should leave as soon as possible. The desert gets cold at night. I suggest we meet at the Outpost before sunset to report what we find.”

Traveling with Daruk and Revali proved to be difficult. Daruk could easily work his way through the sand but threw up large clouds in his wake. It was just your luck that you happened to be behind him. No matter the direction you stood, you struggled with the bits of dust and dirt that were attracted to your burning tear ducts. Revali flew from above, remaining suspended in the air just out of the sand’s gritty grasp.

Your shoes weren’t crafted for desert travel. They sunk down with each step and pulled a pound of sand up with them. At some point in the day, you became separated from the two. You could see Daruk’s cloud appear and disappear as he rolled through the desert. He stopped a few times near what looked like shrines. They shifted and waved in the excruciating heat. Revali vanished in the sky too, dipping down every now and again as he likely did what Daruk was doing.

You were perfectly fine being alone at this time. You had a different mission, a different undisclosed mission. Sand had not yet permeated the pages of your journal. By the end of the day, you imagined you would be brushing the thing out. You can only imagine how long you’ll be finding the stuff crushed and stuck down in the page’s crevices.

According to the book Sopho gave you, the flower should bloom in or near an oasis. It should be uplifted from the ground, on a plateau for example. This is to provide it with the best possible protection against those who wish to harvest its power. You squinted, brushing the line of sweat that dripped from your brow as you studied the pages. It was almost impossible to read your handwriting in the blinding daylight.

“Studying on the job, eh?” Revali appeared out of nowhere, taking his wing to block the sunlight from your eyes as you pivoted to see him. He wore his typical smirk. “You should be searching for shrines.”

“It’s hard to when your whole team leaves you in the dust,” you rubbed your eye, “literally.”

“I am surprised Urbosa assigned you to join Daruk and I, considering we’re the fastest travelers of the bunch. And you, well,” he put his other arm on his hip, “you’re a bit slow.”

“My bad Hylian’s don’t have a fast travel system. Some of us can’t fly or roll really fast.” The hand at your eyes continued rubbing.

“Stop doing that.” Revali scolded, moving to hold on your arm. “You’ll scratch your eye.” Still seizing your arm, he rustled through his own bag to pull a small canteen of water. “Look up at me, keep your eyes open.”

Doing as he said, you focused your gaze on him as he worked diligently to remove the cap and grasp lightly under your chin. He steadied your head, eyes flickering from yours elsewhere. When the chilled water poured from the cap, you flinched.

“Hold still, or I’ll leave you with sand in your eyes.” He instructed, grip tightening on your chin. “I imagine the walk back would be difficult when you go blind.” His hold lessened as he washed the dust from your eyes, and finally let go when he was pleased with his work. He stood back, moving to return to his former position of sun-blocker. Blinking the remaining water away, you wiped your face and dried your eyes with the loose fabric of your shirt.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.”

“Revali?” You started, waiting for an acknowledging hum in response. “What did you want to say a few days ago at the castle?”

His head rose, chin lifting to aim his gaze upward. He took a deep breath as if thinking over the events of that night, before deciding against it and exhaling loudly. “Nothing you need to worry about. Some things go better unsaid.”

“It’s not good to keep secrets.”

“Interesting that you’re the one lecturing me on that. It’s not a secret, just,” he stopped, biting the inside of his mouth, “an observation. Anyway,” he motioned to the vast desert ahead of you. “Shall we?”

Traveling with Revali while he was on foot was strange. He walked slower to match your pace strutting about with his arms behind his back. The majority of his time was spent with closed eyes, not even attempting to locate anything. Maybe he actually enjoyed the heat. Daruk was nowhere to be seen, and likely wouldn’t be rejoining the group. He had told the two of you he may go rogue but be assured he’d find his way back. If not, Revali could find him with ease.

“Why aren’t you searching for shrines?” You asked, folding your book closed before tucking it back into your satchel.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I’m trying, but like I said… it’s kind of hard.”

“You and I both know,” he stopped walking, “we’ve identified all the shrines in this desert.” He continued on toward a rock in the distance. “So why are we all out here today? Simply to waste time? Or mayhaps to appease the princess’s desire for adventure?”

“I’d say the latter.”

“Well, at least we’ll be returning with some information.” He pulled out his own notebook and tossed it in your direction. You scrambled to catch it, becoming annoyed to a chuckle that escaped his lips. “We’ll turn this in and call it a day. The princess can barely comprehend my calligraphy anyway.”

“Is it because it looks like you coated your talons with ink and stomped on the page?” You twisted and turned the pages this way and that, trying to read what on earth he wrote. It looked like chicken scratches. “Is this really the best you can do?”

“No, but it’s the most work I’ll put in on something we’ve already done.”

“Thank Hylia, I’m not receiving letters from you.” You handed it back to him. “I would never figure out what you remotely wanted to say.”

“Like you wouldn’t want letters from me?”

“I’d want legible letters.”

“So, you admit that you would enjoy receiving a letter from me.” He hummed to himself, pleased with his ability to talk circles around you. “I’ll have to drop one in the post when I return to the Village.”

“I don’t,” you defeatedly sighed, “shut up.”

The sun moved slowly through the crystal blue sky, hiding behind clouds every now and again before peeking back out to warm the land. Walking with Revali was becoming unusually relaxing. He spoke every now and again, bringing up the few oases that littered the dry sandy Sahara. You took mental notes of their locations, deciding that the Southern Oasis matched the description of where the flower would bloom. It was only 6 hours until your window of opportunity would open. You wouldn’t miss it.

“I’m calling it a day.” Revali said as he spied Kara Kara in the near distance.

“I don’t feel like we accomplished anything.”

“I could leave you out here if you truly wish to continue this hike.”

The rest of the Champions waited at the Outpost. Gathered outside, they were enjoying a platter of refreshing fruit purchased from a delighted hustler back in Kara Kara. Zelda and Mipha both looked exhausted, lying on their backs next to one another, shielding their eyes from the now-setting sun. Daruk was content, chattering away with Link about how “the food is good, but not nearly as good as what Goron City has.” Urbosa sat quietly, satisfied with the sounds of the palm tree leaves rustling against one another as the nightly breeze set in.

“You two enjoy yourselves?” She asked, the same smug smirk on her lips. “You took quite the walk out there.”

“We gathered what information we could.” Revali handed Zelda his notebook, appeased when she interestedly started ruffling through the pages.  “I, for one, would greatly appreciate turning in for the night.”

“I second that!” Mipha laughed, sitting up and resting her arms on the ground to support her. “The desert is so different from the Domain.”

“Well, it’s made of sand, dear.” Revali noted, bringing a hearty laugh from Daruk who slapped Link on the back, prompting him to politely join in.

Zelda, Urbosa, and Mipha all retired to the safety of the City after a small feast was brought out to the Outpost for everyone. Daruk and Link wanted to sleep outside near the door, resting on the large rock that served as a foundation for the Outpost. Revali opted to claim the tower as his, cozying up at the top. That left you with the one bed inside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join us inside?” Mipha asked, pulling the loose wool blanket closer to her body as she, Zelda, and Urbosa started for Gerudo. “It will be much colder out here. You should join us.” Zelda added.

“I want to go over my notes once more tonight. I’ll be less of a distraction out here. I don’t want my candle-light keeping you awake, especially after today.”

The girls nodded understandingly and left, but not before Urbosa could add her take. “Try not to spend too much time up on the tower, tonight. You’ll catch a cold.”

You pressed your hand to your blazing cheek, your hands cooling the skin to the touch. Why did she always have to make comments like that? She took enjoyment in making you blush.

Quietly, you closed the door to the Outpost, ensuring you hadn’t woken the two sleeping nearby. You watched as your footprints disappeared behind you as the harsh winds filled them with sand. Tugging the strap of the backpack up, you trudged forward. The Southern Oasis wasn’t too far away, maybe an hour’s walk at leisure, thirty minutes at a fast pace.

During the day, no group had reported on any sightings of the Yiga Clan or other dangerous monsters lurking in the desert. Night proved to be no different as you made your way peacefully to the oasis with no threats but the blowing wind and icy winds. It was different, the desert, at night. The moon illuminated each and every shadowy hill that you had to cross. There were no heat-caused waves or illusions of waterholes. There was only sand and sky.

The Oasis was difficult to climb, but you made it up after a few struggling minutes. There were glowing flowers all over the grassy plain. A small trickling stream cut through the middle of the plateau that hot-footed frogs took to with their chirping croaks melding together in the lively area. Crickets hopped from bushes into trees, hiding in the deep green brush.

The plateau was small, small enough to take off the carrying case for the flower and have no worries of losing it. You placed it down at your feet, twisting it into rest supported by the little sand that was up here. Opening it, you began examining each flower. The first had no gold speckling, as did the second, the third, the fourth, and fifth. The sixth was yet another silent princess, and the seventh was no different.

You sighed, having worked up a slight sweat. At this rate, you’d never find it. It had to be here. All signs pointed to this being its location: the oasis, the plateau, hell… even the desert.  After an hour of carefully inspecting the flowers, your eye was caught by the slight gold glitter of something in the corner of your eye. It shone and sparkled like a diamond, the moonlight bounced off its petals, reflecting like a thousand mirrors on the palm leaves. There was something almost ethereal about it. The way it gave off light where there was none was magnificent. That had to be it.

Carefully, you scooped your fingers into the dirt, unbothered as it dug beneath your nails. Carrying it slowly, you lowered it into the case and gathered water from the oasis to pour into the bottom compartment. The walk back would feel longer than that out there. You had no more drive now that the mythical flower was in your possession. You felt like you could finally relax. She would be okay.

Your feet hit the ground below the plateau, indenting in the sand. Each step back seemed longer and longer as you slogged back with a considerably heavier pack attached to your back. When the ground rumbled, you shrugged it off as exhaustion finally getting to you. When it rumbled for the second time, you assumed it to be a small earthquake. They weren’t uncommon in Hyrule. A guttural growl alerted you to it being more than a natural occurrence. The large lump that slunk below the sand, causing you to rise as it swam below, confirmed it wasn’t natural.

There were no monsters lurking in the desert, at least there were no monsters you knew of other than lizalfos and the occasional bokoblin that lost its way. A monster than used sand like water was new to you. You watched as it swam away, only to turn in your direction and charge at full speed.

You ran faster than you ever had before. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as your legs threatened to lock beneath you. Your knees ached from the trek you made at day, and your ankles burned to high hell. It felt as if your shoes had been set on fire. Your arms weighed down on you, quickly turning to ten-pound weights that threatened to topple you over. The Outpost was still a mile away. You could vaguely make out the outline of Daruk peeking out from the front corner.

The strap to the case harboring the flower loosened, prompting you to swing it to the front of your body. You hugged it tightly to your chest.

You continued running.

Your knees locked.

You fell.

The monster approached fast, the sound of sand falling like water was the only thing you could hear.

You closed your eyes.

A horrific, excruciating sound of agony howled through the desert. The sound echoed off the mountain walls in the distance, bouncing around in the canyon. The ground shook once more before all was still. Opening your eyes, you pulled the case closer as if to hide behind it. There stood Revali, breathing heavily as he lowered his bow. His back facing you.

“What on earth were you thinking?” He asked calmly, not daring to look in your direction. His voice slowly rose becoming furious. “Are you brain dead? Sneaking out at night like some foolish teenager. Leaving the safety of the Champions. For what?” You could see the rage in his eyes when he finally found the courage to face you. “If nothing, this proves you aren’t meant to travel among us. This type of recklessness will not be tolerated any longer after your last incident. What is so important it means dying?”

You opened your mouth to speak but was met with him cutting you off.

“No, I don’t want you to speak.” He huffed. “You’re an idiot.” He pursed his lips, eyes tearing away from your fallen figure. “Come on.” He began walking back to the Outpost. “Come on or I’ll leave you here for the next thing to kill.”

Silently, you pushed yourself from the ground, not bothering to brush the dust from your clothes. Revali walked ten steps ahead, turning briefly now and again to make sure you were still following. He was fuming. You were tired. The eventful night only accelerated your exhaustion, making every movement feel like the last.

“I’m going to save you.” You reminded her as she beamed brightly at you.

“I know you will!”

“Oh yeah? How are you so confident?”

“Because you’re a Champion. Champion’s don’t let people down.”

The Outpost was quiet, unbothered by the shaking ground or loud sound that settled over the desert. Slinking inside behind Revali, you held your head low.

“Go to bed.” He instructed, folding his arms over his chest after he threw the blanket back. “Did you not hear me? I said,” he stopped.

Water streamed from your eyes, soaking the hem of your shirt as you focused on the still-glowing flower. Tears fell in big drops, leaving slick trails as they raced down your face. Everything came collapsing in as the mental barrier you had set up months ago fell. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry no matter how difficult things became. The emotions, everything, you felt from the fear to the joy and the sadness that was pooling in your chest finally burst. The dam that contained this calamity of passion was crumbling. It felt good.

“Why are you crying?” Revali said in a hushed, more calming, tone. He crossed the room, taking the case from your quivering hands and placing it gently on the desk. You crashed to the floor, your knees giving out.

“She’s going to be okay.” You got out between sobs.

“She?” He contemplated before it all snapped into place. The puzzle pieces finally matched up. “Keumi.”

“She’s so sick, Revali.” Wiping at your eyes was futile, but you continued to do so. “She’s so sick, and that flower is going to save her. It’s going to cure all her hurt and pain… She can finally just be a kid.”

Without another word, he understood. Hesitantly, he took you in his arms, pulling your shaking figure close as he rested his head atop yours.  At some point, you moved to the twin-sized bed in the corner of the room. You relaxed into his chest, finding solace in the sound of his steady heartbeat.

“Why are you always so hard on yourself?” He wondered to himself, his voice coming out at no louder than the squeak of a mouse. He must have assumed you to be asleep. “I care about you, a lot.” A breath of air passed his lips as his heartbeat rose. “Of all people.” He tsked himself. “It had to be you.”

The two of you fell asleep, a calm peaceful sleep with no jittering kicks or unnerved grunts. It was quiet. It was nice.

“Have you seen [Name]?” Urbosa hollered from outside the Outpost to a groggy Daruk who shook his head and looked to Link who did the same. “Revali isn’t up on the tower, and I just worry that something…” She opened the wooden door to find a predictable scene, at least predictable to her. Rays trickled in from the window shades, the subtle glow giving the room enough light for her to make out the silhouettes of yours and Revali’s figures lying in the bed. The soft snores emitting from your direction made her smile.

“Find them?” Daruk rubbed his eye as Link rolled back over.

“No, but I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

[erintoknow]

Adrestia

i started this fic over a month ago and only recent finally figured out how to actually write it dang blast

fallen hero: rebirth, no spoilers, ~1.9k words

“Watch out, that’s Puppetmaster!”

A spike of adrenaline courses through you and you can’t help but cackle as you dive feet first through a a stack of boxes, sending crates of delicate electronic equipment everywhere. “Out of the way losers! I’ve got a a timetable to meet!” You can hear alarms sound around you as the factory  goes into full alert, the clanging of barring gates. You grin under the mirror sheen of your helmet. That suits you fine, keep the small fry penned up and out of the way? You’re too kind.

The wall in front of you collapses into dust and you tear through the office, grabbing at papers at random. What you take doesn’t actually matter, compromising their records is the goal here. Still you make sure to capture as much as you can on your in-suit camera so you can review everything later. You never know what kind of dirt you’ll find.

Damage done, you refer to your map, dissolve another wall and follow your thread out, back to the main entrance. As expected by this point, its Lady Argent, hands at her sides poised to rush you, a half-circle of rent-a-cop security goons behind her to block you in. “A factory, Puppetmaster? This a step down for you.” She hunches down, fingers lengthening into sharpened claws.

Your face twitches under your helmet. “Don’t read the papers, Argent? It’s Banshee.” You hiss. Your voice, filtered through your helmet has a hollow reverberating sound, like a bell. You take a quick count of Lady Argent’s back-up, who’s most pliable to tying up the rest. None of the officers seem to trust Argent. Good. That makes this easier.

The metallic woman looks unimpressed. “Can’t say I care what you call yourself.”

That does it.

One of the rent-a-cop’s guns goes off ‘prematurely’, firing wide to your left, the rest follow in blind panic as you dive to the side. Argent is too focused on you, but with the Rat-King’s help you’re able to pull the rest of the goof troop into your song, pulling their attention in random directions. One of the shots dings Argent in her shoulder, bouncing off to through ground and to her credit she doesn’t look for the culprit, making straight for you.

You run your hand along the ground as you move, leaving a split in the asphalt as the Nanovores chew through material. Lady Argent tries to cut you off so you encourage two of the goons to stumble into her way as you continue your circle around them. You can’t afford to move slow enough for a deep groove, but if this works as planned, all you need is to prime the cut.

If it works.

Argent huffs, shoving one of the men the side, only for the another to conveniently take position between the two of you. “Get out of the way!” It doesn’t slow her down long, but it’s enough for you to finish the circle. Under your helmet you grin, heart pounding. 

All that’s left is the magic word. You give the Rat-King the command to pull the strings and yank everyone back in.

You dash forward and slide down, just under the swipe of her claws. She turns to stab down at you as you come to halt. You roll out of the way and kick her arm aside on your way back up. 

You check to make sure everyone’s inside the circle you’ve carved through the asphalt. “Look alive boys,” is all the warning you give before an explosion rocks the ground under everyone’s feet. You leap back as the asphalt caves in under their feet. The coast is clear enough for the moment that you can risk taking a quick check of everyone’s mental state; a lot of fear and alarm, but the headcount is still the same. You think.

Hopefully.

You shake your head. Focus. Don’t get distracted.“Well, that’s not supposed to be there!” You call down to Argent, exaggerating the sarcasm in your voice. You watch Argent and the rest pick themselves up, clear rubble off their buddies. You have to steel your heart against it, remember who they are, what they represent. You admit though, Argent makes it easier, she’s staring up at you, a single silver middle finger outstretched.

You try not to laugh. Focus. Remember the goal. Don’t get distracted. “Maybe instead of chasing ghosts you should take a look around down there, hrm? Might be surprised what yo-“ You cut yourself off, the Rat-King pulling your attention away just in time to sidestep Herald's dive.

That’s a surprise, is Herald's back in action already? Weren’t they keeping him on the press circuit while his leg healed? Well, that’s his mistake to make, you suppose. You strike at his back as he goes past and send flyboy spinning head over heels down into the hole. Is he strong enough to carry Argent out? You don’t intend to stick around and see, it’s time to make yourself scarce. 

You don’t need to hear the stomping of boots in the hallway to know your time is almost up. You seal the envelope in your hands and push it across the desk to the man in the three piece suit cowering before you. “Looks like the party has arrived. Do consider what we’ve talked about, won’t you dear?” He hesitates so you reach into his mind and give him a push before stepping away. By the time the riot police have broken down the door the envelope is gone, inside his vest.

You watch the police fill the other end of the room, shields up and guns drawn. The idiots. They’ll kill your hostage if they shoot like this. You don’t see or sense any of the Rangers. That’s just fine with you, if maybe a little strange. The man in charge steps forward, hand on the trigger finger. “Banshee, you’re under arrest. We have you surrounded.” You don’t need to read his mind to know from the look on his face and the way he’s holding his gun that the man is regretting coming in to work today. What does the LDPD think they’re doing? They’re no match for you. Sure, you aren’t immune to bullets, but when has that ever stopped you?

You reach out to his mind and encourage him to lower his gun before he sets off the whole room. “Banshee?” You laugh, the distorters warping it into a shrill, discordant noise, then say innocently, “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

You crouch down, bracing yourself, placing a hand on the floor. You’ll only have a second before the tension of situation wakes them up again. “I’m just a ghost.” There’s a moment where it seems like nothing is going to happen and then the nanovores eat a hole in the floor directly beneath you, dropping you down. You grunt, letting the armor absorb most of the shock, though the landing still plays hell on your knees. You’re going to regret this in the morning.

Above you the room erupts in shouts of alarm and someone fires their gun, setting off another gunshot, then another. You grimace in frustration and reach back up to give them a metaphorical shake of the shoulders. You can’t have them killing your new plant.

You break into a run, following your thread to the nearest elevator shaft and breaking the door open with a mixture of force and nanovores. As you make your escape sliding down the elevator shaft you can’t stop yourself from humming a few bars, the chittering of the Rat-King creates an accompaniment in the back of your head. 

Hitting the basement level you barely manage to clear the doors when Lady Argent is on you, all knives and quicksilver. Her claws dig into your arm before you’re able to get her to back off with an uppercut to the head. Argent flexes her jaw and gives you a predatory grin. “I had a feeling I’d find you down here Ghost.” 

You study her face, waiting for a sign of any sudden movement. Getting predicted like this is embarrassing but you need to save the over-analysis for when a woman capable of opening you up like a can-opener isn’t staring you down.“Ghost? I– I wasn’t being literal up there.” You’ve got to reassert control of the situation. You make sure to put an edge to your voice, “It’s Méabh, sweetheart.” You just came up with that one on the spot. You kind of like it. “If you’re going to play lap dog, at least remember to fill in the incident report form correctly this time, will you?”

Argent’s grin turns into a scowl. “Ugh. I don’t actually care,” and she moves in.

The subway tunnel shudders, loose bits of concert drizzling down. An abandoned pet project from a self-obsessed billionaire thinking they could revitalize a city located on fault line with an underground rail system. Rich people. It had been a good hideout for a while. Now?

Now you can feel your heart pound in your throat as the two of you exchange blows. When you try to slide past her, Lady Argent is ready for you, raking claws against the side of your armor, trying to find a point of purchase to pry you apart. You grab her wrist and pull her down on top of you. It’s a stupid move, and you pay for it with razor filings running down your sides but because it’s stupid she doesn’t expect it and you’re able to knee her in the gut and kick her away.

You hate fighting Argent in an enclosed spaces like this. It’ll be a game of attrition as to whether you can get away before she can land a clean hit. The two of you are back to circling each other when you bump up against a support pillar.

Maybe….? You mentally check your map.

You’ll need to stall Argent. “Well! We met again, Lady Argent.” As you talk you rest your hand on the concrete pillar beside you, coaxing the nanovores to get to work. “Accosting a private citizen in the sanctity of their own home? People are going to talk.” 

Lady Argent narrows her eyes, “Méabh.”

“You remembered this time, I’m touched.”

There’s a shark-toothed grin and the distinct feeling that she’s sizing you up. “You haven’t changed your name yet?”

“Oh, still thinking it over.” You give a theatrical flip of your hand. “I don’t suppose you have a suggestion?”

“My only ‘suggestion’ is bringing you to justice..” She keeps her focus trained on you, ready for the moment you make a move. Part of you is surprised she’s still letting you talk. Is backup on the way? That’s not Argent’s style.

“That’s a good thought about justice.” You rap your armored fingers against the pillar, testing to see if it’s hollowed out yet. “There’s been a distinct lack of it in this city, don’t you think?” …Maybe you should go with your first choice for a villain name? You’d been resisting because it seemed, well, too obvious. But nothing else was feeling right. 

“Oh please, is boring me to death with clichés the best you can do?”

“See, it’s that kind of thinking that’s the problem. Lets the real bad guys stay on top.”

Argent finally notices how you’ve kept your hand pressed to the pillar, and growls. “What are you up to?”

“Are you talking about, like, in general or just right now?” You can’t help it, you cackle. “Because I’ve got a list.” You push hard against the concert. The stone breaks like glass and the ceiling sags from the sudden lack of support, tiles crashing down around you. “Right now?” You drop your voice for effect. “Adrestia is cleaning house.”

[leswansong]

Chapter Fifteen - Adrinette April - Notes for You

Day 15 - Love Rivals

Read it on A03? –> [ Click Here ] 

AN: Poems at the end again...

Valentines Day, The day he had been patiently waiting for, the day he had planned for, he would wait until lunch to slip the roses and note into her locker, most people would hand out their cards before lunch leaving his the last to arrive, he wouldn’t have to worry about someone else pushing a card through the small metal grates knocking over his little set up, there was still a slim chance it may happen but the odds were in his favour, his last 4 notes gave her little hints about himself, he hoped yesterday’s note would narrow down her list but keep her guessing long enough until after lunch for her to see the final note. It had taken him several hours to get the black ink from his fingers and he had to rewrite it several times because it wasn’t perfect, it was the last letter, the envelope was larger, it was go big or go home at this point, he took one final look at the words before pushing it into the prepared envelope, he had stolen his father’s wax seal kit several weeks before and purchased some pastel pink wax to go with it, he carefully lit the tea light and held the wax over it watching it slowly melt, then he poured the wax onto the page and pressed down with the stamp, his family crest was firmly imprinted into the now dry wax only just visible in the morning sunlight. He took extra care when placing the pink rose in the strong tin metal box, he needed to keep it hidden until he could deliver it.

Marinette was unsure, Thursday, February 14th or more commonly known as Valentine’s Day, the last letter would arrive today, his hints hadn’t been helpful at narrowing who he was and she really didn’t know if she was going to go ahead with the plans she had tried to make for Chat and her. Her heart had left her confused, she wanted to get to know the boy who had managed to sweep her off her feet with loving and kind words of poems and telling her more and more about himself in the little notes he had left and the end, she lived now to see the little notes at the end of the poems to find out more about her secret Valentine, but the other was still tightly pulling her towards her partner, the sweet kind boy who even though she stuttered never pushed her to finish her sentences faster, he waited, never interrupting her. Chat was more than kind to her, he had put himself in more danger than he should have on more than one occasion, they were the only times she had to restrain herself from ever striking him for his foolishness, she wanted to kick and scream and tell him that he couldn’t be doing such dangerous stunts without thinking what it would do to her, how she hated seeing even the smallest of cuts across his pale face, but her Partner was interested in another, it didn’t stop her from trying though. Marinette collapse back into bed today was probably the toughest day of her life, how would she choose between the two.

The Black hair with blue frosted tips, Luka Coffine, she just had to bump into him, she really wanted to get to her locker to see if Day 14 had arrived.

“Hey Marinette, It’s nice to see you,” he wasted no time skipping the small talk, “Look I was wondering if you would like to watch a movie with me sometime, it’ll be great just the two of us…”

The way the sentence trailed off unnerved her a little, but Luka… She never knew he liked her, was he the one leaving the letters in her locker, he had been hanging around it lately roughly around when they would appear but Julika’s locker as nearby so he could have been waiting for her.  He had black hair matching one of her hints and the others seemed to fit him, she would have to file that one away for later right now she had to be kind and sweet Marinette not ‘I’m trying to find out who’s been leaving me letters for the past 13 days and you might be him,’ Marinette. So she smiled told him that she was unfortunately busy with her parents with a non-existent wedding that needed an absurd number of baked goods and that she wouldn’t be available for the next few days.

“That’s too bad maybe some other time than?”

She nodded her head and said goodbye continuing to her locker only to be greeted with disappointment, No day 14 yet, she grabbed hold of the books she needed and headed up towards class.

No, No, No. How could he have been that silly, of course, Luka liked her that's why he was asking questions about her, Adrien wanted nothing more than to go back in time and slap his younger self, and the clues… He would fit the clues he had left behind for her, Sport - rowing, Plays and instrument - Guitar, Likes Jagged stone, has Black hair or green eyes, O God, his plan was falling apart, he needed to fix it. No… No… The letter, The letter, he had to deliver the letter and rose before lunch, it was the last step, he didn’t have to worry about the other guys, he had seen Nathaniel try to slip his card into her locker just before class, just because Luka hadn’t played his cards yet didn’t mean his plan was ruined, he had time to fix the new creases in the silk cloth, they just had to be ironed out a little that's all. ‘You can fix this Adrien,’ he needed to stay positive just because there were other rivals and one or two he didn’t count on didn’t mean he wouldn’t come out on top today.

Nathaniel, he was a shy artist, someone Marinette didn’t talk to much because he turned practically turned into her when she is around her partner but that was beside the point, she had seen him with a white envelope this morning and hers had yet to be delivered, she went over the clues in her head and the poems they had come with.

Black hair or green eyes,

Enjoy’s harry potter, (the poem would suggest a book reader)

He plays an instrument,

Participates in extra activities sport, (which one she did not one)

Listens to Jagged Stone enough to know his more obscure songs,

Neat handwriting, although it could be practised

And somehow knows her locker combo but nobody has seen anyone open or shut her locker but herself.

Nathaniel didn’t exactly match up to this list, so it was a no… but she didn’t know him that well maybe he did do all that stuff in his spare time.

-=======+=========-

Marinette lazily opened her locker, she was actively listening to the story Alix was currently telling and didn’t notice the envelope.

“So there I was-“

“Marinette!” her Kwami urgently whispered, “The Letter!”

She looked over, a Pale pink rose sat in her locker a bow had been tied to the stem in the same colour she gently lifted it out of her locker, the stem had no trace of any thorns as if they had been carefully taken off, she brought it to her nose breathing in the sweet aroma before setting it back down to read her final letter, her friends were now the furthest thing from her mind

A Pink rose is for the one,

Where love has blossomed and bloomed,

Where passion and purity,

With love and peace,

Combines and grows,

That brings forth the Pink rose,

Of the Red rose,

And of the White Rose,

When both entwine,

Comes the Pink rose,

For all the blushing brides,

When the proposal is asked,

With the Pink rose as a sign,

Is one asking another,

In love and loves first

Red and White,

That all will show,

And carry a wedding bouquet,

Are all the Blushing brides to be,

For the Pink rose if for the one,

Where love has blossomed and bloomed,

Representing passion and purity,

That has love and peace,

Combining and growing,

From two different in colour,

One extreme to another,

From the Red and the White,

That combine,

And show true love,

A Pink rose evolves,

Showing true love,

It shows in its splendour of Pink,

For the blushing bride to be,

So to say,

'I do',

When the question is popped,

On this Valentines Day,

Valentine's Day,

A day of proposals,

Where it is asked,

From one to another,

'Will you be mine',

From this Valentine's Day,

On to,

The next,

And,

The next,

And,

Thereafter.

-Ellen Ni Bheachain

By now Princess I hope you know who I am, I’ve tried for a very long time to tell you how I feel none of these attempts never seemed to work, so I tried a different approach. The brazen pickup lines, at first I thought they were working but I quickly realised that they made me come off as less genuine as if I thought this was a game. Marinette I… I Have loved you since we stood out in that rainstorm and the umbrella closed around you, you were the first person to make me laugh in a very long time and it was effortless, I soon found a lot more to love, too many to count, my heart at times feels as if its going to leap out of my chest and run a marathon when I’m around you and I understand… I understand if you don’t feel the same way but I had to tell you, I couldn’t keep this hidden anymore, so please don’t keep me waiting, whether its returned feelings or heartbreak I face I need to know so please find me with haste Princess it has been a painful 14 days…

-Your Secret Valentine, Adrien Agreste

She had to go, screw plans with Alya and everyone else she... she had to go, she had to go see her Chaton, he probably assumed she had forgotten the nickname he had given her on her rooftop and… no she could think about this later she could think about how her partner had been sitting next to her for nearly over 3 weeks now and how blind she was, she just needed to go, she grabbed her purse and took of towards the little red dot on her map, her best friend yelled but she ignored her, she ran, she ran faster than she thought she ever had her excitement pushing her over the edge, her heart had been torn between two and they were now one, they weren’t competing against each other for her heart, she didn’t have to choose which one she wanted more, in a few short minutes she saw the outline of the Saint Lazare Train Station, the clock sitting in the centre screaming the time at her reminding her he was waiting.

A flash went off inside the building and she saw him, “Adrien!” She pushed her legs to go further and faster, she needed them to go faster, “Adrien!” Why did his latest photoshop have to be here, a busy crowded train station, she kept pushing herself to go faster, “Adrien!” she yelled again she could hear her own desperation in her voice.

The blond mop of hair she had been following disappeared into the crowd of people, he didn’t seem to have heard her panicked cries for him. She started to hyperventilate her excitement was now gone, the crowd grew larger and larger around her, men and women hurried past trying to get to their train or work, she sunk to the floor cradling her head in her lap trying to remember the phrase she used to say in her head to calm herself down. She rocked back and forth, she needed to remain calm so her mind did the first thing it could, sing. She hummed a tune she couldn’t remember where it had come from only that it was bringing her comfort. Her ears were ringing, she couldn’t hear anything but her humming, the sound of the feet around her was non-existent to her ears, she was being swallowed, she couldn’t breathe, she needed to get out, she needed… she needed...

“Marinette… Marinette, shhh, I’m here, shh, princess, I’m here.”

His voice slowly faded in through her thoughts, his arms wrapped around her slim frame and lifted her up and out of the suffocating crowd, she clung tightly to him afraid to let go afraid to go back to the fast-moving crowd. He continued to whisper his soothing words calming her even more than the freedom of the crowd.

When her mind fog cleared, she was sitting on a park bench, she could hear the birds in the giant oak tree branches above her chirping away, there was the distant sound of the city but they weren’t close, the green Kikuyu grass tickled her feet, a soft breeze flowed through her hair, it had been released from the twin tails it normally sat in.

“Adrien?”

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah… Crowds, they…”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

She ignored his words, “I lost you in the crowd and I couldn’t catch up and I- I-“

“It’s okay Mari,” he gently placed his hand on top of hers, “take your time.”

“I haven’t had a panic attack in years, I guess I was a little unprepared.”

“Marinette I was wondering and I know now isn’t the time but I-“

“Yes, yes to whatever you are about to ask because you didn’t have to use all those poems or use someone else’s words, what you said at the end of the letter was enough Adrien.”

“You didn’t see the notebook.”

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to see it then.”

The two sat in silence for a while, unsure of what to say to each other as the blue sky turned into one of shades of orange and pink.

“I never took any of your flirting seriously,” she had had little time to reflect.

“It was worth it."

“Even…” She took a deep breath, "After all this time?” she brought the pink rose up to her nose breathing in the sweet scent, she allowed him to lead her down the street towards her home.

"Always,” he replied with a smirk.

He face changed in an instant as she realised what it was from, “Adrien Agreste don’t you dare quote Harry Potter at me,” She yelled angerly swatting his shoulder if she had had her sketchbook she surely would have thrown it at him and him giggling like a school girl only made it worse, “Stop Laughing!” she yelled through her own giggles, why did his laughter have to be contagious.

Poem - [ x ]

AN: if this sounds a little stalkerish I wrote this while watching You on Netflix. Note to self choose something less… creepy to watch while writing.

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[siavahdainthemoon]

I’m a fucking hopepunk, and I will kill you with kindness.

‘Not all people are bad. The bad people are just the loudest.’

I think we’ve all heard variations of that truism by now. Of if you haven’t—there you go, you’ve learned something new, you’re welcome! But in either case, something clicked for me yesterday that I think I have to share.

(This is going to be a long one. Bear with me: I swear there’s a point to it. If you want to skip it all, @thebibliosphere says it all more eloquently and far more succinctly than I ever could here.)

About a month ago, I contacted an online seller, concerned that my package hadn’t arrived. I was polite, and made it very clear that I wasn’t requesting a replacement—it was stated very clearly on the seller’s site that if you didn’t purchase tracked shipping, items lost in the post couldn’t/wouldn’t be replaced. Instead I asked what information they had about the package, anything I could potentially use to figure out where it might have gone.

We exchanged several messages back and forth, during which I stayed polite (and so did she). I explained that I was worried the package would be forever MIA—the postal system where I live is not great, and it wouldn’t be the first time something had been stolen or lost—and given that the item was limited-edition, was there any chance she could set another one aside for me? If the package didn’t arrive, I would like to buy a second one. I understood if she couldn’t or wouldn’t do that—there was no obligation and I knew she had a store to run—but what did she think?

She said that was perfectly fine, no problem. I expressed great gratitude and relief.

A few days later she sent an email saying the package had been returned to her, so I paid for shipping again (tracked this time!) and all ended well.

What struck me—and upset me a little—was how relieved and grateful the seller was for my being understanding. She explicitly said as much. What upset me was the implication that other customers with similar issues had not been polite and understanding about it.

Last week, I reached out to another seller about a different missing delivery. (I told you the postal service here is terrible). She had already sent me one replacement free of charge, so this time I insisted on paying. The item was hand-made, and I said her time and skill, not to mention the materials used, ought to be paid for. So I did, and this time I paid for tracked shipping (I’m learning my lesson), and hopefully this one will reach me.

This seller also expressed what I would consider disproportionate relief and gratitude for my understanding and politeness. She said that she had been growing depressed lately because other customers whose packages had disappeared had left poor reviews on her store, and I think probably sent unpleasant messages about it (she didn’t say so explicitly, but that was the impression I got.) She said (she was very, very sweet) that I’d restored her faith in people, and in customers specifically, and she was grateful for that.

I sent back one last message thanking her for being so incredibly helpful and kind through the process of helping me. And I told her that she created beautiful things, something I couldn’t do, something none of her customers could presumably do, and that there were people who appreciated that, and anyone who didn’t were idiots and didn’t deserve her time.

Her last message said that I’d made her cry—in a good way!—and that she would remember this for the rest of her life.

I swear that knocked the breath out of me.

Over the last little while, I’ve made more of an effort to leave positive comments in my browser history—retweeting updates from my favourite authors with way too many exclamation points, leaving comments on the fanfictions I read, the videos I watch, the art I see. Even the Kickstarter projects I back.

And every single time, the (always positive) reaction I got was drastically, almost insanely out of proportion to the amount of effort it had taken me to make it.

I’ve heard ‘good people have to be louder’ many times in discussions about social justice, but always in terms of big, physical action. And those actions are incredibly important! Voting and showing up for protests and making blockades and calling out people who need calling out—it’s all incredibly important.

But yesterday it hit me that that’s not the only kind of ‘louder’ we need.

If you haven’t heard of hopepunk, it’s basically the idea that being kind is an act of resistance in a world that wants to grind you down. It’s the point-blank refusal to give in to either indifference or outright negativity, and about fighting to be good. Not good like saints—not good like perfect. We’re mortals; I don’t think it’s possible to be perfect, and to be honest I don’t think I’d like to be a saint anyway. But still good. Good as in kind. Good as in gentle, when gentleness is called for. (You are allowed to be fierce, you are encouraged to be fierce. But be gentle to yourself, and to others when you do not have to be fierce.)(Or maybe I’m phrasing it badly. Be fiercely gentle. Be gently fierce.) Good as in fuck you, I will not let you make me into someone who does not care, who does not love. I will be kind because you want me so badly not to be and you cannot stop me. I will be a light in the dark no matter how dark you make it.

And guys—yeah, that means protests and petitions and voting and everything else. It means the big things.

But if we forget about the small things, it doesn’t matter who is president or what laws get passed. If we let the world make us cruel—even casually, unintentionally cruel—then there is no world to fight for. Not one that’s worth fighting for.

We have to remember what we’re fighting for.

A few years ago now, I wrote a post that went kind of viral, the ‘you are not filler’ post. In it I talked about how we all make ripples with our every action, inaction, with our very existence. It’s basically chaos theory—the whole ‘a butterfly beats its wings, and causes a storm on the other side of the world’ thing. We all matter because we all make ripples simply by breathing. We are all irreplaceable because without any single one of us, the world would be different. You are not filler because if someone else was in your place, the ripples would be slightly different. Maybe almost imperceptibly different. But different. This world would not be this world without all of us in it.

Somehow I never made the leap to realising that it’s not just that you make ripples simply by living. You can make ripples on purpose.

You can be a hopepunk. You can make not just neutral ripples, but positive ripples. You can choose to be kind and set off a trail of bright gold dominoes that ring the earth. And it can be so easy! It can take only seconds; saying ‘thank you’ to a server, writing a quick comment on a fic you like, holding the door open for the person behind you. I’m a writer who’s struggled with depression for years; guys, those comments and reviews can change someone’s life. They can save someone’s life. I promise.

And it can be hard, too: you can swallow your frustration when you’re dealing with a customer service rep whose fault it isn’t, even when you’re tired and you’ve been passed between four different people already. You can not snap at someone even though someone else has just hurt or angered you. You can be patient when you’ve explained something a dozen times and need to explain it again. Those kinds of things are hard. They are.

But every time you manage it, you have managed to not make a ‘bad’ ripple. You’ve made a good one instead. You’ve cancelled the potential darkness and added a bit more light to the world instead.

Here’s another truism for you: ‘an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind.’ Here is how to be a hero every day: when a dark ripple reaches you, don’t pass it on. Don’t be the next domino in the chain. Your boss snarls at you because he hasn’t been sleeping because the investors are anxious because and because and because—and you don’t snap or lash out at the next person who gives you an excuse. You don’t take it out on anyone else. The chain of small or not-so-small cruelties and meanness and indifference reaches you, and you break it. You are the one who says stop. You are the one who doesn’t take an eye. You are the one who says enough.

You are a fucking hero.

You are, though. Some of you are scoffing at me right now, but think about it. You know how hard it is to do that. You know that you say things you regret to someone who isn’t the cause of your pain or stress. You’ve had someone do it to you. Now think about the strength of will it takes to hold that pain or stress and not pass it on. It’s like a game of hot potato, only the potato is a burning coal and there is no music to make it stop. The burning coal has been passed from person to person to person and given to you. You’re the one who has to make it stop.

Think about what it takes to hold onto that coal and not pass it on.

Think about what it takes to crush it into nothing.

It is hard. It hurts, sometimes. How is that not heroic? You’ve stopped an evil. A little evil, maybe, but little evils build into big ones. And even little ones can break people, hearts, lives. You know that too, if you think about it.

I remember being about fifteen or sixteen years old, so happy because for the first time in my life, I’d gotten 90% on a Maths test. The highest mark I’d ever managed in that subject. I brought it home beaming because my dad had spent years frustrated with me for struggling with mathematics. It had been a low-grade, sometimes not so low-grade vein of disappointment and small miseries for all of my life, and now I’d finally done it, and he would be so proud of me.

He barely glanced at it when I showed him. He said something absently, vaguely congratulatory and continued on with what he was doing.

It’s been ten years and it still makes me want to cry.

And that wasn’t any kind of deliberate cruelty. That was just a father who was exhausted from working 5am to 9pm in the middle of the credit crisis, who knew his job was on the point of being terminated and who had to borrow from his father-in-law to make our rent. He had every reason to be that tired and absent-minded. Just like you have every right to be raw and snarly after a terrible day at work, to be maddened by the idiocy of that customer service rep, to feel like the whole world’s against you after a million tiny things go wrong in one day.

You have every right.

But you can choose not to pass on that coal.

It’s hard. We’re mortals: sometimes we fuck up. Sometimes we’re cruel by accident, sometimes we make mistakes, sometimes we don’t know the whole story. Sometimes we’re just so fucking tired.

But you can choose to try.

Even stopping just one evil makes you a hopepunk. Makes you a hero.

And what about being more than a hero? What about crushing that coal down into a diamond, and passing that on instead?* What about deliberately choosing to be kind when someone has been cruel, when the world has hurt you? By which I mean: what about turning around and doing something to make a positive ripple when a bad one reaches you? What about being a magic kind of prism, and turning the darkness that reaches you into a rainbow?

I’m not saying, do something good for everyone who hurts you. Like I said, I’m not a saint, and I don’t want to be. If you can be or are that good, then…then I can’t even. You’re something more than the rest of us, and you have my unfeigned awe and I am happy you exist. But for the rest of us—when your boss yells at you, maybe drop a penny into a charity box. Grab your roommate’s favourite treat for them on the way home. Write a positive review for an app you like on the app store. It can be anything. It can be tiny. Smile and say thank you to the person who makes your coffee at Starbucks, I don’t know.

But drop the coal on the fucking ground, and give something small and beautiful to someone else instead.

If you’re good, make your voice heard. Remind strangers that the world isn’t all bad, that the terrible people featured on the news are far from the only people out there. Give someone a moment of kindness that they might just remember forever. Help make a world worth fighting for by refusing to let Them make you into someone who wouldn’t.

You won’t always manage it. We all have bad days, we all make mistakes. That’s okay. But try. Do your best.

When you can, stand next to me—stand up with all of us—and when a ripple of casual cruelty or deliberate evil or just plain indifference reaches you, say no.

Say It stops here.

Because I’m a fucking hopepunk, and I will kill you with kindness.

(NB: I’m not advocating pacifism here. You have no obligation to be kind to - well, arguably anybody, I guess, but especially not to people who hurt you. And there are some kind of cruelties that you need to push back against, not just stand against. But I believe we need this kind of resistance as well.) 

(*Yes I know that’s not how diamonds are really made, that’s not the point!)

[itsallavengers]

Hide and Seek

Tony wasn’t too sure how they managed to get on to the topic. 

Actually- scratch that- yes he was. It was Clint. All bad things in the world happened because of Clint. 

Probably.

Anyway- Clint had been talking about his years in the circus, and how they’d taught him all sorts of weird ways to contort your body for the extra showmanship. “Made for some pretty awesome games of hide and seek, though,” he’d said, nodding serenely to himself as he’d sipped from his coffee.

“I bet I’d still find you in under an hour,” Natasha had challenged, raising a daring eyebrow up at him before turning back to the morning paper.

Clint scoffed, turning to Steve, who was stood cooking eggs on the stove. “Cap, you can vouch for me here, right? I am the master at hide and seek. No one beats me at hide and seek.”

And Steve had laughed- a lovely throaty thing that made Tony smile just from hearing it. “Uhhh, I don’t know? It depends on a lot of variables. If it were in a park, maybe- but here? Tony would beat you hands-down. He knows every nook and cranny of this tower, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

And then- here had come Tony’s fatal mistake of the day. Later, he’d pin it on lack of caffeine in his system and the early hour at which he was conscious- but really, he was just an idiot who’d forgotten how offended his teammates could (and did) get on his behalf.

“Actually, I’ve never played. Although I could still probably beat Barton.”

(Read more, mobile users! Finish it on your laptop or PC if you can’t on mobile!)

The room had gone silent. Even Bruce, who was napping on the tabletop, had lifted his head a little in surprise.

“You what?” Clint had asked incredulously.

Tony shrugged. “Too busy being a prodigy, remember? No time for that sort of shit.”

Steve was staring at him, the stupid concerned look on his face that he seemed to wear a lot when Tony said something to do with his childhood.

 It didn’t seem as if anyone knew what to say. Tony hadn’t even realised it was such a big deal.

Sensing a tactical retreat may be best for this situation, he opened his mouth and began walking backward, ready to roll an excuse off his tongue and hurry back to his workshop. 

Except a hand suddenly swung up and rested on his chest gently, blocking his path. Tony followed it with his eyes until he rested on Steve’s face, shooting a questioning eyebrow-raise his way.

“Okay guys- looks like we’re having a surprise team training session today,” Steve finally said, in response to Tony’s look. “Hide and seek, in the tower. If you get caught, you gotta help the seeker to find the ones who are still in the game. Thor, buddy, do you know how to play, or do you want us to go through it with you too-”

“No,” Tony cut in, slicing a hand through the air, “I am an adult. I do not need to be shown how to play some dumb kids game. I’ve gone this long without it, I don’t-”

“This isn’t for you, Stark, didn’t you hear? Team training session, remember? Now get over yourself and listen to Cap,” Clint had called out, grinning over the lip of his mug.

Tony flipped him off on autopilot, but Steve was just nodding his head in agreement, and Tony knew it was already a lost cause. “Tony, you can stay with me for the first few games. The rules really are simple, I’ll teach you them on the way. For now- I declare Bruce as the first seeker. You’re not allowed to leave the top five floors of the tower, but every place above that is fair game. Everyone has two minutes to hide.”

And suddenly, Steve had started pulling on Tony’s wrist and dragging him forward, a big grin on his face as he whispered “take me to the most hidden spot in this damn penthouse Tony.”

Tony shot him a look. It was a very judgemental thing. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”

“You don’t fuck around when you’re playing hide and seek,” Steve answered solemnly. “It’s every man for himself. You could hide with someone for a whole game and have their back, but once they get caught? You ain’t on the same side no more,” 

“Explain to me how this a team game, again,” Tony said dryly.

Steve just grinned. “It is for us. I have made the tactical decision to make a one-off exception in order to teach you the rules.”

“You just want a good hiding spot in my damn tower, don’t you?”

Steve had paused, trying to look suitably offended, before he apparently gave up and shrugged. “Like I said- you don’t fuck around when you play hide and seek.”

*****

And that’s how Tony ended up sat in a vent above Clint’s room.

*****

“It’s been like, five whole minutes. My back hurts,” Tony whined.

Steve chuckled beside him. What with him being a literal giant, his position was even more uncomfortable than Tony’s- not that he seemed to care. “It depends what we’re going for. You can play the long game, try and win but risk facing boredom. Or you can live fast and lose quick by constantly moving hiding spots. More thrilling, but riskier.”

“Steve, we are fucking Avengers, not kids. I’m sure-”

“The people after you are Avengers too, remember,” Steve whispered, “plus- who knows who he’s found yet. Maybe Nat. You really wanna risk running around the tower when you have the Black Widow gunning for you?”

No. Tony did not.

“Fine,” he said grouchily, wishing he’d brought his tablet so that he could fiddle (and maybe track the activity in the top five floors- just to keep ahead of the game, you know.)

Steve opened his mouth, but then they both heard the door open quickly and the footsteps of someone running into the room, and both of them froze in their vent. 

Tony shot Steve a look, and Steve pressed a finger to his lips. The person below them was breathing a little heavily, like he’d been running, and then they both heard the scrambling of feet as they stepped on top of some sort of furniture.

Tony knew that walk. It wasn’t Bruce’s.

Before Steve could even stop him. he’d lifted the hatch and stuck his head out into the room, spotting Clint as he tried to squeeze himself into a suitcase under his bed.

They stared at eachother for a few seconds, before Clint gave a little salute and Tony breathed out in relief.

“It’s okay, it’s just Clint,” Tony called out to Steve, who just groaned. “What? What did I do, I was only checking-”

“What did I tell you about every man for himself, Tony? He knows our position now, we’re gonna have to move-”

“Cap,” Clint said, betrayed. “You think I’d ever rat you out?”

“Yes.”

“That hurts,” Clint said, and Tony opened his mouth to add in when suddenly another muffled set of footsteps sounded down the hall, and Clint’s eyes widened. “Fuck, fuck, you guys distracted me, I knew he was coming, holy shit, get down here and help me hide!” Clint hissed, looking around wildly at the half-opened suitcase and then kicking it back under the bed.

Tony was halfway to making his way back down quickly, when a hand wrapped around his waist and pulled him back.

Clint whisper-yelled underneath them, but Tony could no longer see him, because Steve was sealing the hatch back again and looking at Tony. “He’s gone. We can’t help him. Now get shuffling, we have to make it to the next hatch before they do.”

“He’s not even been caught yet- what the hell is this game? Does everyone turn into a heartless bitch when they play? No wonder kids are so cruel,” Tony said wildly, as Steve pushed his shoulders again. 

The door slammed open beneath them and they heard Clint scream “NOT ME, PLEASE, STEVE AND TONY ARE IN THE VENTS, GET THEM INSTEAD!”

Tony gasped. “He snitched!” 

“I told you!” Steve said, looking smug.

“Okay okay, you win. Just keep moving, soldier.”

There was another scream and a laugh as Bruce undoubtedly tug him, and then an eerie silence. Tony paused, trying to listen in.

He couldn’t hear a thing, but there was a tiny sound of-

A few meters back, the hatch opened, and Clint’s face looked back at them.

“I’m a seeker now,” Clint shrugged, before his hands began finding purchase on the vent.

Steve, who was behind Tony, quickly shoved his ass and sent him stumbling forward. “MOVE!”

Tony did. He crawled like his life depended on it, unable to stop the excited giggles from his own mouth as Clint followed, hot on their tail. Steve was yelling at him to move, and Tony had never thought there would be a point in his life when he’d be annoyed by Steve’s hands on his ass, but here they were.

Eventually, Tony saw another hatch a few meters ahead, and now it was just a desperate race as to who would get there first- Clint to them, or them to the vent.

In the end, they just managed to make it. Tony threw himself on to the bed underneath him (Natasha’s- let’s hope she hadn’t been caught yet too) and Steve followed, shutting and locking the vent just as Clint’s hands reached out to where he had been seconds before.

There were muffled curses and threats above them, but Steve and Tony were already moving, Steve pulling at Tony’s hand again and dragging them out of the room, running out into the corridor just as Bruce rounded the corner and spotted them.

“Time to haul ass again, then,” Tony sighed wearily, as Steve whooped and pulled them in the other direction.

*****

“What about tag?”

“Nope.”

“Blind man’s bluff?”

“Never even heard of it.”

“Oh come on-  capture the flag?”

Tony shook his head in amusement as he stared out across the New York skyline and watched the sun set slowly across it. They were both relaxing, feet dangling over the edge of the horizontal line that made the ‘A’ of their Avengers Tower. This spot was almost impossible to get to without prior knowledge of its existence- Tony was confident that they weren’t about to be caught any time soon.

Steve huffed, leaning back against the wall of tower and looking down at the buildings. Tony spared him a glance; the orange light bouncing off his face, the breeze whipping up the hairs that strayed across his forehead and the smile on his lips that had been there pretty much permanently since the day had begun.

Tony thought about it a lot, sure- but he’d never be able to get over how beautiful Steve always managed to look. Effortless, yet constant. 

“So tell me the real reason why you missed out on all this,” Steve said, after a few seconds of silence.

The grin slid off Tony’s face, and was replaced with an involuntary scowl. “I told you, Steve- kid prodigy, I never liked any of that stuff-”

“You’ve absolutely loved playing this game today, Tony, I’ve seen you. You haven’t stopped grinning for pretty much 7 hours.”

Oh. He... he hadn’t been aware he was doing that.

Tony pursed his lips, leaning back against the wall and trying not to feel Steve’s gaze burning into the side of his face.

“You know why, Steve,” he said quietly.

“No, I don-”

“Because i was lonely!” Tony snapped, turning to face Steve angrily. “You want me to say it? Fine. I was lonely and all the neighbourhood kids would rather spit at me and call me a freak than play goddamn tag with me. I was lonely and my own parents chose to ignore me, or- y’know- just hit me if I was being annoying enough, so they weren’t exactly up for it either.”

Tony looked down at his hands; tapping incessantly against his knees, and pointedly did not look at Steve. He wished he had just lied- said it was because he thought it was lame, or never enjoyed running around as a little kid, or just anything that hadn’t been what he’d actually gone and-

His hands paused their tapping when another was placed over them, holding them gently and quietly calming the erratic movements.

Tony looked up at Steve, who was staring softly at him, brows drawn a little closer together than they had been before. “You’re never gonna have to be alone again, Tony. Not any more.”

When Tony didn’t say anything, Steve barrelled on. “And I’ll teach you. We all will. Every game we can think of, we’ll do it during team-building-”

“Steve,” Tony said, exasperated, “I already told you. I am a grown-ass man, I do not need-”

“A grown-ass man who never got to actually be a kid,” Steve raised an eyebrow, and looked back out on to the horizon. 

His hand was still holding Tony’s.

“I...” he didn’t know what he was going to say. Argue, maybe. He always argued. He could do arguing.

Except when he looked up, Steve had moved an awful lot closer, and before he could even begin to yell, his mouth became occupied.

With Steve.

Kissing him.

Squeaking a little in surprise, he instinctively let his hand rise, cupping around Steve’s neck and drawing him in, moving them closer, because Tony didn’t know why, he didn’t know how, but he knew that he wanted. 

Good God, did he want.

Steve breathed out softly, crowding over Tony as he rose to his knees, taking Tony’s face in his hands and kissing him gently, so very gently.

 It was like the sunset- quiet and delicate and fucking mesmerising.

“Oh, come on man! Have you been making out all this time?”

Tony broke away, turning his head to find the source of the noise, but Steve seemed entirely unfazed- simply using Tony’s turned head as an excuse to press soft kisses along his exposed neck instead.

His eyesight went a tad blurry at that, but he still managed to spot Clint, half-way to clambering up the left side of the ‘A’ and looking thoroughly pissed. “We had to bribe JARVIS to find you! We thought real baddies had taken you! And here you are, just fucking kissing eachother like gross idiots on the side of the tower! Fuck you, honestly, I’m never playing with you guys again, you’re no fun-”

Finally, Steve looked up, much to Tony’s disappointment. “Next week it’s capture the flag. You in?”

Clint paused, and he shot them both an utterly unamused look before muttering “fine. God. But only because I really like capture the flag. We’re all still mad at you.”

“Okay,” and back Steve went to the kissing thing again, a finger gently tilting Tony’s head back toward him before bringing their mouths together again.

Tony could feel him smiling. 

Behind them, Clint was huffing and complaining as he made his way back down, but he was completely ignored. 

Tony and Steve had far better things to concentrate on, to be honest.

[therewillbesparkles]

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[terasource-blog]

Who I am doesn’t matter, what I represent does. You can find out more about me here.

This is going to be long, so bear with me. Note: Some images are a little hard to read, a list of all image links can be found at the very end.

Tera online has had its issues for a long time. Poor optimisation, lag that worsens with every patch and limitations on what classes people can play based on ping, as well as race and gender. That’s without even touching on the bugs and exploits that have been around for years.

These issues are by no means recent. They’ve been known for a long time and we’ve all chosen to play the game despite them. Sure, we’d love to see them fixed, but the reality is that they haven’t been and most likely never will be.

It’s incredibly hard to separate between EME and BHS, so allow me to do my best to explain the difference. EME is a blind kid in a pitch black room being led to the door via BHS’ instructions. When EME falls flat on their ass the community blames them. When in actuality they fell because BHS provided poor instructions.

The above at least applies when considering content patches and any patch fixes that pop up along the way. By no means does this excuse them in other areas, such as event planning, lack of transparency and being out of touch with the communities needs and expectations.

What is evident by recent actions is that the way a community is run is at the discretion of the region and thus the Community Manager, and by extension the publisher they represent.

Damage (DPS) was mainly speculation back when DPS meter was ever a thing. I still remember during the early inception of Tera and how people thought poison skills were high DPS because they ripped threat from tanks. Wrong obviously, poisons skills in general did for some strange reason or bug?

Running MCHM with people was always about class choice and individual performance. Whereas now we know, while DPS classes aren’t equal in the potential DPS they can do, there are people who play less overpowered (OP) classes better than players playing the OP ones.

With the removal of crusades the competitive scene died down a lot. The PvP scene has since diminished to all but nothing for a number of reasons, with the leading contributor being the removal of the crusade board. PvE on the other hand is the only competitive scene left, due largely to DPS meter.

There's no denying that the DPS meter’s ingrained in this games culture and the removal of it is an umbrella of synonyms for the words stupid and ignorant.

Packet Injector

Injector! Injector! Injector! Injector! The reason we’re here.

I’m an advocate of the packet injector, as it was originally intended for; allowing players to play the game at low ping no matter where they’re from. How can anyone be against that? People can pick a class that wouldn’t necessarily be suited to their ping and even enter the competitive scene because of it.

Move to Chicago!

Fuck you. I’m trying to remain unbiased but that response comes across entitled. I’m glad that you live in Chicago or you might actually have to form an educated opinion on the matter. We shouldn’t have to move state or country to be able to play the game. Nor do I think it’s against the best interest of EME and its longevity. Now players across the world and those closer to home with crappy connections, can play the game the way the game is meant to be played. Doesn’t sound like a poor business decision to me.

The ones behind the code

Meishu, known for creating the proxy injector. While their endeavor was a noble one, in setting out to help players by reducing the discrepancy between high and low ping, they also held the door open. Allowing scripters with less helpful intentions to come in and lay waste, toeing the line of what is or isn’t acceptable.

Their concept design was later improved upon by Bernkastel and Pinkie Pie, theirs only worked for gunner and ninja, affecting the classes energy bar spenders and archer’s rapid fire.

Bernkastel, known for his moderating of the Tera Online official discord, Tera subreddit and paid script writing services. If you have yet to visit, this is his website: https://teraproxy.tumblr.com

He charges one million a script, of which more than a few cross the line on what is acceptable.

Here’s where it gets murky. Scripts that take away from EME’s revenue, with outfits at the click of a button that persist through teleporting and logging out. As well as some that quite frankly play the game for you, that instant block after every attack.

While it’s apparently unavailable due to ethical considerations, one has to ask why make such a script in the first place? And will your ethical boundaries hold true now that you’re banned? Lets take a look.

The ethical gloves are off now. Thank you EME, for reacting without a proper plan in motion. Instead of preventing packet injecting from working, you banned the scripters and pissed them off by doing so. Quickening the escalation of the issue.

While the picture doesn’t prove anything not already known, there is a big argument between selling scripts and artwork and how different the two really are. Rather than discuss the obvious, in regards to how artwork helps promote the game and scripting is treated black and white by most. I’ll ask this; how many artists post on the official forums asking to be paid via Paypal? I haven’t seen any, and if they did they’d be banned. Would you feel safe offering to sell scripts on the official forums without being banned, even if it were for gold? If your answer is no, as I’d expect it to be, then you know it’s wrong. Sucky, because it’s your time and energy being spent to produce these scripts, but ultimately it is wrong.

Pinkie Pie, they also went by the name Pinkie on Tempest reach. Known for scripting and leading the proxy discord. They also create, improve on and publish other peoples works, making it easier for people to get their hands on.

Just to name a few of the scripts they’ve dabbled in. Unlike their counterpart Bernkastel, they offer their scripts for free. However there are a large number of scripts traded privately on the discord itself.

Some of which include:

HP Dump - Drops a players HP for slaying runs.

Enrage Announcements - As it reads, alerts you when enrage is up, how long it’s up for and what HP % enrage will be up next.

Mana Potion - Automatically uses mana potion when your mana falls below a certain threshold.

I must admit, some of these seem like quality of life changes. If there are no limits to what the proxy is capable of then where does it end? Where is it headed? Will the game be better or worse off if the packet injector is left unchecked? Remembering that scripters are only answerable to themselves, the sky’s the limit, unless EME intervenes.

Kourinn, the scripter responsible for cosplay-master. Not much else is known of him other than he has a good sense of self preservation. Shutting down his Github and taking a vow of silence on the proxy after declaring he’s fleeing the country. If ‘country’ were to mean the proxy scene. This was his Github: https://github.com/Kourinn/

The risks for scripting were known. Most didn’t practice any discretion, with their in game names matching their Discord, Tumblr and Github. Thus making them easy to find and ban. Surely there’s no surprise?

There are a few other scriptwriters but these are the main three, with an added addition.

The packet injectors potential is limitless as we’re learning with new scripts popping up every day. It’s not hard to understand why people are fearful and why Enmasse felt the need to step in.

Especially when the culture to break and destroy things is being celebrated on the proxy discord, although not by all. The mere fact Memeboy felt he was safe enough to announce in a channel of 800+ people, should be a huge red flag to everyone. Signifying that the culture around 3rd party programs is only worsening.

The exploit only allowed for them to purchase from a tier higher than theirs, while they appear to be T10 they were actually T2, the credits on the other hand are only client sided (aren’t usable).

Cheat engine was responsible for the emporium exploit and not the packet injector, but what do semantics matter at this point? The actions of Memeboy prompted a response from EME, when they were otherwise silent on the topic before. 

It was expected action would be taken.

I guess EME figured they couldn’t just condemn one exploit, knowing how far the proxy has gotten, or it might come off looking like endorsement. Encouraging people to further explore what the injector is capable of.

Coupled with the use of the packet injector to get over the barricade at RMHM’s first boss. Yep, it’s doable without. It’s also a lot easier to do with it. Joining random LFG groups and seeing it being done with such ease is proof of that.

This next part originally started out titled ‘The first 24 hours,’ which has since long past.

You Won’t Believe What Happens Next..

Threats against Enmasse.

Witch hunts, after the Player Council (and not just against Yamazuki, who’s comments are generally :facepalm:)

Proxy Discord teaching 800+ people how to access GM Panel, this was a few hours before Spacecats weekly stream. This was with the packet injector, and NOT cheat engine.

Misinformation, but on whose end?

A call for communication, when this is the leading mindset.

Turning their backs, big names like Loriri (responsible for translating KTera patch notes) turning their back on Tera Online, despite their claims to love the game and wanting to see it grow. How do you think reviews like his appear to new players. Just check the hours played. If I were a new player reading what he wrote, knowing his position and hours spent playing, I wouldn’t bother playing. I hope he adjusts his stance or deletes it.

Ownership of how it could all go wrong, Pinkie Pie claiming responsibility for shutting down a game with a hack they released.

Proof that even ‘Gods’ fall.

Silencing on both the official forums and official Tera discord, the Tera Discord remaining unwelcome to people with differing opinions ‘white knights’ and the Tera Forums which bans both sides black and white on the subject.

A little over 14 pages since Noesis’ statement declaring EME’s stance on all 3rd party programs.

Proof that even ‘white knights’ get forum banned. Look at that forum name.

If it looks like I’m going after anyone or leaning more on the scripters and moderators of the official discord and Tera subreddit, that’s because it’s hard not to. If you have yet to realise it then allow me to clarify, the official discord moderators are mostly scripters and Tera subreddit moderators.

When you consider one group holding three important roles in the Tera community, you understand why there’s so much more content on their side to focus on than their is from the other side of the table, and Enmasse. They’re also a company that clocks off, while we keep going.

Because of such it makes it difficult for players, new and old, to find accurate information on what’s going on because a lot of it is being controlled by one side.

Both sides have their faults. I’m not going to point out who is or isn’t to blame for all of this. I’m trying to remain impartial with this posting and so here’s a list of things to consider instead:

Acknowledgement from scripters that they could be banned at any time (displayed in the above screenshots). Knowing what they were doing was deemed wrong by Tera’s Terms of Service.

There is no line or limitation that scripters can’t cross which leads to the concerning question ‘what’s next?’

Enmasse reacting poorly by banning scripters without a system in place to prevent 3rd party software.*

EME/BHS stuck in their ways and refusing to evolve. This game has stripped itself of features like Crusade Boards that made this game competitive, telling people no to DPS meter when it’s keeping PvE worth doing.

Community expectations and demands going unanswered.

This game was made to be played with sub 30 ping. 

NA Tera players are from everywhere around the world. Ping is inconsistent and the games lag is only worsening, people want a solution and proxy is the only one available.

Outfit scripts that potentially take away from EMP revenue, hurting the game.

*Enmasse reacting without proper consideration of what could and would happen is another disturbing element to consider. Not having a system or code in place to prevent 3rd party programs, particularly packet injecting, since those are the only known scripters to have been targeted, is a big problem. If you know a terrorist has a bomb you should be trying to disarm it first or at least have a system preventing them from using it on you, not killing their families and ignorantly expecting them to never go after you. Excuse the metaphor, it isn’t for everyone.

We need to be moving forward as a community. This games population is already quite small and continues to decline. It’s longevity is on all of us.

Going forward

EME/BHS clearly don’t have a system in place to prevent 3rd party programs and people are threatening to quit even if they do. The best option for all involved is for EME to impose limitations and guidelines for scripters, which requires a sit down to speak with them.

Most games have mods and addons that improve the quality of Game play and keep people interested. The way it’s being done isn’t ‘acceptable’ but this game has no interface that allows modding/addons. This has to be the only game that instead of adding features, removes them (crusade boards).

This has been my attempt to provide some perspective on both sides of the table. All images can be found here: http://imgur.com/a/13l40

I am Anonymous, but I’m not alone.

[bonerhitler]

A Mild Critique of Gamers

I like video games. I like them a lot, they've been a pretty consistent hobby for most of my life. I don't define myself by them, however. I have many hobbies and I would find it incredibly awkward to try and define myself by any single one, I also find it incredibly awkward when people try to define me by a single interest of mine. So tonight I find myself writing about Gamers, people who have a strange fixation on a singular hobby of theirs and so frequently fall prey to the same social habits when their hobby is concerned.

First is, well, when the actual label of Gamer comes in. There seems to be so little consensus on who is and is not a gamer. Like with many similar arguments it ultimately comes down to groups of people not wanting to be associate with people they don't like, but still wanting to be able to claim membership of a shared group. Self professed Gamers will talk at length about how you can only be a gamer with dedication or skill put into a game, but turn around and say none of that matters if you play a genre or console they disapprove of. Mobile games in particular get a lot of vitriol on that front. You'll see people set their own arbitrary definitions and requirements for what makes a Gamer, but gladly turn on their own standards as soon as someone they, personally, disapprove of meets them solely so they can exclude that person from what they view as their private club.

Gaming isn't a private club. There is nothing gained by trying to force people out of it, at best they won't care  and at worst you succeed in what? Making someone who has zero impact on your life stop doing a thing they enjoy doing? There isn't a limited supply of video games either. People who do not like the same type of games calling themselves Gamers somehow won't reduce the number of consoles or games available for everyone to play. Of course this criticism goes both ways, if you find yourself getting really frustrated people don't think you're a “Real Gamer” then I just have one question; why do you care? It literally does no matter what anyone else thinks and anyone getting upset over arbitrary classifications over who is and is not part of a group of people who enjoy a hobby when they do, in fact, partake in that hobby should probably stop caring and just go back to enjoying their games.

So, with that little rant out of the way lets get on to something far more interesting. Awful spending habits, the defense thereof and overly defensive attitudes regarding. “It's no big deal, it's only five dollars I can afford that.” Who hasn't said that while impulse buying something cheap because it looked cool or interesting? What about ten dollars? Where is the cut off exactly? Personally speaking I have a hard time justifying random sixty dollar purchases, not because I can't afford it but because that's just a hefty price for something I haven't looked into at all. On the other hand there are legions of people who will think nothing of paying sixty dollars for a game solely because of a name attached to it or a company brand.

So what's wrong with blindly supporting something, even on relatively low scales such as the ten dollar value? Well, it's exactly what the publishers want. Pre-orders are one of the worst things games still do and while they've come under fire a lot recently given the recent hot topics of games like No Man's Sky I feel it's still important to reiterate why. When you place that pre-order, they've got their money from you. So they hype a game, they market it and they fill the public with half truths and cinematic trailers. We, as consumers, see very little substance of a game before release day now. Betas are more and more becoming marketing tools placed mere days before launch rather than actual development cycles used to, well, develop the game and demos are extremely rare because they simply aren't profitable for publishers. Recently some publishers have even gone so far as to express interest in no longer sending out early press review copies.

We, the consumers, are effectively blinded. No Man's Sky is still the posterchild for what happens when people buy into the hype, follow that line and never think for themselves. So many people pre-ordered and gave the publisher their money, they listened to every line from the interviews even though a lot of it turned out to be straight up lies and let themselves be led by the nose into a game that was nothing like it was advertised. Of course, not everyone was suckered into it. But what happened to those of us who weren't fooled by the trailers and interviews, the skeptics who would rather have waited and seen proof the game was what it was before going whole hog in on it? Well trying to explain why blindly pre-ordering a game is bad idea to someone who already has pre-ordered a game is a fools errand. In personal experience the most common retort to something as simple as “I don't think it's worth spending sixty dollars on a game that might not even come out on time” is a straight up personal attack implying I am too poor to afford the game.

Time and time again it's something that comes up with DLC purchases too, or kickstarter/patreon or even certain scam theoretical games that might not even exist. The idea that someone might willingly choose to not buy something, might even have valid reasons not to, seems to threaten certain Gamers. I won't even try to analyze why, no one could possibly reading this for arm chair psychology about spending habits. So I'm just going to finish this chunk off with this; if you're so insecure about your purchases that you feel the need to get angry and defensive about it, then maybe you should rethink it. Buying something just because you can isn't always a good idea and if someone else not buying a thing makes you feel unsure, then that's probably a sign.

Finally, and truthfully the topic I wrote this whole post to get to, is criticism. Gamers are notably anti-criticism while being incredibly vocal and opinionated. Sounds contradictory, sure, but it's not in the least. You see “This game sucks and I hate it, the creator should go kill themselves.” isn't criticism. It says nothing, it's just an angry fart into the void. I can not count the number of times I've been trying to get a good read on a game and most of the reviews were either “10/10 perfect in every way!” or “0/10 it sucks!” neither of these tell you anything, they contain no information. Summarily, no one actually cares about reviews like that. However, looking at reviews people will get really bent out of shape over an 8/10 review that details the reviewer's grievances with the game. Gamers tried to get a reviewer fired from a gaming magazine for giving Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess an 8/10.

You see, Gamers are in an incredibly strange position where they want their hobby to be taken seriously as art and as entertainment. They want it to be a genuine medium like film or music but they only want the recognition and respect. They don't want the critique that weeds out the shallow or poorly made products, no one wants to hear that a thing they like might be flawed because Gamers are incredibly prone to a tribalistic mentality, where anyone who isn't part of the Nintendo tribe is alienated and shouldn't be listened to but anyone who is part of the tribe should say nothing but what the rest of the tribe wants to hear. At the same time it's a very populist tribe, whatever game is new and coming out is the best thing and if you have anything negative to say about it then prepare to be a social pariah until the next new thing is announced. Then everyone will turn around and smugly talk about how that previous game was terrible all along and they'd never actually liked it, but oh man have you heard about this awesome new game coming out? It's going to be perfect.

This gets incredibly ironic given the drama that happens every few years when Gamers get incredibly upset over “Journalistic Integrity” in professional game reviews. The same people who will try to get someone fired for personally giving a game too high or too low a score, will turn around and try to hold other people accountable for their judgments of media. There is no journalistic integrity when it comes to video games, and most gaming magazines have realized this by now. Nintendo certainly realized it a long time ago. Gamers simply want to read opinions that agree with the views they've already decided are true, because facing the reality that they might like a thing with flaws, or that a shiny new thing coming out might not be what they wanted is difficult.

So, ultimately, what I'm trying to say with all this is that it's okay to not like things. It's okay to like things that are flawed or even bad. It's okay to admit they're bad even if you like them. It's even okay to not like popular things. Just don't let yourself get suckered into the hype, you all have brains. Start using them.

[buzzdixonwriter]

The Seven Secrets Of Pure Dumb Luck

“Introduce a little anarchy.  Upset the established order, and everything becomes chaos.  I'm an agent of chaos.  Oh, and you know the thing about chaos?  It's fair.”

-- The Joker, The Dark Knight 

Sandra Newman’s meme has been bouncing around the Internet for a while now, and while many people get it’s point, some fail to realize she’s satirizing not people who fail to achieve success (however one chooses to define “fail” or “success”) but rather the mindset of those who are “born on third base and believe they knocked a home run”.

It’s the mindset of privilege, and while her meme specifically focuses on those with the privilege of wealth, truth be told privilege comes in many shapes / forms / fashions depending on when and where and to what group one is born.

But let’s focus on the wealth-based form she cites.  

Chance, as Louis Pasteur observed, favors the prepared mind.

It’s certainly solid advice for everyone to strive to be as mentally / emotionally / physically fit and healthy as possible, to develop productive habits, and to constantly be open to learning new things.

Before they became glorified trade schools, universities’ classical liberal arts degrees didn’t teach students what to think but how to think, the goal being to produce a cohort of graduates who -- regardless of what situation they found themselves in -- would be able to analyze what was needed and figure out how to achieve it.

Nowadays, thanks to libraries and the Internet, it’s possible for anyone to be their own polymath.

All it takes is the will and desire.

But despite being prepared, there is no guarantee chance (or fate, or fortune, or destiny, or God’s will, or plain ol’ dumb luck, or whatever you want to call it) will provide you with an opportunity to succeed.

Indeed, as our friend The Joker observes, chaos is fair.

It will dash you down just as easily as it lifts you up, and sometimes it will lift you up only to dash you down all the harder.  (Cue Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana - O Fortuna”.)

You can’t complain about that.  As Jimmy Durante observed, dem’s da conditions wot prevails.

Life is neither pure intellect -- such as chess -- nor pure chance -- such as roulette.

Rather, it’s more like Monopoly.

Now, as a game, Monopoly starts off fairly (well, kinda…each player brings their own particular skill set / insight / personal history to the proceedings, and sometimes a player’s background can provide either a distinct edge or disadvantage).

Every player starts with $1,500.

The bank owns all the properties.

Play is determined by a random roll of the dice, and a random distribution of Community Chest / Chance cards when one lands on those spaces.

Player wheel and deal, each trying to force the others into bankruptcy, thus winning the game.

(It’s really a damn tragedy that Monopoly -- which began life as a socialist teaching tool called The Landlord Game -- has become a cultural touchstone for sociopathic success instead of a dire warning for community disaster.)

Now imagine Monopoly played under these conditions:

Of the maximum number of eight players at the start of the game, two only get $100, two only get $500, two get the full $1,500, one gets $2,000, and one gets $5,800.

The two wealthiest players never go to jail, never pay any penalties.

The players with the least money pay double.

The two wealthiest players get their $200 every time they pass Go.

The other players only get $150…or $100…or just $20.

The two wealthiest players can borrow as much as they like, any time they like, and pay back at their leisure with only minimum interest.

The other players can’t borrow enough to meet their needs, and what they do borrow, they need to pay back on a rigid schedule at usurous rates.

The two wealthiest players can purchase properties and houses and hotels whenever they like.

The other players are either limited to what they can buy or denied the chance all together.

It would be bad enough if the unequal benefits were handed out purely at random, but in order to more perfectly model real life, this version of Monopoly would require the owner of the game not only get the most money but be the banker as well, that their best friend takes the #2 position, and that lesser acquaintances fill in the bottom six slots on the roster.

And to make it even more realistic, imagine that the top two players are allowed to keep their winnings and properties from the previous game every time a new game was started.

Now, it is possible for a player starting with only $100 to come out on top and win the game through a combination of shrewd business strategy and uncommonly good luck --

-- but that ain’t the way the smart money bets.

At a certain point, no matter how brilliant one may be regarding financial strategy or computing mathematical odds, the only “winners” will be those pre-ordained to win by the owner of the game.

Every successful person is successful for a combination many different reasons, but unless one admits pure blind luck random chance is one of those reasons, one is lying.

Case in point:   My personal history.

Random factor #1:   I was born as a male into a white middle class family in the American South in the early 1950s.  For most of my life, I had advantages millions of others -- black, white, and female -- were denied.

Random factor #2:   Because my father changed jobs a lot, we moved frequently, averaging out one move a year, usually to a different town or at the very least a different school district.  As a result, I grew up with no lifelong friends or neighbors or schoolmates.

Random factor #3:   Because we were always moving into new schools, I gravitated towards science fiction fandom.  It gave me a group of friends and pen-pals who were never further away than my mailbox, and a sense of permanence lacking in real life.

Random factor #4:   Because I was involved in fandom, and because I had a creative bent (and because my father once harbored ambitions himself of being a writer -- throw that in as random factor #4b -- and thus could provide me with books and magazines on writing), I started writing science fiction / fantasy / horror stories and reviews / articles / letters of comment to fanzines.

Random factor #5:   I was drafted at age 19, and thus missed an opportunity to go to college straight out of high school.

Random factor #6:   I met and married my wife while in the Army, and we started a family.  This gave me an incentive to stay in for the full 6 year enlistment, as well as an incentive to find employment in my desired field as soon as possible once I was discharged.

Random factor #7:   Though the GI Bill got me into USC’s film school, that started in October of 1978 and I was discharged in February of 1978.  We came to Los Angeles to find a place to live and hopefully for me, a mail room or driver job in the film or TV business so I could make a little money and get my feet wet in the industry before starting film school.

Random factor #8:   After visiting nearly 100 other studios and production companies (no kidding!) in search of a mail room or driver job, I worked my way down to Filmation Studios.  By chance I was there during what was called hiatus season (i.e., the lag time between the end of production on the previous season’s shows and start of the next) and Filmation’s live action producer / director Arthur Nadel Jr. was twiddling his thumbs in his office, bored out of his mind, so when the receptionist asked if he wanted to see the guy looking for a job, he said sure, send him back, anything to kill an afternoon.

Arthur took a liking to me.  I told him about writing but not selling short stories for sci-fi magazines (see random factor #4 above).  Arthur asked if he could see some, and to make a long story short, when October rolled around I was making too much money as a staff writer at Filmation to go to film school that year (see random factor #6), so I decided to put it off until 1979.

Which became 1980…1981…1982…

Random factor #9:   Filmation downsized and turned me loose in early 1980; I found a staff position at Ruby-Spears, and there met Steve Gerber and several other people whom I’d work with repeatedly in the ensuing years, becoming dear friends with many of them.

Random factor #10:   For various reasons, Steve and I left Ruby-Spears.  Steve was hired to story edit Sunbow’s G.I. Joe series.

Now here’s an important point:  I was not one of the first round picks for staff positions at Sunbow.

Indeed, I was told even freelancing there would likely be a long shot.

However, Steve knew I’d served in the Army (see random factor #5) and, realizing the stories they were getting lacked a certain sense of verisimilitude, asked if I would look them over and give him some feedback.  I did so gratis because we were friends (see random factor #9).

From that feedback, Steve recommended to Sunbow they hire me as a staff writer / technical advisor.  That quickly morphed into an assistant story editor position, and from there I went on to story edit the second season of G.I. Joe.

I’m going to break off my narrative there; clearly there were a lot of other random factors that impacted me through the next 35 years of my life.

My point is, had any one of random factors #1 through #10 been changed, the subsequent events of my life and their random factors would have changed as well.

If I hadn’t been drafted and sent to Korea (random factor #5), it’s extremely unlikely I would have ever met Soon-ok (random factor #6).

And while one can argue these random factors carried combinations of good and bad circumstances (and sometimes what seemed bad -- being drafted and sent to Korea, f’r instance -- turned out to be really, really good), had I not been steered into the direction of sci-fi fandom (random factor #2), and / or if my father hadn’t encouraged me (random factor #5), I wouldn’t be posting this, you wouldn’t be reading it.

Would I have been a better / happier / more successful person under different circumstances?

Good question -- and I’d like to think no (at least to the better and happier parts).

But I would certainly have been different.

To return to my central point:   I got breaks other people didn’t get because of my random factors.  Assuming all the random factors averaged out with good nullifying bad and vice versa, I can feel a certain sense of accomplishment in my career.

But there are others who had far more advantages due to their random factors, and others who faced far more obstacles due to their random factors.

Looking back at our Monopoly game, while there’s nothing wrong with a truly random advantage, there’s also something profoundly unfair about ginning the game to stack the odds in your favor.

  © Buzz Dixon

[coin-river-blog]

The highly anticipated Local.Bitcoin.com is now available to the general public. As of right now, anyone in the world can use the service to trade bitcoin cash (BCH) securely. Since pre-launch signups were announced last month, thousands of traders have created accounts and there are over 2,200 active offers ready to go.

Also read: Creating Your Own SLP-Based Token Using Memo

Local.Bitcoin.com: Prepare to Trade Bitcoin Cash Peer-to-Peer

The Bitcoin.com team has been busy preparing for the launch of our private, peer-to-peer trading platform for the BCH community called Local.Bitcoin.com. We believe that BCH has the means to provide every global citizen with economic freedom, helping liberate them from the confines of the current manipulated economies people are forced to live with today. In contrast to government-issued fiat, the Bitcoin Cash network is a decentralized, peer-to-peer electronic cash system that moves beyond borders and can help the world enjoy a new monetary renaissance. In honor of the 30th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square protests, Bitcoin.com decided to launch the over-the-counter BCH marketplace on June 4.

CEO Roger Ver and the rest of the Bitcoin.com team are motivated by the positive ways in which widespread Bitcoin Cash use will make the world a better place.

Our team announced the launch of Local.Bitcoin.com during the second week of May and since then there’s been a ton of interest from crypto enthusiasts around the world. So far the marketplace has seen 7,680 signups, 3,118 total offers and 2,202 active offers from traders out of 3,118 created since launch. A great number of Local.Bitcoin.com signups stem from the U.S. (24.5%), Nigeria (6.1%), Indonesia (5.7%), India (5.1%), and the Philippines (4.7%).

There’s also a decent amount of accounts coming from the U.K., Canada, Zimbabwe, Venezuela, and Russia. Currently, 37.8% of traders plan on swapping with USD but there’s a large number of trades exchanging with EUR, INR, NGN, IDR, PHP, GBP, THB, and CAD. The most popular choice of payment is bank transfer (33.4%) but the second largest payment is in-person cash trades (16%). This is followed by Paypal (14.4%), cash deposit (7.8%) and Western Union (5.7%) while gift cards (2.7%), Moneygram (2%), Skrill (1.8%), and Venmo (1.2%) follow behind.

Today’s grand opening of Local.Bitcoin.com in honor of the Tiananmen Square protests will help make bitcoin cash accessible to anyone who wants unrestricted access to a tool that fosters economic freedom. Bitcoin’s first angel investor and the CEO of Bitcoin.com, Roger Ver, is thrilled to see all the signups and action taking place on the peer-to-peer market during the pre-launch up until the opening day. Ver ventured during the launch:

Local.Bitcoin.com is a game changer for not only for cryptocurrency trading, but for global trade as well.

Getting Started

Signing up for Local.Bitcoin.com is easy and only takes a few minutes. If you want to get in on all the private, over-the-counter trading action happening on our BCH marketplace then go directly to the trading platform’s signup page. Local.Bitcoin.com will ask you to create a username and password for the exchange and the system will also generate a private key offline. Everything is encrypted using AES256-CBC to a PBKDF2-stretched version of your password, ensuring that our company has no access to your Local.Bitcoin.com wallet as the entire process is completely noncustodial. After you complete the signup process, the system will send you a confirmation email so you can access your account settings and create trades.

Browsing the Local.Bitcoin.com trades during the grand opening.

Now that the market is open you can create offers and trades while also being able to browse the active trades currently listed. You can customize your account setting and change your username, write a blurb about yourself, edit your email address, and add a phone number as well. The account setting section will allow you to set up two-factor authentication and download your Local.Bitcoin.com wallet’s backup. Additionally, in the settings section, you can generate a referral code in order to invite family members and friends. For every person you refer, you earn 20% of the fees for the lifetime of all the users who sign up through your unique code.

Local.Bitcoin.com is a great noncustodial service that allows individuals to trade with each other freely. With Local.Bitcoin.com’s blind escrow system no one touches your money but you and it is technically impossible for our website to spend BCH held in escrow. The escrow makes it so both parties can complete a trade on their own, unlike competitor OTC services where the escrow is held by the third party for a short period of time. Bitcoin.com can help with dispute resolution but we can only allow the funds to be spent by the buyer or seller using the opcode OP_CHECKDATASIG. This opcode is only available using the Bitcoin Cash network and it enhances the decentralization of the Local.Bitcoin.com service. This is a significant technological achievement as the platform provides a way for users to leverage a noncustodial escrow system for the exchange of any product in any country. For instance, two BCH community members have already written some fascinating methodologies on how people can trade on our local market in a Shapeshift-like manner for other digital currencies or for literally anything.

“In general, [Local.Bitcoin.com] could be used for any trade paid with Bitcoin Cash,” BCH proponent said on the Honest.cash social network. “The same way you can choose “Cash (in person)”, meaning you will meet in person and pay cash for BCH, you could agree to trade stamps or even potatoes for BCH.”

Check Out the New Peer-to-Peer BCH Matchmaking Service Today

Today is a big achievement for Bitcoin.com and a milestone that will be remembered for quite some time. Launching a peer-to-peer BCH marketplace makes bitcoin cash far more accessible and we hope it inspires free trade that transcends borders and traverses all walks of life. If you want to learn more about Local.Bitcoin.com, visit our frequently asked questions (FAQ) section. There’s also a series of guides that provide step-by-step instructions on how to buy and sell on Local.Bitcoin.com after browsing existing offers. Another guide gives directions on how to stay safe and secure while trading with peers. So if you want a more personal trading experience and the ability to buy and sell bitcoin cash in a noncustodial manner, head to Local.Bitcoin.com and check out what our new peer-to-peer BCH matchmaking service has to offer.

What do you think about Local.Bitcoin.com? Let us know what you think about this subject in the comments section below.

Image credits: Shutterstock, Pixabay, and Local.Bitcoin.com.

Did you know you can also buy Bitcoin Cash online with us using a credit card? Download your free Bitcoin wallet and head to our Purchase Bitcoin page where you can buy BCH and BTC securely.

Tags in this story

BCH, bitcoin cash, Blind Escrow, Free Market Trade, freedom, Local.bitcoin.com, Marketplace, Opcode, OTC, p2p, platform, private, referral, Roger Ver, Spreading adoption, trading

Bitcoin.com

Bitcoin.com is your premier source for everything Bitcoin-related. We can help you buy bitcoins and choose a bitcoin wallet. You can also read the latest news, or engage with the community on our Bitcoin Forum. Please keep in mind that this is a commercial website that lists wallets, exchanges and other Bitcoin-related companies.

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[imayank]

I revisit the books that change my worldview and have a high potential for lasting impact.

By compiling the highlights and arranging them with context, I gradually hope to build a foundation of knowledge that endures with time and provides me, or anyone reading this, lasting value. Below are highlights from the most recent book that fit this criteria, titled The Essays of Warren Buffett: Lessons for Corporate America.

Selecting board members

The requisites for board membership should be business savvy, interest in the job, and owner-orientation. Too often, directors are selected simply because they are prominent or add diversity to the board. That practice is a mistake. Furthermore, mistakes in selecting directors are particularly serious because appointments are so hard to undo: The pleasant but vacuous director need never worry about job security.

It's easy to make mistakes while appointing board members because performance standards for this job seldom exist. A CEO requires accountability and her bosses are the board of directors.

Amassing early losses in the textile business

I ignored Comte's advice—“ the intellect should be the servant of the heart, but not its slave”—and believed what I preferred to believe.

Should you find yourself in a chronically-leaking boat, energy devoted to changing vessels is likely to be more productive than energy devoted to patching leaks.

It is easy to become blind to rationality for even the most disciplined investor. Also we should be on guard to protect against the sunk cost fallacy.

Common sense

Conventionality often overpowers rationality. John Maynard Keynes said in his masterful The General Theory. “Worldly wisdom teaches that it is better for reputation to fail conventionally than to succeed unconventionally.” (Or, to put it in less elegant terms, lemmings as a class may be derided but never does an individual lemming get criticized.) From a reputational standpoint, Charlie and I run a clear risk with our foreign-exchange commitment. But we believe in managing Berkshire as if we owned 100% of it ourselves. And, were that the case, we would not be following a dollar-only policy.

People feel more comfortable being wrong in a herd than being right independently. For the cost of latter when it goes wrong is perceived to be much higher.

Academic obsession over the precision of 'beta'–a way to measure risk

It is better to be approximately right than precisely wrong. For example, under beta-based theory, a stock that has dropped very sharply compared to the market—as had Washington Post when we bought it in 1973—becomes “riskier” at the lower price than it was at the higher price. In fact, the true investor welcomes volatility.

Value of dollar cost averaging

The investor should both own a large number of equities and space out his purchases. By periodically investing in an index fund, for example, the know-nothing investor can actually out-perform most investment professionals. Paradoxically, when 'dumb' money acknowledges its limitations, it ceases to be dumb.

Need for limiting trading activity

Nor do we think many others can achieve long-term investment success by flitting from flower to flower. Indeed, we believe that according the name “investors” to institutions that trade actively is like calling someone who repeatedly engages in one-night stands a romantic.

Higher tax rates and the friction of trading activity eats away the returns of most investor when they do earn a net positive return.

On Berkshire holding on to a small number of truly excellent businesses

And since finding great businesses and outstanding managers is so difficult, why should we discard proven products? Our motto is: “If at first you do succeed, quit trying.”

For the average passive investor though, with little or no knowledge, and time, low cost index funds are the best bet.

Compensation plan of public companies

It has become fashionable at public companies to describe almost every compensation plan as aligning the interests of management with those of shareholders. In our book, alignment means being a partner in both directions, not just on the upside. Many “alignment” plans flunk this basic test, being artful forms of “heads I win, tails you lose.”

A common form of misalignment occurs in the typical stock option arrangement, which does not periodically increase the option price to compensate for the fact that retained earnings are building up the wealth of the company.

Compensation should be tied to results. In the vast majority of companies, CEOs get a disproportionately favorable compensation compared to any other employee in the company, partly because employees are vastly incentivized to being agreeable to the one person who has no boss.

Also stock options as form of compensation is difficult to measure and is therefore ignored–at the expense of shareholders.

Rationality (or lack thereof) of only looking at the stock price to make a buy or sell decision

And the fact that a given asset as appreciated in the recent past is never a reason to buy it Games are won by those who're focussed on the playing field—not by those whose eyes are glued to the scoreboard

The price you pay for an asset is as important as the asset you get in return. Buying an asset when it appreciates in price makes it more expensive if the underlying business hasn't changed to justify the increase.

Dealing with the difficulties of evaluating equities

At Berkshire, we attempt to deal with this problem in two ways. First, we try to stick to businesses we believe we understand. Second, and equally important, we insist on a margin of safety in our purchase price. If we calculate the value of a common stock to be only slightly higher than its price, we're not interested in buying. We believe this margin-of-safety principle, so strongly emphasized by Ben Graham, to be the cornerstone of investment success.

The chips are stacked in favor of the investor. Avoiding bad mistakes is an excellent way to win big in the long term.

The risky nature of seemingly safe currency investments

Investments that are denominated in a given currency include money-market funds, bonds, mortgages, bank deposits, and other instruments. Most of these currency-based investments are thought of as “safe.” In truth they are among the most dangerous of assets. Their beta may be zero, but their risk is huge. Over the past century these instruments have destroyed the purchasing power of investors in many countries, even as the holders continued to receive timely payments of interest and principal. This ugly result, moreover, will forever recur. Governments determine the ultimate value of money, and systemic forces will sometimes cause them to gravitate to policies that produce inflation. From time to time such policies spin out of control. Even in the U.S., where the wish for a stable currency is strong, the dollar has fallen a staggering 86% in value since 1965, when I took over management of Berkshire. It takes no less than $7 today to buy what $1 did at that time. Consequently, a tax-free institution would have needed 4.3% interest annually from bond investments over that period to simply maintain its purchasing power.

Estimates about return on investment should factor the purchasing power of the appreciating asset and the enjoyment power of the depreciating asset (your body).

The best kinds of currency assets

Accommodating this need, we primarily hold U.S. Treasury bills, the only investment that can be counted on for liquidity under the most chaotic of economic conditions. Our working level for liquidity is $20 billion; $10 billion is our absolute minimum.

Although the catch here is the requirement to pay interest on unrealized gains.

Common causes of low prices for a stock

The most common cause of low prices is pessimism—sometimes pervasive, sometimes specific to a company or industry. We want to do business in such an environment, not because we like pessimism but because we like the prices it produces. It's optimism that is the enemy of the rational buyer. None of this means, however, that a business or stock is an intelligent purchase simply because it is unpopular; a contrarian approach is just as foolish as a follow-the-crowd strategy. What's required is thinking rather than polling. Unfortunately, Bertrand Russell's observation about life in general applies with unusual force in the financial world: “Most men would rather die than think. Many do.”

Following the herd is the best way to loose money in the stock market.

The risk of using historical patterns to predict future results

(Beware of past-performance “proofs” in finance: If history books were the key to riches, the Forbes 400 would consist of librarians.)

Correlation does not mean causation. Not realizing this simple truth has caused a great amount of misery in this world.

Expectations of shareholder returns

With unimportant exceptions, such as bankruptcies in which some of a company's losses are borne by creditors, the most that owners in aggregate can earn between now and Judgment Day is what their businesses in aggregate earn.

Consistent policy for dividends

Shareholders of public corporations understandably prefer that dividends be consistent and predictable. Payments, therefore, should reflect long-term expectations for both earnings and returns on incremental capital. Since the long-term corporate outlook changes only infrequently, dividend patterns should change no more often. But over time distributable earnings that have been withheld by managers should earn their keep. If earnings have been unwisely retained, it is likely that managers, too, have been unwisely retained.

Any equity stake based on a formulaic policy for dividend returns is dogmatic.

Difference between investment and speculation

The line separating investment and speculation, which is never bright and clear, becomes blurred still further when most market participants have recently enjoyed triumphs. Nothing sedates rationality rationality like large doses of effortless money. After a heady experience of that kind, normally sensible people drift into behavior akin to that of Cinderella at the ball. They know that overstaying the festivities—that is, continuing to speculate in companies that have gigantic valuations relative to the cash they are likely to generate in the future—will eventually bring on pumpkins and mice. But they nevertheless hate to miss a single minute of what is one helluva party. Therefore, the giddy participants all plan to leave just seconds before midnight. There's a problem, though: They are dancing in a room in which the clocks have no hands.

Most people speculate.

Value of goodwill

During inflation, Goodwill is the gift that keeps giving.

But is also difficult to measure.

Accounting shenanigans

It has been far safer to steal large sums with a pen than small sums with a gun.

In authority we trust–the motto of our education system, leading to irrational decisions causing incalculable harm.

Benefits of delayed taxes

Through my favorite comic strip, Li'l Abner, I got a chance during my youth to see the benefits of delayed taxes, though I missed the lesson at the time. Making his readers feel superior, Li'l Abner bungled happily, but moronically, through life in Dogpatch. At one point he became infatuated with a New York temptress, Appassionatta Van Climax, but despaired of marrying her because he had only a single silver dollar and she was interested solely in millionaires. Dejected, Abner took his problem to Old Man Mose, the font of all knowledge in Dogpatch. Said the sage: Double your money 20 times and Appassionatta will be yours (1, 2, 4, 8 . . . . 1,048,576). My last memory of the strip is Abner entering a roadhouse, dropping his dollar into a slot machine, and hitting a jackpot that spilled money all over the floor. Meticulously following Mose's advice, Abner picked up two dollars and went off to find his next double. Whereupon I dumped Abner and began reading Ben Graham. Mose clearly was overrated as a guru: Besides failing to anticipate Abner's slavish obedience to instructions, he also forgot about taxes. Had Abner been subject, say, to the 35% federal tax rate that Berkshire pays, and had he managed one double annually, he would after 20 years only have accumulated $22,370. Indeed, had he kept on both getting his annual doubles and paying a 35% tax on each, he would have needed 7½ years more to reach the $1 million required to win Appassionatta. But what if Abner had instead put his dollar in a single investment and held it until it doubled the same 27½ times? In that case, he would have realized about $200 million pre-tax or, after paying a $70 million tax in the final year, about $130 million after-tax. For that, Appassionatta would have crawled to Dogpatch. Of course, with 27½ years having passed, how Appassionatta would have looked to a fellow sitting on $130 million is another question.

Simple math goes a long way in generating extraordinary wealth.

Vested interest

If horses had controlled investment decisions, there would have been no auto industry. If the divesting company later wishes to reacquire If the divesting company later wishes to reacquire the spun-off operation, it presumably would again be urged by its bankers to pay a hefty “control” premium for the privilege. (Mental “flexibility” of this sort by the banking fraternity has prompted the saying that fees too often lead to transactions rather than transactions leading to fees.)

People respond to incentives.

Safety and conservatism of Berkshire

I believe the chance of any event causing Berkshire to experience financial problems is essentially zero. We will always be prepared for the thousand-year flood; in fact, if it occurs we will be selling life jackets to the unprepared. Berkshire played an important role as a “first responder” during the 2008-2009 meltdown, and we have since more than doubled the strength of our balance sheet and our earnings potential. Your company is the Gibraltar of American business and will remain so. The reason for our conservatism, which may impress some people as extreme, is that it is entirely predictable that people will occasionally panic, but not at all predictable when this will happen. Though practically all days are relatively uneventful, tomorrow is always uncertain. (I felt no special apprehension on December 6, 1941 or September 10, 2001.) And if you can't predict what tomorrow will bring, you must be prepared for whatever it does.

Berkshire's continued long term success or lack thereof

• The bad news is that Berkshire's long-term gains—measured by percentages, not by dollars—cannot be dramatic and will not come close to those achieved in the past 50 years. The numbers have become too big. I think Berkshire will outperform the average American company, but our advantage, if any, won't be great. Eventually—probably between ten and twenty years from now—Berkshire's earnings and capital resources will reach a level that will not allow management to intelligently reinvest all of the company's earnings. At that time our directors will need to determine whether the best method to distribute the excess earnings is through dividends, share repurchases or both. If Berkshire shares are selling below intrinsic business value, massive repurchases will almost certainly be the best choice. You can be comfortable that your directors will make the right decision.

The law of large numbers.

Book recommendations and mentions

For a terrific discussion on mutual funds — John Bogle’s Common Sense on Mutual Funds.

In The Theory of Investment Value, written over 50 years ago, John Burr Williams set forth the equation for value, which we condense here: The value of any stock, bond or business today is determined by the cash inflows and outflows–discounted at an appropriate interest rate–that can be expected to occur during the remaining life of the asset.

In our view, though, investment students need only two well-taught courses—How to Value a Business, and How to Think About Market Prices.

John Maynard Keynes's masterful The General Theory.

Benjamin Graham's The Intelligent Investor: The Definitive Book on Value Investing.

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The best Xbox One games 2018: 30 must-play titles

Even though the Xbox One is approaching its fifth birthday (which makes it positively geriatric in console years) we think it's just reaching its peak. With a strong library of games and services to offer and lots more exciting new games in the pipeline, we think the Xbox One family of consoles has a lot of life in it yet. 

Although the Xbox One receives criticism for its first-party lineup, it does have some unmissable genre-defining exclusives which include the Forza, Halo, Gears of War and Sea of Thieves series. And with the 4K capabilities of the Xbox One X, these games are looking better than ever. 

Aside from its AAA releases, Xbox One is also a great place to find high-quality indie games thanks to its ID@Xbox program which has made titles like Ori and the Blind Forest and Cuphead absolutely essential plays for this generation. 

It's from this massive collection of titles that we compiled our list of the best games on the Xbox One – 30 essential games we think every gamer should have in their library. You could spend your time anywhere, but if you're new, these are the game worlds we recommend visiting first.

Read on to see which games make the Xbox One shine – and, keep checking back periodically, as we update this list all the time with new titles we feel have become part of the exclusive society of must-play games. 

Got the shiny new 4K console? These are the best Xbox One X games

Make the most of your console with the best Xbox One accessories

On the PlayStation platform? Check our our picks of the best PS4 games

Looking to Switch it up? These are the best games on Nintendo Switch

Check out the best Xbox One gaming headsets

 Check out the video below to see more on the Xbox One X 

The best Xbox One deals and Xbox One S deals

A Grecian epic

Assassin's Creed Odyssey is the latest edition to the action RPG franchise. Odyssey is set during the Peloponnesian War and sees you stepping into the sandals of either Alexios or Kassandra as they try to uncover the truth about their history while navigating the turbulent world of Ancient Greece as a mercenary. 

Odyssey is a graphically stunning title which will take you to the heart of Ancient Greece – just make sure you have the time to place it because there's over 100 hours of content.

Making the old feel new again

The second Assassin's Creed title in our list, Assassin's Creed Origins sees you going back to ancient Egypt, before the brotherhood and before the Templars, where you play as the original assassin Bayek. 

Assassin's Creed is a series that was growing increasingly stale but with Origins the formula has been refreshed with new RPG mechanics, story-driven side quests and a far more free-flowing combat system.

Whether you're new to the series or a fatiguing fan, Assassin's Creed Origins is absolutely worth playing as it's the strongest installment we've seen in years.

Read our full review of the game and our tips and tricks guide. If you're already been there and done that, then check out everything we know about the upcoming Assassin's Creed Odyssey.

A refreshing jump back in time

In the latest Battlefield game, DICE takes players back in time to World War One and by doing so completely rejuvenates the once stagnating franchise. 

The game offers a poignant and entertaining single-player campaign that sets a new standard for first-person shooter. Broken into six sections, each following a different character and front line location, the campaign never feels dull or repetitive –and  even feeds neatly into Battlefield 1's multiplayer mode which, while familiar, also benefits from the much-needed breath of life that the change in setting gives. 

Graphically impressive, entertaining, and sometimes touching, Battlefield 1 is a return to form for the series. 

It's not long until Battlefield V releases – November 20. So, here's everything we know about Battlefield V so far.

Beautiful and frustrating in equal measure

After a long development and lots of anticipation, Xbox indie exclusive Cuphead has finally been released. Was it worth the wait? It certainly was. Cuphead is a run-and-gun platformer with stationary boss fight levels thrown in. 

With visuals and a soundtrack inspired by 1930s animation but gameplay inspired by the platformers of the 80s this game has had us torn since we first tried it at Gamescom. It's lovely to look at but its gameplay is challenging and you're going to find yourself frustrated and dying a lot.

We enjoyed Cuphead so much we named it Best Xbox Exclusive in our 2017 Game of the Year Awards. 

Still, it's an indie experience that shouldn't be missed and you'll only find it on Xbox and PC.

Master the remaster

Dark Souls is an iconic series in the gaming world and with this remaster you have the chance to go back to where it all started in 2011, but with improved visual fidelity and performance. All the better to see those horrific and punishing enemies. 

This is the same original game with all of its DLC but that's no bad thing. Dark Souls is a fantastic, must-play title and it's great to see it on the latest generation of consoles. Not just because the framerate bump to 60 fps makes it a much smoother and more exhilarating gameplay experience. 

A smart, stealthy, steampunk adventure

Following the surprise 2012 hit Dishonored wasn’t going to be an easy task, but Dishonored 2 has more than lived up to its expectations. 

Picking up 15 years after the events of the original, Dishonored 2 takes players back to the Victorian Steampunk city of Dunwall. This time, though, you have the choice of whether or not you want to play as the original title’s protagonist Corvo, or his equally-skilled protegee Emily. 

Dishonored 2 doesn’t differ wildly from the first game, but there was nothing wrong with Dishonored in the first place. What we get is a vastly improved and close to perfected take on it. 

Anyone who likes their games filled with atmosphere, character, and a bit of wit and intelligence will find Dishonored 2 worth picking up. 

The best Xbox One deals and Xbox One S deals

A retro-slash-modern romp through the underworld

DOOM is very, very good. Not in a “wow, that’s good for a remake” kind of way, either. It’s genuinely a great shooter – so much so that we gave it a Game of the Year award in 2016. While Overwatch reinventing the wheel for first-person shooting games, DOOM impresses us by bringing us back to the time where dial-up internet was the only way to access AOL email: DOOM is, in so many ways, an excellent evolution of what the series was 20 years ago. It’s brutal. It’s bloody. It has devilish, frightening creatures that bleed when you slice them in half with a chainsaw. It’s the experience we wanted two decades ago but couldn’t articulate it because of the limitations of technology.

“Our weapons are fear, surprise, ruthless efficiency and gigantic sidequests.”

Inquisition is the proverbial RPG banquet – a 200-hour array of quests, magic-infused scraps, postcard landscapes and well-written character interactions that’s perhaps a bit too familiar, at times, but makes up for it with sheer generosity.

It puts you in charge not just of a four-man party of adventurers but also a private army with its own castle and attendant strategic meta-game, tasked with defeating a mysterious demon menace.

The choice of Unreal Engine makes for vast open environments and sexily SFX-laden combat – fortunately, you can pause the latter to issue orders if the onslaught becomes overwhelming. It’s a genre giant.

The homecoming we’ve waited seven years for

All things considered, this is one of the best games Bethesda has made. It ticks all the boxes: a massive, detail-oriented open-world; still-fantastic tenets of looting and shooting; a story filled with intriguing side quests and subplots that feel like they matter; and of course a classic soundtrack that brings it all to life. 

In many ways it's the game we've been waiting for since Fallout 3 steered the series away from its top-down role-playing roots. Not only is the world itself wider, but the plot is better, and more digestible, than any of the games before it. There's still a sense of mystery about what's happening but you no longer have to dig forever and a day through terminals to piece it together.

Welcome home, stranger.

Still the best football sim money can buy

FIFA is, for many console owners, a highly anticipated annual event. The latest and arguably greatest installment in the football sim series has arrived in the form of FIFA 18. 

Whether you're looking to play against others online, build up a management career on your own or play a cinematic story mode that'll give you an insight into the dramatic life of a premier league footballer, FIFA has a game mode just for you. 

The best thing is, there's always more than enough to throw yourself into and agonize over until the next game rolls around with further incremental improvements that'll convince you to upgrade. 

You can read our full review of FIFA 18 right here and make sure you're the best on the pitch using our tips and tricks guide.

A free 1-vs-100 shooter set on an epic scale

Fortnite Battle Royale is a certified gaming phenomenon. Pitting 100 players against each other on a single map, it melds fun, cartoonish gameplay with a fierce competitive streak, and has attracted millions of players across the globe.

When starting up, you're thrown onto an island with no weapons or armor and you must scavenge for supplies and fight for your life to be the last man (or squad) standing at the end of the game. The catch is that the map closes in as the match progresses, forcing players into tighter skirmishes and often whiteknuckle encounters. Best of all, however, the game is available for free on Xbox One, with in-game purchases limited to purely cosmetic options.

If you're relatively restricted financially and need something to tied you over until the next big release, Fortnite is better than all the rest.

Huge, exotic and amazing to behold: Australia is a petrol-head's dream

While the original Forza titles were about pristine driving skills around perfectly kept tracks, the Horizon series has a penchant for trading paint and isn't afraid to have you get down and dirty with off-road races from time to time. 

While the first two entries in Turn 10's spin-off franchise surprised and delighted, Forza Horizon 3 is the unabashed pinnacle of the series, and stands amid some of the greatest racing games ever made. Good news for Xbox One X owners – Forza Horizon 3 now has its 4K and HDR patch. 

The Gears keep on turning for this excellent third-person shooter franchise

Despite a new platform, a new development team and a new-ish set of muscled heroes on its box art, Gears of War 4 isn't some grand reimagining of the series that helped Xbox 360 go supernova back in 2006. But then again, such a revelation shouldn't come as a shock – this is the cover shooter that made cover shooters a fad-filled genre all unto itself, so messing too drastically with that special sauce was never a viable option.

Instead, the Xbox One and Xbox One S get the Gears of War template we all know and love with a few extra features gently stirred into the pot. For a start, the jump to current-gen tech has made all the difference to The Coalition's first full-fat Gears title. Spend a little time in the previously remastered Gears of War: Ultimate Edition and you'll see how small and confined those original level designs were, even with a graphical upgrade to make it feel relevant again. 

It's more than just graphics, though. It's the return to form for the franchise; the focus on what makes a Gears game so great, that really won us over. 

There’s no fear and loathing in Los Santos – just explosive entertainment

Yes, including one of last generation’s greatest games among this generation’s finest is rather boring, but GTA V on Xbox One is too good to ignore, with HD visuals, a longer draw distance and a faster frame-rate.

Among other, more practical perks it includes a first-person mode, which genuinely makes this feel like a different game, though the missions, tools and characters are the same. The new perspective pushes Rockstar’s attention to detail to the fore, allowing you to better appreciate the landscape’s abundance of in-jokes and ambient details.

GTA V’s open world multiplayer remains a laidback thrill, whether you’re stuntdiving with friends or teaming up to complete a Heist (a long overdue addition to MP, but worth the wait) – it’s probably the best place to hang out on Xbox Live.

Halo multiplayer at its best

A franchise that has defined Xbox as a platform for a long time is Halo and Halo 5: Guardians is a worthy addition to the series. With both a single-player campaign and the usual thrilling multiplayer combat, this is the Halo game for Xbox One you don't want to miss. 

Though its single-player campaign isn't the best in the franchise in terms of story, this is Halo multiplayer combat at its most fun and anyone that loves playing online with friends will enjoy what the various modes on offer.

Say hello to the triple indie

Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice is developer Ninja Theory's first attempt at publishing its own game and it's quite an achievement. The game follows Senua, a Celtic warrior suffering from psychosis who travels to Hell to rescue her lost lover.

The game uses an interesting mix of binaural audio and innovative visual techniques to communicate Senua's experience with her psychosis to the player, resulting in a game that's likely to be quite different from anything else you've played recently. 

Disturbing, insightful and extremely enjoyable to play, this is a game worth taking a look at and we're glad to see it makes its debut on Xbox One. Xbox One X owners will have the benefit of being able to choose between three visual modes which promote either resolution, framerate or visual richness.

You can read all about our experience with the motion capture tech behind Hellblade right here. 

How many Snakes does it take to change a lightbulb?

Okay, so Hideo Kojima’s last game for Konami – and his last ever Metal Gear game – might be a little tough for the MGS n00b to get to grips with, but it’s still one of the best stealth-action games ever crafted. The open-world shenanigans will satisfy all your behind-enemy-lines / Rambo fantasies and probably confuse you with crazy plot twists and a million characters all with the same gravel-toned voices.

But hey, that’s all part of its charm, right?

Bold, brilliant and brutal

Middle-earth: Shadow of War is the sequel to the accomplished Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor and builds upon all of its strengths. 

Taking up the role of Talion once more, this game takes you back to a beautifully realized world that's bursting with originality. If you were a fan of the original game, we highly recommend that you pick of Shadow of War as it's an improvement in almost every way.

Read our full review here and check out our handy tips and tricks guide.

Friends who slay together, stay together

You've probably heard of the Monster Hunter franchise before now – it's a classic that's been going a long time. But we haven't seen it on console for a while. Until now. Monster Hunter: World is the franchise's debut on the latest generation of consoles and it's a true breath of fresh air. 

Giving players the option to play solo or team up with up to three other friends, this game invites you into a living, breathing game world to hunt down some monsters. For research. And fun. 

You'll face a learning curve with Monster Hunter: World and the dark-souls style of combat has the potential to frustrate, but this is the most accessible Monster Hunter game we've seen in years. If you've been looking for a chance to break into the series, this is it. 

In our review we called the game "a bold and confident new chapter" and gave it a "play it now" recommendation. Thinking of becoming a Monster Hunter yourself? Make sure you check out our full survival guide. 

A Metroid-Vania platformer with light RPG elements and loads of heart

Although Ori was released early on in the Xbox One's life cycle, it remains one of the best platformers on the console, bar none. Shockingly beautiful and ultra-deadly, the world of Ori and the Blind Forest inspires and impresses in equal measure. Add to that the game's phenomenal, easy-to-learn-hard-to-master control scheme and light RPG elements and you have the recipe for a timeless classic.

Sure, there are some sequences that aren't as enjoyable as the rest of the game (we're looking at you timed post-boss fight sequences) but ultimately this is a series that continues to enthrall long after you put the controller down.

Not had enough Ori in your life? We've learned that the game will be getting a sequel in 2019 called Ori and the Will of the Wisps. It will pick up where are story left off (no spoilers, please!) and will see Ori platforming his way through the eponymous forest for a second run. 

The team-based shooter you need to buy on Xbox One

Overwatch has, without a doubt, been one of our favorite games to come out of the last year – garnering our Game of the Year 2016 award.

It's a classic team arena shooter from Blizzard that sets two six-person teams of wildly different characters against each other in a bright and cartoonish science fiction universe. And while it feels similar to the Call of Duty you've played before, Overwatch turns traditional shooters on their heads by adding unique character abilities and cool-downs to the mix that force you to strategize every once in a while instead of blindly running from room to room.

Great graphics, tight maps, and a good roster of characters to enjoy playing. Overwatch is good old fashioned fun and we thoroughly recommend it. 

A chilling return to form

Your gaming collection isn't really complete if it doesn't have a quality horror title and if we had to suggest one it'd be the newest installment in the Resident Evil franchise. 

Resident Evil is the franchise that put survival-horror games on the map and though it lost its way slightly in later titles, the newest game is a return to form for Capcom. 

By going back to the survival-horror basics and getting them dead on, Capcom has made Resident Evil 7 a genuinely frightening and exhilarating gaming experience. If you have the stomach for the gore, it's absolutely worth playing.

Don't miss our full review of the game.

The name of the game is freedom in Lara’s latest sprawling outing

Despite being the sequel to a prequel about the young life of the Lara Croft, this still feels like a Tomb Raider game that has grown up. The reboot which saw a brave new direction for the franchise seemed a lot of the time to be little more than a bit of light Uncharted cosplay, but Rise is a far more accomplished game.

There’s now a genuine open world which feels like there is always something to do, and something more than just harvesting up collectibles in exchange for a light dusting of XP. There are also tombs. Yes, that might seem a fatuous thing to say given the name, but the previous game gave them short shrift. In Rise though they are deeper and more plentiful. Rise also has one of the best narratives of any Tomb Raider game, penned again by Rhianna Pratchett, it’s sometimes rather poignant.

So come on, ditch Fallout 4’s wasteland for a while and give Lara some love.

They had the technology to rebuild him, better than before

The original Titanfall was a great game – so great that it long held a place on this very list. However, its sequel, Titanfall 2, improves on it every conceivable way: the motion is more fluid, there are more distinct titans to choose from and, hold onto your hats here, there’s actually a single-player campaign that might take the cake for the best first-person shooter story of the year. 

This game’s pedigree is inherited from one of this generation’s smartest and most unusual shooters. The original Titanfall married ninja-fast on-foot combat to the gloriously thuggish thrill of piloting giant mechs, which are summoned from orbit a few minutes into each match.

The skill with which Respawn has balanced this mix of styles in the sequel is remarkable – Titans have firepower in excess but they’re easy to hit, and maps offer plenty of places for infantry to hide. These ideas coalesce into one of this year’s most remarkable entries in the genre and is well-deserving its own shot in the spotlight as well as a Game of the Year nomination.

Stories don’t come bigger than this

Geralt didn’t have the smoothest of entries to consoles, but after some heavy patching and a lot of angry words about visual downgrades, we’re left with an RPG boasting tremendous scope and storytelling.

Oh, and combat. And don’t forget Gwent, the in-game card game. And there’s the crafting to get stuck into. And the alchemy.

You’re rarely short of things to entertain yourself with in The Witcher 3’s quasi-open world, then, and all the better that you’re in a universe that involves the supernatural without leaning on the same old Tolkien fantasy tropes. Invigorating stuff.

Superb in every sense

Looking for an incredible single-player shooter? Look no further than the 2017 wonder that was Wolfenstein II. Picking up from where the original game left off, this game is a timely social commentary and a superbly silly adventure all rolled into one well-written package.

With tight mechanics and a story worth caring about this is one of the most satisfying first-person shooters we've played in a long time. In our full review we called it "expertly crafted" and recommended that you play it now. 

A strong narrative and emotionally compelling

Life is Strange is an episodic graphic adventure which tells the story of Max, who moves back to her hometown and reunites with her best friend Chloe – who is a bit more rebellious than she remembers. 

On top of trying to navigate the difficulties of teenage life, Max discovers that she has the ability to rewind time at any moment and only she can prevent a storm on its way to destroy her hometown.

Rather than focusing on combat, the crux of Life is Strange is the choices Max (AKA you) makes and the effect these choices have on the overall story. 

A game for those who appreciate an engaging story. The prequel, Life is Strange: Before the Storm, is equally mesmerising. 

Scallywags

Rare's swashbuckling adventure Sea of Thieves released earlier this year, allowing players to take on the role of a pirate sailing the seas of a fantastical world – either alone or as part of a crew of up to four members. It's up to you whether you choose to focus on trading, treasure-hunting or plundering the loot of others.

This is a great title for those who enjoy playing with others in an open-world environment – plus it doesn't look too shabby.

Here's all the latest Sea of Thieves news and updates.

Another brick in the wall

Minecraft released nearly ten years ago, but it's still as popular as ever with adults and kids alike. The sandbox, survival game allows players to build with blocks in a 3D-generated world – providing a perfect creative outlet for those artistically inclined.

If you're less creative, there's also the option to explore the world, harvest resources, craft items and square-up to enemies. 

Check out the history of Minecraft.

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Notes and highlights from “The Essays of Warren Buffett: Lessons for Corporate America”

I revisit the books that change my worldview and have a high potential for lasting impact.

By compiling the highlights and arranging them with context, I gradually hope to build a foundation of knowledge that endures with time and provides me, or anyone reading this, lasting value. Below are highlights from the most recent book that fit this criteria, titled The Essays of Warren Buffett: Lessons for Corporate America.

Selecting board members

The requisites for board membership should be business savvy, interest in the job, and owner-orientation. Too often, directors are selected simply because they are prominent or add diversity to the board. That practice is a mistake. Furthermore, mistakes in selecting directors are particularly serious because appointments are so hard to undo: The pleasant but vacuous director need never worry about job security.

It's easy to make mistakes while appointing board members because performance standards for this job seldom exist. A CEO requires accountability and her bosses are the board of directors.

Amassing early losses in the textile business

I ignored Comte's advice—“ the intellect should be the servant of the heart, but not its slave”—and believed what I preferred to believe.

Should you find yourself in a chronically-leaking boat, energy devoted to changing vessels is likely to be more productive than energy devoted to patching leaks.

It is easy to become blind to rationality for even the most disciplined investor. Also we should be on guard to protect against the sunk cost fallacy.

Common sense

Conventionality often overpowers rationality. John Maynard Keynes said in his masterful The General Theory. “Worldly wisdom teaches that it is better for reputation to fail conventionally than to succeed unconventionally.” (Or, to put it in less elegant terms, lemmings as a class may be derided but never does an individual lemming get criticized.) From a reputational standpoint, Charlie and I run a clear risk with our foreign-exchange commitment. But we believe in managing Berkshire as if we owned 100% of it ourselves. And, were that the case, we would not be following a dollar-only policy.

People feel more comfortable being wrong in a herd than being right independently. For the cost of latter when it goes wrong is perceived to be much higher.

Academic obsession over the precision of 'beta'–a way to measure risk

It is better to be approximately right than precisely wrong. For example, under beta-based theory, a stock that has dropped very sharply compared to the market—as had Washington Post when we bought it in 1973—becomes “riskier” at the lower price than it was at the higher price. In fact, the true investor welcomes volatility.

Value of dollar cost averaging

The investor should both own a large number of equities and space out his purchases. By periodically investing in an index fund, for example, the know-nothing investor can actually out-perform most investment professionals. Paradoxically, when 'dumb' money acknowledges its limitations, it ceases to be dumb.

Need for limiting trading activity

Nor do we think many others can achieve long-term investment success by flitting from flower to flower. Indeed, we believe that according the name “investors” to institutions that trade actively is like calling someone who repeatedly engages in one-night stands a romantic.

Higher tax rates and the friction of trading activity eats away the returns of most investor when they do earn a net positive return.

On Berkshire holding on to a small number of truly excellent businesses

And since finding great businesses and outstanding managers is so difficult, why should we discard proven products? Our motto is: “If at first you do succeed, quit trying.”

For the average passive investor though, with little or no knowledge, and time, low cost index funds are the best bet.

Compensation plan of public companies

It has become fashionable at public companies to describe almost every compensation plan as aligning the interests of management with those of shareholders. In our book, alignment means being a partner in both directions, not just on the upside. Many “alignment” plans flunk this basic test, being artful forms of “heads I win, tails you lose.”

A common form of misalignment occurs in the typical stock option arrangement, which does not periodically increase the option price to compensate for the fact that retained earnings are building up the wealth of the company.

Compensation should be tied to results. In the vast majority of companies, CEOs get a disproportionately favorable compensation compared to any other employee in the company, partly because employees are vastly incentivized to being agreeable to the one person who has no boss.

Also stock options as form of compensation is difficult to measure and is therefore ignored–at the expense of shareholders.

Rationality (or lack thereof) of only looking at the stock price to make a buy or sell decision

And the fact that a given asset as appreciated in the recent past is never a reason to buy it Games are won by those who're focussed on the playing field—not by those whose eyes are glued to the scoreboard

The price you pay for an asset is as important as the asset you get in return. Buying an asset when it appreciates in price makes it more expensive if the underlying business hasn't changed to justify the increase.

Dealing with the difficulties of evaluating equities

At Berkshire, we attempt to deal with this problem in two ways. First, we try to stick to businesses we believe we understand. Second, and equally important, we insist on a margin of safety in our purchase price. If we calculate the value of a common stock to be only slightly higher than its price, we're not interested in buying. We believe this margin-of-safety principle, so strongly emphasized by Ben Graham, to be the cornerstone of investment success.

The chips are stacked in favor of the investor. Avoiding bad mistakes is an excellent way to win big in the long term.

The risky nature of seemingly safe currency investments

Investments that are denominated in a given currency include money-market funds, bonds, mortgages, bank deposits, and other instruments. Most of these currency-based investments are thought of as “safe.” In truth they are among the most dangerous of assets. Their beta may be zero, but their risk is huge. Over the past century these instruments have destroyed the purchasing power of investors in many countries, even as the holders continued to receive timely payments of interest and principal. This ugly result, moreover, will forever recur. Governments determine the ultimate value of money, and systemic forces will sometimes cause them to gravitate to policies that produce inflation. From time to time such policies spin out of control. Even in the U.S., where the wish for a stable currency is strong, the dollar has fallen a staggering 86% in value since 1965, when I took over management of Berkshire. It takes no less than $7 today to buy what $1 did at that time. Consequently, a tax-free institution would have needed 4.3% interest annually from bond investments over that period to simply maintain its purchasing power.

Estimates about return on investment should factor the purchasing power of the appreciating asset and the enjoyment power of the depreciating asset (your body).

The best kinds of currency assets

Accommodating this need, we primarily hold U.S. Treasury bills, the only investment that can be counted on for liquidity under the most chaotic of economic conditions. Our working level for liquidity is $20 billion; $10 billion is our absolute minimum.

Although the catch here is the requirement to pay interest on unrealized gains.

Common causes of low prices for a stock

The most common cause of low prices is pessimism—sometimes pervasive, sometimes specific to a company or industry. We want to do business in such an environment, not because we like pessimism but because we like the prices it produces. It's optimism that is the enemy of the rational buyer. None of this means, however, that a business or stock is an intelligent purchase simply because it is unpopular; a contrarian approach is just as foolish as a follow-the-crowd strategy. What's required is thinking rather than polling. Unfortunately, Bertrand Russell's observation about life in general applies with unusual force in the financial world: “Most men would rather die than think. Many do.”

Following the herd is the best way to loose money in the stock market.

The risk of using historical patterns to predict future results

(Beware of past-performance “proofs” in finance: If history books were the key to riches, the Forbes 400 would consist of librarians.)

Correlation does not mean causation. Not realizing this simple truth has caused a great amount of misery in this world.

Expectations of shareholder returns

With unimportant exceptions, such as bankruptcies in which some of a company's losses are borne by creditors, the most that owners in aggregate can earn between now and Judgment Day is what their businesses in aggregate earn.

Consistent policy for dividends

Shareholders of public corporations understandably prefer that dividends be consistent and predictable. Payments, therefore, should reflect long-term expectations for both earnings and returns on incremental capital. Since the long-term corporate outlook changes only infrequently, dividend patterns should change no more often. But over time distributable earnings that have been withheld by managers should earn their keep. If earnings have been unwisely retained, it is likely that managers, too, have been unwisely retained.

Any equity stake based on a formulaic policy for dividend returns is dogmatic.

Difference between investment and speculation

The line separating investment and speculation, which is never bright and clear, becomes blurred still further when most market participants have recently enjoyed triumphs. Nothing sedates rationality rationality like large doses of effortless money. After a heady experience of that kind, normally sensible people drift into behavior akin to that of Cinderella at the ball. They know that overstaying the festivities—that is, continuing to speculate in companies that have gigantic valuations relative to the cash they are likely to generate in the future—will eventually bring on pumpkins and mice. But they nevertheless hate to miss a single minute of what is one helluva party. Therefore, the giddy participants all plan to leave just seconds before midnight. There's a problem, though: They are dancing in a room in which the clocks have no hands.

Most people speculate.

Value of goodwill

During inflation, Goodwill is the gift that keeps giving.

But is also difficult to measure.

Accounting shenanigans

It has been far safer to steal large sums with a pen than small sums with a gun.

In authority we trust–the motto of our education system, leading to irrational decisions causing incalculable harm.

Benefits of delayed taxes

Through my favorite comic strip, Li'l Abner, I got a chance during my youth to see the benefits of delayed taxes, though I missed the lesson at the time. Making his readers feel superior, Li'l Abner bungled happily, but moronically, through life in Dogpatch. At one point he became infatuated with a New York temptress, Appassionatta Van Climax, but despaired of marrying her because he had only a single silver dollar and she was interested solely in millionaires. Dejected, Abner took his problem to Old Man Mose, the font of all knowledge in Dogpatch. Said the sage: Double your money 20 times and Appassionatta will be yours (1, 2, 4, 8 . . . . 1,048,576). My last memory of the strip is Abner entering a roadhouse, dropping his dollar into a slot machine, and hitting a jackpot that spilled money all over the floor. Meticulously following Mose's advice, Abner picked up two dollars and went off to find his next double. Whereupon I dumped Abner and began reading Ben Graham. Mose clearly was overrated as a guru: Besides failing to anticipate Abner's slavish obedience to instructions, he also forgot about taxes. Had Abner been subject, say, to the 35% federal tax rate that Berkshire pays, and had he managed one double annually, he would after 20 years only have accumulated $22,370. Indeed, had he kept on both getting his annual doubles and paying a 35% tax on each, he would have needed 7½ years more to reach the $1 million required to win Appassionatta. But what if Abner had instead put his dollar in a single investment and held it until it doubled the same 27½ times? In that case, he would have realized about $200 million pre-tax or, after paying a $70 million tax in the final year, about $130 million after-tax. For that, Appassionatta would have crawled to Dogpatch. Of course, with 27½ years having passed, how Appassionatta would have looked to a fellow sitting on $130 million is another question.

Simple math goes a long way in generating extraordinary wealth.

Vested interest

If horses had controlled investment decisions, there would have been no auto industry. If the divesting company later wishes to reacquire If the divesting company later wishes to reacquire the spun-off operation, it presumably would again be urged by its bankers to pay a hefty “control” premium for the privilege. (Mental “flexibility” of this sort by the banking fraternity has prompted the saying that fees too often lead to transactions rather than transactions leading to fees.)

People respond to incentives.

Safety and conservatism of Berkshire

I believe the chance of any event causing Berkshire to experience financial problems is essentially zero. We will always be prepared for the thousand-year flood; in fact, if it occurs we will be selling life jackets to the unprepared. Berkshire played an important role as a “first responder” during the 2008-2009 meltdown, and we have since more than doubled the strength of our balance sheet and our earnings potential. Your company is the Gibraltar of American business and will remain so. The reason for our conservatism, which may impress some people as extreme, is that it is entirely predictable that people will occasionally panic, but not at all predictable when this will happen. Though practically all days are relatively uneventful, tomorrow is always uncertain. (I felt no special apprehension on December 6, 1941 or September 10, 2001.) And if you can't predict what tomorrow will bring, you must be prepared for whatever it does.

Berkshire's continued long term success or lack thereof

• The bad news is that Berkshire's long-term gains—measured by percentages, not by dollars—cannot be dramatic and will not come close to those achieved in the past 50 years. The numbers have become too big. I think Berkshire will outperform the average American company, but our advantage, if any, won't be great. Eventually—probably between ten and twenty years from now—Berkshire's earnings and capital resources will reach a level that will not allow management to intelligently reinvest all of the company's earnings. At that time our directors will need to determine whether the best method to distribute the excess earnings is through dividends, share repurchases or both. If Berkshire shares are selling below intrinsic business value, massive repurchases will almost certainly be the best choice. You can be comfortable that your directors will make the right decision.

The law of large numbers.

Book recommendations and mentions

For a terrific discussion on mutual funds — John Bogle’s Common Sense on Mutual Funds.

In The Theory of Investment Value, written over 50 years ago, John Burr Williams set forth the equation for value, which we condense here: The value of any stock, bond or business today is determined by the cash inflows and outflows–discounted at an appropriate interest rate–that can be expected to occur during the remaining life of the asset.

In our view, though, investment students need only two well-taught courses—How to Value a Business, and How to Think About Market Prices.

John Maynard Keynes's masterful The General Theory.

Benjamin Graham's The Intelligent Investor: The Definitive Book on Value Investing.