#ive had both my entire life and am well aware of the different ways that cats show affection than dogs

[vxsellie]

‧₊˚┊simple living things﹗

a hunger games!au ellie williams fanfiction.⌇ 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭 𝔦𝔦

summary. to give a final goodbye to someone you love is generally the last thing anyone would ever wish to do. though, when being shipped off to your death, it's the equivalent to being given a final meal whilst on death row.

content warnings. abuse, mentions of death, implications of murder, and (the worst of all) a lesbian breakup

total wc. 5,225

notes!! here she is! i wrote this in one sitting on the night before christmas, literally up until two am bc my thoughts wouldn't stop flowing (ive had writers block for the past few months so you couldn't pry my keyboard from my cold dead hands). anyway here she is! once again, reminder that it's better read on ao3!

𝜗𝜚 series masterlist ⸝⸝ playlist ⸝⸝ ao3 𝜗𝜚

14:45.

DISTRICT SEVEN.

“What were you thinking?” 

Despite how loud Marlene’s voice is, it sounds rather muffled. Ellie’s thoughts all jumble together into a plethora of unintelligible abstraction. This results in outside noises becoming equally as cryptic.

After the Reaping, both tributes were escorted into the Justice Building and forced into separate rooms. Having grown up amid the Games, Ellie’s aware that this is the part where she’s supposed to say her final goodbyes to her loved ones — an hour of time allotted to these farewells. And, despite knowing that all twenty-three other tributes are going through the same thing, Ellie couldn’t feel more alone. There’s a sickening sense of finality to this. Like she’s cattle bred and born to await death. Like there’s nothing more to her life aside from this — being Reaped to never return.

And, with the time given, Marlene has opted to use the entirety of her visit reprimanding Ellie for how she’d acted on stage. Not that she doesn’t deserve to be chastised, she knows she does, but it’s still fucked up.

See, after her name had been drawn, Ellie’s entire world fell out from under her feet. She knew there was a possibility of her name being drawn, she’d be a fool not to at least acknowledge that fact. But to look that fate in the eye and have no way of revoking it? That’s an entirely different pill to swallow. As she stood atop that stage, the escort’s piping voice ringing through her ears, Ellie simply could not seem to comprehend it. But then she felt a weight in her hand, a warmth. She turned to see Riley, her jaw set and her eyes darkened. She grabbed Ellie’s hand and hoisted it into the air.

To Ellie, it was a rather odd thing to do. But, as Marlene is pointing out presently, it was an act of defiance against the Capitol itself. Ellie had no idea. Not that she doubts it, what with Riley’s outward distaste for the government, but it just hadn’t dawned on her that the mere act of holding a friend’s hand would piss off the Capitol. It’s kinda funny.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?” Marlene groans, her pacing coming to a halt as she whips around to face Ellie. Her expression isn’t one of rage, as initially expected. Instead, it’s one of genuine panic. Well shit, apparently holding hands really is treason.

Ellie doesn’t respond, her face dropping instantly. She pins her gaze to the floor, staring at the same rusted nail she’s been looking at for the past ten minutes. In fact, she’d been so zoned out that she hadn’t picked up a single thing that Marlene was trying to say. Usually, this would amuse her. But now, with her impending doom so leering, she can’t help but feel ashamed. She may never see Marlene again. And then what? Her last memory of the girl she’d raised from infantry would be of her zoned out whilst curled into a ball on a dilapidated sofa. That’s rather pathetic, is it not?

She shudders, pulling her knees even closer to her chest at the thought. She doesn’t yet know who was Reaped from the other Districts, but she’s sure they aren’t all pouting on their couches like children. Still, she can’t seem to remove herself from this position — one of self comfort. 

Something touches her knee and she flinches, tearing her gaze from the floor. She looks up to see Marlene sitting beside her on the couch, her gaze softened. Ellie hadn’t even noticed her approach. Fuck. See, this is the exact thing she’s worried about. If she were to zone out like this in the arena, she'd be dead within minutes.

“You didn’t hear anything I just said, did you?” Marlene asks with a sigh. A wave of guilt washes over Ellie’s body before she nods, admittedly having heard nothing. “I was saying I’m sorry. I don’t mean to shout at you like this, especially considering the situation. I’m only lecturing you because I’m worried. I’ve seen the Capitol kill people for less than holding hands.”

Ellie shakes her head, though the act is faraway. “The Capitol can’t kill us now that we’re tributes. To do so would only result in more defiance from the viewers. They’re anticipating a show, to kill off the characters would be antiprogressive.”

“No, but they can surely make your time in the arena worse.” Marlene points out. 

Ellie thins her lips at this, but ultimately says nothing. This is not what she wants to hear right before being sent to her death. She wants consolation and comfort, not reminders of how little control she has in her own life. But that’s just how Marlene is — she gets stressed and rambles. Most of the time, it's a harmless habit. Right now, though, it’s proving to be rather taxing.

“Look,” She sighs, “I’m not good at this whole thing, talking. Everyone knows that. It’s– Well, it’s the entire reason I never had any kids of my own.” She sighs again trying desperately to make sense of her thoughts and word them in a way that doesn’t sound like an insult. “I never wanted children, but raising you was the best thing that ever could have happened to me. Losing you would thereby be the worst thing to ever happen to me. I only shouted at you because your safety means everything. But— you’re strong, Ellie, and so very brave. If you put your mind to it, you can make it out of that arena. I believe in you. All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

Ellie is certain that’s the most Marlene has ever spoken in one go without shouting or giving up halfway through. And for that, she’s grateful. Ellie swallows harshly, her throat suddenly feeling too big for her neck. She leans forward.

She doesn’t hug Marlene, not necessarily. She simply flops into her, thumping her forehead onto her shoulder. Her body is stiff and her jaw is clenched tight, but the act of the touch still carries a sense of sentimentality to it. Especially considering she and Marlene never hug. In fact, she thinks she only ever hugged her once in her whole life. Again, it’s not anything to pity her for, it’s just their relationship. A fact of life. Some people are touchy, others aren't. And Marlene is definitely among those who are not.

She rubs a hand up and down Ellie’s back, though it’s more so to do something with her hands rather than to comfort her. 

They remain like that for a long time, sitting in silence because neither of them are skilled at voicing their emotions. Ellie’s mind continues to move at a million thoughts per second, though it slows a little in the absence of Marlene’s shouting.

Roughly twenty minutes go by before Marlene pulls away. She has a hand on each of Ellie’s shoulders, a foot between their faces. She stares at her, brown eyes flicking across each one of her features, as though to memorize her before departure. Ellie mimics her, taking in the sight of the woman who raised her — from the slope of her nose to the arc of her brows. Afterall, this might be her last time to do so. No matter how hard she believes in herself.

“I ought to go visit Riley.” Marlene says with an awkward cough, standing from the couch. “She doesn’t have any family aside from you and I.”

It’s true. Riley’s family is rather complicated seeing as she doesn’t have any. It took seven years of being Riley’s friend before she confided in Ellie about her past. And, after hearing it, she couldn’t blame her for her hesitance. 

Her father was a rebel. He hated the Capitol and everything related to it. He wasn’t married to Riley’s mother when she got pregnant, hadn’t even been dating. They simply had a fling and moved on — hence his oblivion to the fact that she’d been a Peacekeeper. Riley’s dad lived a life of tranquil solitude, aside from frequent whippings as punishment for opposing the Capitol so vocally. Truly, he’d been lucky to not be assassinated on the spot for his insubordination. The entirety of Seven knew him for his rebellious nature.

So, when Riley’s mother came forth with an infant in her arms, he was shocked. He couldn’t believe that she’d gotten pregnant. Though, more importantly, he couldn’t believe she was a fucking Peacekeeper. He tried to keep his calm, civilly agreeing to partial custody over their daughter. 

But, when Riley was about four years old, their refined consensus came to an abrupt end. They got into an argument. And a bad one, at that. Nobody knows the exact details to its origin or entailments, but it’s widely known how it ended — Riley’s mother dead and her father as an Avox for the Capitol. His punishment for her murder.

Riley subsequently grew up in an orphanage, though she inherited her father’s rebellious nature and oftentimes escaped over the fence. She’d spent more time in the woods than she had in the decelit building — chopping wood and climbing trees and visiting the Hob. She’d grown rather skilled at it, the illegality of escaping. She met Ellie in elementary. She’d been scaling the fence, intending to flee the school. Ellie had caught her and insisted she teach her how to do it. Begrudgingly, Riley agreed. From there, with many details gone unmentioned, they became friends. Now look at them Reaped for the Hunger Games together. Ugly ending to a beautiful story.

“Yeah.” Ellie agrees curtly to Marlene’s suggestion. “Yeah, she’d appreciate that, I think.”

Marlene nods in agreement prior to turning on her heel and exiting the room.

Ellie sits alone for a few minutes, returning to her humiliating fetal position. She hugs her legs to her chest, dirty shoes on the cushion of the couch. Though the sofa isn’t in the best shape considering the prodding springs and frayed stuffing. She rests her chin on her knee, staring at the rusty nail she’s grown so fond of.

She’s not sure how long she sits like that before a knock is heard at the door. She groggily tells them to enter, causing the door to creak on its hinges. A face pokes inside prior to the body attached. Cat.

Her black hair is done up, pinned into a purposefully messy bun, bangs cut shorter than usual. It looks put together, but in that I-woke-up-like-this way. Her eyelids are colored in a shiny crimson, her lips in the same glossy tint. Her skin looks inhumanly smooth, her eyebrows impossibly thin. She’s wearing a strapless baby pink dress that’s uncomfortably close to the shade of her skin, coming to her midthigh. Her shoes are the same red as her eyes and lips, clicking against the wooden floor as she walks. She looks like a Capitolite in the way her features are accentuated, though human enough for Ellie to still find her attractive

She instantly straightens, confused. “Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be on a train to the Capitol?”

“Well,” Cat begins, shutting the door softly behind her as she walks over to the couch Ellie is curled atop. She sits down beside her, the cushion dipping under her weight, which instinctively pulls Ellie toward her. “I caused a bit of a scene, insisting I had to see you. And, considering it’s a hassle to find another stylist so late into the Games, I simply dared them to fire me. They didn’t, of course, and instead opted to just give me time to see you, albeit minimal.”

Ellie laughs, though the sound is hollow. This draws a tight expression from Cat as she takes in the sight of the girl before her. Ellie suddenly feels self conscious, wearing a wrinkled linen shirt while Cat looks like a literal fucking deity. Not to mention the pathetic way she’s presenting herself — small and weak. She sits upright, swallowing as she runs her hands down her shirt in a futile attempt at flattening it.

Cat stops her, placing a hand on her wrist. Ellie looks at the place where she touches her, taking in the sight of her perfectly done nails. Baby pink with crimson colored accents. God, every single detail of her is altered for the Capitol’s preference.

“I got you something.” Cat whispers, removing her hand from her wrist to reach into the purse Ellie hadn’t even noticed she carried with her. She holds out her hand, a small piece of metal resting in the center of her palm. A ring, in the shape of a moth. The body is the centerpiece, the wings made to wrap around the finger. “Here,” Cat grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling it forward before slipping the ring onto her index. 

“I love it,” Ellie breathes, holding her hand out in front of her to admire the ring.

“I made it myself.” Cat says. Ellie should have guessed. She knew Cat enjoyed making jewelry, using spoons and other random hunks of metal to concoct something ugly into something pretty. She’s spoken of the hobby before, though she’s never revealed any of the end products. This is Ellie’s first time seeing one of them.

She suddenly recalls the rule that tributes are permitted to bring one token into the arena from home. One thing to remind them of their identities — which are sure to be lost in the Games. Ellie had completely forgotten about the rule, it never having crossed her mind. But looking at this ring now, she’s certain this is the perfect thing to bring. A reminder of home. Not of a place, but of a person. Of Cat.

“I love it.” Ellie repeats more furtively, turning to kiss her.

However, before their mouths are able to touch, Cat lifts her hand to Ellie’s chest. She pushes her away. And, though the act is as gentle as possible, Ellie still feels as though she’d been shoved. She leans back. Cat’s expression is pained, not at all matching the cheerful makeup she wears.

She shakes her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I love you, Ellie. Truly. A part of me likely forever will. But– to be in love with you would only end in causing us both an insurmountable quantity of pain. I can’t consciously do that to you. Even our current relationship is deteriorating your mental health. You’re too dependent on what we have, too afraid to lose it. To allow you to continue down this road would be wrong of me. To even have begun it was wrong. And now that you’re going into the arena, I just– adding yet another burden to your shoulder would be wholly immoral.”

Ellie doesn’t know when, but amid that confession, she’d begun crying. Not just due to the breakup, though, if she could even consider it that. But due to everything. Riley distancing herself recently, the Reaping, Marlene’s shouting, Marlene’s halfhearted farewell, and now this? On top of it all?

“So you’re breaking up with me to ease your own fucking conscience?” Ellie snaps. She doesn't mean to say it. She doesn’t. It’s just all become so much for her to carry. And it’s so easy to drop it on Cat after what she’d just done.

“No.” She insists, nigh pleading in her denial. “Ellie, no, you know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then why even give me this?” She asks, holding out her hand with the ring on it. “For me to bring a reminder of your absence into the arena?”

“No, no.” Cat continues to deny Ellie’s accusations. “Not to remind you that I left, but to remind you why I left.”

Ellie scoffs, “Now you’re just saying shit. You’re not even trying to make sense.”

“Moths, Ellie.” She says, grabbing her hand in desperation for her to just fucking listen. “They’re attracted to the light. No matter where they go or– or what environment they’re placed in, they find a light. Something to always keep them going. Something to fight for. Something to reach. I’m holding you back, don’t you see? I don’t want you to fight to get home. I want you to fight because you know you’re worth it. You’re worth living for, even without me or Riley or Marlene. For you. Be your own moth, your own light.”

Ellie wipes roughly at her face, fists scrubbing at her eyes painfully. She wishes she had something clever to say. Something smart that would make Cat rethink everything. But all she can muster is a mumbled, “Moths are fucking ugly.”

14:45.

DISTRICT FOUR.

Your ears are ringing, a loud chiming sound that makes your head swim. Despite this, you keep your chin high as your mother shouts orders at you. You’ve long since tuned her out, which is something you’d never had dared to do prior to the Reaping. But you’re being sent to the arena — you’ll either die in there and never see her again, or you’ll come back a victor and thereby be of higher status than her. Whatever you do now matters naught.

She’s rambling on about something regarding orders to return home. Not because she cares for your wellbeing, but because it’d shame the entire family if you were to die on live television. 

She’s standing across the room from you, her pale blue dress somehow perfectly cleaned despite the journey she made across the grassy courtyard to the Justice Building. Her wrinkled face is contorted into an unreadable expression, the illegibility irritating you. Her golden cane is perched under her clasped hands. God, the woman is the embodiment of power despite having earned none. 

“I get it.” You cut her off, tone just as sharpened as hers, almost as though you’d spent years honing it into a blade serrated enough to challenge her. “I’ll come back. If not, you’ll be embarrassed. Poor you, right?”

The expression of shock on her face is almost worth the punishment — which ends up being hit by the end of her cane. Had it been the usual wood, the pain would be tolerable. But it’s pure gold, causing your mouth to fill with blood. You spit onto the floor and she begins to reprimand you for doing that, deeming it to be improper. You ignore her, massaging your newly bruised face.

The punishment for your statement would likely have been far more severe if you weren’t destined to be put on camera for the country to gawk at. A wound on your face would be shameful. A bruise, though? Your prep team can surely cover that up with a bit of makeup.

She finishes her castigation, seeming to have worn herself out. She then turns and storms out of the room. You almost didn’t notice her swift exit, as she’d made no effort to say goodbye or wish you luck. Just ten minutes of shouting prior to causing a splitting headache and a bruise to the jaw, uncaring to hear you utter a single syllable. Best mom ever.

See, most people deem this event as emotional — an hour allotted to parting ways with your loved ones. But your mother doesn't see this as a parting. She expects to irrefutably see you again. And very shortly, at that.

You’re alone in the room for only a few seconds before a shy knock is heard at the door. You’re confused by this, unsure of who else could be here to see you. “Come in.” You call out, moving to stand over the stain of blood you’d left on the shiny hardwood floor. Thankfully, your dress is long enough that the skirts cover up the space beneath you.

The door opens and a wrinkly old man pops inside. Your lips part at the sight of mister Alden entering the room. You rush forward, offering your aid in his walking. He takes it, looping his arm around the crease of yours.

There’s a small couch with two cushions in the corner of the room. You walk him over to it, easing him onto the sofa before sitting next to him. You cross your legs, “What are you doing here? I know it’s a far journey from where you live.”

He sighs, “You’re like a daughter to me, Y/n. And, though neither of us are willing to address that aloud, we’re both well aware of it. I’ve known you since you were three years old and just learning how to walk. In fact, I can vividly recall the very day I’d met you — you were asleep on your brother’s back, clinging to him like a sloth as he made the trek down to the docks. You were such a small thing, then. Chubby little face and a diaper that didn’t fit.” He smiles fondly, looking at you as though he still views you that way, a baby. “The point is, to not visit you would be cruel. And I’m not a cruel man.”

Your eyes burn as you listen to him. He’s right. You both know it. You and Ruben are like children to him. And he is definitely not a cruel man. You wonder if he’d visited Ruben when he was Reaped. Probably. But you don’t dare ask, not wanting to speak of your brother any more than necessary.

“Oh!” He jolts as though he’d just remembered something vitally important. 

You watch as mister Alden reaches into the pocket of his coat and pulls out a dainty necklace. A white pearl resides in the center, acting as a pendant to the thin silver chain. Your gaze softens as you look at it hanging between his shaky fingers.

“It’s beautiful.” You tell him.

“I want you to have it, to take it into the arena.” He says. “You remember my granddaughter, the one who was facing her first Reaping today? She made it for herself, and planned to wear it into the arena had her name been drawn. She spent weeks searching for the perfect pearl, then another few weeks saving up money to buy the chain.”

Your chest twists at hearing this. You could easily buy something like this from a small shop down by the beaches. It wouldn’t even cost you a day’s allowance. You shake your head. “I can’t take this from her. It’s too special.”

“I insist.” Says he. “When she heard your name called, she instantly turned to me, slipped the necklace into my pocket, and demanded that I bring it to you.” He lets out a light chuckle. “Her ferocity reminds me of you, actually. I don’t even remember telling her about my visits to your house. No shock she found out, though, she’s so bright for her age.”

With a grunt, he pushes to his feet. You rush to do the same, standing beside him in case he needs assistance. Instead of asking for aid, he tells you to turn around. Without hesitation, you oblige. You then feel something cold wrap around your neck. You look down to see the thin necklace now placed across your collarbones. It’s absolutely stunning. Mister Alden fumbles with the clasp, his shaky hands struggling to work the tiny thing.

When he finally gets it on, you turn around to see that he has tears in his eyes. He takes in the sight of the pearl necklace paired with the navy dress, the silver chain matching the silver diamonds adorning it. He nods, wiping roughly at his eyes. “You’ve grown into such a lovely young woman.”

You swallow the lump in your throat before pulling him into a hug, having to hunch over a bit due to his lack of height. He hugs you back, sniffling. It’s rather telling that the random stranger that you buy your seafood from is more caring than anyone in your family. But he’s not a stranger, is he?

After a few minutes of sentimental embrace, he finally parts from you and leaves. On the way out, you catch a glimpse of a tear rolling down his cheek, the droplet catching the light for a split second.

Alone in the room with about ten minutes remaining, you walk over to the window. You look at your reflection in the shined glass, taking in the sight of the necklace. Knowing how long it’d taken to create only adds to its beauty. The dresses your mother has fitted for you are paltry; replaceable. But this? Nobody could recreate the months spent making it, nor could they recreate the small hands that did so.

The sound of footsteps entering the room draws you from your thoughts. You catch his reflection in the window before he’s even fully through the door. Your entire body tenses, something shifting in the air at his presence. Something deep, deep inside you. Like the atoms that make up your very being have been furtively yearning for this moment. For his proximity.

You turn to face him fully.

Ruben.

You’ve seen him around, of course. You’d seen him less than an hour ago. Everyone has seen him, what with the Capitol flashing him around nigh as much as the country’s flag. He’s their brightest diamond and their largest star — the abnormal mixture of UY Scuti with Sirius, creating something impossible to tear one's eyes away from.

You two have spoken as well, albeit in short increments and only when mandatory. So, truly, you’re not sure if it counts in terms of conversation.

He shuts the door slowly, facing you with an unreadable expression. No– that can’t be right. You could always read him, you could always understand him. But right now, not a single word comes to mind as you look at him. He’s a closed book that you’d once memorized every page of.

He stares at you for a moment, gaze lingering on the bruise forming on your cheek. You wonder if you should hide it or not. But he likely knows exactly how it was induced — knowing the feel of your mother’s cane all too well, as he’d grown up taking hits for you daily. It takes a few minutes, but he eventually tears his eyes from your face and looks around the room, looking at the intricate ceiling or the swaying chandelier.

“Been a while, huh?” He huffs a laugh, though it’s dry and lacking any scrap of genuine humor.

You think about this, about what he said. It’s been a while. The world’s biggest understatement, that is. You’re suddenly filled with an immeasurable amount of rage. It’s been eleven fucking years. And he has the nerve to say it’s been a while?

Eleven years since he was Reaped. Eleven years since he was the one in this room. Eleven years since you came to visit him, sobbing and begging him not to go to the arena. Eleven years since Ruben returned from the arena. Eleven years since your brother never returned. Eleven years since the boy who raised you, who protected you, who taught you to walk and talk and eat, vanished.

You say nothing to him, not trusting yourself to speak without either screaming or crying. Or, most likely, both. So, insead, you remain silent.

Ruben sighs, leaning back against the wall with crossed arms. Something about that action makes you visibly wince. He’s so confident. The Ruben you knew was an awkward young boy, made complete with lanky limbs and oversized eyes. Strange little habits — like the way he didn’t ever know what to do with his arms, or the way he always tapped his left foot when he was nervous — made him human. But not anymore. He now knows exactly what to do with his arms and he wouldn’t dare show when he’s nervous. His humanity is just another thing the Capitol stripped him of.

“You don’t have to say anything, just listen.” Says Ruben. He then inhales deeply, his jaw set and eyes piercing; a Capitolite in all but name. “This is the last time we won’t be monitored. After leaving this room, everything will be tracked and recorded and analyzed — the train, the center, the arena. From here, you’re never alone. Even in the bathrooms, privacy doesn’t exist.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “So you’re saying you need to tell me something the Capitol can’t hear?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, “Exactly.”

“Okay, so what is?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. Of course that’s what he’s here for. Not to wish you well or say goodbye — though he likely also expects you to win; he was raised by the same monsters, after all — but, instead, to warn you. To make sure you survive the arena so as to not penetrate the family name.  

“Something is wrong with this year’s Reapings.” He explains. “Districts Two and Three both had a pair of siblings Reaped – Lev and Yara from Two, Sam and Henry from Three. Then, if that weren’t enough proof as is, Districts Five and Seven both Reaped a set of best friends — Selene Jones and Ariande Evans from Five, Riley Abel and Ellie Williams from Seven. Not to mention the pair of lovers that were Reaped from Six — Roland Jennings and Archie Bardot.”

You take in what Ruben is saying, thinking hard about it. You were Reaped alongside a small child, a little boy who you’d never seen before in your life. That doesn't seem rigged, but there ought to be some kind of intentional malice behind it.

“How do you know all of this?” You ask, though you know the answer. “The Reapings haven’t aired yet.”

“I know people.” He says rather ashamedly, as though he’s already aware of the kind of reaction this will draw from you. 

Anger sparks up once more at the mention of his ties to the Capitol. Not only is he using the Capitol to help you in the games — a perk no other tribute has — but he’s managed to fucking memorize every name name of importance. You don’t want to be treated as some sort of celebrity. You were Reaped with equally poor luck as Lev, Henry, or Ellie; or whatever their names were. You should therefore be held to the same expectations, not given hints into the Games. Which, by the way, is highly illegal. Not like Ruben would be punished. He could probably murder a Peacekeeper on stage and manage to get away with it. 

It makes you sick.

“Okay, great.” You bite. “You told me what you needed, you can leave now.” “No, Y/n, you’re not understanding.” He insists, taking a step forward. You take one backward, almost on instinct. A pained expression crosses his face, though it vanishes just as quick as it’d appeared. He sighs, running a hand down his face. “These tributes won’t be killing for the sake of winning, they’ll be killing to save themselves alongside their loved ones. Had you and I been in the arena together, our strength would have doubled. Just imagine that. For at least five other Districts, their wills to live are multiplied. And the—”

His words are cut off as the door slams open and Peacekeepers come filing into the room to rudely announce that your time is up. It’s time to board the train to the Capitol. To the Games.

[post] notes!! don't really have any (for once), i'm just so so so so excited for u guys to read this bc i write things way prior to posting bc i like to proofread like 50 time before releasing it. anyway yeah, u guys barely know abt this bad boy while im typing this

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[warlordfelwinter]

im more of a cat person than a dog person i think but there is just nothing quite like being a dog's favorite person and seeing the just full body exuberant joy in them when they see you

[mariyekos]

FF/IV Week Preview

Okay now I'm excited for FF/IV week so I thought I'd try to draft a little something. The final fic won't be in script format like this, but this bit branched from bullet notes so it stayed in that format and that's what you get as your little preview. This is for the prompt(s) Taste of Freedom/Locked Up!

Rosa or someone: “If anyone has shackled you, it’s yourself. Though they may be a symbol of Baron’s past, they need not be Baron’s future. Baron has succeeded without Dark Knights in many a battle before, and can continue to succeed without them in days to come. They’re so few in number; would it really make that much of a difference to remove them entirely?”

Cecil argues yes. A good military is well rounded. If they’re to keep Baron and her people safe, they must be skilled on multiple fronts. He in no way means to discount the efforts of the Dragoons, the Black and White Mages, the Cavalieres, the Footmen, or the Kingsbow, but they are not Dark Knights. Someone must hold the van (hold the fore? Front the van? Phrasing). They need someone to protect them. 

Rosa: “Then let us create a new Dark Knight! If we are lacking in protectors, if Dark Knights are truly so indispensable because we have none to take their place, then let us mold a new sort of Knight. Let us forge a newer, stronger shield to helm Baron's defense. You need not throw away your life-”

Cecil: “I am not throwing away my life, Rosa, I am putting it to use! I am honoring my king and country! I am doing as my forebears did, fully cognizant of the cost and fully willing to pay it! Why can you not understand this?”

Rosa, unbelieving/scoffing: “Do you not hear yourself? Have you not listened to your own words; have you no awareness of the tone in which you speak them? Where is the Cecil of my childhood? Where is the boy who treated all with kindness, who thought the best of people and did not let fear overcome him when it had not earned its stay?"

Cecil, angry: “I have grown, Rosa. Father- the King grows fearful of war. Mysidia has grown more covetous of its crystal, Fabul is raising an army, and Damcyan-”

Rosa: “Damcyan is a center of the arts, Fabul holds fast to its traditions in order to fend off the monsters that lap at its border just as they do ours, and Mysidia covets its crystal no more than Baron covets her own. What wrong have these places done, Cecil? What reason have you for action other than unfounded fear and insecurity?”

Cecil, doubting himself: “You know not of what you speak.”

Rosa: “I know well enough! And if I do not, then tell me, Cecil. Let me bear some of the load which has burdened you so. Since you claimed that armor I’ve been watching it freeze your heart bit by bit, and I fear that one day it will be lost to a frost that shall never be thawed. Please, Cecil, listen to yourself. When you speak, who do you hear? Yourself? Or the armor?”

Cecil, after a long pause: “The king.”

Rosa: “…So you say. But you are your own man, Cecil. Speak for the king if you must. I only ask that you think for yourself as well. The old Cecil would. The true Cecil.” 

Cecil: “...”

Other convo? Or the same with a bridge?

Rosa: "Does your heart not cry out for these people? Do your eyes not ache with sympathy?"

Cecil: "Of course they do-"

Rosa: "Then why do you not listen? Why do you insist upon following this course? Why ignore the feeling born from your very core?"

Cecil, trying to convince himself as much as he is Rosa: "Because the heart is not the only place from which one should make decisions. It is at war with my mind, and much as I would like to listen to it, as much as I have listened to it in the past, I cannot ignore what I know to be right. I cannot ignore my King’s words. He has given me orders, told me to look for our enemies to keep our people safe, and it is my duty as both son and knight to listen. It is for the good of Baron. For the good of its citizens, you chief among them. What if in bowing to my heart I invite disaster? Decisions must be made by logic, and in this case my mind is set. I must listen to it. I cannot afford the travesty that might result were my softness to harm us."

Rosa:" You limit yourself. Wound yourself. You are fading, Cecil, and every day I see you I fear I’ve lost another part of the man I grew to love. If you continue to chip away at what makes the man I once knew, one day there will be nothing left. Who will protect me then? A man? Or an empty husk?"

Cecil: "Rosa-"

Rosa: "I must take my leave. I’ve dallied far too long; I promised to tutor one of the new mages at the tenth bell, and it rang out some few minutes ago. I hope you take what I’ve said to heart, Cecil. I know it still exists somewhere down there. You need only find it."

(she leaves).

(note: cecil absolutely places his heart first, but he's trying so hard to be an impassive/impartial judge that he's overcompensating. If it came down to it, and in Mist when it DOES come down to it, he would absolutely bow to his heart, no matter how much he claims to value reason.)

[chronically-enthusiastic]

Sooo.... Below the read break is kinda my autism journey? Well masking journey probably. I did this both for myself, and for any other people out there who are looking for stories of other people and their experiences. And also a bit for the picrewcule bc ive posted some stuff about struggling with friendships recently and yeah..... :)

I was always the weird one in primary school... I was bullied in my first school, maybe a combination of autism and faith? But it led me to have to move schools... In my second primary school, people didnt bully me as overtly, but they would run away from me if I went near them and they called me unpleasant things. I was asked why I was weird quite a few times and my answer was that i had learnt how to interact in a normal way at my previous school, and now i am here and I dont know again... Which looking back was very self aware if me, but also very autistic of me....

I did find friends at that school, but they were so toxic and oftentimes mean that it would probably have been better for me to not have made friends at all....

Every time i went back after a half term, i would cry and plead with myself to just try to be normal. Theyll like me if im normal, they wont run away from me in the playground saying ive got the cheese touch. But each time I failed to make myself normal.

UNTIL!! i started high school. The mask fell into place in year 7. And it worked! No one was mean to me, infact I even found a few nice friends! But every time the mask dropped slightly accidentally i would feel so so bad inside, like i had done the worst thing ever and i had messed up forever.

Then year 8 came along. And masking all the time took its toll. I was crying every day needing to go to the library. I forgot what it was like to feel happy. I was so so tired and so so sad. I forgot who I was. Family friends were asking my parents if I was okay because i seemed so different and sad. And I would say im fine, because my life was fine. I had family who loved me, a school that I enjoyed, and friends who cared for me. I had no reason to be depressed.

Aannd then lock down happend. And that possibly maybe saved my life. I wasnt at that point yet, but I think I was on that trajectory. I found myself again in lockdown! Thats the short of it! Yay!

Then school started up again and i masked again, and i started going downhill again. Fast forward to yr11 when I was missing so many lessons because of anxiety/overstimulatiin.... And people noticed this time and I got therapy! Halfway through therapy me and my therapist seperately came to the conclusion that I was probably autistic. And everything made sense.

I started to lower the mask and almost immediately lots of my anxiety ceased. I started to learn who I was again, and I felt so much happier. And now? Im in a new school without anyone I know and ive dropped the mask almost entirely.

First weeks are always hard for me. I was expecting to need to miss almost every lesson this week and to be crying constantly. Ive gone to every lesson and this week has been about as bad as a normal week at my old school. I have support now.

Masking really took its toll and I am so glad Im in a position that I dont need to anymore. I dont want to end up back where i was in year 8, or yr 11. But it does mean its harder to find friends.... But as you have said, its better to have friends who know the real me and who like the real me than friends who like a mask.

[bonniebonnibel]

big text dump incoming, but I had a breakdown in the shower and a bunch of realizations and emotional outpour, so i tried to pen it all down and now im posting it so I dont go back.

-----------------

the dam finally broke and i had a breakdown while in the shower, having an absolute fit and finally letting go. crying despite not having any tears left (im probably very dehydrated atm) and collapsing, just not keeping control of myself and letting things happen. and now after all that I feel... different. I feel like I havent been being honest with myself, keeping myself rigid and controlled, and now its more... honest. both the movements my body makes, the way I feel, i feel... looser, freer, but also aware of it all. and as well i managed to group some of the stronger explosions of emotion i am/was experiencing and MAYBE decypher them a bit.

Im feeling regretful and mournful of my past. All the connections and growth i lost or never made. growing up i grew up... wrong, whether thats from myself or my parents or what im not completely sure but i grew up in a strange incomplete way, developing myself slower and disjointed compared to everyone else, staggering at certain points like when i reached high school and I had to convince myself i was going to die in my sleep tonight in order to get through the day and that got me through about 4 years of my life insofar as I can remember, since ive blocked out a lot of that period of my life with only broad overtones surfacing. i drove away or lost the friends I made, both by moving frequently due to being part of a military family and because i was obnoxious and difficult to be around (not delving into whatever might have been the cause of THAT) and eventually stopped trying to make connections later in life due to losing all of them, even once I finally got better and people just never contacted me again. I never figured out what i was doing with my life and just kind of went through the motions, drifting through it and just Being. and now as i close in on my 27th birthday ive become more and more aware of how much i missed out on, the connections, the growth, the direction, all that could have been that I never had and im sad for it. Im lonely and scared.

Im afraid of the future, its taken me so long to develop to what I am now which is still dysfunctional and incomplete and im almost 27. People have acomplished so much more than me in less time and have full complete lives and I have barely anything. Im afraid that I'll never be able to do the things deep in my heart that I want to do, to make the things that I feel will give meaning to my life because I DO have those things but they were never supported so i never felt they were possible, and i still dont. Ive been drawing (loosely) for some years now and I still feel like a fake about it.

I feel wrong and like a hypocrite. I feel like the most meaningful and important thing in this world is belief. Its in the things I make, its in my thoughts, its a core part of who I am as a person and my very soul. Believing in someone else and believing in yourself will help you acomplish so much in this world, the absolute trust and condfidence that stems from it allowing people to feel like they arent alone and supported being such an amazing thing. And thats why i tell people I believe in them all the time, because I do. its always genuine when I say that, I DO believe in you so wholeheartedly. I believe in the things you want to make and I think that you can do it, and i want you to, i believe in the good in you and all that you can be. and I think you should believe in you too, because you deserve it. But deep down i feel like a gigantic hypocrite because I dont and cant believe in myself. The most important thing in my life is the thing ive always wanted and never really gotten, and I remember now how close to the center of my heart that wound is. Nobody ever told me they believed in me in my entire life, not without it being patronizing or part of some show or fake in some way (and i know how that sounds but i mean it for real, it was never genuine) and honestly thats all I ever wanted. To have someone be close to me and tell me that it will be okay and that they believe in me. that its okay to fail, to hurt, to not have to control yourself and keep up an act all the time. Ive never been allowed to be vulnerable, to be myself, and now because of that i have to painfully peel shell after shell off myself while also being terrified that one day im going to run out of shell and there wont be anything there underneath, that this has gone on so long so LONG that all thats left of 'me' is the double fake paper mache construct made to keep up the act.

even now im sure this isnt everything and im terrified to post this and truly expose so much of myself to the 'public' (haha barely anyone follows me) but i have to. I cant keep hiding and shielding and faking anymore i HAVE to take these steps even if it makes me uncomfortable, even if it hurts or alienates, because the alternative is a life that wont be my own and endless dissatisfaction and melancholy and im going to struggle against that as much as I can while I can.

-------------

so all of a sudden i got overwhelmed by ????stuff???? and am very much not doing okay and im documenting my twitter posts on the subject here. edited as needed and im sorry but i have to keep track of all this I cant let these things fade away again I cantt

[callmethehunter]

I've read a few fics by different authors about Robert, and I'm kinda confused. They portray him in different ways, so what's his personality like in different aspects? I know that he's extroverted (I saw him getting typed as an ENFJ) and extra, and has a warm heart, but what about his flirtiness and apparent hedonism? How does his rural ideals contrast with touring? I know people are multifaceted and no one's flawless, but I still wanna know some things for certain.

Oh dear Anon, you have made my day! These are great questions about my favorite subject in the world: Robert Plant.:D And as far as that goes, I could (and will) go on and on about this forever, I’ve got so much to say!!

I’ve been obsessed with Robert’s music as well as with his personal life for years. I find him to be a multifaceted, highly talented and intelligent person who embodies traits that one would think were mutually exclusive, yet are somehow at home in him. He is without a doubt, totally outrageous and extroverted, he wants to be the center of attention, yet he is also reclusive, a deep thinker who is keenly aware of the world around him while also being introspective and self-aware. In his own words he has said

“It's part of me to get off on those moments where... well, what people would call attention. Obviously, that isn't the be-all and end-all of life, but at the states of creativity that I've reached, well, it helps the lyrics along a little bit.”

“ I’m pleased with how ridiculous I am. I like me. Though I’m not a huge fan. I know when to switch me off.”

I do think he has a very warm heart. He is genuinely interested in other people, in experiencing the most out of any given situation.

In my opinion, he loves the idea and the feeling of falling in love. He gets off more on that than on the longevity of it. It’s like he’s got ADHD in the aspect of love lol!! I say this because of the number of serious relationships (and not so serious relationships) that he has had in his life. I’m sure he was saddened when they ended, but then he’s moved on to the next great infatuation and adventure. He’s quite capable of starting again, as he has shown multiple times both in his personal and professional life. But I also think it’s a testimony to his heart that he’s been able to continue to be friends with his past loves. “There have been people I've warmed to over the years but, as the situation I'm in is so fleeting and transient, I've always known it's going to be over kind of real quick.”

I mean think about this: after having children with two sisters, Maureen (his exwife) and Shirley, they have been able to raise their children in what looks like a loving extended family. His sons, Logan (with Maureen) and Jesse (with Shirley), are half-brothers as well as first cousins. Just think on that for a moment. In a recent picture, there’s the entire family on vacation: Maureen, Shirley and their children with Robert, as well as Robert and a previous girlfriend, Jessica something or other (don’t remember her name). He’s not confined to societal conventions. He could give a flying fuck. I love that free spirit and he himself has said (and I paraphrase) that he may come across as being a good mate, but in reality he’s out to do whatever the fuck he wants. (And it shows!! )

He says, “...if you do what you think is right for the benefit of everybody and everything and you make decisions, then to go back and regret them afterwards - it's a futile experience and it's not worth thinking about. Because life just unfolds. Provided you do your best and you think you're on the right track, you can only be right or wrong. But to regret it - I don't think there are any huge errors or misdemeanors.”

In the area of friendship, however, he is fiercely loyal. He and Bonzo were like brothers till the end, and even still, Robert honors his dear friend. He’s also been able to maintain friendships with so many people from his hometown- people he knew before he was famous. He puts away the trappings of fame and fortune to be the good old Black Country boy, riding horses and playing with goats, walking around in the forests and enjoying nature.

“I think I could sing and shear a few sheep at the same time.” he says. He is the picture of the word “earthiness”. Able to be the rock god on stage as well as the humble farmer on the farm or at the local pub. He’s loyal to his soccer team and to the sport itself which has been a lifelong passion. I love that in him.

Is he a hedonist? Absolutely!! he has tasted every pleasure there is to taste. His every material wish could be a reality in an instant...He has done drugs, had hundreds of one night stands. He is a highly sensual man. IMO the sexiest man that’s ever walked the planet. His sizeable bulge perpetually stands as a symbol (no pun intended) of his virility and lust (and I like it!!) He exudes charisma and raw sexual energy. He’s done it all to the highest level, partied and cavorted around the globe. What a life he’s lived!!

But he is also soulful- in his lyrics there is also a deep spiritual side of him: I think he is a modern day troubadour and philosopher. His lyrics touch on that, “it is the springtime of my loving” ….“In the light you will find the road” “when all is one and one is all” “Then as it was, then again it will be, though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea” and I could go on and on with other examples. These are just what popped in my head. “I am a reflection of what I sing. Sometimes I have to get serious because the things Ive been through are serious” He’s experienced moments where he is the “golden god” as well as tragic moments such as the loss of his 5 year old son and the loss of his dear friend Bonzo. These are definitely reflected in his music.

And finally, in his own words:

“I'm like one of those firecrackers that goes off in your pocket occasionally. I'm not really struggling with it as much as the people around me. But at least I'm not doing too much damage to anybody or to myself. It's just the condition I'm aware of."

And he’s still got a twinkle in him and always will.

Thank you for letting me go and on about this man, he holds such a special place in my heart. He is a beautiful and joyous old hippie full of wisdom and talent. He has created a lasting legacy and I hold the deepest admiration for him, despite his human frailties or shortcomings.

If you have read this far, you deserve a kiss and a medal! Thanks so much for this ask!!

[wienerbarnes]

Witch Bitch

Pairing: Bucky x Witch!Reader

Word Count: 3,943

Warnings: witch stuff, burning at the stake 😳

A/N: this is heavily inspired by american horror story: coven bc i recently watched and ive been binging all of it lately but its not necessary to know anything about ahs lol i kinda just used their fancy magical terminology and concepts bc they were cool🤪 

MAIN MASTERLIST

The best time of the day was breakfast. It was the time when Bucky, Sam, and Sharon were most often together. Sometimes training overlapped and they missed lunch. Sometimes missions ran long or friends were in town and they missed dinner. But the morning? They were all early birds, all awake by seven. They took that shared characteristic and shared breakfast together whenever they could. Bucky usually took care of the coffee, Sam usually took care of the eggs and bacon, and Sharon usually took care of the bagels, toasting them to perfection before slathering on a layer of cream cheese.

It was a moment of peace in their day. Quiet before the noise of the gym or the conference room or the jets or the private trainings or the interviews with prospective agents or anything else they do on a daily basis. It was a time for three friends to just sit and eat and enjoy each other's company as though they are just that: three friends. Not super soldiers or captains or special agents. Just people being normal. Normal doesn’t last long, though. It never does for them.

Bucky’s on dish washing duty this morning while Sam and Sharon chat idly behind him, waiting for him to finish so they can all leave together. A soft voice interrupts them, though, making the three of them stop what they’re doing because no one has access to this floor except for the people that live here - meaning them three.

“Who’s in charge here?” You ask.

“Who the hell are you?! How did you get up here?!” Sharon asks, ignoring your question.

You were in a long, flowy black skirt, slit cut in the left side exposing your leg, and a long-sleeve black shirt, tucked beneath the waistband. Think black boots cover your feet and a black hat sits on your head to complete your look. Bucky almost doesn’t notice the folded black umbrella underneath your arm as his eyes trail down the multiple chains and necklaces around your neck, falling between your breasts.

“I’ve been trying to find someone to help me but the people in this building are not very helpful. I figured I’d find who’s in charge myself, something that you all don’t seem to want to help me with, either.” You explain.

“The only way to even enter this building is through strict appointment and background checks, and no one’s even allowed past the nineteenth floor.” Sam explains.

“Why are you entertaining this? I’m getting her out of here.” Sharon says, moving to walk towards you to take you out of the building herself.

As she nears closer and closer, you wave your hand lazily, without taking your eyes off Bucky, the only one who hasn’t said anything this whole time, and Sharon collapses on the floor soundlessly.

“Jesus!”

“What did you do!”

Both Bucky and Sam panic as they rush to Sharon’s body on the floor. They frantically run their hands over her body, looking for the point of injury that made her collapse the way she did, but they find nothing. No holes, no blood; she didn’t even make a sound.

“She’s not breathing and she doesn’t have a pulse, what the fuck did you do to her?!” Sam yells at you.

You roll your eyes, “Okay, you got me. I don’t need help finding who’s in charge, I already know it’s you. I still do need your help, though.”

You’re ignored as the two men hover over their friend, unsure of what to do or what even happened to her.

“Oh, alright, move.” You order them, stepping over Sharon’s body.

You stand before her, lifting your hands to hover over her body before closing your eyes and letting out a deep and long exhale. Bucky and Sam watch as it takes only about seven seconds for their friend to suddenly gasp for air, jumping back to life. The boys crowd her once more, checking her eyes, her pulse, everything to convince themselves that she’s actually alive like that, and if she was even dead in the first place.

Sam finally looks back up at you from the ground, as though he just remembered that you’re there, “What are you?”

You smirk in response, ready to finally get what you came here for.

…

“So, you’re a witch?” Sam asks, the four of them now occupying a private conference room for some privacy.

“A witch who killed me.” Sharon adds.

“And a witch that brought you right back.” You reply, leaning back on your chair, leg crossed over your knee, slit exposing your thigh. Bucky’s eye twitch to look at your bare skin for a second before returning to meet your eyes.

“So… what do you do?” Bucky asks.

You smile at his innocent curiosity, “All witches don’t have one universal power. Some are clairvoyant, some do voodoo, some dabble in pyrokinesis, divination, transmutation, descendum,” You glance over to Sharon, who’s still pouting at you, “Resurrection.”

“And can you do all of those?” Bucky asks.

“Almost all of them, but I’m not here to talk about me.”

“Why are you here?” Sharon asks.

“You guys hunt the Nazi’s, right?” You ask, aiming your question towards Sam, knowing he’s the Captain in charge.

“Hydra, yes.” He confirms.

“Well, your Nazi’s somehow got a hold of my magic. And they are playing with very dangerous fire,” You begin.

Bucky interrupts, “We’re all for taking down Hydra, but, don’t you think you’re a little more… powerful than us?” He asks.

“Bucky!” Sharon slaps his arm, as though she’s shocked that he would ever admit such a thing.

“I am. But I’m not that powerful, either. Not anymore, at least. A group of those Hydra invaded the coven my sisters and I were at. I was the only one that escaped.” You tell them.

“Did Hydra take them?” Sam asks.

“No, they killed them.” You respond, growing irritated as the subject grows touchier and touchier.

“Can’t you just bring them back like you did me?” Sharon inquires.

“No! I can’t. Like I said, I’m not that powerful anymore. Maybe I’d be able to bring back a house full of dead girls when it was me and twelve others but it’s just me now. I wouldn’t come all the way over here if I had other options.”

Silence grows over the group as they process what you’ve gone through. Surviving through the massacre of your fellow witches and not being powerful enough to find the people that did it on your own. You’re vulnerable.

“So what can we do?” Sam asks, ready to join forces with you.

“Help me locate the men who did this so I can handle the magic part.” You tell him.

“What magic do they have?”

“Although witches control most of the magic, sometimes it can be taken on in… physical forms. Specifically blood. The blood they retrieved was from a witch that was skilled in Vitali Vitalis.”

“The alive within the living.” Bucky translates.

“There are two worlds: the living and the dead,” You begin to explain, “Vitali Vitalis keeps the balance between these two things and it’s one of the most difficult powers for a witch to master. Oftentimes it’s used to give parts of your own life, health, and energy to someone who needs it. But it can also allow you to take life from someone and give it to yourself.”

“Like immortality?” Sam questions.

“Not quite. Any witch can be killed with a knife or bullet. This kind of magic keeps you from dying of age. I’ve only ever known one witch who mastered it.”

“What happened to her?”

“She used it for evil, like this. Took the souls of hundreds in order to allow herself to live for almost three centuries. Until she was killed, of course.” You finish, a small smile on your lips knowing that she got what she deserved.

“What, you burn her at the stake?” Sharon jokes.

“Yes, actually. We did.” You tell her matter-of-factly, becoming more and more irritated at the fact that she doesn’t seem to take this is as seriously as you are.

Bucky interrupts, sensing the rising tension between the two girls, “So when we find these guys, you’re going to burn them at the stake, too?” He asks.

“Yes,” You say, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “The consequence of using magic like this for evil is death by fire. I hope you all don’t think the rules will change on account of these men being Nazi’s?”

“Well, we just have a different way of doing things -” Sam begin to defend

“Yes, I’m aware. The countless destruction caused by you and other militaries, the millions of innocent lives lost yearly, not only in the constant war and irresponsible handling of your nuclear and alien weaponry, but by incorrect prosecution. Not to mention the billions of dollars spent on your ridiculous prison systems that don’t work when actual bad people escape and the death penalty practices in certain states. I just figured my way was easier. And cheaper.” You reply.

Silence crowds over the four of them once more as they think over all their options.

“I’m in.” Bucky speaks first.

“Me, too. Even if I don’t like you.” Sharon follows.

“Feeling’s mutual, dear.” You smile at her.

The three of them look to Sam, waiting for his commitment as well.

“Alright. Let’s get to work.”

Plans were made, theories of location were thought of, and plans to execute the mission were put into place, all of which included you. A temporary room was given to you when the information of your lack of a place to stay was brought to light. Only for the duration of this mission, is what Sam told you, but you can spot the amount of love and light in his heart from miles away.

It was later that night, and you’ve since cleansed the room, going as far as to place a protective spell on the entire floor. You’ve lost too much already, and you’re not about to risk anything.

A knock at the door sounds and the visitor you’d been expecting has finally arrived. You walk towards the door, still in your clothes from earlier but now you’ve removed your shoes, and open the door to reveal Bucky.

“I was waiting for you.” You tell him.

“How’d you know I’d come?” He asks, stepping through the door when you step aside, silently gesturing to him to enter.

“I can hear your thoughts. You've been debating whether or not to come see me for the past thirty minutes. Your mind is very loud.”

“Tell me about it.” He mumbles to himself, thinking about the countless nightmares, voices, and all the other reminders of just how loud his mind was.

“You can ask all your questions, you know. I won’t take any offence. You’re just curious.” You tell him, settling on your bed, hoping he’ll join you and stop hovering near the door.

Luckily he takes the hint and takes a seat across from you.

“I’ve never met a witch before. A real one, I mean. Like, someone born a witch. Like Salem witches -”

“I understand.” You chuckle lightly.

“You don’t seem… afraid of me. Or, hesitant, rather.” You tell him, thinking about how he’s received your presence here compared to his colleagues.

“I was wary when you killed my friend, but… you just need some help, is all. I’m sorry, by the way, I’m not sure if I said it before, but, I’m sorry for what happened to your friends.” He tells you.

He’s very polite. But you supposed that’s not abnormal considering he got his manners from the 1920’s. You like it, though. You give him an appreciative smile before giving him the okay to ask you whatever he wanted.

“So you said that witches can master multiple powers but have one specialty; is yours resurrection?”

“Yes; it was the first power I ever exhibited when I was a teenager. I was about fourteen or fifteen. My next mastered skill is descendum and then clairvoyance, where I was in my twenties, or so.” You tell him as he looks at you with pure fascination in his eyes.

“What is - what is descendum?”

You pause, “The power to descend your soul down into the afterlife - to hell. And return alive.”

His eyes widened, not even knowing that was something someone can do; not even knowing that hell existed in the first place, “So, you’ve been to hell?”

“Yes. I’ve also been able to retrieve people from hell, their soul. A variation of my power of resurrection, I suppose.” You explain, not being too fond of that power; descending to hell.

Bucky sits in silence for a few minutes, and you let him. You can hear the question lingering around in his head; what he’s thinking. But you let him build up his own courage to ask it. You know he’s only scared of the answer; the answer you know he’s not going to like.

“What is hell like?” He whispers.

“It doesn’t matter what my hell is like. Everyone has their own personal hell they experience when they die.” You tell him.

Confusion clouds his features as he registers your answer.

“Is there… Is there no heaven?”

You smirk, “It’s nice that you’ve remained religious after all this time.”

“Yes, there's heaven. But only for the purest and most innocent of souls. And rarely do people escape life without sin. Everyone has evil in them.” You tell him, knowing it’s a harsh truth that no one wants to hear.

The people Bucky’s killed, the crime he’s committed, the families he’s hurt; it all passes through his mind. Everyone has evil in them.

“What was your hell like?”

“I’m not telling you that.” You tell him quickly.

Bucky ponders what his own hell will be like, after seeing the way you’re clearly shaken up about your own. The fall from the train. The man in a lab coat sawing off the rest of his arm. The needles poking through his skin in the middle of some facility. The chair.

He doesn’t realize that he’s looked away from you until he snaps his thoughts back to the present and sees he’s looking down into his lap. He glances up to see your face, your soft features and kind eyes staring at him. He glances from your eyes to your lips and back up again before clearing his throat, not realizing how close he got to you during his time here sitting on your bed.

“You know, I, uh, I should go. Thank you for, uh, answering my questions, but we head out pretty - pretty early tomorrow, so,” He trails off, standing and patting down his shirt to smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in a nervous habit.

He makes his way towards the door and his hand touches the knob when he hears your voice, “Hey, Bucky?” He turns slightly to face you again, a hum to indicate for you to continue.

“Thank you for coming to see me. And thank you for all the kindness you’ve shown me. You’re a very good person.” You tell him sincerely.

He gives you a nod of you’re welcome before exiting.

He’s not sure if you told him that because you truly mean it, or if it’s because of the state of anxiety and existential crises you’ve put him in now that he’s going to be thinking about his personal hell, but he appreciates it, nonetheless.

He thinks you’re a pretty good person, yourself.

…

The mission goes off without a hitch. The combined skill of the Avengers’ stealth, spyware, and experience along with your magic and witchery makes for an easy capture of the men who killed your witch sisters and stole your magic.

It’s not long before the facility they were at was shut down and cleared out, arresting any officers and rescuing any prisoners or hostages, and the five men specifically responsible for the destruction of your coven are in separate custody. What’s left of the blood is returned to you, as well.

That’s where the group of you stand now, a decision to be made about the criminals you’ve captured. To be put in the maximum security prison floating in the ocean, or to be put to death by fire.

“I don’t believe in being the executioner of people.” Sam tries to convince.

You can’t help but let a laugh escape you, “Do you know who you work for?! Do you know who you are?!” You remind him.

“Those guys can’t escape the Raft.” He tries, referring to prison in the middle of the ocean you’ve heard about.

“You did.” You respond, knowing about when Steve Rogers took him out of that prison, along with other superheros.

You see Bucky and Sharon look between the two of you, torn between how these Hydra criminals should receive their fate. Staring into the hot depths of flames or rotting alone in a cell? Both seem to be too merciful, in Bucky’s opinion.

“This isn’t just running the facility or experiments, Sam. This is different. They were using dark magic to commit crimes. Maybe they should face the consequences of a dark-magic-punishment.” Sharon offers.

You don’t have time to be shocked at Sharon agreeing with you and picking your side before Bucky agrees and Sam is outnumbered. He stares at you and gives a single nod, allowing you to do this your way.

You smile, a silent thank you for giving you the closure and opportunity to serve justice to those who did you harm. “Off to Massachusetts, then.” You tell them, and Sam takes his seat in the pilot's chair, Bucky accompanying him in the front of the jet.

You take a seat, making yourself comfortable for the flight to Salem and you feel a body take the seat next to you. You glance up to see Sharon looking at you, but you notice she has something in her hand, offering it to you.

You look down to see a small plastic bag of fruit gummies. But not just any fruit gummies, you realize. Halloween themed fruit gummies. The pictures on the outside show the various options inside: witch’s hat, a broom stick, a melting pot, a vial, and a magic wand. Hilarious.

You take the gummies, though, accepting her attempt at a truce.

It’s not long before you and your temporary teammates find themselves standing before a large, empty field, multiple wooden stakes standing about fifteen feet tall scattered about with plenty of space in between.

You lead the walk to a group of them standing tall in line, so the men can be burned at the same time, as opposed to one by one. A group of large, burly agents lug the Hydra operatives along, behind you and the rest of the team.

Bucky hangs around your left, as to not be in the way of the black umbrella held in your right hand, and Sam and Sharon trail behind you. You can sense their uneasiness and tune out their worried thoughts. Everyone’s first burning is always an experience; they’ll get over it.

Bucky doesn’t seem worried, though. In fact, you can’t hear his thoughts this time around. But he still stands tall and straight, walking with confidence, so you make a safe assumption that he’s okay.

None of the men’s cuffs or shackles are removed, but thick rope is tied on top of it, around the wrist and looped around the waist, tying them to the stake. The cuffs are special grade - high tech Avengers vibranium - and they can be retrieved later once the fire burns out.

“Any last words?” You ask, more for tradition than whether or not you actually care.

They look scared, obviously not expecting their fate to look anything like this. You remember seeing Bucky tackle one of them in the facility, prying his mouth open to rip out a tooth, or what looked like a tooth, like a dog caught eating something it wasn’t supposed to. A cyanide pill.

Silence comes from them, except for one of them, “Hail Hydra!” He yells, as if that cowardly and pathetic phrase would change anything.

With a raise of your hand, seemingly with no effort, you wave it and the stakes all begin to rise up in flames. There’s nothing to spark, no twigs, no gasoline, nothing, and Bucky watches as the flames rise, growing stronger as they engulf the five men. They begin to scream, and Bucky looks over at you, as if to confirm you didn’t bring gasoline or something with you, and he sees a smile slowly grow on your lips.

They haven’t stopped screaming; they’re still alive when you turn and begin to walk back the way everyone came. Bucky follows, and eventually Sam and Sharon do, too, the other agents staying behind until the end to retrieve the cuffs and shackles that will survive the fire.

“So, now what?” Sharon asks, the air quieter as the screams have slowly stopped in the distance.

I can’t imagine what kind of paperwork follows this, “Back to the tower.” Sam responds.

“The coven’s only a short walk from here.” You say, not needing to elaborate much more. The men have been caught and brought to justice, but you still have a broken, battered, and beaten down coven to fix.

A friend of yours was meant to go by and retrieve the… bodies. Which you’re grateful for. But magic won’t help you fix the walls, the floors, mop the blood, or find other witches in need of an escape and a place to improve and master their powers. You have a lot of work to do.

As the view of the jet gets closer, you prepare to bid your goodbyes to the Avengers, your thank you’s as well. Regardless of your attitude towards them before, you couldn’t have done this without them.

A metal hand engulfs yours, pulling you back a bit as Sam and Sharon continue on.

“Do you need any help?” Bucky’s warm and gentle voice floods your ears, hand still in yours.

“You guys have been more than enough help, now, really.” You try to tell him, but he has none of it.

“You may be tough, but you can’t fix up that house by yourself,” He tells you, “I can be pretty handy, fixed up a few things back in my day.” A soft smile grows on his face.

You glance over his shoulder as Sam and Sharon wait by the entrance of the jet, “Don’t you have to go back?”

“They won’t miss me.” He tells you, not even looking back to confirm with his teammates, hand dropping to run it through his hair.

You giggle at him, before giving him a shy nod in answer to his offer to help you fix up your big house.

“I’m going to hang out here for a few days.” He yells over his shoulder.

“We figured.” Sam calls out, and Sharon throws you a wave as they board the jet, the opening close after them.

“Lead the way?” Bucky offers you, taking your hand once more, interlocking the fingers this time.

And so the two of you are off, one of your hands still clutching the umbrella, holding it above your head, and the other hand interlaced with the one of a handsome and kind super soldier. This wasn’t the way Bucky expected the last two days to transpire, but he’s glad they led to holding the hand of a very pretty witch.

[marcyclone]

sorry for taking so long to reply ive been so busy lately and haven’t had the energy to reply but here i am

you bring up a lot of interesting points that i don’t necessarily agree with but are intriguing nonetheless lol. that’s an interesting viewpoint but i can’t say i agree; being drunk isn’t the same as being intoxicated and they seem to be aware of themselves enough to go do a thing they enjoy doing and happen to do often. that and also the actors and directors themselves have stated outright that mac is the one being raped and that’s the intention of the scene. i also just like it and think it’s funny lol

tbh i LOVE you’re welcome so so much, it’s the only part of that production and cast recording that i like, i enjoy both of them because they have different accuracies to the scene but I also haven’t actually SEEN you’re welcome ive only ever seen blue. i just like you’re welcome more mostly for personal reasons lmao it’s cathartic to listen to after recent events. the inclusion of duke in both the party and the double date is CRAZY and i will never ever get why on earth they did that. exactly what you said lol why they entirely changed the motive and didn’t just do it the same way the scene was built up in the movie is so very strange.

the poc duke thing is not something i noticed until you brought it up (since i don’t like the musical very much so i havent seen any productions other than the one with Barrett) and now that i actively think about it when i see the musical productions you are entirely correct that is SO weird. i don’t even see what the point is if there implication like you said doesn’t exist. i don’t know how id feel about it if it did though since it’s still very divergent from her original motives and i think it muddies her character. but heathers the musical does modernise the movie a lot so perhaps it would’ve been more appropriate. the asian Mac thing is something that i was subconsciously VERY aware of the possibility and i am just. floored that someone actually did that

thé fiction does not affect reality thing is SO true i dont know WHERE it got misconstrued that everyone thinks we are just saying fiction doesn’t affect reality AT ALL. because that’s ludicrous and no one who is mentally well would say that lmao. it’s nuanced and dependent on a lot of things and people don’t seem to understand that. i joke to my family members ‘be careful of any opaque mugs i give you’ constantly when they say something that jokingly offends me but i can’t imagine anyone actually doing that because they saw heathers lol.

i dont agree with the idea that chandler is a poor little baby who has such a sad life and she’s a closeted lesbian bit i also don’t agree with the idea that she’s a soulless irredeemable asshole who will never do any good. there’s NO way she’s a closeted lesbian let’s just get that out of the way now lmao. headcanon wise why not, but the movie was made in the 80s lmao that is probably NOT something that ever crossed their minds at any point in the process of making the movie and the character. i think she is just a bitch, that’s how she is and that’s just how some people are, but bad people can do good things; It’s shown that she thinks of Veronica as a friend, or at least values her more than duke and Mac because of all the pictures of them together in her locker and the fact that she trusted Veronica enough, maybe not exactly to expect a real hangover cure, but at the very least to expect her not to give her something gross. i recognise that that is highly subjective though and may or may not have been the intentions of the directors — it’s completely possible that chandler keeps all the pictures of veronica just as a status symbol of sorts (not the word im thinking of but it’s 2 am), or she really does drink from the mug because she doesn’t want to be seen as spineless. it could be a combination of both. who knows. but you’re right, giving her a sad baby backstory is taking away ALL the substance of her character. she’s cold, she’s a dick, she’s sharp, she’s cruel, she thinks of herself as a GOD, that’s what makes chandler chandler.

OPINION

You cannot be a heathers fan and be an anti shipper. From my extensive research I have confirmed that JD and Veronica is the most popular ship. That is a proship! JDonica is a PROSHIP! JD is ABUSIVE!!! He sexually assaulted her like 3 times in the movie! But theatre fanbase is not ready for that conversation. I have my eye on ALL OF YOU.

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VII

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It took me far too long to recover from the discovery I’d made deep beneath the foundation of the Sheikah estate. Who knew how many more had been forced to suffer at the hands of the Yiga over the course of that period? It was high time to end this era of tyranny and grief, and to have anyone but myself take the lead was not an option. Whatever truth was waiting for me at the end of all this, so be it. I had to see it with my own two eyes. I had to see her.

To help set my plan into motion, the only person I had left to turn to was Prosecutor Sigatur, and though she had once held my mother in the utmost respect, she had benevolently volunteered to present my findings to the courts in my stead. As confident as I was in my argument and as desperately as I desired to be there for Link, I couldn’t quite stomach the thought of taking the stand and exposing myself to the discrimination of the public eye again.

And so, as the proceedings went on for the following few days, I spent my time back at the apartment, making myself useful by poring through my mountainous collection of data on the eighteen-year-old incident that I’d amassed over the years and had been keeping in my office until now. Now that I had been let go, my flat was practically overflowing with newspaper clippings, copies of investigation reports, and whatever else not. Every time I would open the door upon arriving home, I’d get hit in the face with the musty stench of dust and old magazines that I had nowhere to properly put away.

Though my collection was indeed vast, it was far more so in physical volume than in information. Most of the documents in it were no more than different accounts of the same basic facts. All the useful info I could glean was that the fire at City Hall had taken the lives of most, if not all, administrative officials who had been there working at the time, and those members of council who may or may not have been killed had never been seen nor heard from again, their bodies left for ash. And according to my sources, Mayor Hyrule had been amongst them.

There was a certain line in her letter to Auntie Impa that had tipped me off to her current whereabouts. “...I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife...” The imagery laced so intricately into those words had struck a nerve. There was only one place in this town that both would’ve been of any significance to her and was covered in ash: the crumbling ruins where the former City Hall had once stood.

Having reached the point of culmination in my plotting, I invited the newly reinstated Constable Fyori over for tea. The two of us meeting in my office would have been preferable, but we’d just have to make do with this for the time being.

“If my hypothesis is correct, then I am about to enter the belly of the beast,” I deliberated. Seated on my settee and restlessly tapping the floor with his heel, Link listened with both eyes and ears as I paced about the room. “Ideally, I’d have some sort of backup at my disposal. Maybe I could phone Urbosa and ask her to lend me a hand, just once more...”

“If I may,” he butted in, “why are you speaking as though you’ll be on your own?”

I hadn’t been nearly as prepared as I probably should have been for such a question. “Well...” I stammered, forcing the shame of admitting that I was too afraid to confront my own mother alone down my throat, “would you happen to know someone who’d be willing to accompany me?”

His mouth gaped at my answer. Then jutting his neck out and laying his palms across his chest, he stood up. “Me!”

I took a step back. “Link, what are you talking about?” If something happened to him as a result of this, which was more likely to occur than not, then his last moments would surely be filled with nothing but fear and regret. Not to mention, I would never forgive myself. “I really shouldn’t have to remind you. She’s the reason your family—”

“I know,” he snapped. His eyes were burning a hole straight through me. It was almost frightening. “Believe me, I’m not about to go forgetting it again any time soon.”

“Then why...?” I half-whispered in the most deathly serious tone I could muster.

“Because I’m tired of hiding.”

A harsh breeze rattled the blinds against the window frame. It took me by surprise, but he wasn’t phased by it in the least.

“I’m tired of turning a blind eye and acting like none of the horrible things she’s done ever happened.” I tried to think of a snappy rebuttal, but none came to mind. He’d said these words as though they’d been burning on the tip of his tongue for an untold number of days. He’d had a lot of time to reflect between his false conviction and his acquittal, so it seemed. He and I were of the same mind, of course, but... “And, because...” He stopped himself. Some of the fire in his gaze had gone out in smoke. I got my hopes up when he broke eye contact for a moment or two, and I could all but sense the resolve in him dying, just a little bit.

But then, emitting a slight sound of frustration, he stepped closer. His hands gripped my shoulders, and he pulled me in with the force of a hurricane.

When his lips made impact with mine, my eyes flew open.

He kissed me with what could only be described as reckless abandon. His mouth scraped across my own, and I could feel every ounce of his aggravation in the way his fingertips bit down on my skin alone. It was rough and clumsy and pressed, as if this were sincerely the last and only chance he would ever have.

All of a sudden, we were seventeen again, and standing in the middle of our secondary school’s greenhouse. The scent of dust was replaced with that of lush flora on all sides of us, and sunlight shining in from above caressed the top of my head with its warmth. This was the very scene that I’d used to daydream about time and time again, wasting more hours of each day than I’d have liked to admit at the time.

Now his fingers clung to the corners of my face like I was made of paper, his lips brushing mine almost imperceptibly as his bated breath fanned out against them. When my eyes opened and met with his, his complexion had turned a delicate rouge, and his faultless aquamarines had been clouded over by doubt. In that moment, all I could think to do was to make that doubt vanish. So I ignored the distant sense of guilt that yet lingered and seized the navy blue tie around his neck. Our forms collided, and a sigh like trees swaying at the mercy of a light breeze in summer grazed my cheek.

With Ms. Sigatur’s aid, the constabulary had been more than willing to cooperate and construct a perimeter of officers around the old City Hall’s charred skeleton. Just the fact that the vicinity wasn’t littered in tarps and rubbish and other evidence of homelessness was proof enough of my theory. And yet, the way the wind howled and that the only signs of life were the crows circling up above filled the pit of my stomach with an unease that I could not ignore.

“You know what to do as soon as you sense any sign of danger, I trust?” Urbosa had both her hands planted firmly on my shoulders, bending down to meet my gaze with that same, old look of worry.

I gave a firm nod, never breaking eye contact. “Of course.”

“And you have Fyori and the others looking out for you, so don’t be afraid to call for them if—”

“I’ll be fine, Urbosa. I—”

“No, you will not.”

All I wanted was to get this over with, but she just had to go and remind me of the risks. No matter what I wished for, it wouldn’t change the fact that this was, in all likelihood, a suicide mission. Which was why I’d been so adamant in refusing to allow Link to come along initially.

Said constable was watching the two of us out of the corner of his eye, ever the vigilante as he stood facing the stronghold a mere half dozen paces away.

I heaved a constricted sigh and looked the prosecutor earnestly in the eye. With a deep breath, “I understand how worried you are for me, but please, don’t try to stop me. I’m aware of the risk and I’m prepared to face the consequences. I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t confident in my ability to succeed.”

Her stance softened, if only just slightly. “If Hilda weren’t still alive, her spirit would haunt me for letting any harm come to you.”

“But that won’t happen, because she is alive and she would never try to hurt me.” This much I was certain of, for if she had harboured any such intentions, she would have acted on them already, with how the Organization typically operated.

Urbosa’s lips tightened, and the out of place worry lines permeating her expression faded incrementally. She cast her gaze toward my stubborn guardian in silence, and he offered her a calm, yet resolute, nod of the head.

After a quiet embrace that seemed to go on endlessly, she sent me on my way. I looked over my shoulder as she grew smaller and smaller, then turned my focus ahead of me.

Staring up at the towering columns before me, I fell into an unnatural combination of wonder, nostalgia, and loss. (For whom or what was I still mourning? At this point, I didn’t even know the answer to that.) For the most part, the only parts of the building left standing were those invulnerable to fire, and even a great portion of that had fallen victim to weathering and decay over the years. Many of the brick walls had crumbled, leaving little in the way of places to hide a single person, let alone an entire crime syndicate.

The wind was unrelenting as it whipped and thrashed my hair about my face. Yet somehow, even as we drew nearer, the air remained as deathly still as ever.

As we finally came upon the scorched remnants of the main entrance, a gust from the north sent a whirlwind of ash in my direction. My arms rose to shield my face in the nick of time.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I took my first step since childhood into the domain of my mother’s workplace. Surely when I crossed that threshold, I’d thought, surely that was when havoc would finally be wrought upon us. But I was met yet again with stillness. Was nothing but my own breathing able to break this seemingly impenetrable silence?

Just then, my question was answered.

I felt my soul jump out of the confines of my body when the caw of a crow reverberated throughout the government building. If my heart hadn’t been pounding hard enough already...

I jumped again seconds later, though not nearly to the extent at which I just had, when Link’s hand came to weave itself between my fingers. We locked eyes, and he gave me the kindest of smiles. It made me want to melt right into his arms and to never let go, lest I lose him a third, and very likely final, time.

But a clearing of the throat from one of the other nearby constables reminded me of the ever present need to stay alert.

I elected to have the group split into two: one to search the ground floor of the ruins and one to search the upper floor. It was hard to say for certain how stable they were, but the stairways connecting the two stories were still almost fully intact. The upper floor itself, however, was another matter. Though its foundation hadn’t been constructed from any organic material, much of its structural integrity seemed to have been lost. About a third of it had broken off and landed square in the middle of the ground floor, leaving a vast chasm between the two sections of the upper floor that remained. The police had come prepared and equipped for the traversal of rough and uneven terrain, though there was still the danger of stray pieces of rubble raining down onto our heads from above.

I adjusted the strap of my helmet, which was beginning to chafe at the skin underneath my chin, before making my way around the monstrous hunk of brick flooring lying along the length of the grand foyer. Beyond that, as I’d remembered correctly, was the hallway leading to where her office had once been. But the scene I would discover there was a far cry from what I recalled.

What I found there wasn’t unlike what we’d found in the other offices up until now. Any furniture that had once filled the space had been destroyed. I could only just make out the contorted pieces of an old, blackened writing desk, its legs collapsed and the only thing relaying the tale of its former shape being the lamp lying shattered beside it. This I’d only noticed after hearing the crackling of shattered glass underfoot.

A clipped, nasal exhale sounded from behind me, where Link was taking in the scene with an expression similar to my own set into his face. He’d been clinging to my side since we’d begun searching, whether out of a desire to protect or to be protected, I did not know. A question rang in my ears that he’d posed to me during our meeting at my flat. “What will you do once you find her?” It was a simple question, one that I reasonably should have been able to answer, but the only one that came to mind would have sounded beyond foolish if said aloud. In the midst of such an era of power, what crime boss in their right mind would be swayed by a meagre plea to stop? But if not try to reason with her, there wouldn’t be many other options at my disposal.

This supposition only applied given that my mother would be found. My inspections so far had yielded no signs of Yiga activity, or for that matter, any activity whatsoever. Everything here seemed to have been here since the very incident that had levelled the place. In a way, this only added onto my already existing restlessness. The longer this search went on in vain, the less likely we were to find anything of worth, and the more likely it was for this endeavour to end in yet another failure. The moment I would finally give into my fear and call off the mission was steadily approaching.

A shadow flickered in my peripheral vision, followed by auditory pandemonium.

I just barely withheld my yelp. Link had turned toward the source of the sound with his hand on his holster.

But it had only been a piece of debris coming down from the floor above. I sighed furtively.

Between how Link’s shoulders had tensed up to meet his ears and the way his hand twitched as he lowered it from his hip, it was plain to see that I wasn’t the only one who was shaken up.

There was one more area of the ground floor that I had left to search: the conference hall. If the Yiga were anywhere to be found across these vast burial grounds, it was there.

What was left of the wood flooring creaked underfoot at a much greater volume than I’d been expecting. The ceiling, though just as high as that of the rest of this floor, somehow felt even loftier. Out of all the rooms we’d visited, this one was the most intact. Half of the risers, though scorched, were otherwise undamaged, and even the podium was still standing tall. But of course, being more intact meant giving sharpshooters more places to hide. One misstep and—

Crack

The floor fell out from beneath me. I let out a shriek, feeling the realm of death open its big, black maw and swallow me whole.

Then I landed with a calamitus crash.

If I hadn’t managed to curl my limbs around myself in time, the concrete flooring I seemed to have landed on surely would’ve cracked my head open, or given me a severe concussion at the very least. My whole body ached from the impact, and it felt as though I may have sprained my ankle, for when I tried to stand, it throbbed in the most violent pain I had ever experienced. I fell to my hands and knees, reeling.

The spot in the floor that I’d placed my weight on must have lost much of its hardiness to the fire. In all the times I’d been here as a little girl, it had never once occurred to me that this place had housed a basement.

“Zelda...!”

I looked up to see Link peering down from the hole in the ceiling that I’d made, his expression poised with worry. My body, covered in scrapes and bruises, cringed when I realized he had borne witness to that pathetic spectacle, making the pain tenfold.

“I’m fine,” I whisper-shouted up toward the only source of light in the room, and some of the fear in his face relaxed. He glanced around him, then looked back down in my direction before standing up and disappearing.

I could only hope he’d find his way down sooner rather than later. In the meantime, I shifted into a position I hoped I’d have more luck rising back to standing from, and I did. Though, maimed as I was, I’d still have to find some way to take some of the weight off my right foot.

The first thing I latched onto was rusty and sharp. I winced and pulled my hand back, looking blindly to see if my palm was bleeding or not.

As my eyes adjusted, I was relieved to see that the cut had only just grazed the surface of my skin. I scanned the room, seeing that the thing I’d touched was a piece of an old oil drum. In fact, the room was full of metal scraps resembling it.

A vision flashed before my eyes. Of City Hall being engulfed in flame within seconds, and the criminal mastermind hiding the evidence in a cellar, where no one would ever find it until the better part of two decades later.

The rest of the basement was still a cluttered mess, but somehow it felt a great deal more lived-in than what I’d seen up until this point. There wasn’t a soul to be found in any of the windowless rooms I came across, but the few things I found lying around with the help of my pocket torch, like an unopened pack of cigarettes and a deck of cards left strewn across a small table, gave me the distinct impression that I wasn’t alone. The numerous corners provided by old, metal bookshelves and file cabinets did little to slow my racing heart.

Eventually, I came upon an open doorway, beside which a small sign on the wall read, “Archive A.” Beyond the barrier, unlike the pitch darkness I’d been wandering through for I’d long lost count of just how long, a few threads of light were trickling in from above, presumably through a crack in the flooring above that I’d failed to notice before.

I stepped through the doorway, turned to face the yawning expanse of the former archive, and saw her. Dressed in pale white and standing radiantly in the center of the room.

My mother. The very image of my ever vivid memory of her was right there.

My feet carried me, with newfound purpose and with minds of their own, toward her. I wanted to reach out and feel her next to me. I wanted to ascertain that she was truly there and that I hadn’t actually hit my head and wasn’t now seeing things. I wanted to run at her, arms outstretched, more than anything in the world.

But then my ankle throbbed violently in protest, and my reason for being here came back to me at full force. I swallowed down my longing and stopped in my tracks. Her smile—that warm, glowing, congratulatory smile that held all the hope and light of the sun within its corners—wasn’t making this any less difficult, however. I was reminded of the simpler times, when at the end of each day, there was someone back at home waiting to hold me close and make all my worries melt away.

She held her arms out to me in a gesture that made my eyes well up with the tears of a child. It felt unspeakably wrong, but for what reason I could no longer place. Why shouldn’t I? What harm could it possibly do? It was only natural to want to wrap my arms around her as tightly as I was able, and to never let go again, wasn’t it?

A gunshot ripped through the peace.

Her face turned still as stone. Square between her harmless eyes had appeared an inky black-red orifice—an exit wound—from which a spray of crimson had decorated her visage.

Time slowed almost to a stop as Mother careened forward and fell flat onto the cold, hard floor. A hollow thump echoed throughout the empty space.

Before I’d had time to react, I looked up and met eyes with a painfully familiar pair of icy azures, which thawed in an instant as the owner lowered his weapon. I glanced down at the body, which had landed just two or three paces in front of me, then back at him. Then my own body started to shake.

No matter how I tried, I couldn’t control the violent tremors that had taken hold of me. My knees hit the floor, my bad ankle being wrenched one way in the process. This tore a scream from the depths of my lungs as the tears began waterfalling down in spiteful defiance against my will. I couldn’t bare to look at her—lithe arms strewn out limply at her sides and golden hair scattered in every direction—so I hid like the coward I was behind my stinging palms.

A metallic clack, followed by footsteps pounding the cement one after another as they neared. When his arms cradled my head into the shelter of his chest, I didn’t stop him. Nor did I when his hand began its gentle stroking up and down the curve of my back. He could have said something, anything, but he refrained. Instead, the silence surrounding my cries did nothing but amplify them.

A resounding clatter broke the air.

My vision was fogged up like a window pane in the dead of winter, but as I blinked away the tears, I began to make out the shape of an assault rifle lying on the concrete, at the feet of a person who hadn’t been there before and whose face I was unable to make out from this distance. In the figure’s hand was a bone-white mask, which they turned over in their grasp before dropping it onto the floor as well. It shattered upon landing.

In every corner, assassins were emerging from the shadows, each one of them laying down their weapons and turning to face the cooling corpse resting at the axis point of it all. Somehow, the room seemed even more devoid of daylight than ever before.

[transsexualhamlet]

sherlock holmes reactions part six (aka me losing my mind over the final problem)

Hi, I am once again reminding you all that I've formed a parasocial relationship with the crackhead detective 👍 This made me overly emotional for the fact that he didnt even die

But like

hhhmmmmmmmm those were certainly an interesting 14 pages

Yeah, I already made a post about how the final problem relates to yuumori's final problem and how incredibly sexy it is but yes now I'd just like to relay to you how absolutely heart brocken i am over this lol I will eventually get to reading the post hiatus stories i just. I haven't emotionally recovered from this yet

Yelling below the cut somehow this reaction feels longer than the story itself. but it's about half cracking jokes and half sobbing so be prepared

I mean, starting off strong with "well yknow since i got married my and sherlock's Very Intimate Relations had to be modified and all but we hadnt seen each other in a while so it was kind of jarring to see him crawling in my second story bedroom window clutching Wounds and closing the shutters absolutely fucking wasted losing his mind over some dude named moriarty"

We've been over this but. Oh my god why are they gay

I just like????? Imagine how fucking bizzare that would be to just see your old homie crawl into your window bleeding on your floor and asking to exit the other way in case he's followed like "hey bro can we Talk i hope you're not busy" WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO, SAY HE IS? Imagine watson just like "no dude I'm fucking busy go get killed"

But legitimately. That's certainly something. And like, I see a lot of books starting like this lmao but. Holmes's stuff usually starts off kind of easily with watson going "yeah so lately ive been Experiencing Sherlock Holmes" and spend 20 minutes on exposition with them having a Conversation but no. mans just fucking escaped a hitman and went directly to his boyfriend's house having apparently Never Before In His Goddamn Life mentioned his actual nemesis to this guy. How the FUCK has watson never heard of him before.

And how sherlock starts talking about it isn't any less funny he's just like "UHHH SO THERE'S THIS GUY. THIS ABSOLUTE MAN. AND HES REALLY IMPRESSIVE I MEAN HES LIKE SUPER FUCKING SMART AND HES LIKE DOING CRIMES????? SO I LIKE. I NOTICED AS I DO BUT HE NOTICED THAT I NOTICED AND I MIGHT HAVE MADE A LITTLE FUCKY WUCKY DUDE CAN YOU HELP ME LIKE. FLEE THE COUNTRY" and watson's like my dear sherlock What The Fuck

Im also loving how he calls moriarty a "mathematical celebrity" awhi;grih;oaewhhta;ioh;iaewh;ii;oewh;eh;rg mans just. ok lol hes a Math Celebrity that had to quit his math teacher job because EVERYONE JUST KNEW HE WAS A CRIME LORD LIKE THEY TOOK ONE LOOK AT HIM AND WENT MANS DEFINITELY HAS BODIES IN HIS BASEMENT I DONT WANT HIM TEACHING HERE

But yeah, it was interesting to see what the big deal about og moriarty was... especially since the deal simply did not deliver. There was not really a big deal. It's like reading the first chapter of a book and immediately skipping to the climax. Everything is so hyped up and clearly having been building for years and you just get like NO CONTEXT. I swear Moriarty wasn't goddamn mentioned any time before this. He's just suddenly the big guy and watson has just never fucking heard shit about this guy.

What's so funny about this whole situation is that I just. Cannot objectively know anything about Moriarty at all because sherlock just... does not go into what this dude's alleged crimes even were, other than. The fact that he like. Does them. He's just really involved in crimes. How? Why? For how long? In what way? For what purpose? NO FUCKING CLUE HE JUST. HE JUST DOES. And there's nothing to really suggest that Moriarty was honestly a really evil guy. They're all like trust me he was just. he was just really bad but show absolutely No examples of being such. The most evil thing we saw Moriarty do personally was call sherlock stupid for letting him get into the apartment. And even then he immediately followed it up with complimenting him lol

yeah, my impression of Moriarty was like. I expected him to be worse, honestly. I expected him to be like a cartoon villain because he was kind of made out to be one and then he's just honestly a really polite and refined guy?? Mans strolls the fuck into 221B like hi shawty and it is Not like yuumori obviously man's holding a gun but like. What the fuck they are just. They have never met before but They Clearly Have and it's. its so weird

Like honestly I don't dislike og moriarty. He's really what william tried to be (and fucking failed, but beside the point) but like. Dude's so powerful and for what. He just walks into the apartment with No Pretense like why sherlock holmes is that a revolver or are you just happy to see me oh my goodness you are a dolt why would you hold the gun that way. disgusting. disgraceful. dreadful. Oh my god. I love him I'm sorry

abngnahhghifeah;iewh and Why does sherlock describe him like that hes like "MANS A REALLY REFINED LIZARD /pos" HIEHIFEHW:HGIHOEWFEEW FOR WHAT. FOR W H A T

baaaaaaaaghhhhhh but likeeeee they went STRAIGHT to "you know what I'm here for" "you know how I'm going to respond" "well then" "yeah" "mhm" "damn well it really do be like that sometimes" "ur really smart by the way" "im fucking aware let's kill each other as we both Thought in our Minds" "yes lets" AHDHDHDHDFS WTF THIS IS INSANE

But damn uh. mutual destruction my beloved this is very different from sherliam but im not. im not. opposed to it tucks hair behind ear

I just. Holy shit they really went "if you destroy me I will ensure that we both go down hand in unlovable hand" "I wouldn't mind that"

Annnnd I just noticed that the actual lines for this part kind of. that kind of happened in chapter 31 when sherlock was like i would Gladly die to take down the lord of crime and william was like. hahahah yeahNO NO NO NO

BUT SERIOUSLY THO IM LOSING MY MIND OVER HOW SHERLOCK SAYS THIS WHOLE THING TO WATSON AND HES LIKE DAMN SHAWTY HES LIKE THE REASON FOR HALF THE CRIME IN THIS CITY BUT HES SO NICE THO??? LIKE I EXPECTED HIM TO BE TOUGH AND EVERTHING NO HES JUST SOME POLITE PROPER UNDERSTANDABLE MAN WHO JUST HAPPENS TO BE VERY DIABOLICAL shawty is having a Crisis

And then watson is like wowww that was cool you wanna spend the night and sherlock is like "UNFORTUNATELY BESTIE I AM BEING FUCKING TRACKED DOWN ID LIKE YOU TO NOT DIE WITH ME"

This bit gave me a Moment Moment because oh my god. Then watson is like "no shut up i'm coming with you i don't care" and i just had to Take A Minute because THEY SWITCHED PLACES AAH SHERLOCK IS TRYING TO KEEP WATSON SAFE NOW AND WATSON IS NOW MORE RECKLESS BC OF HIM AND. AHHHH

Completely random but. How sherlock still refers to 221B as "our rooms" to watson even though watson hasn't lived their in years........ shawty i am emotional.........

SO THEY GODDAMN FLEE THE COUNTRY TOGETHER BC WATSON SAYS THEY HAVE TO STICK TOGETHER AND SHERLOCK HAS A MOMENT WHERE HE'S LIKE YEAH NEVERMIND PLEASE GO HOME WATSON AND WATSON IS JUST LIKE. NO. AND HSERLOCK IS LIKE. DAMN OK I HAVE NEVER HEARD YOU SAY THAT BEFORE

But. Ok as funny as this is. They have this fucking Conversation on the train to switzerland where sherlock is like "I have not lived in vain" and watson is like "YOURE NOT DYING" and hes like "i have not lived in vain. like i said. this will not be a bad way to die" UHHHHHH DAMN SHAWTY

hhhhhh and it just Gets. it. it. it Gets. These fuckers get to switzerland and they stay in a hotel and then leave for reichenbach but watson gets this goddamn letter telling him that hes needed at the hotel to basically save this lady's life. And he doesn't. Like. he doesn't even want to go he's like FUCK IT SHE CAN DIE IM NOT LEAVING YOU but sherlock convinces him to go fULLY KNOWING THE LETTER WAS FUCKING FAKED BY MORIARTY JUST AS A PLOY TO GET HIM ALONE

AND THEN HE JUST. WENT ANYWAY AND WATSON HAD TO WATCH HIM JUST LIKE GODDAMN WALK OFF INTO THE SUNSET LIKE "LITTLE DID I KNOW THIS WOULD BE THE LAST TIME I WOULD SEE HIM BUT IT JUST. IT HAD THAT VIBE YKNOW"

God I just. Wow sherlock really did that huh. He really went and did that. And I went over it in the post about this compared to yuumori but it just RUINED me how watson just. Never saw what happened and there's just so little information about it that all they have is these assumptions and pieces that just suggest that these guys met up, walked up to the goddamn waterfall having a nice civil conversation about how talented and smart they both were at this and how they revealed their methods to each other and complimented them because of course they did

And they just sat up there talking to each other so long and Moriarty legit waited politely or even possibly was the one that suggested he write a letter to watson in which sherlock just went "damn lol moriarty's pretty nice actually anyway uhhhh sorry watson ily ✌" and just like. left it up there in his damn cigarette box

But just like. damn the insinuation that moriarty just sat there and watched while he wrote that entire goddamn letter, sealed it up, and then got up and went alright buddy let's go but it makes no goddamn sense if they wanted to actually kill each other and assure they themselves would survive I could name like 23 different ways they could have managed it so easily and they Didn't. they were really set on mutual destruction huh. There's no way they were even trying to do anything but Die Together at that point and that's Something huh

It absolutely baffles me how they could say that these guys had plummetted like, holding each other tho. Like. ok lol but How Do You Even Know

It was certainly a ride. But the fact that Watson had to actively try to think like Sherlock to figure out what happened in the scene was just. The cherry on top. Especially after they'd consciously started to switch roles in this i just. Damn.

In conclusion uhhhhhhhh gay people real I suppose

[minipliny]

it’s 1am and I am angry about 2019 moby dick musical lyrics

I have been wanting to write my historical-context-of-Queequeg-in-Moby-Dick and what-the-fuck-was-the-musical for 10 months, and I have been continually aware that it is not going to be a good version of this post and that I know nothing about this subject beyond some judicious Googling and JSTOR access. On the other hand, Dave Malloy had Google too and created…….these song lyrics. So please imagine me waving at you, the reader, frantically, in the direction of more information, rather than a learned disquisition of any sort. Also if I get anything wrong (WHICH I HAVE BEFORE) tell me.

Also point one: the source text Malloy is working with is absolutely also a racist text. He just didn’t have to do…that with it. And obviously, he’s writing it as a joke! I realise this! But when you explicitly decide to do a song about cultural relativism, and then you decide to present what I think even I can notice is kind of a wildly inaccurate caricature which doesn’t really have anything else in mainstream media to counterbalance it, and then you never ever get any of the delicate character work or adaptational work that you get in Great Comet…I don’t know that this is something that was thought about or if Malloy decided to take the entire concept of 19th century Pacific Islanders and leave it as “they eat people! I can make up how exactly by consulting the Wikipedia cannibalism entry and not scrolling down to any specific examples! Also I don’t need to think about any social or historical ramifications.

So, point two. The “Autobiography” section of Moby Dick clearly and obviously draws on the account of Te Pehi Kupe’s journey to England on 26 February 1824. Geoffrey Sanborn has written several articles and books discussing this, with further articles by Juniper Ellis and Caroline Schwarz.

(I’d add at this point that this one of many many Maori journeys to Europe and America at this point, with many different aims – while Te Pehi Kupe was looking for a military resource which was giving a devastating advantage and determining much of the balance of power at the time, many other people were more interested in architecture, agriculture, manufacturing, windmills, trade, law and justice, literacy, religion, politics, and of course acquiring a printing press. So Melville’s idea of trying to find a way of making the people happier than previously is semi a joke, semi reflecting what was an actual thing)

Te Pehi Kupe, a rangatira (chief) of Ngati Toa, paddled out to the ship Urania, and resisting being thrown aboard, demanded to stay on board, go to Europe, and ask King George for guns. He befriended the captain and saved him from drowning, travelling to England to meet George IV, observe military matters (like regiments being reviewed) and visit factories. Returning to a complex and escalating series of wars partly fuelled by the huge imbalances of firepower that muskets brought, he was ultimately killed during conflict with Ngai Tahu.

For the history and conflicts of Ngāti Toa, released only a week ago is a new book containing a 50,000 account in te reo Māori of Te Rauparaha’s life, written by Te Rauparaha’s son Tamihana between 1866 and 1869.

The very same day that Aperahama Te Kawe spoke to him, Te Rauparaha announced: “In the morning we shall go, migrate; the pā is about to fall.” At this, Ngāti Toa’s spirits were lifted, the 140 who were inside their pā, Te Arawī.

In the morning when the sun was high, near midday, they migrated, they left their pā. They did not allow themselves to weep, they left Kāwhia behind, following the paths along the coast. The men and women who did not have the strength to travel were left lying on the trail and some perished from starvation.

They carried on throughout that day until nightfall. When they reached Marokopa my mother was left there, heavy with child — for indeed I was inside her womb about to be born — along with some other chiefly women of Ngāti Toa who were also left at Marokopa. The travelling party with the fighting men carried on, including Te Rauparaha. My mother was not abandoned there, another relative, Pukeroa, stayed with her to look after her, along with some others of Ngāti Toa.

The Ngāti Toa travelling party carried on. When they got to the top of Moeātoa [30 km south of Kāwhia], the hill, they looked back down at Kāwhia lying below. Now the love for their home, for Kāwhia, welled up. Then the people of Ngāti Toa and their elder, Te Rauparaha, wept, their grief was like the sighing sea. How could he not be overcome with love for the homeland that he was leaving behind, the land of his birth where his placenta was buried?

And I’m putting this really wrenching excerpt here because the history and culture that Melville very shakily and ignorantly nonetheless draws on (from religious beliefs, to the idea that the afterlife involves travel back to a specific island, to art and carving, ta moko, warfare, wedding customs to humour) is….real people’s history. The warfare of the Musket Wars did involve the ritualised consumption of the bodies of dead enemies – that didn’t actually make everything a joke to the people who took part in it, or leave their descendants without legacies to reckon with, painful memories or acts of heroism.

And I’m just going to put Ross Calman, the author of the book’s quote here regarding the very contemporary relevance of history:

We can’t pretend that it’s all going to be happy families. It’s been a very difficult past and we have to face up to the violence of the early founding years of this nation. It’s been built on violence and on deceit and on land being taken from Māori in a variety of ways. It’s left us as an impoverished people and we’re still feeling the effects today.

A lot of Pākehā say: “Oh, that’s in the past. You can’t blame me for that.” But the impact of the violence and deceit and theft is still very much with us, and that has to be addressed.

(And for more there, there is this Vincent O’Malley article for one of many, many examples)

Or for a commentary by an early 19th century Māori speaker on both European and Maori societies, have the debate between  Te Whareumeu and Augustus Earle quoted in Tangata Whenua: “the only difference in our laws is, you flog and hang, but we shoot and eat”.  

And finally, here is an actual comic song from the 1820s/30s Māori world, full of irony, wordplay, and double-entendre.

This was sung by some women of the Te Namu pa which had successfully withstood a siege from a taua (war-party) of Te Ati-Awa. The war-party was armed with two muskets. They made a great noise but killed nobody.

Guns came down

To Te Taniwha

To Huri—whenua—

Calling out to the weak ones

Driven here by the guns—

Ha! Come to me, black death,

Come to my thighs, conquering earth—

They shiver at his breath

He beats and burns and roars

Ha! He is done.

What a weapon of love

A sharp bullet from above—

Ha! I am caught in his cold fire

There is no end to his desire—

Ha! He is done!

[tigerdrop]

king u gonna elaborate on virgin benrey

 listen i have kiryu “is 100% a virgin at the ripe old age of 37, and this is appealing to me instead of fucking hilarious″ kazuma disease and it has followed me here. also this kind of branches into a completely different kink at the end b/c i am diseased

so you know how i write "obviously fucks good and hard all the time" benrey. well........you know.......like..........what if......................he didnt. what if he was. what if he had never fucked before in his life and his incessant flirting finally works and hes like "i did not expect to get this far."

envision, if u will, the delightful awkwardness of virgin benrey + "has never had sex with a dude before" gordon

ive definitely brought up the possibilities of gordon going all science-brain on null benrey before but i think it works just as well on virgin benrey too. its a learning experience for both of them and if theres one thing gordons good at, its research. and gordon probably gets way too up in his own head about making sure he does this shit right and spends a lot of sleepless nights googling "how to have sex with dudes" and, you know, researching, 

if benreys not the one fucking babying him thru his first gay experiences he is probably going to bungle it so fucking badly and i think it would be really funny 

alternatively please consider gordon being so fucking neurotic about benrey never having done this shit before that he avoids the subject as hard as possible, thinking that hes gonna dick it up hardcore, but the whole time benreys just thinking "bro i havent had my dick touched in [however long hes been alive]. come on". the tension

furiously making out with him behind a fucking crate in black mesa and then realizing this is Going Places and gordons voice breaks as he says, way too loud, "I GOTTA UHHH GO RELOAD MY SMG. RIGHT NOW"

you think gordon is touch starved ? no. Hell with this 

Im just tsying theres no evidence hes been touched at all by another human being in his life before this. if hes video game in real he benrey noclip out of being touched 

what if he like, chooses not to noclip/not feel....ON that time gordon catches him. just cuz hes curious, a gay impulse. or maybe hes so surprised (and gay) he forgets to avoid it

and oh, to be in gordon freeman's gentle grasp. makes him into an unholy annoyance of awkward gayness for the rest of the series

YEAS.......also he has definitely thought hard about sucking gordons dick but doesnt actually have any idea how he would go about it. hes just heard its cool

giddy thinking about the scenario where its actually benrey whos terrible at sucking dick b/c hes never done it before and gordon who actually does suck dick like a champ

i know that this is literally the plot of the very first serious nsfw fic in this fandom but still. virgin beney. benrey getting sucked off for the first time in his entire life and shaking like a fucking leaf......

Power trip of Gordon realizing this guy whose been hitting on him the whole time has no idea what to actually do 

Gordon Freeman Gives Benrey A Prostate Exam

its a joke but its not a joke. virgin benrey being vaguely aware that being fucked by gordon freeman would be cool, in theory, but not fully conceptualizing of how you actually get a dick in your ass until gordons like "what?? no, dude, you cant just stick it in there" and gives him a demonstration and thats how benrey discovers he has a prostate 

benrey like "idgi man this just feels weird. when do we get to theohhh my god what. what that" and gordons like "what, u mean this?" (curls his fingers again) mean smirk hours

i want him to make a squeaky little noise when gordon says that and curls his fingers again, and gordon's like "ha- knew he'd like it" and keeps kneading him a while; but oops, suddenly benrey's coming with an even squeakier noise 

gordon's so surprised he just keeps going, hes like, not comprehending until benys whining at him to stop

a thought: benreys not good at "being human" and probably doesnt actually know whats supposed to happen when u nut so every time hes been jackin it he just does it until it starts to be Just A Little Too Much and then hes like "mission accomplished" and stops. imagine his fucking surprise when  gordons jerking him off and he doesnt stop and hes like "wh ha hu what the fuck i already got off bro" and gordon just stares at him and the distinctive lack of cum on his hand and s like ".......did you?  you sure about that one." 

tl;dr benrey squirming and babbling and digging his fingers into gordons back as he begs him to keep going, he doesnt know whats gonna happen and hes feeling totally overwhelmed b/c gordons pushing him further than hes ever been pushed and he keeps inadvertently trying to wriggle away b/c its So Much but gordon, maybe, pins down his hips so he can get benrey off For Real....... 

even better if its when gordons sucking him off for the first time so he can wrap his arms and hands around benreys thighs to keep them spread wide open and firmly in place 

knees shaking and thighs jumping constantly 

and benrey has no idea when its supposed to be over so he cant even warn gordon properly. he just keeps getting louder and louder....... 

maybe even.......completely hunched over gordon......pushing him down on his dick with his hands in his hair....... 

alternating between babbling "stop" and "dont stop" b/c hes stupid 

eventually gordon gets so sick of benrey not being able to decide whether he wants to shove gordon onto his dick or yank him off that he just pulls off and says "look, man, do you trust me?" b/c he would really like to just get benrey to stop edging himself here 

UNINTENTIONAL OVERSTIMULATION.......THE TEARS........HHHHHHH

and he eventually gets benrey to nod furiously at him that he trusts him and gordons just like, okay, im not gonna stop then. im gonna keep going. and.......he does 

eyes glazed, hair sticking to him with sweat, hips all twitchy, dick all red, face also all red 

sucking benrey dry until hes over sensitive....... 

He started off spasming then he’s rocking into Gordon’s face by the time he’s wailing his name. Panting and gasping like he’s fucking DROWNING 

gordon meanwhile almost nuts in his pants from the fuckin show that benreys puttin on for him and hes not even trying. hes just Like This. gordons got jerkoff material for the next month just thinking about the way benrey wails his name and clutches his hair tight 

benreys like (slurred) 'u gonna jack off or sumn.......was it not hot'. gordon fighting with every cell of his body not to scream "WAS IT NOT HOT?"

trying to decide what would be hotter: gordon jacking off while hes on his knees with his head resting on benreys thigh or jerking off on benreys stomach and.....r.......rubbing it in

benrey watching gordon cum and feeling a whole new context for it cause now he knows how good it feels and gets turned on again faster-

thinking.......about.......th. next time. now that benreys figured it out. he gives it a try on his own time and hes so surprised that it works that he goes up to gordon like "yo. check this out. i figured out how to jack it" and gordon has the most unimpressed look on his face imaginable 

"proud of you, buddy. am i good to go back to watching storage wars, or" "you wanna uhhh.....wanna see it maybe?" and that changes his entire tune

imagining benrey being so fucking bad at it still that he keeps doing the start-stop shit b/c its so intense and hes not used to it and the thing that actually gets him to finish is gordon, pants down to his knees and fisting his own dick like he might die tomorrow, leaning forward and telling him that hes got this, benreys gonna come for him, right? come for gordon? 

gordon fucking telling him "dont stop" WRT jerking himself off and benrey just listening to him and pushing himself is ruining my fuckin mind 

its a really good thought......i love how it plays into non-human benrey having to figure out human stuff........makes me crayz

probably keeps being sensitive for a long while too........ (mumbling very very quietly) and if hes so sensitive from never being touched before......maybe hes kind of........uhhh..................ticklish

new layers to the whole "oh my god its too much stop it" + "i actually dont want you to stop touching" thing .. . . .. . . . + gordon powertripping when he realizes whats going on with him and why he keeps jerking away and trying not to laugh when gordon touches him like on his stomach or his sides

benrey accidentally jerks too hard and knees gordon in the dick from how ticklish he feels just from like, hands on his sides or something

i was actually thinking about......like.......gordon laying on the ground and suffering (because why wouldnt i be thinking about gordon suffering) and deciding that enough is enough and offering to.......desensitize benrey. you know. for his own health

you know. uhhh. tying up his arms and legs, perhaps, and. you know. "do not noclip through these. i swear to god, benrey, if you kick me in the dick again" 

i'm think about benrey begging gordon to stop, so he does, to check if this is a Forreal stop or a "hahah nooo~" stop, and benrey asks him through gasps to keep fucking tickling him (except he just says smth to the effect of ."gh.. ....keep doing it dude wuhdah hell...") and gordon gets an evil fucking grin and just feels on top of the world "yeah?? think you can handle it, huh???" and just destroys him. benrey thinks about gordon's horny manic face for weeks 

neither of them had a thing for this before this point but the combination of feeling like hes being tickled and gordons hands on him for the first time making him mad horny gives benrey a brand new fucking fetish. gordons manic fucking face im so glad we are on the same wavelength about that

i truly hate my own posts. incurable. diseased

[madamehearthwitch]

Hi! Ive been asking this question to a few people and wanted your opinion! What's the difference between a cottage witch and a hearth witch? I know they both tend to encompass green, kitchen and household witchery but whats the defining factor that separates the terms? Or what's your opinion on the matter?

This is a good question that doesn’t have an official answer! For some, those terms are used completely interchangeably and that’s entirely okay. Because witchcraft is about making your own path. Unless you belong to a specific religion, a lot of things are up to you (and of course always being mindful not to be appropriating!).

So, what follows is entirely my own reasoning and rambling on the topic and as it applies only to me. And is not meant in any way to invalidate someone else’s reasonings and ramblings. I say this not to protect myself from backlash, but as a reminder that everyone’s thoughts are valid! Mostly, this is going to be my thoughts on what a hearth witch is, as that’s what I’ve spent most of my life being and doing!

When I think about a cottage witch, I think a little more about a house. A specifically designed house, if you know what I mean? The “cottage in the woods” aesthetic.

Images like this immediately spring to mind. Cottage witchcraft is intrinsically tied in my mind with the cottagecore aesthetic. And listen, I am Here. For. It. I love this kind of aesthetic, I incorporate it in my own personal style, in my life, etc. But I also recognize that it’s idealized and likely not accessible to me (in this lifetime anyway).

Hearth witch too brings up imagery. Particularly if you’re aware of what a hearth is.

The hearth, the heart of the old home. Warm welcoming fire, cozy. There is certainly overlap with cottagecore, I mean the aesthetic of a warm fire with cozy couches and blankets has a strong pull! It always makes me want to grab a good book, something/someone to cuddle, and a cuppa.

The hearth for a long time was where food was made. It was the stove. And so there’s a lot of overlap into kitchen witchery. Food has always brought people together. A feast cooked on a fire, drawing people in from the cold to warm their bones.

So I think when a lot of people think of hearth witchery they think of little cottages, that rustic farmhouse, off in the woods vibe, with the ever present smell of fresh baked bread and so much good food. Truthfully, that was my initial draw to the concept of hearthcraft. I love cooking and baking, I love that aesthetic. It lined up with the aspirations I already had for myself.

But, of course, the longer I’ve been practicing, with no guide or sacred text, the more I’ve had to dig into it on my own. I’ve had to peel away at it to find the stuff underneath. When life circumstances meant my house was a rental that at times suggested hints of hoarders instead of cozy calm. When chronic illnesses, financial limitations, and depression meant that there wasn’t a lot of homecooked feasting going on. 

Was I still a hearth witch then?

I was. Because being a hearth witch has absolutely no dependency on your house or your ability to cook or bake. (you also have no requirement to be a practitioner of herbal medicine, that is a medical profession and entirely unrelated to witchcraft!)

Hearthcraft is not about the fire or food. It’s about the welcome.

Hearthcraft is about making space for people to be safe and welcome and loved and validated. This can happen anywhere, because it’s not about the aesthetic, it’s not about the food, or cozy blankets. Those can be methods, tools used... but they aren’t the heart of it. It’s about meeting needs, and accepting people where they’re at.

This doesn’t have to mean a meal you labored over all day. It can be picking up a person’s favorite coffee and dropping it off at their work. Sharing a meme that made you think of them. Texting them randomly to check in on them. Letting them rant and scream and rage and cry, validating their feelings.

It’s also about opposing bigots. Taking a stand against racism. Educating yourself to be a better ally. Donating time or money to causes that work to make marginalized people safe. Making your space: whether that’s online spaces you occupy, your neighborhood, your work, your house, any space you exist, safe by making it UNSAFE for racists, bigots, sexists, etc. When you give an inch to people who hold that kind of hate in their life... you are inherently making your space unsafe for those they hate. There’s no compromise, no middle ground. A hearth cannot welcome the oppressed as long as it welcomes those who seek to oppress them.

And so as you walk the path of hearthcraft, unfolding the layers and digging in, taking hold of what it means to have a welcoming hearth, you may well find yourself diving into activism. Because once you get yourself in hand, you realize that it’s time to start working on the rest of the world! And just like hearth witchery, this doesn’t mean it has to be the ideal. Protests every weekend, getting arrested, tearing down statues. That’s all AWESOME work, and I applaud people who are able to do that. But it can also mean voting, working phone banks, writing letters to your governmental leaders.

These things are all naturally within the domain of hearthcraft. Because they are about being welcoming. I will admit, the irish polytheist concept of hospitality had a lot of influence on my thoughts on this. Hearthcraft IS hospitality. True, deep, meaningful hospitality.

Something else you might have noticed? There’s no mention of magic in my hearthcraft practice. No spells. 

I have often said I am the most skeptical, disbelieving witch I’ve ever met. My hearthcraft practice is witchcraft. I firmly believe that. But it also isn’t inherently magical. And in this case, I am referring to magic as spell work. Because being a warm, welcoming person is super fucking magical. You ARE magic. Sure, one can use magic and spells. Hexes, or charms. But you don’t have to. 

Living as a hearthwitch means living your magic.

I hope my early morning ramblings have answered your question! This is a topic I love thinking and talking about, so anyone can feel free to slide into my asks with questions or just to talk about it!

[coleyholts]

The ER and the Operation

First off-Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.  For obvious reasons, this post took a lot of time to put into words that were relatable.  

Trigger Warning: Infant Injury.  This is by far the worst part of the entire ordeal.  I want the reader to know that none of this is exaggerated whatsoever, and it may be difficult to read.  What happened in the ER and trauma center that day has truly changed me.

The glass doors parted in front of me to reveal a line of people waiting to get checked in. This was the first time I cried. They all quickly waved me up ahead of them once they saw that I had an obviously unconscious, super pale, vomit covered infant in my arms.

The helplessness set in when I was required to sign in like everyone else.  It’s not like I expect special treatment, but my baby was dying and no one seemed to understand the urgency of the EMERGENCY.  There were no nurses coming out to receive a trauma patient. There was no alarm.  I stood there, alone, with my rapidly worsening baby, sobbing and screaming for help while dripping in her breakfast and lunch.  At this point, she would wake up and pass out again in a vicious cycle.  Over and over, I watched her light dim for what felt like an eternity. After what I would rationally estimate to be about seven minutes (48,369,526 years to a scared parent), they finally called us back.

Everyone was taking their time.  I wondered if they thought I was being dramatic.  Were they rolling their eyes and blaming my emotion on “New Parent Syndrome?”  They were.  I felt it.

It wasn’t until they FINALLY decided to run vitals that they discovered what I was trying to stress since I had entered the hospital.  My daughter had something way more serious going on than any of us expected.  We walked (very briskly) down the hall to get a better look at what was actually happening in her head.  The tech and nurse cloaked me in protective gear so that I could stay with her.  I gently stroked her toes (also known as de peets) as she woke up, cried in pain, and fell back into her trauma-induced sleep while they got all of the imagery they needed.

We were brought back to our room and had a brief moment alone.  I held her so tight while I kissed her face and alternated holding her feet and hands.  They were so cold.  A nurse rushed up to our door, looked at me and said, “make sure to keep her as upright as possible.”  

That’s when I knew there was a bleed in my baby’s head.

A team of nurses came in and told me that they were going to start an IV, which actually made me feel relieved to know she would be feeling better soon. This is when Daniel arrived, and being that he is the epitome of girl dad attitude, he understandably doesn’t like to watch her get stuck.  He stuck his head in the room and immediately backed out when they tried to start the line. Unfortunately, we found out very quickly that she had no blood in her limbs whatsoever.  

They stuck her over and over again just to find air bubbles, which means they were unable to administer any intravenous medication to replace fluids, relieve pain, stop her from fading in and out of consciousness, or do anything to prevent the blood pooling in Natasha’s skull.  They decided that her condition was serious enough that she needed a line no matter what it took, which I agreed, which meant that they were going to use a legitimate power tool to drill into her shins to run a line into her bones.  I consented and sobbed, knowing the pain my baby had already endured that day was going to be the start of much more, if she survived.

While this was going down, Daniel was right outside the door, unaware of the issues we were running into, he heard a nurse at the nurses’ station ordering a helicopter for an infant, and that the “family wasn’t aware yet.”  My husband is a strong, supportive man that is a fixer.  If he cannot fix a problem, he expresses himself with (verbal) anger.  He comes into the room and says very abruptly to the nurse, “You’re flying her out?! Why?!” to which the male nurse responded, “because there's something seriously wrong and it needs to be fixed.”  I saw him escalating with anxiety so I assured him that they were just having a little trouble getting the line in and he returned to the hallway to start the wait for the doctor who was going to tell us what the hell was actually happening to our baby.

When she arrived, the doctor came in with Daniel.  She told us that Natasha had fractured her skull, and along with potential brain damage and hemorrhage, we were also concerned about blood loss, as her supply was pooling in her head.  The only way to save her life was to get her to INOVA Children’s Hospital for an emergency surgery, on a helicopter that I was not allowed to accompany her on.

Alone with my baby and the nurses, I was so upset.  My sweet girl was in so much pain. I made eye contact with a nurse and while sobbing, begged her to please administer anything whatsoever to ease the headache and all of the needle sticks-not to mention the drill.  For the first time, someone heard me.  She RAN into the hall and managed to bring back Versed, which can be administered nasally to relax muscles and calm the patient.  I am given the same drug when I get my back injections, so I was relieved.  It also prevents the patient from remembering everything, when administered in proper dosage.  It helped Natasha’s discomfort immediately.  They gave her the numbing shots in her legs, and while she was dozing and truly unaware of my presence, I stepped into the hallway.

This was the first time since the CT scan that she wasn’t in my arms. This time was different.  We knew the severity of the injury and she was being cared for by the entire trauma team of 7+ people.  I took one step out of the room, one step to the left, and planted my butt on the wall and hands on my knees for stability while I hung my head in complete disbelief.  How could this happen?  I opened my eyes and saw my clothing, dripping in her vomit.  I can still smell the banana berry baby food she ate without hesitation two hours earlier.  I screamed and sobbed as my muscles locked up in my legs and chest, then I felt someone put their hands on me.

I was literally picked up and supported while I shakily stood, completely losing my mind over the guilt and hatred I felt for myself.  The drilling began and I let out a sound I didn’t know I could make, while I was held tighter than I’d ever been.  I pulled back, just for a second, to look into the eyes of my soulmate and all I could say was, “I’m so sorry.”  Daniel pulled me back in, kissed my face, wiped my tears (which really didn’t do anything considering they just kept coming, but the gesture was so kind), and proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, and that he loves me and he loves that I am his daughter’s mother.  In that moment, his anger subsided and he moved to a different headspace.  That small exchange is burned into my heart forever and I have never been so incredibly thankful to be his wife.

They helicopter team arrived and they were still unable to get a steady line going.  According to their transport regulations, a patient transported by air has to be hooked up to an IV as well as intubated.  Time was ticking and my baby was visibly fading.  While still in the hallway, we were met by some medical coordinator who was trying to arrange a ride for us while she was in the air.  I don’t know how he was able, but after insisting over and over, they let us go.  They finally put an IV in my baby’s forehead; there was no other way.  They were discreet and covered it but I know what an IV mark looks like after the fact.  They could not get her intubated and save her so that (very brave) helicopter team took a huge risk that ultimately got her to INOVA by deciding to take her anyway.  WE kissed her goodbye while sobbing and told her how much we loved her.  The thought of her dying in flight weighed on us heavily, so we took off as soon as they wheeled her out.

The ride there was crazy.  I had no thoughts and all the thoughts going through my head.  My heart was nauseous.  I set a quick group text to my immediate family.  We saw the helicopter fly over us and it was a sigh of relief-knowing we were FLYING down the highway but she would be there faster.

We pulled up to the ER/Trauma Center.  I got out and ran in.  All I could get out was “Natasha” until they asked my relation and I somehow got out, “my baby...”  They valeted the car so Daniel could be with us.  They were rushing to get her into surgery.  They brought us into the trauma room (families usually aren’t permitted there but there was no time) and pulled up some waiver and permission forms.  They briefly explained the surgery, we signed, then it was GO TIME.

We stepped out of the room as the table with my baby strapped to it-full of wires and tubes-flew out of the trauma room.  The anesthesiologist made brief eye contact with me, halted the team, and said, “Let her kiss her baby.”  He knew she could easily not make it through this surgery.  Daniel kissed her and loved her for a few seconds and backed away with teary eyes.  I laid my forehead against her cheek.  I sobbed and screamed.  I kissed her over and over as my tears soaked us.  I told her I was so so sorry and that I loved her so much.  I wished it was me.

They took her away then.  The team saw my raw sorrow.  I got a very quick but kind pat on the back and they took off.

We were met by a social worker who brought us to a private room where we could chat and have some water.  Of course, we were asked all the suspected child abuse questions, but they got the idea pretty quickly that this was a freak accident.

After the interview, we were brought to a huge waiting room that must have been filled with 100+ seats.  We found a spot and the social worker left us.  We sat for a moment, touching hands.  They we both had to cry, then stand, then pace... The wait took forever, even more so not knowing if she was even going to live.

My brother, Jason works out that way and asked us if we needed anything right at that moment.  I was wearing a paper shirt provided by a nurse, so we gave him a small list and he stopped by.  He and Daniel stepped out for some fresh air while I sat breathing deeply and trying not to worry myself into another panic episode.  Then, an actual angel emerged from the hospital doors.

Dr. Leon Moores, a pediatric neurosurgeon at Pediatric Specialists of Virginia performed the emergency surgery.  I called for Daniel as Dr. Moores hugged me so tightly.  I didn’t know if this was a good or bad hug yet.

Daniel and Jason walked (ran) back in and sat with us to hear the outcome.  He told us that he was able to remove a blood clot the size of his fist from Natsha’s skull and that her vitals were wonderful.  So she had 100% survived the surgery.  Next was about brain damage, and by some miracle, her brain remained unharmed.  Dr. Moores saved my baby.

While they were getting her settled into the PICU, Jason took us to Target to get some clothes and snacks.  We had no idea how long this journey was going to be.  We got back to the hospital, gave gigantic hugs, and went up to see our baby as she woke up.

[zerochanges]

2020 Favorite Video Games

I don’t know if I am an outlier or if this is the same for everyone else but I really did not play a lot of games this year. 2020 was a very harsh year for all of us, especially for me for some personal reasons. So to get to the chase, I am just gonna say it left me not doing much in what little free time I did have, and I didn’t play much either. Usually I try to keep my lists for ‘favorite of the year’ to only titles released that year but since I played so little this year, screw it. I am gonna include any game I played this year regardless of release date.

Collection of SaGa

By far a flawed rerelease. It’s bare bones: there are no advance features you would usually expect out of these kinds of emulated rereleases like save states, fast forward, or rewind, and there was no real effort made to touch up almost 30 year old localizations that had to meet Nintendo of America’s then harsh standards. This really is just 3 roms slapped into a nice looking interface with an option to increase the game speed (which by the way you better use, the characters walk very slow in these old games). 

I am bit harsh here, but only because I thought the Romancing SaGa remasters and the upcoming SaGa Frontier remaster all looked like they got a great budget and a lot of love while this is just another Collection of Mana situation (moreso specifically talking about Seiken Densetsu 1/Final Fantasy Adventure/Adventures of Mana part of that collection). I would have loved to see Square Enix do a bit more for these older games. Or at least include the remakes. Seiken Densetsu 1 had two great remakes, both unused in Collection of Mana, and all three of these original SaGa titles have remakes that have never seen the light of day outside of Japan. How great would it have been to get the Wonderswan remake of SaGa 1, as well as the Nintendo DS remakes of Saga 2 and SaGa 3? 

But my gripes aside, these games are still fun as they ever were. Replaying SaGa 1 specifically during the holiday season really helped calm me down and made me feel at ease. It’s easy to forget but even in their Gameboy roots there are a lot of funky and weird experimental choices being made in these games. They aren’t your run-of-the-mil dragon quest (or considering the gameboy, maybe pokemon would be more apt) clones. 

Raging Loop

Perhaps my favorite game of the year, Raging Loop is one of the best visual novels I have ever played hands down. The level of creativity and splitting story paths that went into it is simply mind blowing. The basic premise is both a wonderful throwback to the old days of Chunsoft sound novels while still modern and somewhat reminiscent of both Higurashi and Danganronpa. Essentially you play as Haruaki, a poor slub that got lost in the mountains with no clue where to go until you stumble upon an old rural village with a strange history and even stranger superstitions. Before you know it there has been a murder and the Feast is now afoot.

The less said about Raging Loop the better, although I do want to say a lot about it one day if I ever can write a proper review of it. This is a gripping game that will take hold of you once you get into it though and never let go. I actually 100%-ed this and I very rarely do that. I got every ending, every bonus hidden ending, played the entire game twice to hear all the hidden details it purposely hides on your first play through, played all the bonus epilogue chapters, unlocked all the hidden voice actor interviews, collected all the art work, etc, etc. I was just obsessed with this game, it’s that damn good! And the main character is maybe the best troll in all of video games, god bless Haruaki. 

Root Double

From Takumi Nakazawa, long time contributor to Kotaro Uchikoshi’s work comes a game any fan of Zero Escape or Uchikoshi in general will probably enjoy. Root Double, like its name suggests is a visual novel with two different routes, hence Root Double. The first route stars Watase Kasasagi, the leader of an elite rescue team in the midst of their greatest crisis yet that could lead to nuclear devastation as they try to evacuate a nuclear research facility that has gone awry. 

The other route stars Natsuhiko Tenkawa, an everyday high schooler whose peaceful life is thrown into turmoil when he stumbles upon a terrorist plot to destroy the nuclear facility in the city and his attempts to stop them. Together the two separate plots weave into one and creates a really crazy ride. Part Chernobyl, part science fiction, any fan of the genre will easily enjoy it. And hey it’s kind of relevant to include on this list too since it just got a Switch port this year (I played it on steam though).  

Snack World

I was shocked upon starting Snack World as it is instantly incredibly charming, witty, and downright hilarious at times yet I heard almost zero people talk about it. EVER. This game is Dragon Quest levels of quirky though, and the localization is incredible. The game has such an oddball sense of humor that works really well with its presentation right down to the anime opening video that sings about the most bizarre things. Instead of the usual pump up song about the cool adventure ahead we get stuff like wanting to go out to a restaurant and eat pork chops. 

The self aware/fourth wall breaking humor is just enough to be really funny, but doesn't overstay its welcome and always makes it work right in the context of the dialogue. And finally, just everything; with the menus, the name of side quests and missions, and the character dialogue -- are all just so witty and full of quirky humor. This is one hell of a charming and funny game and addictive to boot.

Trials of Mana

Trials of Mana has gone from one of those legendary unlocalized games, to one of the first major breakthroughs in fan translation, to finally getting an official English release complete with a fully 3D remake. In a lot of ways from a western perspective this game has had an incredible journey. As for this remake itself, I really found myself having tons of fun with it. I loved the graphics, and the voice acting while a bit on the cheaper side almost kind of adds to the charm since both the graphics and acting really give it an old PS2 vibe. I know that is probably just more me being weird but yeah, I had to say it. 

I really hope Square Enix sticks to this style of remake more often, instead of just doing Final Fantasy VII Remakes that break the bank and involve extensive tweaking to both plot and game play. I’ll take smaller budget projects that play more like the original game any day personally. I wouldn’t mind if they also deliver a brand new Mana game all together in this engine either. 

Utawarerumono Trilogy

This year saw the release of the first entry in the series, Utawarerumono: Prelude to the Fallen--and thus finally after three years since the sequels Utawarerumono: Mask of Deception and Utawarerumono: Mask of Truth came out in 2017 the trilogy is now complete in English. I ended up binging through Prelude to the Fallen very fast shortly after it came out and immediately jumped on to the sequels. Perhaps the best part of 2020 was that I finally played all three of these fantastic games, and did so back-to-back-to-back. Playing the first Utawarerumono was an experience I will never forget, it was like visiting old friends again that I haven’t seen in ages, by and large thanks to the fact that I saw the anime adaption of the game when I was much younger, nearly a decade ago. Back then I would have never of dreamed that I would get to play the actual game and get the real experience. 

And it only got better from here, as all three games are such wonderful experiences from start to finish. The stories are all so deep, and by the time you get to the third entry, Mask of Truth, it’s crazy to see how they all connected over so many years and weaved together into a plot much bigger than they ever were. What carries it beyond all that though has to be the fun and addicting strategy role playing game aspect, which while a bit on the easy side, is still so much fun and helps make the game feel better paced since you get to play the conquests your characters go on and not just read about all the battles they fight. Beyond that the games are packed full of awesome characters, and I know I’ll never forget the amazing leads in all of them. Hakuowlo, Haku, and Oshtor will all go down as some of the greats to me. 

Ys: Memories of Celceta

Ys: Memories of Celceta is a full 3D remake of Ys IV, a rather infamous game in Falcom’s Ys series. Not to get bogged down too much into the history of Falcom but by this point they were facing a lot of hardship and had to outsource this entry to other developers, and thus passed it on to two particular developers they had a business relationship with, creating two unique versions of Ys IV. Tonkin House who had worked on Super Famicom port of Ys III with Falcom ended up creating their own YS IV entry, Mask of the Sun for the very same system, where Hudson soft who had produced the much beloved Ys Books I & II remakes for the Turbografix (PC Engine) CD add-on created their own Ys IV entry Dawn of Ys for that console. Both games followed guidelines and ideas outlined from Falcom themselves but both radically diverged from each other and turned into completely different games. 

Falcom finally putting an end to this debate on which version of Ys IV you should play have gone and created their own definitive Ys IV in 2012 for the Playstation Vita. I played the 2020 remastered version of this remake on my PS4. I even bought this on the Vita when it first came out but I am horrible and only horde games, never play them. So it was a lot of fun to finally play this. 

Memories of Celceta is probably one of the best starting points for anyone looking to get into Ys, especially if you only want to stay with the 3D titles as out of all the 3D entries this explains the most about the world and series protagonist Adol Christian. Beyond that it’s just another fantastic entry in a wonderful series that has a few good twists hidden behind it, especially for long time fans of the series. 

Random Video Game Console Stuff

Xbox Has Blue Dragon: I actually got an Xbox One this year for free from my brother. Because of that I started to play Blue Dragon again and there’s a lot I would love to say about this game. I don’t know if I am fully committed to replaying it all the way through however but I find myself putting in a couple hours every few days and enjoying myself again. Does anyone else remember Blue Dragon? I feel like it really missed its audience and had it come out nowadays and probably for the Switch it would have really resonated with the Dragon Quest fandom a lot more instead of being thrown out to die on Xbox and constantly compared to Final Fantasy VII and the like which it had nothing at all similar with. 

The Turbografx 16 Mini: This was probably one of the best mini consoles that have come out and I feel like thanks to the whole 2020 pandemic thing it was largely forgotten about. That’s a shame, it has a wonderful variety of great games, especially if you count the Japanese ones (god I wish I could play the Japanese version of Snatcher included), and a wonderful interface with fantastic music. One of these days I would really like to be able to play around with the console more seriously than I have already. 

Fire Emblem Shadow Dragon Never Existed: So Nintendo localized the first ever Fire Emblem game on Nintendo Switch which is awesome to see them touching Famicom games again--I haven’t seen Nintendo of America rerelease old Famicom titles since Mysterious Murasame Castle on the 3DS, but their trailer hilariously made it seem like this is the first time ever they released Fire Emblem when in fact they had already localized the remake Shadow Dragon on the Nintendo DS nearly 10 or 11 years ago. I and many other fans I talked to all found this really hilarious, probably solely because of how much they kept repeating the fact that this is the first time you will ever be able to experience Marth’s story.

All that aside though I have to say the collector edition for this newly localized Famicom game is probably the most gorgeous retro reproduction I have seen in a long time, and I really spent many many hours just staring at the all clear glass mock cartridge. I have found myself really obsessing over retro reproductions during 2020, and obtained quite a few this year. I really hope this trend continues to go on in 2021 as recreating classic console packaging and cartridges is a lot of fun. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, Mockingbird.”

Based on a request I received in my asks for some fluff. I think you guys will like it, or at least I hope you do :) 

He couldn’t  remember much of the last few days. Everything was a blur of motion, pain and dizziness. He couldn't tell if he was staying up or lying down or running in circles or spinning inside an F-90 Darkfire going nine times faster than the speed of sound. It felt like he was constantly pulling almost 9-Gs staying awake was impossible, but at the same time, so was falling asleep.

He felt horrible, sick.

He thought he remembered throwing up a few times, but he could have been wrong.

However, he did remember the aching, a pain that throbbed through his body like he had a horrible flu. His muscles ached, his bones ached, his blood might as well have ached. Everything around him echoed, the lights pulsed in and out. 

He was nauseous and so very, very cold.

The shivering ache in his bones did nothing to help the horrible throbbing of his muscles, especially the muscles in his back.

He thought he heard voices a few times, mingling with the echoes and spinning with the lights over his head. The world began to spin to his left, and he tried controlling the nausea like he would in the cockpit of a jet, but for some reason all his normal tricks weren’t working. His stomach churned.

He fell in and out of consciousness.

His eyes opened and then closed. He was on his side, or at least he thought he was. The nausea wasn’t so bad anymore, but his mouth tasted horrible.

He closed his eyes against the spinning.

He was falling backwards now.

And he was so so tired. His head was resting against something soft, now something hard. More voices echoed.

He tried to make them out, but every time he did he only felt more horrible, more nausea building up on his insides.

“Anything.” The voice faded in and out plunging downward, deepening and stretching out for long minutes forcing him to miss the rest of the conversation. He tried to open his eyes, and was almost immediately blinded. The lights above his head warped and twisted stretching one way and then flattening in the other direction.

Then it doubled and they began to dance back and forth against each other.

“Adam.”

The sound echoed in his head as if it had been yelled into a narrow canyon.

He had trouble remembering what the sounds meant.

His head was throbbing.

More lights.

He flinched away squeezing his eyes shut and immediately fell back in. The nausea overcame him again followed by the dizziness and the vertigo until he couldn’t open his eyes.  He spun back and forth and back and forth his muscles aching, his body throbbing. The shivering got worse , and it wouldn’t have mattered if there were blankets or not. 

He just felt so horrible.

That could have gone on for an eternity as far as he knew. An eternity of spinning, bright lights and echoing voices  interspersed with uneasy moments of sleep characterized by horrific nightmares. Nightmares that contained faceless monsters, strange alien creatures and his own inevitable failure.

And then he fell asleep, finally.

It started off in small bouts of silent restfulness, a deep and soothing darkness that relaxed his body and calmed his mind. When he floated towards the surface, almost awake, he could hear voices, and thought that he could at least understand them.

“How is he today, doc?”

“He’s doing better, sleeping more. The drugs took a real toll on his system. I doubt the admiral was entirely correct about what exactly was in those drugs.”

“He’s lucky to have you. He wouldn’t have survived the overdose otherwise.”

And then he was gone again, sinking back down,

He would have had no way of knowing how long he was out, and when he woke up again, just a little clearer than last time, he heard.

“Why not a medically induced coma, at least then he wouldn’t be in pain.”

“I determined that this was the safer decision in the state he is in. Don’t worry, things are slowly getting easier. He’s sleeping hours at a time now.”

Another voice, “no more vomiting, though that may be just because he’s running on empty.”

He let himself sink away this time, finding that he was getting better at controlling it. He stayed longer this time, curled up in the safety of the darkness where it was warm, and pain free. However, this time he was woken up by a voice.

“Dr. Katie thinks you might be able to hear us. Says you sort of drift in and out.” Though the ache in his body was still there the familiarity of the voice eased his mind, “It was…. An honor to fight with you. I only wish it could have been under better circumstances..” A hand rested on his upper arm, “For a human, you make a pretty good Drev.” 

Something warm touched his hand, or at least he thought it was his hand. When it pulled away his hand was wet.

“Waffles misses you. We haven’t been able to move her without her getting really agitated.” Something soft caressed against his fingers, a soft whimpering pulsing through the air. Soft waves of air to caress his ears. 

He tried to open his eyes, but the dizziness hit him again and, suddenly, he could hardly function. He sunk away again occasionally aware of a furry, warm snout nudging his hand as he slept.

“Hey, Commander…. Adam. yeah anyway, Sunny thinks we should talk to you, so Mav and I are here….er Ramirez.”

“So eloquent.”

“Shut up it's not like he’s expecting a soliloquy, what do you want me to do compose shakespeare.”

“I’d Like to see that.”

“Shut up, anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted/, we are, the crew i mean, are all rooting for you, and we will be here when you’re ready to wake up. Also, please wake up, the spiderlings haven't stopped freaking out since you went under. I can’t exactly tell if they are crying or not but they are making some weird ass noises…. How about you Mav, you got anything to say?”

“Just if you don’t wake up in the next week, I am going to shake you awake and kick your bitch ass for making us wait so long. I am not a patient person.”

“As empathetic as always Mav.”

This time he felt as if he had been asleep for longer, feeling rather than hearing people pass through. He recognizes some return offenders, though some of them were there for a purpose.

“You know, Comm- I mean, Adam. Sometimes I blame you for making me more human. You took away one of the things that made my life easy, and then you gave me empathy. Now I, well having my friends gone hurts. It doesn’t make any logical sense from a proper Vrul standpoint .But you made me into…. Not much of a vrul anymore . You gave me empathy, and friends, and a social life…..” silence, “And I fucking hate it…. But at the same time I don’t. You hear that, I both hate it and don’t hate it at the same time like that is possible. I’m making as much sense as a human .”

More drawn silence.

“Look, I know what you said and how you acted in the suit weren’t you, but I just….. I need….. … I need you to wake up, so I know, so I know that everything is ok between us. The anticipation is killing me more than anything.”

He felt warm inside, and the shivering was dying down. He supposed that was a good thing, and following that moment he thought he might have slept the entire night through, though he could still tell that opening his eyes was going to be a problem. When he awoke, he awoke to a melody, someone signing quietly.

He recognized it, a distant memory from and even more distant childhood.

The song must have been thousands of years old, and for that reason it was….. Sweet.

“Still gets me today that a thousand years ago someone’s mother was singing their baby to sleep with that.”

A soft hand on his.

A gentle touch at the IV in his arm, “Hope you don't mind me singing to myself, or talking. I don’t usually do it when krill is around, he wouldn’t understand. Or maybe he would, but…. It feels weird. I was pretty weird you know, never really figured out why. Guess that’s what I get for wanting to be a librarian when I was little. Became a doctor instead, “ Dr Katie  laughed, “My how things change. Its honestly crazy to me you ended up with the exact job you wanted….. Bet you didn’t think it would be this hard ....” She trailed off, and there was silence for a long time before she began to sing to herself again.

Her voice wove patterns through his dreams

Hush little baby don’t say a word

Moma’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.

He spun slowly around and around in circles descending downward.

And if that mockingbird don’t sing 

The warmth grew back up around him, enfolding him from all sides like the embracing arms of a lover.

Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

He could have slept for days after that dreaming on and off barely knowing what was real and what was inside his head. The world didn’t spin anymore, and his body only ached slightly. The nausea was simply a general discomfort through his darkness, and he could ignore it easily enough.

“You better wake up soon. Seems like you have been in here long enough.”

Was that Conn? 

Couldn’t be.

“You dirty rat bastard.” Nope that was him alright, “I expect you get out here soon….. It is rather lonely in my head….”

Other hands, other voices, other confessions, some cold some warm, felt through his insides like each person was pouring liquid of different temperatures into his blood, pumping through his chest and heart. 

Eventually, the world stopped spinning completely, the echoes died away, and he was left alone in his own head finally with the ability to think consciously, as conscious as he was between bouts of sleep. The nausea was still there, but it might have been due to hunger more than anything else.

The next time he woke up, things were different. The last time it had been as if he was rising through dark water only to be separated from the surface by a pane of one way glass he couldn’t crack.

This time, the pane of glass was gone, and light and sounds poured in around him.

He first became aware of sound, the quiet muttering of conversation, the beeping of machines, and the clattering of tools. Someone was laughing distantly.

Secondly, he was aware of a weight pressed against his side. It was soft and warm, and as he lay there he felt it move. Something rested on his stomach, just under his chest. Whatever it was let off a long drawn out sigh and a yawn.

Lastly , there was light.

For a second he thought he had gone partially blind, but realized his eyes were still closed.

He stayed like that for a little bit, adjusting before.

Flexing his fingers.

And immediately noticed the absence of the steel eye armor.

The relief was incredible. 

His hands were stiff, and the joints ached a little, but slowly he was able to open his hand.

Moving was harder, and it brought back the muted ache from earlier.

His fingertips brushed over sheets as his hand moved up brushing fur, and the warm muscled body underneath.

He stroked a hand through Waffle’s fur.

The lifted her head in surprise, then, with a whimper scooted forward resting her head on his chest nosing him with her snout.

He lifted his hand to stroke her ears.

She licked once as his face catching him in the jaw with her warm slimy tongue.

There was a creaking noise just to his side, “Hey, Girl, everything alright?”

The dog whimpered.

Whoever it was stood.

“Krill.” 

He tried opening his eyes flooded with light before blinking. The dog whimpered again.

He turned his head from the lights trying to blink away the haze.

“Adam. Can you hear us?”

He blinked a few more times squinting against the light until the world around him slowly resolved, light fading backwards.

First, he saw the ceiling, and the overhead lights, curtain rods with the curtains pulled open, an IV bag, medical machines. Looking down he saw his own feet under blankets, and finally the warm worried eyes of his dog. The look she gave him was one of such sincere concern  that, for a moment, he was worried he might be dying. Upon making eye contact she scooted even further forward resting one paw on his chest  snuffling at his face and licking him across the cheek.

“Easy girl.” someone said 

He turned his head a little further brows still furrowed falling on a familiar spidery form floating to the side.

“Adam?” Krill said again.

It took him a few seconds to understand turning his head to the other side where a tall blue figure was standing her gold eyes struck with worry.

He turned his head back to Krill.

“We’re good.”

The dog continued to nuzzle at him rubbing her head against his shoulder trying to get his attention. Overhead the two aliens relaxed visibly, “What was that?”’ Krill asked leaning forward to look him over.

“You wanted to know….. If we were still good…..” Trying to talk past his dry nasty tasting mouth was unpleasant. He smacked his lips, “And I wanted to say that we are.”

The relief broke even further.

Krill was speechless.

Sunny laughed in relief, or at least the equivalent for a Drev.

Dr. Katie poked her head around from the right side curtain, “You’re awake!”

He had both hands up now patting the dog’s ears as she frantically nuzzled forward tail slapping against the bed railing. His right hand was taped up, the tube of an IV sticking into his hand.

He was still very fuzzy and tired.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Better than…. I was…. Before.” A light flicked from one eye to the other, and he squinted, “Hey…” Even his mechanical eye didn’t seem pleased.

“Just making sure your brain is in tact. 

“It never was.” He mumbled.

The dog had  her head resting on his shoulder now, “Surprised you…. Let her stay.”

“I was worried she might bite me.”

Sunny patted the dog’s back.

“Hey, Krill there are a few people at the door come to check in on the Commander.”

“Tell them to stay out. The commander needs his rest.”

Adam raised a hand, “Wait… no… it's ok.”

“You can barely string two words together.” Krill scolded

“Just five minutes and then....” His voice was slightly slurred, “And then I’ll do…. Whatever.”

“Fine, five minutes.”

He closed his eyes briefly listening as feet shuffled across the floor, and soft voices murmured up around him.

“Commander.”

He opened his eyes to see a huddle of marines standing at the end of his bed. Ramirez, Mav, CJ and a few others.

“You alright?”

“Terrific.”

“They must have you on some good drugs.”

“Actually no…. Due to the nature of his stay, he’s actually sober right now.”

The marines laughed, only to be silenced by Krill, “If that’s the case you definitely need sleep.” Ramirez patted his foot, “Don’t let us get in your way, rest, relax, do what you need to do.”  They were ushered out as quickly as they had come, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The dog’s breath was warm against his throat from where her head rested on his shoulder.

Off in the corner he watched a set of white ribbons gently waving in the subtle air currents of the ship.”

“Welcome back,” Said a voice, unbidden inside his head.

“Bitch.” he thought.

“Dumbass.” Came the reply 

He leaned his head back the pillow cool and soothing against his aching neck. He reached up a hand absently letting it hang in the air until something took it. Sunny’s skin was warm compared to his own.

His head lolled sideways.

And he was gone.