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waywardsalt · 1 year ago

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@whistlingstarlight it’s not necessarily that it’s specifically warriors, but it’s also that it’s specifically warriors because loz is a game series with like 30 years of good storytelling under its belt and warriors is a book series that consistently has baseline fuckups and is bad with it’s female characters but still manages to do this one thing (that other, better media do well) that botw/totk happened to not fucking do. i mentioned warriors because it’s what made me make this realization, but arcane made me realize it too, warrior cats is just the more notable one because of fucking course arcane did this thing well, it’s just a little more interesting to me that warrior cats does this better than botw/totk (and is therefore one of the reasons why i still really enjoy the books)

ok. the biggest point i made in my earlier post (uuhhhhh this one) is that the problem technically isn’t that link has a very limited range of facial expressions in cutscenes, it’s that he has a very limited range of reactions in general.

uhh disclaimer i guess? im not like a professional or whatever im just someone who makes connections abt stuff in media and kind of. knows how writing works because i know how to do it and have been doing it for a while but im still like. learning n all that. ig this disclaimer could apply to all of my other totk criticism posts

anyways the biggest issue i have with botw/totk's lack of any sort of emoting in big scenes (esp in totk) is that he turns into a blank slate when he has no notable reactions that imply much about how he feels about people and his situation.

i will quickly say that this is actually excused for the most part in botw- boy has no memories, he doesnt know shit about these people and what's going on and he does actually have some unique little animation when interacting with the dead champions, so most of the criticism levied here is mostly aimed at totk, because he should have memories with zelda and the new sages and these character this time around bc it's clearly been years since botw.

in totk, link reacts to his friends gaining new power and respect from old sages and discovers what's happened to zelda and gets the master sword and all of this stuff and is animated with less reaction than he has whilst cooking

i mean, sure, a lot of totk is meant to be emotional, and i'll agree that it works in some of the memories (personally i did not care for them but i can understand them evoking emotion for some people) and like... you see zelda and the other memory character be given actual emotion and reactions. zelda and rauru have distinct reactions to sonia's death and the way they act is in reaction to that death, and this is good! at times, it's not enough to present the player with a sad or otherwise impactful event- showing how the other characters react to it further add to the emotions of the scene, making it feel more real within the world and just... showing you what this means to these characters.

it's hard to really explain, and a lot of it might be related to empathy, but i think even without much empathy required it still informs you about these characters' feelings and values, how they react to things and maybe even informs you of the stakes and can again add more emotion to the scene than it just being an emotional moment be handed to you. even if it don't manage to affect you, if it effects the characters then it still gets some kind of emotional impact, if that makes sense.

i bring up warrior cats because, like... i don't particularly care for a lot of warrior cats characters- listen, it's rare for a warrior cats character to be complex on purpose. i've been reading some of the super editions that take place before the first first book, and... i don't necessarily care about moonflower as a character? but the book manages to set up that bluepaw cares for her mother and relies on her, and then her reaction upon her death and afterwards just cements that... her death mattered, and it affected our protagonist.

a bit of this is unfair in comparison to totk, since... bluestar talks in her book, and dialogue is not an option for link to express himself, and there technically isn't any death (related to link) in totk... the light dragon kind of counts (even tho its fine bc this game is allergic to negative consequences for the protags actions).

zelda and snowfur are both characters you're given time to know and care about, who the main character has a deep connection with, and they both witness a (supposedly) irreversible event happen to them; bluefur watches snowfur get hit by a car and die, and link watches the memory where zelda sacrifices herself to become a dragon. for the sake of a somewhat fair comparison, i'm going to ignore all of bluefur's dialogue- while link kind of just. stands around after the last memory, in bluefur's case we watch her try to nudge snowfur awake and then begin to drag her home, in denial and eventually runs into some friends, who have to be the ones to take snowfur's body home while bluefur is too overwhelmed, and actually has to be helped along by white-eye. of course, link has no one around for his revelation, but... there is infinately less reaction on his part, and we can't even see bluefur. (not even considering that it's kind of lame that you see literally no one else learn about the light dragon and you have no option to tell anyone, which kind of kills the emotion around it too, because the only character to react to it... fucking doesnt)

on totk's end, i did not really care for zelda, and the scene failed to get me emotional from the start, and link's total lack of reaction just killed it even more. it looks like he doesn't care- why should i? it's hard to take this seriously as a big event when your fucking protagonist barely reacts to it.

on the end of snowfur's death (and i'm just going to look at her death and the immediate aftermath- bringing in whitekit makes this unfair as there isn't a parallel within totk to match that) we are told that bluefur nudges her (to try and wake her up) and then tries taking her home despite the obvious evidence that snowfur is not waking up, when she sees her friends show up she drops snowfur and just stares at them without response. of course, this book has the advantage of an inner monologue and written description to hammer things home (quick tangent the dry fucking line of 'A thin trail of blood rolled from Snowfur's mouth.' and this contrasted with bluefur's desperate denial as well as being a line on its own is fucking brutal i'll hand it to the erins on that one), totk has the advantages of being a visual medium. they have music and camera angles and a character model that can be very clearly animated, and it still feels flat because link just... has his default expression and looks around.

bringing up warrior cats was done because these books, despite everything, manage to excel at describing characters' reactions to death, even while the rest of the writing and character work is a bit shoddy. we know that link could be animated- he's animated when cooking and in the camera function and when getting his clothes dyed. we know they can animate characters reacting to the loss of a close one, we saw that with zelda and rauru when sonia is killed. just, for some reason, link is just as blankfaced as he was when he literally did not know who zelda was. he doesn't even make any movements to suggest some kind of strong emotion, which is like, fine, it's not really a cutscene and just, like, an in-game thing, but... i don't know. there isn't a whole lot for the master sword scene, either. it think it's more or less the same as when he grabs the sword in botw, just with some situational additions. very little actual emotion besides determination and whatnot.

again, it's just- i'm not asking for a lot. just some sublte movements- it just feels fucking ABSURD when link is shown to be very animated when cooking and when getting his fucking clothes dyed, but just reacts to the information of his closest friend being turned into a dragon and lingering in the sky for fucking millennium in order to help him is just :| and then turning around. i don't know man, have him walk towards her slowly and like. reach out his hand you're making it really hard for me to believe that he gives a shit or that this really matters outside of being a literal plot beat in a piece of media

i just... characters reactions to death or other big events enhances the emotion of that event and gives it more meaning!! not even death- just shit like link fucking smiling in phantom hourglass when he sees that linebeck is alright after the final boss- that's a slight head movement and a change of his facial texture and we've got so much to learn from that, buddy! just... dialogue, inner monologue, facial expressions, movement- any sort of reaction to an event within a story helps to really make it feel more concrete and important, can make it feel more visceral and genuinely important within the world of the story being told. it tells you about the world and the characters and it just enhances the experience, so when i have to watch link react to learning new impactful stuff about this person he's known for actual years with just a blank face and stiff movement, it feels like a joke. in the actual story, he just... feels like the knight who can use the master sword. thats IT. that's what i mean when he just feels like a tool- it feels like the only traits he displays in the story important scenes of the game are just that he's a knight with a special sword.

lmfao warrior cats made me realize one of my biggest problems with botw/totk link's lack of reaction to stuff

#salty talks #writing this was a pain bc for some reason every new line was in italics and i kept having to manually fix it #this feels like it got off track but does this make sense?#like it might be partially an empathy thing too but like. i did dead ass tear up reading abt the aftermath of snowfurs death #i dont. usually cry at stuff! it's rare! but when i took my time on this reread to really take it in #it really got me bc of bluefur #like. idk. badgerfang is a character who exists to die and show how shit brokenstar is but the reactions of others who know abt him #make his existence and death all the more tragic and meaningful #idk if this makes the point well i kind just hashed this out real quick #again its not that its specifically uniquely warrior cats but its also bc specifically WARRIOR CATS did it better #self reblog #bitching abt totk

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 11: Buckingham Palace]

You are a Russian grand duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You are hopelessly and tragically in love with each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of war and violence, sexual content (not graphic).

Word count: 6.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore @mellowfellowyellow @peculiareunoia @mischiefmanaged71 @fancybenjamin @anne-white-star @theonlyone-meeeee @witchlyboo @demo-wise

💜 💜 💜 Stay tuned for the series finale, coming soon (hopefully)! Thank you for reading! 💜 💜 💜

I’ve dreamed about my family more times than I could count since leaving Tobolsk, and after I learned of their murders I dreamed of nothing at all; but tonight I��m not sure what my dreams are made of. There’s water, or rather the sound of water, immense and roaring against steel. There’s my palm gliding over a metal railing with flaking paint. There are pulsing, anonymous crowds pushing me down cobblestone streets. There are gardens full of plants I’ve never seen before, and an old woman’s voice tells me their names: eastern redbuds, blue mistflowers, scarlet beebalms, Carolina springbeauties, cinnamon ferns. There’s something sweet and ice-cold and strangely biting washing over my tongue. There are flashing bulbs of light that make the stars invisible.

I wake with no answers but deeply rested, as if I’ve slept for a thousand years. Ben is already gone, which is clever of him; cool autumn sunlight—grey with cloud cover, etched with the shadows of brittle leaves—spills in through the windows, and by now there will be butlers and maids moving through the house. I rise to find my body roped with soreness, but it’s a good sort of soreness, gratifying, accomplished: muscles I haven’t used before strengthening, corporal memories demanding to be kept. It reminds me of how I felt as a child after my first rowing lesson on the Black Lake with Papa, or after falling from a horse on my thirteenth birthday, or after carrying Alexei around on my back all day so he wouldn’t be left out of our games. Such pain has a way of making small moments indelible, and belongs just as much to the flesh as it does to the soul.

I go to the window. Above there are rainclouds rolling in from the North Sea; below there are children hurrying to school, bearded men strolling in top hats and wool coats, street vendors selling newspapers and bouquets of flowers, women pushing baby carriages. There was a time when I would have barely seen these people at all. They would have been as flat as paper, nameless, transitory, vanishing the second my eyes left them. Now I am aware—so cuttingly aware—that each has a past and a future and a family and friends, each has dreams like I do, each believes wholeheartedly that they know the story of the world. They don’t, not really, because no one does; we each know only one piece, one strand thinner than a spider’s thread, and we cling to it all our lives without ever seeing the web.

In the full closet that the Lees have generously provided, I push past skirts and trousers to find dresses, lace and silk and chambray. It’s more thought than I’ve put into my clothes since I arrived in London. I have to look more like a grand duchess today. I have to look like the girl that the king remembers.

When Ben knocks, I’m sitting at the vanity in a lace dress not unlike the one I left Tobolsk in, except that this dress is black. Black is appropriate for mourning, and across the globe there are plenty of reasons to mourn at the moment. “Come in,” I call, brushing out my hair.

Ben opens the door but doesn’t cross the threshold. He doesn’t look particularly rested; in fact, he doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. His eyes are red and his hair in disarray. He’s holding the green velvet pouch containing my family’s jewels in one hand and keeps rubbing his face with the other. “Hi,” he says from the doorway.

“Hello.” I glance at him briefly and then turn back to the mirror.

Ben waits for me to say more, to set the tone for him to follow. I don’t say anything. After a while he asks: “Do you need help? Want me to braid your hair for you?”

“No, that’s alright. I can do it.” And I can; he taught me how.

“Okay.” But Ben doesn’t leave. He leans against the doorframe and watches me, bewildered. I don’t understand why he can’t see how painful this is. I don’t understand why he thinks we can pretend it’s yesterday. At last he says: “There was a call from Buckingham Palace. I’ve been summoned to meet with the king this afternoon. Which means you have too.”

“Today?”

“At 3:00. They’re sending a carriage.”

What is this that I’m feeling? I don’t have words for it in any language. I’m nervy and tranquil and proud and cowardly, I’m so young yet so old. And each time I look at Ben, I’m starving for him. I keep my eyes on the mirror. “At last.”

“At last,” Ben echoes softly.

“3:00, was it?” I ask. “They certainly aren’t in a hurry.”

Ben smirks, shrugs. What can you do? That look says. And the answer is nothing. Royalty will behave however they want to. Something about that truth bothers me; it catches in my mind like a thorn in skin. “I suppose it’s time for me to give these back to you.” Ben sets the green velvet pouch on the floor of my bedroom. He still doesn’t step inside, and I suspect that’s more for my own benefit than his. We shouldn’t be unchaperoned while the staff are roaming the halls. We shouldn’t risk my reputation. “I’ll see you at breakfast,” Ben tells me as he leaves.

I go to the pouch and open it. Inside, like the still-glistening organs of a gutted animal, are the jewels that once belonged to the Romanovs. I sift through them—chains of silver, strings of gold, sapphires, rubies, amethysts, emeralds, topazes, diamonds, pearls—conjuring no memories of my family, feeling only the weight of a planet mined raw by other people’s hands.

For the first time, I wonder what exactly jewels like these might be worth.

~~~~~~~~~~

The vast dining room table, to my dismay, is strewn with all the trappings of a Full English Breakfast. Before I can make myself a plate—taking a polite portion of each component and nothing more, perhaps pretending to forget about the blood pudding—Ben emerges from the kitchen with a platter of thin pancakes topped with butter and cherry preserves. They’re his version of blini; they’re his version of a Russian breakfast. Ben sets them down in front of me and then sits at the opposite end of the table. Joe’s eyes leap between us as he sips a cappuccino.

Ben and I speak to everyone except each other. Mr. Lee talks about how much he is going to miss having us here. Mrs. Lee tells us about Australia, kangaroos and koala bears and endless golden beaches, and she implores us to visit her homeland one day if we can. I’ll almost certainly see Australia in my lifetime. It’s a part of the British Empire, after all.

In Italian, Joe says to me: “You must promise that you will come to New York someday, Lana bella donna. You will come and you will dine at my pizzeria and I shall become outrageously famous and wealthy. You must not forget us, because we will not forget you. You must come to New York. Do you promise?”

“Si, lo prometto,” I reply, knowing already that I’m lying, and Joe knows it too. No British monarch has ever set foot in the United States, not even when they were still colonies. Who says that I could be the first? Who says that I could have any choice in the matter at all?

I can’t just sit around all day waiting for the clock to strike 3:00, so after breakfast I take a walk to see Kroshka in the stable several blocks away. Ben trails after me—quietly, hesitantly, from a distance, like he did on the ship we left Saint Petersburg in—crunching rust-colored fallen leaves beneath his boots. In the stalls I find Thoroughbreds and Hackneys and Cleveland Bays, dignified Oldenburgs and arrogant Arabians and one massive Suffolk Punch. I give them each a fond yet fleeting scratch on the forelock before continuing on to Kroshka. She has been given the smallest stall, a dark little cubby hidden away at the end of a row. She is meant to be invisible. Kroshka doesn’t seem to mind; she dozes and chews on a mouthful of hay as I glide my palm down the length of her plain, honest face.

“Who’s a lovely mule?” I murmur. Kroshka’s long scruffy ears perk up. “You’re a lovely mule, yes you are.” I glance back to where Ben stands a few stalls away. “What will happen to Kroshka when you go to New York? You can’t leave her behind. Someone else might not understand. They might abuse her, might even send her to slaughter. She needs you.”

Ben stares at me like he’s seen a ghost, then shakes it off. “She’s coming to New York too, no need to worry.”

“Good.” Kroshka’s nose twitches beneath my hand. I offer her the sugar cubes I took from the Lees’ kitchen, and her velvety lips gobble them up. Everyone else is going to the New World. Everyone else is starting over.

“I thought you didn’t approve of the unattractive mule,” Ben says.

“She’s grown on me.”

“Animals have a way of doing that.”

“So do people.”

On the periphery of my vision, I can see him watching me, curious. He waits for me to continue. He waits a long time.

Still stroking Kroshka’s muzzle, I speak without looking at Ben. “All I ever wanted from you—from the second Mother told me you were coming—was for you to like me. Not just for being a grand duchess, but for who I was as a person. And I just assumed you would like me, that it was inevitable, like gravity or time or waves on the ocean. But then you didn’t. And you didn’t just not like me…you made me feel idiotic and unwelcome and small, so vanishingly small. I couldn’t wait to get away from you. I would have clawed through the earth with my bare hands to get away from you. But then…then…” I turn to him, tears burning in my eyes. “Ben, you made me feel alive. And truthful. And understood. And wanted. Wanted for everything I am but also everything I’m not, like every sliver of empty space, every piece of the human experience that I’m missing was an opportunity for you to teach me something new, to watch me grow, to spend time with me, infinite and cherished time. All I ever wanted was for you to like me. And now you do. But somehow that just makes all of this worse.”

“I don’t like you,” Ben says.

I smile. “No?”

He smiles back, the most hopeless smile I’ve ever seen. “No.”

Last night hangs in the air between us like spiderwebs, like a noose. We could touch it, but we don’t dare. “So I guess you’ll have a few nice things to write about me in your article.”

“There isn’t going to be an article.”

“What?” I exclaim, almost shout at him.

“I’m not going to profit from your family’s murder,” Ben says resolutely, like he’s known it for weeks. “I’m not going to profit from your heartbreak. I’m not going to spill salacious gossip that will give the world more reasons to hate you. I’m not going to be yet another person who expects you to sacrifice for their professional advantage. I’ll find something else to write about. And if I can’t, then maybe I don’t deserve to be a writer.”

When was the last time I saw him scribbling in his leather-bound notebook? Saint Petersburg? That feels like forever ago. Several lifetimes, at least. “Where’s your notebook, Ben?”

“At the bottom of the Gulf of Finland.”

“Ben…you can’t…you can’t just…I thought you…what about…?”

“The decision is made. That’s it. I appreciate your concern, I really do, but this isn’t something you get a say in.”

Across the stable from him—in the midst of horses nickering, hooves stomping, eaves creaking when the wind blows, the bleak autumn air sharp like a razor—I am shellshocked. What about his career in New York? What about the money he needs? “You should write about yourself, Ben,” I say eventually. “Your life, your family, your people. They have stories worth telling. You have stories worth telling.”

“Maybe,” he replies, but he doesn’t seem particularly interested. He doesn’t think that’s something customers would care to read about. He really hasn’t thought of a new plan yet. I find that equally heroic and horrifying. What’s going to happen to him? What’s going to happen to me?

We leave the stable together, walking without speaking but our steps in tandem. Outside there’s a street vendor braying about newspapers and candies and flowers. “Last of the season, last of the season!” he cries, waving bouquets in the air. “Get your mum or your sweetheart something nice. Buy yourself out of the doghouse. Last of the season! Last of the season!”

Ben points to flowers laid out in haphazard piles on the cart. “That’s valerian,” he tells me, making conversation so we have a reason to look at each other. “And zinnias, and helenium, and over there are calla lilies.”

I smile warily at him. “I know, Ben. We grow all of those in Russia.”

“Oh. Right.”

“The gardens at Tobolsk were crawling with calla lilies.”

“What color?”

“White, mostly. Mother called them snow lilies.”

Most of the calla lilies on the street vendor’s cart are deep purple or burnt orange or a pale listless blue, but Ben buys a white one, just one single flower. He weaves its stem through my braid until it is secured there, until the curling, vase-like petal rests behind my ear.

“How do I look?” I ask Ben. “Adorable? Formidable? Regal? A woodland faerie princess?”

“A woodland faerie grand duchess. After last night, are you even still allowed to wear white…?”

I laugh and shove him, gently, playfully. Ben chuckles and drags me into him and slings an arm around my shoulder. I breathe him in: the darkness of smoke and cologne, the light of his latent optimism. Because Ben is an optimist way down deep, he must be. You have to be an optimist to jump at the chance to start over on a new continent with nothing. You have to be an optimist to carry others’ burdens on your shoulders believing that it will, in some infinitesimal way, make the world a less violent place.

We go to Hyde Park and sit on a bench in the midst of spiraling leaves and blade-sharp wind—saying nothing, thinking everything—and listen to Big Ben strike noon, and then 1:00, and then 2:00, time receding from us like a broken fever.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the small travel trunk, I pack my copy of Tarzan of the Apes from Tobolsk, the book about British monarchs that Ben gave me, and the green scarf I bought in Moscow. The silver-thread bears shimmer as I fold the fabric once, twice, again, and then tuck it away safely. I don’t have much to bring with me to Buckingham Palace. Nothing I’ve been wearing is suitable for a princess.

I peer down at the bed, still unmade and rumpled. I go to the side where Ben slept last night and peel off the white pillowcase. When I press it to my face—tentatively, fearfully, bracing myself for no remnants of the night before—it smells just like him. And then I’m beaming without even realizing it. I pack the pillowcase in the travel trunk, then turn to the pouch containing my family’s jewels. It’s still waiting there on the hardwood floor. I close the trunk lid, secure the clasps, and wait for Ben to collect me.

He appears in the doorway just a few minutes later, grim like storm clouds. “Are you ready?”

“Almost.” I pick up the pouch of jewels. “Come inside and close the door.”

Ben does, but diffidently. “Aren’t you going to pack those…?”

“As it turns out, I’m not.” I hand the green velvet pouch to him. “I want you to have this.”

Ben is so shocked he nearly drops it. “You…you…? Want me to…?”

“You need money,” I say simply. “You won’t have a bestselling New York Times article about me to launch a career off of. It will take you longer to find your footing. But the jewels will help.”

“I…you…” He opens the pouch and blinks down at the gleaming metal and gemstones. “I can’t take these from you. No. Absolutely not.” He tries to give the pouch back to me. I refuse it.

“I owe you my life, Ben. This is the very least I can do for you.”

He is aghast. “Look, I get that you don’t really understand how money works, but even if I take these it’s not like I can walk into a bank with them and leave with cash. People are going to notice. They’ll probably think they’re stolen.”

“You can break them apart, can’t you?” I say. “Pry the stones out of the metal. Sell them one piece at a time. Someone will buy them from you, surely. Someone will pay quite a lot for them. They’ll last you years, I suppose. Perhaps decades.”

“But…but…” Ben shakes his head. “I ripped up the photograph. I didn’t get you to London in time to save your family. These are the last pieces of them that you’ll ever have.”

“My family isn’t in these jewels, Ben,” I say, my voice quiet, my eyes slick. And for once, I feel like the wise one. “They’re gone. They’re just gone. And there’s nothing I can do about it.”

There is silence, and stillness, and then Ben embraces me. He doesn’t try to kiss me. He doesn’t offer any words. He just holds me until we hear clopping hooves and carriage wheels slowing to a halt on the grey cobblestones outside.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ben loads the travel trunk and then steadies me as I find my footing on the single thin, metal step. The driver is a middle-aged, mustached man who says little to us. Ben and I are left alone inside as we roll towards Buckingham Palace, each of us gazing absently out our own window.

Ben murmurs, his eyes on the streets of London: “Well, you said you wanted a carriage.”

At first I don’t know what he means, and then I remember, laughing wildly. It’s difficult to imagine being that girl who left Tobolsk in the back of a mule cart. She feels more like a sister than me. “This is the last time you’ll see me without having to bow,” I tease, trying to make Ben smile. It doesn’t work.

He rests his forehead against the cool window. His breath paints fog on the glass. “I’m never going to see you again.”

“No?” A desperate, frantic sort of distress seizes me. “We might cross paths. You can sail back to visit sometimes. I’ll arrange everything. Surely we’ll keep up correspondence, at least.”

“You don’t understand,” he says. “I can’t speak to you. I can’t be around you. I can’t wake up every morning wondering if I’ll get a postcard or a letter. If I do, I’ll never move on from this. I’ll never burn you out of me. Every woman I’ll ever meet will be standing in your shadow.”

“So after everything that’s happened, I’m going to lose you too.”

“I was never yours and you were never mine and that’s exactly how you wanted it.”

“I’ll be able to help people, Ben,” I plead softly, pained. “As a princess. As a queen.”

“Yes. When they let you, and in the ways that they let you.”

“This is really the end of us?” I can’t comprehend it. “The very end?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben whispers, still unable to look at me.

He’s beautiful like that, sad and introspective and wise because he’s had to be; and as he wills himself to forget, I force myself to remember. I commit every scrap of him—voice, scent, edges, tenderness, wrath—to my memory like permanent bruises trapped beneath skin. I study his cheekbones and the crinkles around his eyes. I count the freckles I can find on his face. I wish I had more pieces of him to take with me; I wish I had a single thread to bind us together. I wonder if David Windsor will one day be able to dull the pain of losing Ben, or if my children will, or perhaps some new man—a secretary, a guard, a Master of the Horse—with whom I’ll tumble into some blithe infatuation that my chivalrous husband will pretend not to notice. I wonder if I’ll have to learn to pretend I hate Ben in order to survive losing him…but even as the thought sweeps through me I doubt it. I can’t hate Papa for the mistakes—all those dreadful, lethal mistakes—he made as tsar. I can’t hate Mother for her weakness and her apathy. I can’t hate my siblings for being born wealthy and naïve and adored. I love them in a way that is bone-deep and immutable, without conditions, without rationality. It is the same way I will always feel about them, I believe wholeheartedly. It is the same way I feel about Ben.

“We’re here,” he says, breaking my contemplation like a flute of champagne. I startle; indeed, outside my window is Buckingham Palace.

We pass Queen Victoria’s memorial and proceed through the iron gates. There is a swarm of guards and servants waiting for us there. They spirit me out of the carriage and into the palace, Ben battling to keep pace. My single small travel trunk is carried away and disappears up a flight of stairs. I think of its contents: the scarf, the pillowcase, the book of bloodletting kings and chained queens, the novel in which Tarzan renounces his rediscovered birthright and leaves to give Jane a chance at a better life with some kind, passionless, impeccably normal man. There’s a sequel to Tarzan of the Apes, isn’t there? I think dizzily as I’m rushed through cold, gorgeous rooms. I’ll have to read it someday. I wonder what happens next.

The last time I was in Buckingham Palace there was a dusting of snow on the earth and a towering Christmas tree in the ballroom and sprigs of holly in my hair, and my parents were still alive and my sisters were giggling with me about all the eligible royal bachelors and Alexei was eating sticky toffee pudding until he had to be carried off to bed groaning but still wearing a triumphant grin on his drawn, smug, pale little face. Now everything looks different. Everything feels different. I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. It’s like returning to a place that had been so vast and magical when you were a child only to find it dull and confining and somehow…in every way…less. I wish I had never been born into royalty, or that I had never glimpsed life outside of it; I wish I was not this misfit patchwork of experiences that condemns me to belong nowhere. I wish I’d never heard the name Benjamin Hardy. I wish he was a country I’d never visited instead of a world I can’t seem to leave.

“My darling,” the Prince of Wales croons when he comes into view. He is standing beside a closed door, tall and lean and tidy and pristine, wearing an immaculately tailored suit and grinning widely, wolfishly. I had never really known what Tati meant when she complained about men being brutish and beastly and…and…hungry. Now I think I understand.

I take the prince’s hand when he offers it to me. He presses his lips to my knuckles. The hallway goes quiet. Everyone else leaves, vanishes through doorways or corridors; everyone but Ben, that is. “David,” I say.

“Your Imperial Highness.” He looks me up and down. “Good heavens, what’s happened to your hair? Father won’t even recognize you.” He yanks the tie out of my hair, unravels my braid, plucks out the calla lily and tosses it casually away. Some servant will pick it up later, surely, some servant whose name David wouldn’t be able to recall. They’ll snatch it up off the floor and take it outside with the rubbish and forget about it entirely. I wonder how long it will take me to forget about it, about the man who gave it to me. “There, isn’t that better?”

“Where…?”

“His Majesty will grant you an audience in the Throne Room.”

“Now?” I hope my voice doesn’t quiver. I hope David can’t see the panic in my eyes. Ben is still standing beside us, tense and silent and watchful.

The Prince of Wales only has eyes for me. He beams. “Now.”

He twists one shining golden knob. The door sweeps open. The Prince of Wales enters first and then beckons me inside. As I step through the doorway, I have a sudden vision of Mother radiant with pride, her face glowing and striped by shadows in the amber lamplight; I can see Papa puffing contently on his pipe by a roaring fireplace with a newspaper in his hands; I can imagine flesh and nerves and blood vessels knitting back together to cover their scattered bones as the promise of my legacy, my descendants, my fulfilled responsibility brings them new life. And then, following immediately, I see a different sort of vision, not the future but the still-lingering past: Ben whispering to me, all over me, inside of me, but not until I was trembling and gasping and begging him for it. I can still feel how eager and yet careful he was; I can still feel the mystifying absence of any pain. I can’t imagine a better initiation into lovemaking than that. I have no fear of it now, no shameful curiosity, no timid trepidation. I’d like to believe that Mother could forgive this indiscretion if it meant I would spend the rest of my life cradled tidily in the footprints she left for me.

The Throne Room is gold and red, a vivid bloodlike red. The Prince of Wales shows me where to stand. He smiles idly as he fidgets with my hair again to bring it forward over my shoulders, as he brushes a few stray horse hairs from my black lace dress. He is making me presentable. I wonder what my wedding night would have been like with him as my first lover: polite kisses, prissy words, that inevitable hissing pain that marks a woman as virtuous, an emptiness afterwards instead of a dreamlike peace. I wonder what my sisters’ wedding nights would have been like had they lived to marry princes and dukes and emperors. I can picture Olga shuddering with anxiety, Anastasia slapping unwanted hands away, Tati locking herself in the bathroom and sinking to the cold tile floor and hugging her knees to her chest. I think of all the women—girls, really—who have been sent, oblivious and fearful, into the bed of a man they barely knew. I think of their soft vulnerable flesh being roughly uncovered, prodded, invaded, reaped like wheat at harvest. And I realize, with a nauseating stab to my gut, that I will be expected to raise my own daughters to endure the same. All so that the bloodline can continue. All for the sake of royalty.

Ben is here in the Throne Room with us, lurking by the door we came in through. Why hasn’t he left yet? Because no one has told him to. Because they barely see him at all. And perhaps because he’s not ready for this to be the end of us either.

Another door, the one closest to the throne, opens. King George V strides in wearing full regalia, his medals and his ribbons and his cords. He clangs and rustles when he walks. He doesn’t seem surprised to see me. Instead, his eyes glisten as he smiles and opens his arms. “My dear,” he sighs with great sadness, and I soar across the room to him.

“Uncle George,” I sob as I delve into him, ribbons jostling, medals cold against my cheeks. He looks so much like Papa that it’s almost like being able to touch my father again, being able to atone for not saving him. It is a homecoming that knocks the breath out of me.

“You’re alive,” the king marvels softly. He kisses the top of my head. “David told me. I had understood it. But it is quite another thing to feel it firsthand.” He lifts my chin so he can look at me as the Prince of Wales observes us approvingly with his hands clasped behind his back. “You poor thing, you’ve been through so much. I can read the grief on your face.”

“My family…” I can’t finish; I choke on the words as they burn in my throat.

“They would be so proud of you, my dear,” the king says. “So very, very proud.”

I hope this is true. I hope it with every drop of blood in my veins that escaped the blades of revolution. “Thank you,” I wrench out in a jagged whisper.

“I had always hoped…Nicky and I had always planned…and now, at last, against all odds, here you are. The last Romanov. The only remaining heir of a great house. The recipient of the pity of all mankind.” He studies me meditatively. “Yes, I can think of no better match for David. I can think of no brighter future for the British monarchy.”

I belong here. I belong here. This is the only place I will ever belong. If I repeat this enough, surely it will begin to feel real. Time is whirling blindingly forward and yet standing still.

The king notices Ben for the first time. “And who might you be?” Then he recalls, boredly, like it’s an awkward logistical afterthought. “Oh, yes, the press attaché. My secretary will meet you in the Green Drawing Room. You will be given a handsome reward as a gesture of our appreciation.”

Ben should bow and dismiss himself, but he doesn’t. He stares at me, doubtful, immoveable. He’s waiting for me to tell him it’s okay to leave. He’s waiting until he knows I’m alright.

“Uncle George,” I say, regaining my composure. He does look so much like Papa, but there are small differences. The king is slightly shorter. His flesh is leaner, harder, less yielding. And while Papa’s eyes were dark and gentle and warm, the king’s are a clear and glacial blue. David Windsor has the same eyes. Perhaps one day my children will too. “I would like Ben to stay for just a moment longer. I have a few requests to make before I agree to marry into your house, and some of those requests concern him.”

The king furrows his brow and smirks, as if it is amusing that I have requests of any sort. “Alright. Go ahead, my dear.”

“Ben has a brother serving on the Western Front. His name is Franklin Hardy. I believe he’s currently in Passchendaele. I want him honorable discharged and brought home immediately.”

The king nods uncertainly. “As you wish.”

“I want Great Britain to accept Russian refugees,” I say. “There are millions fleeing the revolution. We can take some here, and perhaps France, Italy, Canada, Australia, and the United States can each match our commitment. We cannot save them all, but we can save many.”

“It will have to be discussed with the prime minister and Parliament, but I believe something like that would be possible. It would certainly make us appear more compassionate, more…sympathetic. It is a wise suggestion.”

“I want to be a patron of settlement houses that assist such immigrants.”

Now the king is no longer amused. His smile is dying like unfanned coals. His eyes are hardening like ice. “The children must come first, but yes…I suppose you may have some spare time to devote to charitable causes.”

“On the subject of children,” I say, steeling myself, making my final request. “I want permission to name my firstborn son Alexei. And my first daughter Tatiana.”

George V—King of the United Kingdom and the British Dominions, Emperor of India, cousin to a slain tsar, father to a shallow prince—chuckles and waves a hand dismissively, as if this is the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. “The children will have British names, of course.”

His flippantness, his amusement…it sends a bolt through me like lightning. Why isn’t he just as desperate for some way for my family to live on? Why isn’t he still mourning like I am? Like I will be for the rest of my life? Suddenly, the king looks completely different to me. He doesn’t look like Papa at all. I ask him, my voice sharp and unwavering: “Why didn’t you save us?”

“What?” the startled king replies. The Prince of Wales recoils. Ben’s eyes widen as he covers his mouth with both hands.

“Papa, Mother, Tatiana, Alexei, Anastasia, Olga, Maria, me, why didn’t you save us?”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” the king says patiently, as if I am a child who doesn’t know any better. “Our house, our dynasty…we are not so secure ourselves these days. The people resent our wealth in times of conflict and scarcity. They are suspicious of our German ancestry, of the fact that so many of our nearest relatives are on the other side of this Great War. They lose sight of our vital importance to their pasts, their futures. I could not risk inciting their outrage. And Nicky, though I loved him so fiercely…though I advised him otherwise…he made so many mistakes. He made so many enemies. The British people could not have stomached him.”

“It wasn’t the prime minister at all,” I realize with dawning horror, with swelling rage. “It was you who chose to abandon us.”

“My dear, I swear to you, no one believed that the Romanov children were in danger—”

“But you knew that Papa and Mother were,” I pitch back at him. “And you left them to be butchered.”

“There was nothing else to be done,” the king pleads with me. “There was no other option.”

“If your circumstances had been reversed, Papa would have saved you, your wife, your children. Nothing on this earth could have stopped him.”

“Yes, Nicky was famously weak. And that’s exactly how he ended up where he is now.”

“He trusted you,” I seethe. I can feel scalding heat in my cheeks. I can feel Ben gaping at me, not knowing what to do. “I trusted you. I loved you, I placed all my hopes in you!”

“And you have put them in the right place,” the king insists. “You are safe now. I can keep you safe. The people will accept you, they will cherish you, you are an innocent who cannot be blamed for any of the horrors that have befallen our world. When they look at you, they will see widows and orphans and wounded soldiers returning home, they will see themselves. You will inspire heartfelt sympathy. They will love you, my dear. And they will love us for saving you.” The king reaches out, strokes my cheek, gazes adoringly down at me. “The very last child of a great dynasty. The very last Romanov.”

In his cold blue eyes, I see the lifetime that awaits me if I stay here. I see duty and dispassion and opulence and hollowness. Papa wouldn’t want this for me. Mother wouldn’t want this for me, not if she really knew what it entailed. Everything in me shifts, readjusts, clicks into a new rhythm. I look across the Throne Room at Ben. He stares back, not understanding. “Yes, I am the last Romanov,” I say. I step back to where the king cannot touch me. “There will be no others after me. My children—if I have children—will not be royals. They will know nothing of my bloodline. They will not build their lives on the backs of servants and slaves. They will not kill to keep their thrones. And they will not be fathered by a prince, not here and not anywhere.”

“What do you mean?” the king asks, confounded.

“I am leaving,” I say. “I am leaving the palace now. Forever. With Ben.”

“With who?” The king peers around in confusion. “With…the press attaché…?!”

“Yes.” I glance at Ben. He is too stunned to say anything, too stunned to move. The Prince of Wales blinks stupidly at Ben, as if becoming aware of him for the first time.

The king’s eyes dart to Ben, slide back to me, and then narrow suspiciously. “Are you still intact?”

“No. I cannot count all the pieces of myself that I have lost since Papa’s abdication. But none of them were taken by Ben. He has taken nothing from me. He has only given.”

“You…you…you are a disgrace!” the king sputters. “You are a humiliation. You would be better off dead with the rest of your family. At least then you would still have some dignity.”

“Then let me be dead,” I say. “Let the world think I died in Russia. I was never here. I never rejected this offer of marriage because it was never made. I am not a grand duchess. I am a typist named Lana Brinkley. I am a nobody. And I am crossing the Atlantic with Ben to build a new life in New York City.”

“You…you…you’re what?”

“You’re what?!” the Prince of Wales echoes, shrill and petulant like a little boy.

“Let me go,” I demand of King George V. “Let me go and no one will know that it was you who left my family to be slaughtered. There are other royal women for your son to marry. And I assure you, for your purposes, I am already ruined.”

“Not ruined,” Ben says. He has appeared beside me and taken my hand.

The king is repulsed, furious, incredulous. His eyes are a wasteland, a tundra that freezes and starves. “Get out of my sight. Both of you.”

“Father…” the Prince of Wales nudges.

“Out!” he shouts at us, all three of us. The Prince of Wales departs from one door. Ben and I leave through another. The king, perhaps the richest man on the planet, is left completely alone.

All the way out of the palace—down the hallways, through the ballroom, past the ogling servants and guards—Ben never drops my hand. He doesn’t speak, but he knows exactly where he’s going. Our palms skate down golden staircase railings, our shoes pound against hardwood floors, our eyes flash under the bright electric lights of Buckingham Palace. And when I steal a glimpse of Ben’s face, he is smiling.

Outside in the brisk October air, the entire world is dying so it can begin again. I am half-terrified; I am entirely free.

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completeoveranalysis · 3 years ago

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Warning! This post contains spoilers up to chapter 170 of Tsubasa (and Chapter 71 of xxxHolic). Please skip this if you have not read that far.

Please also make no comments about what happens after that point in either manga.

SO here is the other splash image that really stuck out to me:

This time not because of the Seresu arc but because of how the Infinity arc itself ends.

Here's the link to the original post the image is from if you'd like the full context, but the particular quote from that post I want to use as a reference is here:

"Syaoran also sits on the throne - which as far as I can tell, isn’t his. ... The only one ever wearing the crown they’re all wearing [on their clothes] is Sakura. Now, does it make sense that Syaoran has usurped her throne? Heck yeah! He’s stolen everything from her. He’s stolen her journey (they’re following him now, always a step behind), he’s stolen her feathers, and he’s stolen the person she’s in love with."

Where I was kind of on the right track but couldn't have possibly guessed what all the chess imagery was ultimately feeding into. Looking back now the initial liveblogs for all of these Chess-related splash images are such a big mix of different iconography, so it’s very fun reading through all my old guesses back then. I think I did a really good job of trying to decipher some of it, especially the Cinderella and Snow White imagery in Chapter 140, but the Chess was a bit trickier.

Which, like, understandable, because the chess game that was happening in the chapters was stressful as heck and did not end well, but there is a nice conclusion to it with this image which is easier to read now - especially in regards to Sakura. Because it's made very clear to the viewer that the symbol of the Queen piece is in reference to her; both in these splash images (where she wears the crown at one point, and every character wears the symbol in ways that reflect their allegiance to her) and in the plotline, where she functions as the Queen of the battles taking place. Here is another good example of the symbol being used for Sakura with it right there on her throne, and the two Syaoran's wearing the symbol in smaller ways to represent their relationship to her. But with that all in mind? I had no idea what it was really getting at with Syaoran on Sakura's throne here.

BUT NOW I DO.

If you go back to that example I just gave with Sakura sitting on her throne? It's a different throne! It still makes it very clear that she's undeniably the Queen piece, with the symbol in gold actually being a key part of the throne itself.

And the throne Syaoran sits on? It has the crown symbol as part of the decoration, but it's not representing him, it's just a small symbol to show that matches Sakura's throne. This throne is his own.

He's the King piece.

(And, important distinction; the throne is not Lava Lamp's, but our original plotline Syaoran who is now in Autopilot mode.)

This wouldn't have occurred to me the first time through because I was focused so much on what this might mean for Sakura, and how she related to everyone else, but the way the Infinity Arc ends really hammers this home. After all, Sakura is the mastermind in this arc - everything that happens is according to her plan. She's not playing chess just during the literal chess matches, but during the entire plotline, moving every character and circumstance into place to enact her final plan; to activate both Chi's at once, absorb both their feather's, and trigger Fai's curse - resulting in her pseudo (if purely physical) death. But like we see in the plotline, this isn't a loss - it's a win. It's exactly how she planned things to unfold, and it will lead her to winning the game.

Just in case anyone isn't familiar, in Chess the queen is the most powerful piece capable of the widest variety of moves - but the queen is not the endgame goal. You can lose the queen piece in any game and (besides losing a powerful piece) it's not the end of the world. You can still win the game without the queen piece. It's the King piece that's the Win/Loss condition. The King is the piece you have to keep safe at all costs, even if you lose other pieces in the process. The second the King dies, the match is over. You've lost.

And this matches exactly how Sakura played the series events. She was the Queen in control of every move, and Syaoran was the Win condition she was focused on. She foresaw Fai killing Syaoran in the future - which, for her, is the Losing Scenario. She planned everything to avoid this, and she succeeded! She lost the Queen piece (ie, her physical body) but won the ultimate goal of keeping the King safe. She won the 3D future chess game that she was playing by herself, and positioned herself in the place that would have the most benefit for the victory at the end. (Which I still haven't seen, but she was VERY confident about this having a better result than Fai killing Syaoran.)

I'm also super happy that this ties in really well with the fairy tale allusions I talked about back in Chapter 140, but in ways I wasn't aware of back then either.

I talked about Snow White and how the apple (that shows up in a lot of the splash images in Infinity) may have been referring to Sakura's tendency to sleep a lot. What I didn't realise was that Sakura was essentially about to pull the Big Brain Snow White maneuver on herself to ultimately win her chess game. While in Snow White the poison apple is a trap, here Sakura sprung the trap intentionally. Fai is the apple she bit into deliberately - she arranged it so that killed her body, breaking his own curse, and sent her to the World of Dreams (and thus, she is asleep) which also placed her in a Glass Coffin (aka The Jam Jar of Dreams - Im sorry I have no memory of what it's really called). So the Snow White metaphor is now complete.

But also Cinderella! In the image for 140 Sakura is trying on a glass slipper - so she's Cinderella figure as well. But at this point in the plot the clock hadn't struck midnight just yet - like Cinderella, Sakura knew the exact time limit she had to work with, and for her the timing had to be PRECISE. She spent all of Infinity stressed out of her mind about this plan she couldn't trust anyone else with, knowing full well that if she missed the window even slightly it would ruin absolutely everything and they would all lose. Which, funnily enough, makes Yuuko the fairy godmother, since she provided Sakura with the magic she needed to make her plan happen (via wishes). This also means that Fai stabbing her with the sword is the exact moment the clock struck twelve - and like the spell finishing, Sakura could finally drop the act and explain what she had done, even as all the magic disappeared (ie, her luck being traded away). There's even a detransformation sequence of a sort, with her body and soul going in two different directions. But either way, the Cinderella metaphor is also complete!

And with all that done the last part I want to talk about is back in the image of Syaoran on the throne. He's framed on either side with the curtains that portray the chess board, and they're tied back by chains with him in the very centre. He is visually chained to the board - which, like, of course he is. With his Autopilot programming in place he's essentially just a chess piece without any will of his own - a winning piece, for sure, but he's still being moved around without his choice. He's playing the game on auto, making the moves that will lead him to the winning gambit, but without his individual soul he has no choice but to keep playing until the game is over. The goal he's working towards isn't even his - it's Evil Wolverine's. So in the same way that everyone else was a chess piece in Sakura's strategy (if, sort of, willingly), including Sakura herself, Syaoran is a piece being moved around in Evil Wolverine's favour - though if he dies, it's game over for Sakura's side as well.

I'm unclear if Syaoran dying would be a game over scenario for Evil Wolverine, but at the very least it would end the game he is currently playing.

So, in the hyper future 3D chess game that Sakura was playing by herself she couldn't properly win the game for her side by taking out Syaoran because he's her king piece too. Syaoran is the piece at the centre of everything, and will be the key to winning the game for either side. We just have to wait and see if Sakura's gambit will pay off in the way she thinks it will.

#For the record I THINK IT WILL #I believe in her #This has been: a lot of imagery #Tsubasa Catch Up Chronicle #Catch up T144 #Catch up T145 #Catch up T140 #Tsubasa #Ok so Sakura is confirmed Chess Genius y/y?#Sakura #Syaoran #and CHESS

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k0kichiimagines · 3 years ago

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saeyoung !! happy birthday!! my love as well!! alsomykin!! sorry this is late (its past midnight here)

- mod kokichi

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

your humour, your bravery! physically - your eyes and cheeks

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

he does! he has a call where he wonders if he can actually have his dream of a family :) equally he's more then happy with just you, saeran and vanderwood. he would want time to strengthen his relationship with saeran especially, but after a few years...if you want. i feel like he also would only want a few, and a few years apart. he would want to give them his attention fully,, equally if you have twins he'd be overjoyed too.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

clings to you! he likes any position (aha), but expect a lot of protective ones, especially while he's in / just left the agency

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

eventful LMAO

honestly, it depends, he'll take you star gazing and to the movies, and theme parks

but also driving at 2am, and making robots, the list is endless and half the time spontaneous

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

"you are my world, my dreams, my future"

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

over the chatroom, and he felt awful and selfish, he led you one despite feeling like he could never actually date you

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

very gentle!! he'd feel awful if he ever hurt you,, the whole 'im dangerous' would come back

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

he likes to have your hands near each other, little fingers linked, or fully hand holding, he'll do the 'bring hand to lips to kiss' thing a lot

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

someone cute and who clicked instantly with him!

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

yes.

he'll hug you from behind in front of them he has no shame, resting his head on your shoulder / head and glare at them

might even try kiss your neck too

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

i think the first kiss was more a 'both sides drawing in',, his kisses are unpredictable, sometimes soft, sometimes teasing, sometimes 'misses' just next to your lips,, but always gentle

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

you kinda say it when saeran grabs you, but in terms of sitting down and etc its him ,, and it feels like a weight of his chest, pure euphoria filling him when you say it back

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

any moments where he felt pure joy,, which happens a lot round you, wether its falling asleep or chasing each other, or running from either of the other two roommates, you're his joy

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

not buying so much, but he makes you a lot of stuff :) some of it is jokes, some of it actually really useful

he does buy you some stuff though !

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

blues! your favourite colours!

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

"606, my love, my baby, my star," a lot of overdone cheesy joke ones

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

probably old technology, stars,

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

complains, sulks, pouts, he likes going out once he's free but he doesn't actually hate the rain that much. he'll try cooking, and you'll need to help or the kitchen will be a mess of flames (he is a good cook, he just 'experiments' a lot)

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

bottles everything up, admits he's kinda sad in jokes, you'll need to confront him and be insistent to get anything out of him

he'll drop his jokes when you're upset, trying his best to be a shoulder to lean on and support for you.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

look hes a nerd (lovingly) he'll talk about maths, robots, hacking and cars, but equally games and shows and whatever you're into!

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

he likes making things !! if you read to him, or just talked about something he'd like that - might even fall asleep! not because hes bored, he just finds your voice soothing

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

his babes (the cars. and you/lh) but honestly all his gloating is jokes, he's pretty insecure

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

like saeran, he wants to make sure you want to as well! he'd do it under the stars, with a camera somewhere recording, music playing

he's a romantic at heart

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

,,,,Line Without A Hook- sorry its for everyone i know

i cant think of any love songs :(

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

you guys had matching rings and bracelets which im still sobbing over,, plus the normal ending,, and the the fact saeyoung is catholic i feel like the answer is yes.

plus...marriage at the space station :)

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

cats!! we all know the man loves them to death

#saeyoung x reader #707 x reader #luciel x reader #mystic messenger x reader #saeyoung choi x reader #707 #Mystic messenger #mystic messenger imagines #fluff

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runolllo-fanboygirl · 4 years ago

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annoying revali anon again... im sorry but I want to ask more, your post about link's age was really thoughtful, even though most of the info is in the game I didn't think about it and I never saw other people talk about it (even if so many people are always aking guesses about link's age!) so I want to ask, do you know Revali and Sidon's age too... please and thanks...

Ok, Sidon is easy but Revali is a tough one! And I don’t have the time to source properly. I’ve actually been writing a post about the ages of all the relevant BOTW characters (that’s why I had this info at hand for that other Link post too!) but adding quotes, screenshots, etc. takes a lot of time.

So here is a very informal answer until I manage to compile everything:

- Adult Sidon is, canonically, older than 100 (obviously XD) but younger than 130, I estimate around 110ish since we know he’s much younger than Rivan (who’s over 130). Sidon is also canonically considered more on the “young adult Zora” side than on the “middle aged Zora” side (for comparison, Bazz and Gaddison are confirmed middle aged). Zora a bit younger than 100 are more or less already considered adults or late teens (like Dunma) so Sidon might had been an adult for a while. I hope this made sense lol.

Regarding the current twitter drama: Zora mature in a very different way, much slower in general, and not necessarily perfectly proportionally slower than the other races. You can’t equate Zora age to Hylians, don’t ask “would that make Sidon around 23 in human age” that makes no sense... he’s a +100 young adult by Zora standards because he’s a Zora.

- Revali’s most likely just barely an adult, and somewhere around the same age as Link (17-19). For reference, this is everything I had to say about Link’s age / LINK /. Anyway back to Ravioli Pasta Boy, we can only make a good guess about him being around that awkward age between teen and adult. I’ll try to explain as short as possible:

- I’ll start saying that, unlike the case of the Zora, Rito age and life expectancy are the same as for Hylians. We can infer this from Revali’s own dialogue in the Champion’s Ballad, as well as from Creating a Champion. The book also tells us that Kass is considerably older than Teba, but we have nothing to compare them to Revali, that I have found. While the Zora talk a lot about their age (since it’s relevant to Link’s past and his old bonds with them) we have no numbers to compare for the Rito, sorry. STILL, go on and read:

- Revali uses “boku” to refer to himself in Japanese. It would be very awkward for anyone other than a male child/teen to use “boku”. An adult man would use boku in some settings, not in the way Revali does in my opinion (I explain why on this other post) but some people disagree... so I won’t say this is conclusive evidence on it’s own BUT I can stack this hint with the next few ones:

- Urbosa's Diary: “Revali is of the youngest Rito generation” (the diary has different wording in the different localizations but ultimately says that).

- Urbosa’s diary putting Zelda, Link, Revali and Mipha in the same age group (yes, Mipha too, don’t ask me I didn’t write this game lol)

- Revali’s considerably shorter than the other Rito adults (and I’m not even talking about Teba who is actually taller than the other Rito men).

- Other more speculative hints:

- Revali still has the same face markings as the Rito children. It might be just a design choice but why not mention it. A lot of the stuff in this game is very deliberate, so yeah.

- Revali’s emotional immaturity;

- The fact that he was designed to be Link’s rival (stated in Creating a Champion);

- The fact he didn’t have any descendancy, unlike Urbosa or Daruk, even though he loves his homeland and his people so much, he gets along with children, and all he ever wanted was to see the Rito thrive. One would think, he didn’t have the time to have a family :(

- The age gap between Revali and Teba matching the trend of the other co-pilots in which one is an older adult (Urbosa, Daruk, Teba and Sidon) and the other a youngster (Riju, Yunobo, Revali and Mipha). Creating a Champion says Yunobo is “a young adult Goron still growing” and I think all of us can see how that’s very possibly the same case with Link, Revali and Mipha.

- Creating a Champion also highlights how adult/big/confident Teba is that he isn’t bothered at all by criticism, being mostly aware of his own shortcomings, feeling no shame and just working hard. A big contrast with Revali, who while being just as hard working, is a bit of a bratty kid and an overachiever who hates being caught in what he considers “a moment of weakness” (a moment of shame). So, again, deliberate decisions while designing the characters.

I might be missing something big but that’s all for now! I’m confident most of the facts are correct (please notice that I mentioned when I make estimations and when I speculate, versus when I’m giving actual canon data and quoting!). Again, I haven’t put together all my sources yet, the quotes are from memory an paraphrased, double-check before quoting me on this ;D

Also! Do what you want with this info, make your own conclusions. Link and Sidon’s age frames are a bit more restrictive and Zelda literally turned 17 the day of the Calamity (I think the only character with her age set in stone lol), but otherwise the game and book would be like “eh, Riju was designed to look around 12 but Gerudo mature faster... Paya was designed to be around Link’s age, between 18-20... Purah is, uh, 120, kinda......... Link found the Master Sword when he was 12 or 13, maybe........¿¿?...?” like, what do you mean, does Link not fcking remember if he got the sword when he was 12 or 15 lmao!!!! Assholes!!! XD

So like, yeah ahahahha. You think Revali is 17? The game says Sure Why Not. You say Revali’s 24 and a short king? Perfectly possible too honestly. We stan short King Revali, wow much sass in such smol birb. Big bow go brrrr

Last thing about Teba and Revali because I wanted the Age of Calamity SPOILERSSS at the end:

- In Age of Calamity *SPOILERSSS* Teba’s dad instincts kick in on a couple of occasions... there are many battle combos I haven’t seen yet, but at least once Teba goes to Revali to give some emotional support (in the battle before the last, I think); in another occasion to help him speak his true feelings (as in literally voicing them in Revali’s stead because Teba is that blunt and Revali is... you know, like he is.) As it happens between the other co-pilots, the older one often reassures the younger one (Mipha and Sidon still have an older sister/younger brother dynamic even if Sidon came from the future and is now literally older than her lol so the rule still applies! XD). So again, I feel like the age difference between Teba and Revali is noticeable, even though Teba is still a young dad himself... but I honestly feel that if someone wanted to say both Revali and Teba are like, 25, no one could tell them that the canon says otherwise XD

#revali #sidon #prince sidon #teba #breath of the wild #botw #legend of zelda #loz reference #loz #mipha #link #kass #rito people #zora people

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gerec · 3 years ago

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4, 32 and 43 for the fanfic writer thingy? :D

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

In no particular order:

invisible string by soetry (WIP)

“We’re just raising a child together,” Erik snapped. “Relax about it.”

in which charles xavier and erik lehnsherr were political opponents until they had to become allies until they horrifically became best friends and then accepted being awesome co-dads and everyone needs to calm down about it. especially them themselves.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End by populuxe

When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Learning by hllfire (WIP)

When Erik dies in an accident, Charles is forced to stay and feel the pain of his loss, giving in to his grief and isolating himself from the world. Everything seems to worsen when Tony Stark, Charles' old friend, decides to give him a gift: an android with Erik's face, and with an A.I. that remembered Erik's personality, if only a little more abrasive than Erik had ever been.

32. Copy and paste your top three favorite lines/jokes/sentences you’ve ever written. What fics do they come from?

This line from The Painter, because it does a great job (I think) of making this scene come to life in your head:

That night a storm rages on for hours upon hours, the waves churning violently against the rocks and the battering rain like drumming footsteps across his roof.

This one from It's Been A Long Time, my 'Call Me By Your Name' cherik au because it captures Charles' sentiment at the moment AND the theme of the story:

He knew it was a moment to be crystallized and preserved forever in memory; every second to be replayed and dissected in some unknown future and think – if all the days of my life could be like this.

This one from you can never tell , because it sets a particularly evocative mood and I love the imagery it conjures:

There's a light dusting of snow now, blanketing the world in white, the flakes akin to fairy lights as they disappear into the dank earth at his feet. Charles thinks about Kurt, of how small and frail he looked on white satin, mere shadow of a presence that once towered over every aspect of his life.

43. Talk about a positive experience with fanfiction or the fanfiction community that you will always remember.

Meeting my fandom besties @widgenstain and @lachatblanche AND still talking to them regularly after 10 years im love you guys xoxoxo :D :D :D

Fic Writer Ask Game

#gerec rambles #fic writer ask game #memes #thank you hellfre!

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bonelessbloodfreak · 4 years ago

Text

WILLOW

a destiel fic, 2192 words, T, love confessions, based on Taylor Swift obviously 😌

Summary: Dean and Cas find comfort in each other, finally having the space and time to build their happiness around each other. They’re in love. It’s what they deserve. They just have to figure out how to say it.

Link: ao3

“You’re everywhere Cas.” Dean says, and Cas doesn’t have the energy to try to understand what he means. It sounds an awful lot like a complaint, but Dean wasn’t complaining about Cas. Not really.

“So you want me to leave then?” Cas says, more of a statement then a question, looking up at Dean with a piercing gaze. Although the bite of the question is there, Cas finds that he’s able to keep his expression blank, unwilling to let Dean see the extent of his emotions. He’s not offended though.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Dean grumbles, he crosses the room with a hand running through his hair. Cas tilts his head up like he’s challenging that statement and Dean sighs. “I want you here, Cas. Of course I do.”

“So why don’t you act like it?”

“I’m- Fuck Cas, I’m not good at... at-“

“Wanting something for yourself.” Cas finishes for him. Dean looks scared, but he doesn’t deny it.

“I want you here. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you didn’t.”

“I understand, Dean. You’re selfless to a fault. You gave everything you had to Sam, you’ve sacrificed your life for strangers even when they don’t deserve your kindness. You deserve some good for yourself. It’s not repayment, it’s not because of anything. It’s just because you’re human, you get to be selfish too sometimes.”

“Cas Im plenty selfish.”

“Not with things like this,”

“What is this?”

“You tell me,” Cas lifts an eyebrow. He’s hesitant too though. He’s nervous. Dean licks his lips and nods to himself before looking right at Cas.

“I want you here Cas. But I want you to want to be here.”

Cas gazes at Dean softly, his smile gentle. Looking at Dean, he has every freckle committed to memory. He has Dean Winchester memorized. He could get lost in looking at Dean. He has many times before.

He looks desperate, his eyes hopeful and scared and a little bit angry. His face is the most open Cas has seen from him in a while, he’s letting himself feel, but even more, he’s letting Cas see. He’s still as beautiful as ever. Still Dean Winchester. Maybe this is his breaking point, and maybe he’s already hit his breaking point. Maybe this is the beginning of rebuilding. That makes Cas heart flutter up in hope.

“I want to be here Dean.” Cas says. Dean nods finally and offers a sincere, but tight smile.

“Good. You’re staying.” So Cas drops his duffel bag back on his bed and nods. He’s still not sure this is the best decision, but he looks at a Dean again and thinks that if Dean never stops looking at him like that, he’ll never try to walk away again. He wants this. Of course he does, but he knows Dean and he knows he’s not going to get it.

Maybe it was selfish of him to want someone who so clearly isn’t ready for this, but Cas is tired of being selfless. Like he told Dean, they could both use some selfishness on the grand scale. Cas thinks Dean is pretty grand. And maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Dean is ready.

He thought leaving, even if only for a few weeks, would save him some hurt. Maybe it would give him the space to get over Dean in his newly human form. It had all hit him at once and it left Cas feeling bare and shaken. Now graceless, he couldn’t control his desires, he couldn’t regulate his body the way he used to be able to. He couldn’t stop his cheeks from flushing when Dean smiled at him. He couldn’t stop his heart from jumping when Dean hugged him. He couldn’t stop goosebumps rising on his arms when Dean let his hand rest on his back.

Then they had fought. It was stupid and petty, but Cas took it as an excuse to get some space. Get ahold of his emotions because he knows getting over Dean is out of the question.

Dean doesn’t let him leave. Cas is glad.

Dean nods, Cas Can see the hesitation and the fear and the hope and guilt and... everything. He can feel the way Dean has been ripped apart countless times, every day since he was four years old. Cas feels like he’s been torn apart as well. They can smooth over their scars together, heaven and hell know they themselves have been the reason for some of them.

The next few days are still tense, but not with anger. Dean seems to have realized that an emotional boundary was crossed and Cas has realized it too. Dean isn’t ignoring him anymore, for which he’s glad, and he values spending time with Dean, even if every glance sets his heart on fire.

Dean teaches Cas to cook and soon enough they’re moving around the kitchen together like they were made for each other. They still haven’t acknowledged it, but Dean puts his hand on Cas’ hip when he goes around him, and Cas lets Dean feed the sauce to him when he taste tests it, rather than simply taking the spoon himself.

Then they’re going on errands together, Dean says he needs to show Cas how they do things, show him which brand of shampoo they like and where to find the good beer. But then Dean continues to accompany Cas, just because it takes half the time with two people and when Cas finds some odd organic snack to try, Dean gets to bicker with him about it.

Dean let’s Cas drive sometimes, and he says not to tell Sam. He also says not to tell Sam that they rotate who chooses the music, and that sometimes on Deans turn, he chooses Taylor Swift.

Cas can only imagine how they must look to the world around them. Like they’re falling apart, crashing and burning, going out in loud explosions of light and dust and fire. Like they’re falling into each other rather than apart. They’re crashing down, but they’re building a new foundation on the debris. They’re communicating for once, and they must look like they’re late to the game, maybe this should have happened years ago, but for once they’re self sacrificial relationship has become healthier.

They’re moving, but they’re moving together, roots strongly woven into the ground, going far deeper than anyone might expect. Or maybe everyone expected it.

Cas has nightmares now that he’s human. He knows Dean does too, but neither of them seek comfort with each other. Another line to cross. Sometimes they talk about it. Dark kitchens and cold coffee and whispered tears with shaking hands. It’s over quick and when they end up in their separate beds, it’s feels even more lonely somehow.

One night Cas has his head on his pillow, eyes closed, he’s on his side facing away from the door, but he hasn’t slept yet. He hears the door open and he can feel the shift of air. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Dean. He’s about to sit up when the floorboards creak and the door clicks shut again. Then there’s a dip in the bed and Cas rolls over lazily. Dean stands up again and wipes his palms on his pajama pants.

“Sorry.” He whispers. Cas squints up at him in the dark and lifts the blankets for him.

There’s only a moment where Cas can almost hear all of Deans thoughts, if only he were still an angel, before Dean crawls under the covers next to Cas. He keeps space between them, but Cas is too tired for his shit, he throws an arm around Dean’s waist and rubs his hand over Dean’s shoulder.

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah,” he says. Cas knows he doesn’t want to talk about it, so he just nods and pulls Dean closer.

They both fall asleep easier that night.

In the morning, Cas wakes up to a hand in his hair and an arm around his shoulders. Dean is awake and Cas guesses he has been for a little while now.

“Morning.” Cas grumbles and Dean chuckles.

“G’morning,” he whispers.

They go on a hunt that day. A ghoul a few hours away. Sam and Eileen ride in the backseat together so Cas takes shotgun and Dean lets him pick the music. He puts on Dean’s top 13 Zepp traxx.

When they get back it’s past dinner and they all shower and clean up which means it’s late by the time they’re all settled, but Dean cooks a meal anyway, calling Jack from his room and they all eat at ten pm together.

The hunt was tiring, so Sam and Eileen go right to sleep, Jack takes over the Dean-cave and Dean lets him. He isn’t ready to go to bed, so he gets his jacket and goes outside.

He sits in baby for a little while, no planning on going anywhere. Cas joins him, tapping on the window to let Dean know he’s there before he climbs into the passenger seat.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks.

“Sitting.”

“For any reason in particular?”

“Not really.”

So they sit together in silence. It’s not sad, actually they feel happy for the first time in a while. Cas let’s himself think about it, this feeling. Dean makes him happy. Dean has always made him happy. The silence doesn’t last long though, and this time it’s Dean who interrupts it.

“Thank you. For staying. For saving me. And Sam. For... just for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me, Dean. I’m happy to do all of that.”

“I know. But I don’t want you to, okay? No more ‘happy to bleed for the winchesters’ shit, got it? You don’t deserve that. I’m not gonna ask that of you, not if I don’t need to. You gotta take care of yourself, man. I appreciate it, but I’d rather have you alive, so no more sacrifices.”

“No promises. And you too.”

“Fone.” Dean nods. “No deals, no dying, just... living. Finally, now that we get the chance.”

“I think we deserve this.” Cas nods.

“I hope so. You deserve more than this,”

“I don’t want more than this though.” Cas says. Dean smiles and nods like he knew Cas would say that.

“I’m glad you stayed.”

“I would’ve come back.”

“Still.”

“I’m glad I stayed too.”

They look forward again and there’s not much to see, but the quiet is comforting. Neither of them want to go back inside, it would mean they go to separate beds and separate rooms and Cas thinks he’d rather not sleep at all.

“It’s late.” Cas whispers.

“It is.”

“Do you think you’ll have nightmares again?”

“Probably.” Dean shrugs. They aren’t looking at each other, Dean is picking at his fingernails and Cas is staring down at the dashboard.

“Me too.”

“We could always... I mean... it’s nice to have someone else there sometimes.”

“It is.” Cas agrees.

“I like my memory foam though.”

“I have no attachment to my bed.” Cas shrugs.

“Good.”

Cas looks at Dean who still doesn’t look back, but he’s smiling and blushing and Cas is secretly aching to reach across the seat and hold Dean’s hand. Begging Dean to take his hand. Cas would throw all his plans out the window for Dean. Technically he has before. He’s thrown out a whole army for Dean. He would do it again too. He’d follow Dean to the ends of the Earth.

Cas gets the sense that Dean would do the same for Cas.

Dean looks back at him and neither of them look away. He reaches out and takes his hand. Thumb smoothing over his knuckles.

They head back inside and they don’t talk about it, but Dean loads up the dishes into the dishwasher and Cas wipes down the counters and then Dean turns and leans back against the counter, Cas does the same across from him.

They’re not quite chest to chest, but they’re close enough to touch and Dean looks scared. Cas feels serene, but his heart is wild. Dean swallows.

“Cas, I-“

Cas reaches a hand to Dean’s arm, calming him. Dean smiles shakily.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. Cas shakes his head and takes Deans hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing his knuckles gently.

“Don’t be. You’ve always done what you thought was best. As have I. We deserve this.” Dean nods, tears springing to his eyes. He steps closer and hugs Cas, holding him like he’s never been held before. Cas could die happily in Deans arms.

When he pulls away, it’s with hands on the other’s face and lips quickly finding each other, gentle and slow and full of emotion.

“I love you, Dean Winchester”

“I love you too,” Dean says, voice cracking.

They’re both grinning through tears and kissing again. They’re both walking towards Dean’s room.

It’s easy, but Cas isn’t surprised at how easy it is to be with Dean. They’ve fought through life and death and more death to get here. They deserve a little bit of easy.

#dean winchester #destiel #castiel #supernatural #fanfiction #deancas #fanfic #destiel fanfic #destiel fanfiction #Taylor Swift #Taylor Swift destiel

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ezlo-x · 2 years ago

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hi...cmere if you want to hear my current thoughts of totk... (spoilers ahead ofc)

Hi :] so since everyone is taking a different path on playing this game this is what I have so far

Currently I have completed the tutorial section, have only Dragon Tears #1 and #2, and completed the Wind Temple

I wanted to write down my thoughts after I finished w the tutorial section but I was just so excited to play I just kept going until I finally decided to take a small break from playing the game for almost the entire day lol. ALSO I will include pics...in some parts

ANYWAYZ THE BEGINNING SECTION I NEED TO GET THIS OFF MY CHEST CAUSE I WAS LOSING MY MIND ABT IT. So when Zelda explains how the "gloom" works I WAS JSUT "...that sounds like the Malice im my au HMMM NO WAY I PREDICTED THIS MY BRAIN HUGE" JNSDKJFNSD I liked that we get to see a little bit more of Zelda before she disappears but also! I liked how she is still prevalent in the story and aids Link at some point in the tutorial section. Also I just find it funny how she appears to people like ghosts knfgskng I know for sure that would be explained why later on.

Now to the tutorial, I had a lot of fun with the shrines better yet all the shrines in general have been super fun. None of them have been a drag to me I have a lot of fun especially that you have to use your arm abilities and that stuff never gets old to me. TBH THO there were a few moments when traveling around the island where my muscle memory is to press "x" to paraglide when I suddenly remembered I don't have the paraglider JFNGKDNF I was yearning for that paraglider.

Sorta of a side note I am really loving how npcs have more personality, like Purah and Robbie just radiate so much more as characters than in BotW. I am loving so far the new npcs it makes the world feel less empty.

Now...to the moment i've been waiting to talk abt. The Dragon tear memories

I love them. I love them SO SO MUCH ESPECIALLY SONIA BUT I FEEL LIKE I LOVE RAURU JUST AS MUCH IDK THEY ARE VERY FUCKING CUTE I CANTTTTT I WANT TO CHANGE MY BANNER TO THEM BUT I KNOW ITS LIKE SUPER SPOILERY OUGHHHHHH

My friends insisted to get the memories in order cause that would make me into an emotional wreck so I can't wait! <3

Now to Rito Village/Wind Temple. First of all, the Rito Theme when its in the blizzard got me a little emotional ngl. It might be cause Wind Waker was one for the first tloz games that i introduced myself to back when I was 14 and hearing it so desolate it almost got me. AND THEN SEEING THE KIDS ALL ON THEIR OWN OUGH (I want to know where's Kass tho...).

TULIN!!! Tulin is adorable idk I enjoyed his character how his stubbornness on doing things on his own was changed to teamwork makes the dream work arc idk it was cute. Teba not being present makes sense to me as he's the new Rito Elder and all. Glad the dude is not dead KJFNGKDJNF

Now the journey to the Wind Temple was so fun it was so fun like idk how to describe it. The ost was amazing especially when finally reaching the temple when you ascend high above the blizzard storm and then you glide down and UGH it was so amazing. The Wind Temple was just as fun it felt like your good old Zelda temple and I love that so much. THE BOSS AS WELL YOUR TYPICAL EVIL CRUSTACEAN WITH WINGS AND UGH!! I Love it I love it sm

NOW AT THE BEGINNING ENTERING THE WIND TEMPLE when the voice appeared, at first I thought it was Rauru. But then I took a second take and he sounded differently than Rauru and I said "oh is this the ancient champion?" AND I WAS RIGHT ITS THE WIND SAGE AND OH OH OH OK

I WAS SO....💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN//? HE LOOKS RAD THE OTHER SAGES LOOK JIST AS AMAZING. AND THEN-

THIS BITCH GOT HORNS!!!! WHAT 💥💥💥💥

HONESTLY ok time to put my critical hat here. Im honestly not expecting anything crazy with Ganondorf like idk I am excited but at the same time I do have that worry in the back of my mind that he would be your typical evil villain. ESPECIALLY SINCE THEY HAVE SUCH A SOLID STORY WITH GOOD WORLD BUILD like I hope they don't blow it up. and ngl I kinda forgot abt Ganondor for a moment cause I've been so fixated over Sonia and Rauru KJNGDJKFNGKDFJ I CANT WAIT TO MEET THE FIRE SAGE THOUGH RAAHGHHGGHH AND THE ZONAI NEXT TO RAURU OUGH I FORGOT HER NAME BUT RAURU MENTIONS HER IN THE SECOND DRAGON TEAR MEMORY THATS HIS BIG SIS!!!!

One more thing I forgot to mention (theres so much stuff don't get me started to how much I love the depth) the soundtrack is phenomenal. When diving down from either the sky or to the depth it so pretty. And like I said the ost where thats building up when reaching the Wind Temple *chef's kiss* AND how the Wind Temple's theme mixes both Vah Medoh's theme (attacking and inside) and Rito Village. Reminding you what you're fighting for especially in Tulin's case

I am having a lot of fun with this game I am currently just wandering around in the Hebra region. ALSO NOW THAT I REMEMBER I WAS REALLY THROWN OFF BY THE SUBTLE CHANGES THE MAP HAS I STILL AM AND I GET IT for like ppl who played BotW make it feel completely different/new. Honestly its fun it feels like im exploring Hyrule for the first time again its nice <3

and that is all I have tbh I might disappear and come back w more ramblings. I want to say more but I don't want this post to be super long. The fact that I only got one Temple complete and two memories and I still have a lot more to do is so crazy to me

anywayz have some pitcures of Sonia and Rauru cause I love em very mucho <3

#totk spoilers #txt

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cosmicaces · 4 years ago

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it’s. it’s something when the game you’ve sunk almost 1900 hours has one more surprise for you. i’ve replayed the prologue so many times, and, on the game’s final day, only just now have i discovered that you could interact with this poster

i may be a writer, but i’m not necessarily good with words. battleborn has had a significant impact on my life, for better and for worse. while gigantic is my special interest as well as the way i met my partner, battleborn was, well, the start, i suppose you could say.

when this game came out on may 3rd, 2016, i was in a real bad spot. my parents relationship had, well, gone south. the process of divorce began in november 2015, and my dad was using me to vent, spouting horrible, awful things to me, lies, blames, contradictions, those sorts of things. i started off 2016 feeling pretty suicidal because of it, leading into a downspiral of self-deprecation that worsened in april. see, my dad had decided to move us back into our shitty down, back on our shitty street, into a shitty house down the street that was small, cramped, and infested with centipedes. my sisters and i, we didn’t want to move, but we had no choice in the matter.

it was at the start of may, the start of going back into that school i despised that i learned about battleborn. i saw the opening cinematic on twitter, and i was in awe, starstruck. this game was a light in the darkness that had made itself so prominent, and when the game had gone on sale, where others laughed and pointed fingers i was ecstatic because that meant i could get it.

my laptop ran this game on the barest of minimum requirements, but it ran. low graphics? bad frames? it didn’t matter to me so long as i could play. i started with orendi. of the starter characters, i thought she was the most interesting, both visual and kit-wise. i played her until the renegade, where i got stuck. it’s embarrassing to admit, honestly, but because of my failures i unlocked shayne and aurox, who i immediately adored. they were witty, snappy, playful, and i loved the energy they brought. as a matter of fact, i played them throughout the rest of story. there’s a simple reason for that though: i just wanted to play mellka.

mellka stood out to me the moment i saw her in the cinematic. looking back on it now, i realize that it was the first step to me realizing that i wasn’t aromantic, but a lesbian (it wouldn’t be until 2020 that i realize that i was demiromantic as well, but nevermind that). she was really cool, to say the least, and god was she pretty! i wanted to play her immediately, but to unlock her you had to beat the heliophage on normal. this meant that i wanted to get through the story as soon as possible. the moment i completed that final mission, well, the rest was history.

i played mellka nonstop, constantly replaying the story and working on her lore challenges. i had almost finished them...until i ran into a bit of a hurdle. see, to get the last challenge, i needed to play with a ghalt. problem was...i didn’t have any friends with the game, hell, i hardly had friends at all. i was terribly shy, and the thought of having to ask strangers for help was terrifying. desperation to complete the challenge won, though, and that ask for help genuinely changed my life forever.

for the first time, i had sought out a discord server and joined a discord server, joined a place with complete strangers and battled through discomfort and fear and soon found my place, feeling comfortable and excited. i was socializing, and my energy knew no bounds. of course, being an 15-16 yr old with unrealized neurodivergency who had minimal knowledge of talking to people would later come back to bite, and now, haunt me, but social consequences had no thought in my mind at the time. i had done what i thought was impossible for me, and that did lead to a positive change. and, y’know, that energy did lead to some good things.

my memories of battleborn are very fond. some of them are tainted now, but stains can only cover so many feelings. feelings of fun, of bonding, of just...not being alone. i never realized how alone i was. as i was playing through each mission, i was just...catapulted with emotions. so many flashbacks of playing through missions, various divergencies of which characters we were, of who was there, of laughs, jokes, frustrations, all of these things. it made me want to smile. it almost made me burst into tears.

it’s not something i’ve talked about publicly, and i’ll scarcely go into detail about what happened, but...man, it’s hard to admit but it’s also because of battleborn that i’ve developed some pretty bad social trauma. it’s...hard, and weird, y’know? like...i wasn’t able to play the game for months after it happened. looking at the game just wanted to make me cry. that situation left me with...so much anger, sadness, and anxiety. hell, i still get angry about it, thinking about the way i was treated, about how i was the youngest person involved but i tried to make things right. i used to think i didn’t handle it in the right way, but i’m older now, and i can say that yeah, i did my fucking best. i think about those people, of course i still think about them. i can’t help but wonder, do they think about me too? do they have any idea how it’s permanently affected the way i grow with people? that i’m so fearful of being annoying, overstepping a boundary, of being lied to, of asking for honestly and being met with 0 response, given no chance to try and make things better? the answers clearly no. i know i’m the only one who still dwells on it, and i feel like they’d laugh at me for it. if they somehow read this, well...cool. won’t bring me any peace. please don’t ask me about it, either

its...not something that feels right to include with a post that’s essentially a memento, but...it’s important, and it did affect how i felt towards the community. i’d see people refer to the battlefam, but...i never felt apart of it anymore. i became all too aware of how my youth affected being apart of a community with adults, and it felt so...less welcoming after that. it’s a shame, really

thanks to that situation, though, i was able to grow closer with two people, my friends viv (@/brokenandazure) and ghost (ghostbones). viv really helped me come to terms with some of my emotions, and i’ll forever be grateful for that. they helped me be outgoing, helped me feel more confident in playing pvp, and is still an inspiration to me with how they can play games and just...be fine and not get frustrated.

i’ve a bit to say about ghost. so, remember how i said how that energy did lead to some good things? well, ghost is one of those good things. i met them through youtube. there had been a link shared on tumblr to their video about alani, and being the only channel who was posting about battleborn, i gave them a follow. still riding off that socialization high, i found myself commenting on all of their videos. they were enjoyable to watch! they’re funny, kind, and they say some pretty insightful stuff! honestly, seeing them upload anything new was a highlight of my day. battleborn brought us closer, and, y’know, they’re kinda like an older sibling to me. they were there for me in some REALLY rough times, and when i say rough i mean rough, and i’ll forever be grateful for that. sometimes i look at payday 2 and wonder if i should reinstall it, just to have another thing to do with them. we’re still pretty close, and we play apex together! they do have to deal with me being a complete sap towards pin though ehehe <3

speaking of pin, well...honestly, while we met through gig, it really is thanks to battleborn that i met her. battleborn helped me learn how to socialize, and it’s through socializing and wanting to find people to talk to about the same interests is how i met pin. i’m...really appreciative of that. my relationship with pin is one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. if you read this, dear, i love you <3

as abrupt as it feels, this post does need to have an ending. replaying through the story felt so...nice. i went from playing it in 2016 with the lowest settings possible to playing it in 2021 with the best settings possible. i never thought id actually be able to see the game in its best form but...i did! and it was like playing it for the first time all over again. sort of. close enough. i think the best part of it was playing through the heliophage without any lag. y’know, i didn’t skip that ending cutscene this time, and, let me tell you, it hit a helluva lot different. i mean, asides from the “game is being permanently shutdown” thing, but the line “may our battle never end”. now, that’s a line that just sticks with you. for the worst thing about my final playthrough, well...it hurt, talking about the dumb shit i’d do. about breaking the map with mellka, of lore squads, of gags, and just...not being able to do anything like that again. it really hurts, but...i’ve found my peace with it. i think. well, it’ll have to do.

in the end, it is because of battleborn that i love, that i know im loved. this game really was something special, and it’s a shame that people never gave it a chance. i’m glad i did. and, in the end, it gave me one final surprise.

thank you, battleborn, for everything <3

#cosmic chatter #text #battleborn #battlebarn #long post #a bunch of thoughts yknow how it is #just....thinkin

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bxthharmon · 4 years ago

Text

Never Go Home Again, Pt. XIII || JJ Maybank x Reader

Words:2715

Series Warnings: violence / talking about abuse / toxic relationships / talking about nudes sex and sex tapes / drugs / underage drinking

Pt. Warnings: abuse / being a fugitive???

Series Summary: A new girl, a shoebox of old memories, a past she’s trying to forget coincide with a hotheaded, but selfless, boy. teenagers getting in way over their heads

Pt. Summary: In a desperate attempt to sort everything out, Y/N finds herself in the ones place she least expected to be

A/N: ok ok ok i promise im writing my requests oops anyway love yall send more requests cuz im always bored. Also, yall dont understand how sad i am that this is ending :( BUT started writing another series so lemme know if u wanna get tagged in that <3

Chapters linked in my masterlist.

“masterlist”

“John B, what are we doing at the police station?” JJ asked, breaking the stuffy silence that was consuming the vehicle.

“Somebody’s gotta tell them what happened.” He justified.

“Need me to come in, like, as a witness?” you asked. He shook his head.

The heavy quiet was broken by Pope, coughing like he’d inhaled chili powder. “Easy there, chief.” JJ reprimanded, and you took the blunt away from your friend. “Alright,” JJ leaned through to John B, “I’m just gonna be real with you right now,” You watched his red cap, “You might end up in the lion’s den, but you don’t go there on purpose. It’s fundamental, just like my old man always told me, you should never, ever trust cops. No matter what the circumstance is.”

“Your old man’s an abusive liar.” Kie countered.

“I agree with JJ.” Pope spoke, and you frowned, holding back the giggle in your lips as he continued, “Fuck the police.”

“You going to the dark side now?” Kie snarked.

“When was the last time the police ever helped us?” He countered.

“Peterkin looked out for me, alright?” John B interrupted, “Or tried to, at least.”

There was a moment of thick quiet before he continued.

“They need to know.”

He looked around, none of you willing to argue as he got out of the car and entered the station. You looked over to JJ, who was determinedly ignoring your stare. You wondered what the fuck was going on because last time you checked, you had been on good terms with him. You sighed, looking out the window and waiting impatiently for John B to return so that the awkward silence would end. You took a hit from the blunt you’d taken from Pope, letting the smoke swirl around in your lungs before gently blowing it out, ignoring the frustrated looks you got from the other three.

Next thing you knew, everyone was shouting and the car was accelerating, the officer trying to open the car door discarded as the shocking adrenaline rush took ahold of the speeding car. Eyes wide, you took another hit from the blunt.

“Good news for residents of the Outer Banks, Dominion Power says their underwater transmission line, which will restore power to 95% of the area, should be functional within 24 hours.”

Sirens passed, but in the hazy atmosphere of the car, no one moved, other than to make sure the car didn’t turn. Pope and Kie sat in the front, JJ and John B to your right, seats reclined as you all attempted whatever kind of rest was possible on the worried heat of the day.

“And still no arrest for the shooting death of Sheriff Susan Peterkin. The state police have issued a statement regarding a local person of interest, a juvenile from-”

Kie clicked the radio off, glancing over at the three of you in the back.

“Let’s game this out.” JJ suggested, “Maybe you guys can help, being the smart ones and all, but… who are the cops going to believe? Ward Cameron or us? So the accuser is a big shot developer, kind of lord of the island, got the governor on speed dial kind of person, and the accused…” he looked over to his friend, “is John B, who is pretty much a homeless 16-year-old boy at the moment.”

“Thanks.” came the hoarse voice of the boy across from you.

“Shit.” you muttered, running a hand over your face and sitting up straight for the first time in hours. You twisted so that your back was leaning on the back oh Kie’s seat, and you were facing the three boys.

“Okay, man, Yucatan, alright?” JJ said, swiftly avoiding your arm as you stretched, “I’m saying, that’s the only option, what other option do you have?”

“Enough with the Mexico bullshit.” John B shook his head. “Sarah’s gonna bail me out.”

“She did witness the whole thing.” Kie pointed out.

“So did I?” you reminded, “So what? She’s gonna snitch on her brother for her dick appointment of the week? No offence, bro.”

“It’s not happening.” JJ reiterated, “We’ve gotta get you off the island.”

“The ferry.” Pope said, “It’s the only way.”

“Exit stage left while you still can.” JJ added. “Before the entire island is on lockdown.”

“Get down.” You reminded him softly, and you all ducked. You reached for JJ’s hand, but his simple gesture of pulling it away made you feel embarrassed, unsure of whatever was going on between you. You turned away from him, looking out the window again.

“Sarah’s not a pogue, John B.” Pope reminded.

“Yeah, you can’t stay here, man.”

“Let’s go then.” You muttered, and Pope pulled out, driving carefully to the docks. They were crowded, and you got out before anyone could argue, thankful for even two minutes out of the suffocating atmosphere. You walked to the sign, reading the notice about the ferry closure and ripping the wanted poster off its staples. You walked back to the car, reading it as you reached the vehicle, then passing it through Pope’s window and shaking your head solemnly. You got in next to JJ as they passed the paper around, JJ making a joke.

“Okay, so the whole island’s looking for John B right now.” Pope said.

“Well at least you know how much you’re worth.” You joked, receiving a frustrated look from Kie.

“Congratulations, John B,” JJ smirked, “you’re famous.”

“We gotta get to the HMS. We need small, no running lights-” kie began to reason, but John B cut her off.

“It’s at the Chateau, Kie.”

“And I wonder if the cops have got the entire place staked out.” JJ said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “Let me think. Yeah, no, they definitely have that place locked down.”

“Hey Jay?” you nudged him, an idea forming, “Like, a couple of weeks ago, you mentioned your dad’s boat? The Ghost? Spectre?”

“The Phantom!” JJ and Pope caught on.

“He still got it?” Pope asked.

“Maybe.”

“You could get that right up the coast, no problem.” Pope said.

Bickering followed, and then the sudden realisation that Pope’s car was on the poster. Suddenly, someone was hitting the window and the car wasn’t starting and everyone was shouting. The car lurched forwards, straight into another car, and then took off, driving away as people watched, shocked.

The car sped forwards, crashing around as you all shouted for Pope to stop, his high ass was definitely not fit for driving.

“JB,” you shouted over everyone, “you need to get out.”

Pope braked, all of you thrust forwards with the force of it, and you found yourself pushing John B out of the car while JJ shouted instructions at him.

The two field tents were massive, rows of chairs on either side as swarms of people worked, talked, and typed. You wandered around for a minute or so, watching the officers interact, always being pushed back when you tried to talk to anyone. You could feel the eyes of the security team burning into you as you looked for Shoupe. Eventually, you saw him, talking to a taller man in an SBI windbreaker. You walked towards them slowly, finalising your plan in your head.

Shoupe saw you, and stepped aside from the conversation so that he was facing you, the agent turning as well, a frown forming as he took in your scruffy attire and the faint smell of JJ’s weed that was clinging to your clothes. You looked between them, “Uh, Officer Shoupe, I have some info.” You greeted.

“Who are you?” The agent interrupted, looking you over again.

“Um, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I know John B.” you clarified, and he nodded.

“What have you got for us?” he asked, and you breathed in, and out, pinching yourself slightly.

“I saw everything on the airstrip.”

The SBI agent introduced himself as Bratcher, then they sat you down in one of the tents, letting you explain what you saw, uninterrupted, and asking questions when they saw fit. They told you that your account, while plausible, was a hard one to argue, especially against Ward Cameron, unless you had a second account to back it up.

Sarah Cameron, you thought. Talk to Sarah.

After taking your statement, they left you to sit in the field tent, shivering in the cold breeze and no coat, watching them call your dad, listening out for any relevant information you could gather.

You could feel their eyes on you, discussing what to do with the information you had for them. An officer, you couldn’t remember her name, had draped a jacket over your shoulders at some point, then led you away while the SBI agent gave a briefing.

You waited at the end of the tent, looking for anything to cease your worry and boredom.

Then you saw her. She looked as lost as you had, trying to work out who to talk to, just like you had a few hours ago. You stepped towards her.

“Sarah?” she turned to you, going to hug you, but an armed officer stepped between you, pulling you apart. “No, she’s my friend!” you struggled towards her, another officer holding her away from you, both of you shouting.

“What’s happening?” Bratcher asked, all of you stopped struggling.

“This is Sarah Cameron,” you explained, “she was there, like I said.”

He looked between you, and nodded, asking her if she was able to make a statement. They took her away, sitting her down at the other end of the tent, letting her talk. You saw Ward approaching.

“Y/N?” he frowned, and you raised your eyebrows.

“How do you know who I am?”

“Sarah’s mentioned you.” he looked around, “have you seen her?”

“Oh, is she no longer locked away in her room?” He tensed, confusion and anger contorting his features.

“How do you know about that?”

“Can’t say.” You said, “Not a great parenting strategy, just saying.”

He leapt forwards, a madness in his eyes that you’d never seen before. He grabbed you by the throat, screaming in your face while you clawed at his grip. Within seconds, other bodies were pulling him away. Your panic subsided, and you looked at Bratcher. You could use the situation to your advantage.

“See what I mean?” you yelled, pointing at him as you faced Bratcher, “He’s crazy! I told you, he attacked Big John, he’s the reason this is all happening!”

Bratcher sighed, signalling for his men to take away the older man. “I have to say, Miss Y/L/N, your story is making more sense. Two stories matching perfectly, his temper. But we talked to your father, you’re free to go, we’re almost done with Sarah.”

“What’s going to happen to John B?”

He sighed, “We’ve gotta bring him in, you understand that.”

You nodded, “I hope I shed some truth to the situation.”

You walked away, leaving the jacket on a chair as you passed, sending a reassuring smile to Sarah on your way out, you wandered the streets, finding your way to JJ’s house.

By some kind of miracle, you arrived at the same time as Kie and JJ. He was getting out of the car when he noticed you, and instead of making any move to hug you as normal, he froze.

“Look, JJ,” you sighed. “Why are you mad at me?”

You stood opposite him in his front yard, staring at the way he sighed, an odd mix of relief and defeat adorning his features. “I saw some texts, from Tyler.”

You nodded slowly. “I rejected him, if that’s what upset you. Since I met you, no guys have been the same, you know?”

His eyes pulled in slightly, as if realising that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t one-sided. “Did you sleep with him?”

“Yeah.” you glanced at the floor, “I don’t really know why. Things were weird between us and I just - I missed my old life. But it was like, the confirmation I needed.”

“What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

His jaw dropped slightly in shock, running you words over in his head, working out whether you were genuine. You began to step back, and before you could think about what had just happened, he was kissing you.

It was urgent, emotive, full of everything that you couldn’t put into words. You broke apart, still slightly shocked at the confession. You looked at his front door.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

He looked to Kie, who was pretending she hadn’t watched, and nodded apprehensively, slipping a hand into yours and leading you to the door. He opened it, leading you through into the mess. You stepped over shoes and bottles as he led you in, calling out for his dad.

You ventured into the living room, seeing his dad passed out on the sofa, a half empty bottle of something on the table next to him. “Dad, I need the keys to the Phantom.” a snore sounded, “Dad?”

You looked down, noticing the sleeping pills and picking them up, showing the bottle to the blond boy next to you. Watching him, you could practically feel the hurt resonating off him, masked by his strong resolution as he looked back at his dad. Noticing the chain around his neck, between you you found a pencil and pin to get the keys with.

You stood a couple of feet behind him as he knelt down, preparing himself.

“Well, I didn’t expect to see you.”

The voice was a murmur, almost soft, and your heart was beating in your throat. You knew what he was capable of.

“You’re back.”

This time, Luke had more clarity in his voice, and was more awake. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

“Just checkin’ in.” JJ said, backing away as the older man sat up, taking a swig from a beer bottle.

“School out already?”

“What?” JJ frowned.

“Did you ditch? It’s alright, you can tell me.”

JJ nodded slowly, “Yeah. I hit the break, you know?”

“I hated school too. My boy!” Luke chuckled. You felt intrusive, like you were standing in on a moment that wasn’t yours to see. But the moment felt intimate, hitting you where it hurt as your eyes went glassy. “You know what? Listen, hey.” he stood shakily, “Hey, look, I know I’m hard on you sometimes.” JJ hummed, fear mixing into his pain, “But sometimes I - I see your mother in you, and it gets me a little tweaked, you know?”

You wiped a tear away, the scene before you hurting more than you would like to admit. The man looked at you, and you could see JJ’s shoulders tense.

“You got a girl?” he didn’t look away from you.

“Uh, yeah, Y/N.” JJ looked over at you, worry seeping into his eyes.

“You treat my boy better than I could, okay?” You nodded slowly, more tears slipping down your face.

“Of course.” your voice broke slightly, “I love him.”

“Me too.” His head turned back to his son, “I love you, son.” He pulled JJ in, “Come here, I love you. I love you, son. I love you.”

More than anything, you wanted to call him out. Tell him that if that was true, then he wouldn’t hurt JJ like he did. But whatever this moment was, it wasn’t the right one to do so.

You could hear JJ sniffling, letting his hands find their way onto his father’s back. When he spoke, he sounded like he wanted to be stronger than he felt, his voice thick, pained, struggling. “Love you too, Dad. I’m sorry.”

“Ain’t got nothing to be sorry for.” His father muttered, the sleeping pills pulling him back out of consciousness, slowly as ever. JJ helped him down onto the sofa. “You’re a good boy.” came the murmur.

JJ let out a shaky breath, not sparing you a glance as he pulled the chain from his father’s neck and stepped away. He looked back at you, almost embarrassed to have let you see him in such a vulnerable state. He turned to leave, your voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

“JJ, you don’t always have to be strong, you know that, right?”

Tags: @tangledinsparkles @jellyfishbeansontoast @lolitstiana @ilikealotofpeople-younotsomuch @teamnick @thoughtsofthestars @obxmxybxnk @pcterparxer @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @sxcretinhuman @alexa-playafricabytoto @angvelics @badwolf00593 @coloradogirl07 @mendesmaybank @jiaraendgame @5am-cigarette @emerald-xcd @haharudy

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