#last order: final fantasy 7

[altocat]

Sephiroth's certified Dead Inside™ pic from Last Order is such a mood.

[sunlitriddle]

On That Day, Five Years Ago

This is based on OG more than anything, using updated Remake visuals. But, since I haven't finished Rebirth, any spoilers are from the original game. I have no idea what shenanigans they have for the climax of part 2 and all of part 3.

I always loved Mideel and finding out the True Flashback of what actually happened in Nibel. This moment, where Cloud is Just a Guy filled with a righteous fury, he has the strength to wield the Buster Sword, avenge his hometown (including everyone who didn't think much of him) and kill* Sephiroth.

I wanted to contrast just how weak Cloud is, how average, how utterly human; and how heavy the Buster Sword is... and duty, and honor, and sacrifice, and all the other meanings it's accumulated through time. And somehow, he has the strength to wield it.

I also wanted to give a twisted, holy vibe to the Nibel Reactor, with bundled wires hung like a vaulted ceiling leading to the altar and the sarcophagus of a false god.

*death doesn't seem to inconvenience him much, let's be real.

[silvergreenseraphim]

I love the Shinra file photo of Sephiroth that Tseng opens in “The Last Order” so much.

Sephiroth looks so morose and sad here. He was never happy in Shinra. Only did he find refuge when with Genesis and Angeal.

I always feel such strong emotions during this scene. The way it cuts from this photo to Nibelheim burning and the great “hero” cutting everyone down. 😓

[smellpelt]

Rise Against - Re-Education Through Labor FFVII AMV early 2010s made by my sister

[misspieckfinger]

Sephiroth & Genesis are supposed to be Odin’s ravens from Norse Mythology. They’re Huggin & Munin. These are the two birds from Norse mythology that sit on Odin’s shoulders & bring him news.

Huggin translates to thought & Munin to memory. We can infer from his lines in Advent Children that Sephiroth is thought while Genesis who is always reciting his favorite story is memory. Munin sits on the left shoulde, Gensis has his wing on his left side. Huggin sits on the right shoulder where Sephiroth has his wing.

The poem says Huggin & Munin fly every day

Over all the world

I worry for Huggin

That he might not return

But I worry more for Munin

In Crisis Core Genesis disappears which does indeed worry everyone around him, including his fellow soldiers.

Huggin is associated a lot with combat. The Norse believed Huggin’s drink was blood. The warrior is the reddener of Huggin’s claws. Both birds have also been referred to as Hawks.

[childofturks]

FINAL FANTASY VII LAST ORDER

FINAL FANTASY VII LAST ORDER screenshots by me (c)Square Enix's Final Fantasy VII Last Order

[timelessxmemories]

FFVII: Last Order oversimplified: two first classed soldiers, Cloud and Zack on the run, Tifa gets mad because dad is dead now, Sephiroth has mommy issues and wants to see his mother, Tseng is oddly calm for some reason, Elena is pissed and frustrated, Rude is done with everyone, oh shit, Tifa's injured, Zack comes along and tries to kill Sephiroth, instead gets injured, Cloud comes along and sees Tifa injured, tries to kill Sephiroth and he is now injured, Sephiroth kills himself for some reason??? two first classed soldiers, Cloud and Zack on the run, this time in a truck, Turks and Shinra are after them, shit, Shinra comes along after the Turks specifically told them not to and fires a bullet, Zack saves Cloud, fucking dies. The end. Roll credits.

[tifa-lockhartss]

The reason why I bought a PS5 has arrived 🫡🫡🫡

[prime89]

The first fight between Cloud and Sephiroth will always be a major standout moment in FF7 and its spin-off adaptations like Crisis Core and Last Order. Here you have a genetically modified super soldier, trained and bred for conquest, and spliced with alien DNA, who just took down an elite, mako enhanced super soldier. And who manages to take him down? A hick town, lightly trained, unmodified grunt running on pure adrenaline and rage. The sneak attack is brilliant in its own right. No yelling in rage to give himself away, no monologue, just "I'm going to stab this motherfucker with the biggest fucking sword I can find". Perfection. Sephiroth is so pissed, that this no name (as far as he is concerned) NPC just gutted him in his moment of triumph. But it's when he impales Cloud on his sword, that pushes the moment to the next level. What kinda crunches and ab exercises did he do to plant himself on the ground, pick up, and then yeet a full grown man with nothing but the 2 meter long sword in his gut?

But the crowning achievement of the moment is how it fits in the narrative. Sephiroth has just finished pontificating about how superior Jenova was to the natives of the planet, and how it made no sense that she didn't rule over everything. And this is why. Jenova came and devastated the populace, killing friends, families, and desecrating their memories. And while many fled and hid, others took that pain and rage, and they fought back. And they won. And this is why Sephiroth became so obsessed with Cloud. He represented to him what the ancient Cetra were to Jenova.

[lana-llama-in-pajamas]

Francis mosses x fem! reader

thick as blood

sweet as milk

"god i am down bad" you groaned getting up getting into the shower, it was.....nasty, the grout and limescale made a public bathroom seem more hygienic

but you didn't have time to think about it so you cleaned up and got out trying your best to not touch a thing, you looked over the makeup guidelines for your uniform, it had to be exact in order for the agents that came in to not suspect you. matching foundation no eyeshadow, black mascara and complimentary blush with matching lip stick

you looked in the mirror one last time before rushing out.

7 am sharp you sat at your desk watching Francis be the first heading out the door giving a small wave to you, your heart fluttered waving back. a few more residents left leaving you with a bit too much free time. most of them wouldn't come back till lunch and as stupid as dopples are for them to appear now is suicide, you look around and see a letter at your desk so you open it

dear agent 591138 it has come to my attention that no one has filled you in on your working conditions fully so I am here to do it for you. your working hours are 7am to 10 pm every full week then you will get the following work week off, we understand this is rather confusing but just know your best interest is our priority (among other things) this gives you time for recreational activities and self mental care. you do know how everything in the office works but we did just throw a gun to you like a baby. your DDD issued pistol has DDD issued bullets so we can verify the killing of the dopples or in serious cases murder of innocent civilians. an agent will contact you intermittently to check your mental health. best regards , agent 907811

what a letter. did they call you a baby with a gun? your 25.

you decided to open the filing cabinet under your desk to place the letter just to find it riddled with boxes of said bullets. you place it over them and close it staring straight into your reflection of the glass "ok lets just breath and get through it" you assured yourself before reaching into your bag for a bagel and milk, odd combination yes but its what you had in your icebox. you started to worry about your food supplies through the week from what you remember you had bread some fruit jam and POSSIBLY not rotten eggs to hold you over but you knew for a fact a grown person was not going to survive on jelly sandwiches. you looked to the phone wanting to call a cousin that lived nearby to get you some things but you decided against it for now, maybe at the end of your shift you could leave them a message with the operator. soon the middle of the day came and Nacha came in with her daughter looking rather feverish "hi so sorry we had to come back in early she's coming down with something" Nacha slid both their papers and ids through the slot holding her baby close, you looked over the info and all was in order. you even studied them and before opening the door "maybe a doctor would help more?" you asked not wanting to sound mean " oh we went to the pharmacy right before coming here, they said its probably something the kids are passing around" nacha responded happily, this woman was really upbeat it almost scares you " oh good, get better kiddo" her daughter coughed a quiet "whatever" before her mom chastised her passing the now opened door.

you looked to their papers, specifically Anastacha's.... then your stomach dropped. her eyes. her stand offish demeanor yesterday and today, you had a sinking feeling about her relationship to Francis but you weren't sure so you decided to drop the idea for now...

2 dopples came in, horrible replication so you just dropped the shutter and called the moment they spoke.

the phone rang and you picked up "hello, this is agent 907811 the one that sent the letter" the voice was manly but upbeat (imagine Gladiolus from final fantasy 15) you nodded to no one "oh hello, a little unprofessional to make wellness calls in the middle of my shift no?" you asked playfully to test the waters on the guy " intermittently, remember?" he said matching energy "noticed you got 2 already, might get more not to jinx ya" you hummed in agreement as he continued "anyway to make it easier for you instead of calling us and explaining the situation I want you to just say my name and ill know to send our boys in yellow, to save time and lives right?" he kind of lingered on the right so on que you answered "right." "great! ok the names rex." he spoke quick "wait really?" you asked absent for a minute "well no my real name is classified but everyone calls me rex, and whenever you dial 3312 it puts you straight to me~" he made you smile hearing his happiness so you giggled "well ok will do rex, time to get back to work" "yes ma'am" you heard hanging up. dreamboat was infront of you already sliding his papers to you "sorry about that Mr. Mosses" you read over the file, a blush overcoming you "boyfriend?" he asked catching you off guard "n-no, the DDD" you almost got up to let him know you were serious but fixed your seating position instead "mmm...ok" you thanked your god he had very prevalent verbal ques, made your job easy "were do you get your milk from?" he asked taking back his papers "my old apartment, believe it or not the DDD moved me in yesterday with everything I had" you chuckled thinking he took his job a little too serious and didn't want enemy milk on his turf "i give you milk now." he almost declared in an odd way. you turned red imagining unholy thoughts "the farm i deliver for also delivers here. the buildings day is Monday but ill grab a case for you tomorrow" he walked in before you could even form the words thank you but on instinct you shut the door behind him.

you tried to calm your blush to no avail, the way he just announced his caring for you! the way he said it made you swoon "i give you milk now" god it was weirdly hot!! you almost swore you heard a bit of a Russian accent when he said it. you kept holding your face praying to go back to your natural color "doll you look like a tomato" another male voice said "oh Mr. Gauss, I apologize its just allergies" you looked away for a minute before doing the usual "its winter. your a horrible liar" he tapped the glass teasingly "all is well, good day Mr. Gauss" you spoke restrained trying not to be angry with the fact he had no issue calling you a liar opening the door for him "see you later doll". you sat there a little peeved to say the least, munching on your slightly stale bagel you continue your shift.

the next morning you woke up to knocking, your heart raced putting on your robe and ran to the door opening it "its 7:30" francis looked down at you looking almost disappointed "oh my god really?? shit thank you for waking me up" you left the door wide open as you rushed to put on a fresh uniform and stuffing your makeup bag in your purse. francis watched you rush from bed to bath sighing and looking around, he placed down five bottles of milk on your counter and opened your ice box "how pitiful" he spoke looking at the carton of barely any eggs and a few rotting veggies. he took it upon himself to leave a milk out and put the rest in making you a single piece of toast. you looked actually quite presentable considering your rushing you walked towards the door hitting something hard "ow" at first you were going to cry because Francis just watched you almost break your nose but you looked up to see him looking down. god did he smell good. like bourbon and vanilla, thank god axe body spray wasn't invented yet. "I made you toast. I have to get to work." he furrowed his brows at the last bit and left you, you look to the counter to see well enough he set the toast with jam on a small plate and a glass of milk at your table.

days had passed and soon it was your friday

it was almost 10 pm but you had to stay an extra hour because the twin models were at a party. you've never really had a full conversation with them but they were nice to you even complimented you on your hair once, finally they came in beautiful gowns that made you get up to see them fully "y/n! so sorry it took so long!" Selenne said raising her hands up air hugging you from the glass which made you chuckle "its my job to see your safe return, beautiful dresses by the way" you placed your hand on the glass to match hers "why thank you, we'll show you the details in a bit" Elenois smiled passing their papers to you, you matched them up everything being in order "you should come to a party with us" selenne jumped a little visibly annoying her twin "sel she has a job to do. a stressful one at that she doesn't need more comingling with the upper-class that watches your every move" elenois huffed taking the ids back "oh actually my days off start tomorrow" you smiled "oh. nevermind, wanna wear airtight dresses and flirt with politics?" elenois laughed making you raise an eyebrow smiling, selenne slapped her sisters shoulder giggling "shes a little tipsy, yakn-" the girls went silent. all of you looking to your left to see it.

a dopple.

a twin dopple.

it was horrifying. a giant sharp mouth filled its face, no eyes no nose it snarled stretching its arm out to the girls as they screamed. you quickly opened the door hearing your own heart beat quicken with every thought, "get in the office NOW" you yelled banging on the glass to get thier attention, they did as told rushing passed El pushing her sister in forcing Sel onto the office floor next to you. the dopple sprung passed the door before you could shut it, it tripping and grabbing onto elenois' leg with its yellow claws you ran up your mind swimming from thier screams, you punched the side of its head forcing it to go down before turning its attention to you. you grappled with it on the floor yelling at the girls to get a grip and lock the main and office door, they were trembling...blood from Els leg soaking her dress as she held selenne nodding to you closing the door and locking the main one from the office. you were bloody , your fist scrapped its teeth cracking the bone a bit as you threw it againt the door earning another scream from the twins it snarled and screeched as you ran towards the stairs unclipping your gun from its holster going up a floor "all residence stay in your homes a dopple is in the building" you yelled repeating the phrase as you heard them all scamble yelling and some of the men even starting to descend the staircase before you hit the first step. the monster stood before you on the bottom step bleeding from its maw "YoU pICk uP A GOosd fiIIgHT MakeSS yoU moRe DeLishessssss" you trembled aiming "Fuck You" POW POW the pistol shot hitting its stomach, its screeches hurt your ears but you slowly backed away as it crawled to reach you it was fast ripping off quite a bit of your skirt as you kept pilling the trigger knowing it had no more than 8 rounds finally it hit its chest making the thing go down by the second floor.

you laid there on the steps breathing heavy hearing almost nothing as everyone crowded around you asking questions and tending to your leg, but you heard nothing.

you got up pushing poor mia to the side backing down stairs passed the body pulling it by the leg to the main floor and leaving it at the end of the steps, everyone but Nacha and nat following for obvious reasons. you walked to the office opening it with your key seeing the twins holding one another sobbing looking up at you, they smilied running up and hugging you close you could start to hear their voices thanking god and thanking you...the gun was still in your hand so you walked passed them slowly sitting in your chair and placing the gun on the desk everyone ran to the girls to inspect them as you dailed the number "....rex....i had to kill it in front of all of them.." you croaked "coming now kid hold on" his voice sounded shaky but you were still processing everything the smell of blood and what seemed like rot, the stinging sensation of your cuts and bruises...the sounds of your residence begging you to answer them. oh.

you breathed in a sharp breath finally being able to sense everything "please step away from the body" you stated to the mcoolys looking over at it "you really killed it" the older one spoke in shock "oh dear your skirt " gloria took off her head scarf to cover you but francis stopped her taking off his wrobe and placing it over you "the ...blood" you managed to get out "fuck the blood right now" he stated mia dressed you in it as the twins blocked you making sure your panty hose were no longer exposed, all of the men looking away either in respect or fear of thier wives.

DDD came escorting everyone upstairs as the other half stayed downstairs to clean up "didnt think we'd meet this way" you looked up from the chair the shmidts brought out for you to sit as DDD officers looked over your wounds. it was rex. a taller man in casual business attire with salt n pepper hair "you did good kid, you saved those girls and the rest of them" he held out his hand to you , you shook it nodding "thank you" he nodded back letting go to speak with a yellow suit qietly "well it seems theres no fatal injuries on any of you , they dressed your wounds so now you rest" rex looked down at you . some would say you looked like a beaten dog but maybe that was just rex "your one tough bitch y/n." he walked off with the hazmats in tow, "i think its time for you to rest baby...you look close to passing out" gloria squeezed your arm as your eyes fluttered, you were passing out and fast "ill take her home" francis spoke up "and we'll stay with her" El and Sel spoke together "she cant sleep in those clothes" el added , everyone agreed as francis picked you up slowly treating you like glass to your apartment the scent of his shampoo and his warmth made you pass out holding him tighter

you could almost hear him stiffle a tear as he held you closer.

end part 2

[altocat]

Say what you want about Last Order, but it's given us a very unique and impressive range of emotive Sephiroth expressions. The last shot of him cradling Jenova's head while crying is a particularly striking bit of tragic imagery.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 7: Sapphire] [Series Finale]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count:��5.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Thank you for reading (and tolerating all my nautical puns)! 💎

How can love be a curse? How can it be something to fear, to condemn, to break?

She has dreamed of him all her life. First he was a protector, almost fatherlike, and then a remote, bewitching phantom as she crept into adolescence, and then when Harwin Strong died Daemon sailed over Saint George’s Channel to offer her solace in England, and at last the fantasies she never would have confessed to anyone were fulfilled, two marriages and four children later. Rhaenyra remembers what he told her in the mist-draped lakeside cottage where they met in secret, crossing paths like an asteroid striking a planet: My wife means nothing to me. She’s not like us. She is young, and weak, and afraid, and I could never respect that kind of person. Her father owns the last Connemara marble quarry in the world, and I needed a son. But the only woman I want is you.

Aegon fires the pistol as he chases her through the corridors of A-Deck, and when she shrieks nobody hears, or if they do they don’t appear to rescue her; the ship is full of people screaming, sobbing, clawing for their lives against wet walls and locked doors. He shoots and misses again. There’s something wrong with his hands. He keeps fumbling with the gun and almost dropping it, hissing in pain as he squeezes the trigger, and there’s blood staining his fingers.

Good, Rhaenyra thinks. I’m glad he’s hurt. I hope he’s dying.

She sees an open room and ducks inside, slamming the door behind her and barring it with the weight of her body as Aegon rams it with his shoulder. Rhaenyra is surrounded by the trappings of another family who purchased first-class tickets: chairs with velvet upholstery, a faux fireplace, paintings by Rousseau and Boccioni and Homer. The lights flicker and the steel beams of Titanic groan, low and disastrous. There isn’t much time left.

“Daemon!” she yells as loudly as she can. If he hears her, he’ll come running. I have to get to a lifeboat. I have to live for my father, for Jace and Luke and Joffrey, for the children I will one day give Daemon.

Rhaenyra struggles with the lock as Aegon batters the door and it quakes on its hinges. Just as she latches it, he fires the pistol through the door. Wood cracks and splinters; a bullet pierces Rhaenyra’s ribcage like a blade. There is unbearable pressure, and then a sharpness, a pain she believes she cannot stand until it keeps getting bigger, deeper, ripping her open and filling her with dark wet weight like the ocean surging into Titanic. She crumples to the floor. When she coughs, blood spurts out onto her lips. Rhaenyra wipes it away and then stares at the red on her palm.

I can’t die now. My life just became what it was supposed to be.

Aegon punches a hole through the mangled door large enough for him to reach in and unlock it. Then he stands in the threshold looking down at her, his hands shaking but his eyes hard, fierce, unflinching. Rhaenyra has never seen him like this before. She didn’t know he could be good at anything.

“How the fuck did you get on the ship?” Rhaenyra snarls as she scrambles away, hacking up more blood. The black opal ring Daemon gave her gleams like onyx or obsidian, something born of heat and earth and insurmountable, ancient gravity.

Daemon and I were made for each other. The same blood, the same bones, the same will to carve treasures from the bleakest places.

Aegon follows her across the floor, slow stalking steps. He doesn’t answer; instead, he shakes his right hand a few times—steadying himself, casting out tremors like demons—and then grips the pistol with it. He raises the gun, the barrel aimed at Rhaenyra’s face.

“Daemon?!” she screams, but he isn’t here. Then she asks, sudden desperate confusion, her blue eyes wide: “Why are you doing this?”

Aegon’s voice is calm. “Because she can’t be free unless you and Daemon are gone.”

That girl? Daemon’s sad, stupid wife? I’m dying because of HER?

“Father never loved you,” Rhaenyra seethes, red on her teeth, blooddrops spilling from her lips like rubies. Her eyes are cold, glinting sapphires, pools of freezing water that only needs minutes to stop the heart. “Just like Daemon never loved her.”

“I know. And I used to care. It almost killed me, it almost ate me alive. But now I’m better. And I finally know exactly who I’m supposed to be.”

Aegon pulls the trigger.

~~~~~~~~~~

As Daemon descends the Grand Staircase, you crawl down towards the next landing, your head spinning, your hands empty, writhing on your belly like a snake.

The dagger???

But you can’t find it, and you don’t have time to stop and search. Daemon is only a few steps behind you. When your palms hit B-Deck, you try to drag yourself upright, grappling for the banister; but before you can get your feet under you, Daemon kicks you and sends you hurtling down the next flight of stairs. You tumble towards C-Deck, clawing in vain for something to break your fall. Your head strikes the English oak wood and you hear your father’s bewildered voice as he sat at the dining room table in Lough Cutra Castle: Where are you going? When will you be back?

Never, never, never; and now from somewhere below you recognize the roar of rushing water.

“You were going to kill me?!” Daemon taunts as he bears down on you like a storm. Blood soaks his throat and the white shirt beneath his black suit jacket. His eyes are bright, feral, monstrous. “After all those times I spared you when I could have drowned you in a river or a hot bath or the sea? You’re so fucking useless. You really can’t do anything right. All you had to do was shut up and endure, and you could have lived to be an old, old woman with all the comforts my empire afforded you. Now, my dear, you will never see another sunrise. And when Titanic sinks, you’ll be buried with her.”

Down, down, always down towards the ocean floor, you crawl faster away from him as his footsteps grow louder.

“Help,” you moan weakly. Aegon? Anyone? But the only reply is the echoing of your own voice and the sounds of the dying ship: breaking metal, distant screams, gushing torrents of seawater.

You crash into C-Deck and again try to stagger to your feet, but Daemon is here, shoving you as if from a cliffside or off a balcony. And as you plummet down the Grand Staircase towards D-Deck—where the First-Class Dining Saloon is, where Thomas Andrews once assured you that Titanic was unsinkable—it is not hard wooden steps you collide with but swirling ice-cold seawater. You plunge beneath the currents and then come sputtering up to the surface, your white wool coat drenched and threatening to pull you below again like an anchor. You struggle to shed it with arms that are rapidly going numb.

I’m so cold, I’m so cold, if I don’t get out of the water I’ll be dead in minutes—

Daemon’s fingers close around your throat and he forces you under the waist-deep water. You thrash and try to push him away, to pry him off of you, but your muscles seem to have disappeared, they have been scraped off your bones and now you can only wait to die, your breathless lungs burning as your body freezes. You have a sudden vision of Daemon in his firelit study at Lough Cutra Castle, marveling at a shard of Larimar dredged up from the Caribbean Sea and quoting the first known treatise on gemstones, written by Theophrastus in the time of Alexander the Great: Of things formed in the earth, some have their origin from water.

“No!” you scream through the depths, bubbles rising up to air you cannot taste. You claw at Daemon’s hands, but you cannot wound him, cannot get a grip on him, and hasn’t that been true since you married him five years ago?

The dark, freezing water makes you want to give up. It makes death feel easy, painless, inevitable. You imagine faces you’ll never see again: Draco, Aegon, your parents, Fern. You hope Carpathia will be here soon to rescue the survivors. You wonder what will happen to Aegon’s paintings.

Through the water come the muffled booms of explosions, four of them, surely something catastrophic, the ship splitting in half or a distress flare misfired or boilers bursting and shearing through what’s left of the hull. Then Daemon’s hands vanish from your throat and someone is hauling you up out of the icy currents, they are freeing you, they are disinterring you from an oceanic grave.

“I’m here!” Aegon is shouting as you burst into open air, gasping and flailing. He drags you towards the Grand Staircase where you can climb out of the flood, but you’re looking for Daemon. He is a few yards away and floating face-up, one hand clasping his chest and a gurgling sound leaking from his throat. The water around him is turning red. He’s fading, but he’s not dead yet.

“Aegon, he’s still—”

“I know. I’ll take care of him once you’re out of the water. I don’t have any more bullets left.”

“I want to do it.”

“We need to get you dry and warmed up—”

“I want to do it,” you say again, and Aegon lets you go.

You twist off your black opal engagement ring and throw it into the water beside Daemon. Then you place both of you hands on his chest and push him beneath the surface, Aegon standing just behind you with the barrel of the pistol in his grasp in case he has to use it as a club. The glacial seawater froths and whirls as it rises over Daemon’s hemorrhaging chest. He startles—a death rattle, a late rite—and resists feebly, gazing up at you with glassy, disbelieving eyes. They ask: How did this happen? I was supposed to kill you, remember? I own you. I own jewels trapped in subterranean darkness all over the world, and you are the very least of them.

“Draco isn’t yours,” you tell Daemon as you force him under. “Rhaenyra isn’t yours. And I’m not yours either. Now sink and die and make me free.”

He twitches, he bares his crimson teeth at you, but after all this time finally Daemon is the weak one. The rising water flushes maroon around him, his skin goes a frail and translucent bluish-white, his heart is drained until the chambers are cold and grey and empty. You hold him beneath the water until the bubbles roiling up from his nose and mouth disappear. He will never touch you again, he will never hurt anyone, he will never bruise or break or ensnare or captivate. And who will inherit his mines scattered across the planet?

Draco. His only son. And my family and I will act as trustees until he’s eighteen.

“We have to go,” Aegon is saying. He must have taken off his coat before he went into the water after you. He stands shivering in only his white shirt and green corduroy pants, the ocean now lapping at his chest.

“Rhaenyra?” you ask.

“She’s gone. I’m sure.”

“It’s over,” you say softly, feeling weight like stones roll off of you, feeling warmth like sunlight on your face.

As if in reply, the listing ship groans and the lights flicker again. “Not yet,” Aegon says, grabbing your hand. “Let’s hope there’s a lifeboat left.”

You wade to the steps and climb out of the water. Aegon helps you wring out your soaked hair and the skirt of your gown, then snatches his black wool coat off the steps where he left it and puts it on you. You race up the Grand Staircase to C-Deck, and then B-Deck, and then the A-Deck landing where you find your green handbag with Aegon’s tiny aluminum lighter still inside.

“I think you dropped this,” Aegon says when he spots the dagger on a nearby step, still covered with Daemon’s blood. He wipes it clean on his corduroy pants and then passes it to you. When you hesitate to take it, he grins. “Who knows. You might need to stab someone else tonight.”

“I never want to draw blood again.” But you accept the dagger and place it in your handbag, the captive gemstones glimmering there: amethyst, tiger’s eye, black opal, emerald, ruby, bloodstone, sapphire like the North Atlantic Ocean that is swallowing Titanic down into her cold, crushing belly. Then you ascend one last flight of steps to the Boat Deck, passing the bronze cherub statue and the ticking clock, stealing a glimpse up at the dome of glass and wrought iron that will soon shatter when the sea punctures through it like a bullet or a blade.

Outside the night air is so frigid that ice crystals begin forming in your hair, and the hem of your blue gown begins to stiffen as it freezes. You are barefoot, you only now realize, and if splinters from the pine planks of the deck needle their way into your flesh you won’t be able to feel them. There are only two lifeboats left on this side of the ship, one of which is already being lowered down to the sea. Officers are still directing women and children into the other. Benjamin Guggenheim and his companions are very drunk, clumsily herding frantic first-class passengers towards the boats. The string quartet is now playing The Merry Widow by Franz Leh��r.

“Come, come quickly, Lady Targaryen!” the officers shout when they see you, knowing by your gown that you belong here, perhaps recognizing you from strolls on the Promenade Deck or when you and Daemon boarded Titanic in Cork with much fanfare. Aegon helps you into the lifeboat, his wounded hands cradling yours. Another distress flare is shot into the sky, metallic rain, doomsday portents.

We’re going to be alright, you think. We’re going to survive this.

“Darling, you’re sopping wet!” one of the women in the lifeboat exclaims, and they all begin to fret over you. There are dogs here, a Pomeranian in one lap, a Yorkshire terrier in another.

“Get her under a blanket,” Aegon is saying. “Keep her warm or she’ll get pneumonia. Give her a lifebelt.”

“We will, we will,” another lady shimmering in jewels—a mother of two boys in heavy coats and blue-striped pajamas—promises him. “We’ll take good care of her.”

You turn back to Aegon. “What?”

He tells you, his voice quiet: “Petra, they’re not going to let me in.”

“No, no, you can’t stay here—”

“Women and children only!” an officer booms, then begins waving several shrieking maids towards the vessel, just moments from launching.

“Aegon,” you say, horrified. He’ll die if he stays. He’ll drown or he’ll freeze and he’ll be entombed at the bottom of the Atlantic. “No.”

“I’ll be okay.”

“No you won’t,” you sob, then look desperately at the officers. How can I change their minds? “He’s a Targaryen, he’s a first-class passenger, he must be allowed aboard!”

“A Targaryen?!” one of the officers says distractedly as he battles with the rigging. “I know all the Targaryens on Titanic, and he’s not one of them!”

“Just look at him,” the other officer mutters, meaning: He isn’t dressed like someone with castles or mansions or titles or mines. He can’t be someone who matters.

“He is,” you plead, tears stinging on your cheeks as they freeze. “He’s Aegon, he’s a Targaryen, please, he can’t be left behind—”

“Women and children only!” the first officer barks at you as the other pushes away a group of panicked young men in black suits trying to bribe their way into the vessel. “And if you want to stay here with him, that’s your business, but get to it so the rest of us can try to make it off this ship alive!”

“There’s more than enough room for him, for Christ’s sake, there are dogs in here!”

“There will be other lifeboats, love,” one of the women tells you as she drapes a scratchy wool blanket across your shoulders, but you don’t believe that’s true. The maids are climbing into the lifeboat; the officers are beginning to lower it with sharp lurches that make the occupants gasp.

You reach for Aegon, your hands catching on his drenched shirt, the thin layer of ice cracking beneath your fingers. “No, no, Aegon, I can’t go like this.”

“You have to,” he says calmly, and he holds you face still and touches his lips to your forehead, a kiss goodbye, gentle and lingering.

“No—”

“You have a kid. You have to go. Draco will be looking for you on Carpathia.”

“You deserve to be free too.”

“I’ll stay out of the water for as long as I can,” Aegon says like a vow. “I’ll try to find something to float on. And once Titanic goes down…maybe the lifeboats will come back to pick up any survivors.”

The water is too cold. I’ve felt it, I’ve been paralyzed by it, once you go under you only have minutes. “You can’t…you won’t…”

“Petra,” Aegon says, and his eyes turn desperate. He knows it’s his only chance. “Make them come back for me.”

“I will,” you swear to him.

And he pries your fingers off his shirt and rips away from you before your resolve can weaken. High above and through tears that blur your vision, constellations of stars gleam like diamonds.

~~~~~~~~~~

He runs to the other side of the Boat Deck, searching for lifeboats that haven’t launched yet. He can’t find any. There are swarms of passengers weeping, shouting, jostling, and officers trying to restore order. Pistols and flares are fired, chairs are tossed overboard for passengers to cling to as they float. But Aegon knows that won’t be enough; if they stay submerged, they will die.

I need something bigger. I need something I can lie on. A door or a dresser or…

He shoves through the crowd to get to the ship’s railing. Below, the ocean has gotten so much closer. He sees a lifeboat bobbing in the waves, just far enough away that someone brave enough to leap could not get to it. Inside, along with perhaps twenty first-class women and maids, Aegon recognizes Laenor Velaryon and his ever-present Parisian friends. They are puffing on cigars and toasting glasses of brandy, celebrating their good fortune. They must have successfully bribed their way aboard.

“Fuck,” Aegon sighs, his breath fog in the frigid air.

How am I going to stay out of the water long enough to survive until I’m rescued?

Then he replays the evening in his mind—his first night with Petra, perhaps his last night on earth, red silk and candles and oil paint and the warmth of her beneath his hands—and Aegon gets an idea. He sprints back to the Grand Staircase and soars down to B-Deck, seawater ankle-deep on the floor. He splashes through the corridors to the staterooms once occupied by Daemon Targaryen’s wife and child, now rid of him, now waiting for what will come next. Aegon hurries through the sitting room, passing the taxidermied tiger head above the fireplace and the large, heavy chest where Daemon made Petra lock up the art she bought in Paris.

She didn’t remember to put the real Picasso’s paintings in a lifeboat, but she saved mine, Aegon thinks. If I make it out of this alive somehow, I’m marrying her the second we dock in New York.

He goes to the bedroom, finds what he needs, carries it with him as he returns to the maze of hallways. Now the icy water is nipping at his knees.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ocean is calm, the lifeboat rocking placidly on inky surf. The women comfort their children and their dogs. You take Aegon’s aluminum lighter out of your handbag and light yourself a cigarette, then pass it around so the other passengers can thaw their lungs with hot plumes of nicotine, here in the early hours of the morning when it feels like you’ll never be warm again. The officer who took command of the vessel—the same one who shouted at you and refused to admit Aegon—is rowing vigorously as you and several other women help him, staring horror-struck at Titanic as she goes down by the bow.

“We have to get away from the ship,” the officer keeps saying, and he sounds genuinely petrified. A woman in a glittering gold gown steers with the tiller. “Or she’ll suck us into the water with her.”

There are shadows of other lifeboats nearby, also fleeing from the condemned Titanic, that miraculously colossal and opulent triumph that everyone had told you was unsinkable. You wonder which one Draco and Fern are in, undoubtedly cold and frightened but safe.

Aegon deserves to live too. I have to find him, I have to save him.

Now there is seawater flooding over Titanic’s deck at the bow, where you and Aegon saw third-class passengers—now dead, or very soon to be—kicking around pieces of the iceberg that they didn’t know had doomed them. The ocean surges higher, covering B-Deck, and A-Deck, and finally the Boat Deck, where the towering funnels collapse and you can hear shrieks and guns firing. You know you won’t be able to see Aegon from here—you won’t be able to tell if he made it into a lifeboat somehow, or if he is one of the figures that falls from a lethal height into the waves, or if he is crushed or shot or trapped below deck and drowned—but still, you cannot stop looking for him, peering through the night to where Titanic glows in her spotlight of white-gold electric luminescence.

As the bow sinks, the stern begins to rise, higher and higher until the tension cracks the ship in two, and the passengers you share the lifeboat with wail and sob as the ship’s lights blink out for the last time and the gravesite goes dark. Women call out the names of their husbands, fathers, brothers, adult sons, knowing they must be dying. You can only watch with tears streaming down your face, thinking: How could he survive that? How could I have left him?

The stern bobs for a while in the nightscape sea, a shade, a phantom, and then it plunges into the ocean. The water—indifferent, dispassionate, not a mortal but a titan, here long before humans and destined to outlast them, not unlike the treasures of the earth—gulps down metal beams and pine planks and split bones and shredded flesh. There are screams, so many, so pitiful, so loud they fill the sky, and the howling women in the lifeboat cover their ears and those of their children so they will not have to try to exorcise the sound from their memories later.

As soon as the stern has been consumed by the depths, you say to the officer: “We have to go back to look for survivors.”

“Are you mad, Lady Targaryen?” he snaps at you; but there are tears in his bloodshot eyes. “We’ll be mobbed if we sail into that. They’ll pour into the boat until we go under too. Do you want to freeze to death with them?”

“People will die quickly. They are dying already, the water is cold enough to kill in minutes. If we start rowing towards them now, most of the passengers will be dead by the time we get there. And then we can rescue anyone who’s left.” Please still be alive, Aegon.

“Not a chance in hell,” the officer says.

You turn to the other women. They blink back at you in dazed, timid terror. “It’s murder to leave your men behind,” you implore, you beg them to agree. “Help me row to them.”

But the women only weep softly to themselves and look to the officer to tell them what to do. He smirks at you victoriously, an expression of no humor but rather grim, fearful misery that could drive someone insane. In the lap of one woman, the Pomeranian whimpers.

I can’t leave Aegon, you think. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

You open your green handbag and pull out the dagger, the blade pointed at the officer. He shouts and bolts away from you, incredulous, furious.

“You’re threatening to kill me?!”

You shake your head. “I’m offering you a gift.” You turn the dagger around so the officer can grasp the handle. His gaze catches, transfixed and wondrous, on the gemstone spheres like perfectly aligned planets. “This dagger is worth more than you would make in a decade of work. Go back for survivors, and it’s yours. Refuse, and when we are rescued and my son inherits my husband’s fortune, I will make it my life’s work to destroy you. I will follow you anywhere on earth. I will ruin you. So take the dagger as payment and break my curse, and let us save the people who are left.”

The lifeboat sways in the small, serene waves, and the stars revolve high above in a moonless sky, and you and the other women wait for the officer to reply. After a minute or more—we have to go back now, right now, we don’t have much time—he finally lifts the dagger from your open palm and tucks it into his belt.

“Fine,” he says, picking up his oar again. “Let’s go. I cannot abide your damnation. I’ll be haunted by enough ghosts already.”

He and several of the other women row into the throng while you find the flashlights stored in the bottom of the lifeboat, then perch at the bow searching for Aegon. Instead you see hundreds of bluish corpses floating in their lifebelts, dead men and women and children, some of them first-class or crewmembers of the ship but most of them third-class passengers: Italian, Polish, Greek, Syrian, Russian, Chinese, Irish, discarded people, good for dying in the operations of mines or factories or railroads and little else.

“Aegon!” you shout over the water, but he does not answer. There is only the mist of your own words and the sound of cold currents rippling as the lifeboat cuts through them.

Your group saves two people from the sea, both nearly frozen to death and unable to speak: one man floating on a table washed out of a dining room, one little girl clutching her dead mother. Then a long time passes with no living souls to salvage.

“Have we done enough now, Lady Targaryen?” the officer asks you gravely. “Have you seen a sufficient number of the dead to assuage your wrath?”

“Not yet,” you say, steely, your eyes fixed on the water as the flashlight illuminates lifeless faces, scraps of wreckage, nothing, nothing, nothing. And then the light settles on him.

When the stern of Titanic went under, so did Aegon: there are ice crystals in his hair, and his clothes are freezing to his skin, and his lips are blue, and he’s shivering violently. But unlike over 1,000 other passengers, he didn’t stay in the depths long enough to perish as the cold stopped their hearts and lungs. He had something with him, a life raft, a second chance, a treasure mined not from some far-flung crevice of the earth but from the bedroom where he uncovered you, where you found each other and never wanted to go back to the way life felt before.

Aegon is sprawled across the oval-shaped mirror that once stood beside your bed, the fractured glass reflecting the stars that glimmer in the night sky. His ravaged hands cling to the wooden frame. And when the beam of the flashlight skates across his face like moonshine, Aegon knows you’ve come back for him, and he reaches for you until your hands link with his and help pull him aboard.

~~~~~~~~~~

Carpathia arrives an hour later, just before four in the morning on April 15th, and as the sun rises over the North Atlantic Ocean you and Aegon find Draco and Fern on the bow deck, where stewards are distributing blankets and tea to the survivors. Women wander the ship pleading for help finding their lost loved ones, weeping endlessly for their brothers, their fathers, their husbands. Your tears have stopped entirely.

Carpathia’s passengers are generous. They offer in charity their food, their clothing, even their rooms. Children share their books and toys with Draco. Fern teaches him how to play marbles; you read him The Story of Saint Patrick. A doctor onboard disinfects and bandages Aegon’s hands, and assures him that he will be able to play viola again, not now, perhaps not even soon, but one day.

That first afternoon, as you and Aegon are taking a stroll on the Boat Deck, you spot a man painting a scene of the sunset: gold, tiger’s eye, ruby, red beryl. Aegon shows him some of the portraits from his scuffed leather portfolio…though, of course, one in particular is not suitable for mixed company. The man is so impressed that he insists Aegon must not be deprived of the ability to create such beauty for lack of supplies, and gifts him an easel and some paper, brushes, and oil paints.

It’s difficult with his sore, bandaged hands, but Aegon still wants to try, and when his brush begins to shake he asks you to help him. Aegon explains things to you as you steady his hands: chiaroscuro, scumbling, alla prima, glazing, impasto, a foreign language that will soon become familiar. Already, you are learning. And as Carpathia sails into New York Harbor on the evening of April 18th, Aegon takes a paintbrush and draws a circle around your ring finger in vivid, sapphire blue, a worthless gift of no gleaming gems or metal, a vow that means everything.

It’s been years, but Aegon remembers the way to his mother’s house. He leads you, Draco, and Fern to the doorstep of the Hightower mansion on Fifth Avenue. He knocks and a butler answers, a middle-aged man who gapes at Aegon in shellshocked disbelief.

“One…one moment, sir, if you’d be so kind to…to…to just wait here, please,” the butler stammers, then disappears inside. A few minutes later, a different man appears in the threshold. He must be Aemond, tall and white-blonde and precise in every movement, his left eye concealed by a black leather eyepatch. His remaining eye, a clear alert blue, darts to where Fern is holding Draco on her hip and then to you and Aegon, his bandaged hands resting so lightly on you they could never leave a mark.

Then Aemond’s face softens, and there is a kind sort of relief that seeps in, and you imagine your parents will look the same way when you return to Lough Cutra Castle. “You’re home,” he says quietly.

And Aegon smiles and replies: “We all are.”

[sleepyhead-poll]

ROUND 2A, MATCH 7 OUT OF 8!

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Ventus:

He broke his own heart (literally) and then took a decade long nap to recover :]

He's managed to fall into deep sleeps on multiple occasions, one of which lasted over a DECADE. Fighting off possession by darkness really takes it out of you, especially when your heart ends up outside your body.

https://www.tumblr.com/yourfavhassleepybitchdisease/669937192094908416/yourfavhassleepybitchdisease-ventus-from?source=share

Falling unconscious for worrying amounts of time is his main coping mechanism

Ven better win this tournament it was LITERALLY DESIGNED FOR HIM

G'raha Tia:

He learns a lot in his time from hibernating and when he wakes up from hibernating. He's a sweet boy and has great leadership skills. He's also an idiot (affectionate)

(Spoilers ahead) He is a catboy who is your (as in the player character's) biggest fan. He's a nerd and a geek. He tried to pretend to be evil but failed miserably because he's a terrible liar and also such a good boy. Most of his plans involve self-sacrifice. He decided to put himself to sleep as the guardian of a magical tower, to be woken up from stasis one day in the far future. Anyways then he ended up traveling back from that future in order to stop a calamity, became the leader of a society in a land teetering on the edge of an apocalypse, accidentally kidnapped the souls of some of the player character's allies, and eventually ends up merging with his original self, waking him up from stasis in the process. Also he's technically royalty. So vote for him!

[felassan]

"Journal #3 Dragon Age: The Veilguard is coming October 31 Pre-orders Open Now Hello everyone, We’re excited to finally share the release date for Dragon Age: The Veilguard, which is officially October 31, 2024 worldwide! Please note, this is a simultaneous release; we will announce exact timing at a later date. We want to extend a huge shout out to the Dragon Age community for your patience and enthusiasm; we can't wait for you to jump into the role of Rook and embark on your journey to save Thedas. We know the wait has been long, but the wait will be worth it. In the meantime, we want to give you a hint at what's in store for you in Dragon Age: The Veilguard. You're leading a desperate fight for the future of Thedas with your companions, the stakes are higher than ever. So grab a seat and click on the thumbnail below to watch this brand new trailer (includes some small story spoilers). “As someone who’s been working on Dragon Age for over 15 years, I know just how much our community has been looking forward to this day, and I’m equally excited to share and celebrate that the game will officially launch on October 31,” said John Epler, Creative Director of Dragon Age: The Veilguard. “We wanted to give you the choice to really express yourself, and do that in a world full of adventure and danger. So whether you’re a Warrior, Rogue or a Mage, we can’t wait for you to gear up, gather your party, and set out for another thrilling adventure through Thedas this Halloween.” As a character-driven RPG, Dragon Age: The Veilguard offers you a crafted experience woven from the threads of rich storytelling and fantasy worldbuilding the franchise is known for. In this bold, heroic adventure, you will experience expansive and dynamic stories that navigate love, loss, and complex choices that affect relationships and the fate of each member of the Veilguard. In true Dragon Age fashion, these bonds of fellowship are the foundation upon which Rook’s journey is built, and it will be up to you to determine how their personal story unfolds. Pre-Orders Now Open Fans who pre-order* the Standard Edition of Dragon Age: The Veilguard for $69.99 USD‡ on PlayStation 5 and Xbox Series X|S, or $59.99 USD‡ on PC via Steam, EA App and Epic Games Store will receive cosmetic Blood Dragon Armor sets for Warrior, Mage and Rogue classes. EA Play Pro† members on the EA App will enjoy unlimited access to the EA Play Pro Edition* starting October 31st. Check out the full breakdown of the different editions we have available here: Digital Editions"

"- Standard Edition  - Dragon Age: The Veilguard - PC: $59.99‡| Console: $69.99 USD‡"

"- Deluxe Edition - Dragon Age: The Veilguard - 3 Rook armor sets (cosmetic only) - 6 Rook weapons (cosmetic only) - 7 Companion armor sets (cosmetic only) - 7 Companion weapons (cosmetic only) - PC: $79.99 USD‡ | Console: $89.99 USD‡"

"- Pre-Order Bonus* - All Pre-Orders (Standard & Deluxe) will receive: - Blood Dragon Armor Set (Warrior, Mage, Rogue - cosmetic only)"

- “Rook’s Coffer” Edition (Does NOT include Game) - Lyrium Dagger - Thedas Map with Quiver Tube - Rook’s Deck - Potion Flask - Enchanted Die - $150 USD‡"

"- Vyrantium Pack by Scanavo (Does NOT include Game) - Exclusive SteelBook® Case (No Game) - ICONART™ Metal Print and magnet wall mount - Notebook - Collector’s rigid Outerbox Check in with your local retailer to find out about the availability of this edition in your region"

"The Art of Dragon Age: The Veilguard by Dark Horse (Does NOT include Game, Deluxe Edition shown above)  - Standard Edition - 256-page art book providing a behind-the-scenes look at Dragon Age: The Veilguard - $49.99 USD‡ - Deluxe Edition - Includes extra prints - Includes exclusive slipcase - Alternate cover - $99.99 USD‡ - BioWare Gear Edition - Only available while supplies last, sold exclusively on the BioWare Gear website - Includes an exclusive print - BioWare Gear Edition alternate cover - $55.00 USD‡ What’s Coming?"

"ICYMI, we released our August Roadmap this week! Next week, we’ll have a dive into our game’s combat and more information on our PC Specs. There’s a lot more to come in September and October, too; so keep your eyes peeled on our socials.  We're beyond excited to be on this adventure with you, and we can't wait for you to get your hands on the game. Chat soon. - The Dragon Age Community Team *Conditions & restrictions apply. See https://www.ea.com/games/dragon-age/dragon-age-the-veilguard/disclaimers for details. ‡Offers may vary or change. see retailer site for details. †Conditions, limitations and exclusions apply. See EA Play Terms for details."

[source]

[loveothislife]

You’ll be in tears by the end of André Aciman’s 2007 novel Call Me By Your Name. Turning that last page feels like being rudely cast out of the love story between Elio and Oliver, two men who must be together, who have to be together, because, in the words of Faith Evans, “I never knew there was a love like this before.” But if you’re going to be heartbroken, at least let it be via Call Me By Your Name’s audiobook, read gorgeously by the upcoming film adaptation’s star, Armie Hammer, whose voice is the audio equivalent of ordering a Lyft Line and having it all to yourself.

In this new excerpt from the audiobook, out October 3, teenage Elio (played in the film by Timothée Chalamet) describes having sex for the very first time with Oliver (Hammer), the 24-year-old graduate student studying under his father for the summer. Elio’s had a crush on Oliver for weeks, and in this scene, we finally learn the significance of the book’s title. In this excerpt (and at all times), Hammer’s voice is brimming with such melody that, if you listen to it long enough, you can probably get drunk off it. Because you’ll need a way to explain to your friends why you have to cancel on your plans because you have a date with Armie Hammer’s voice, here are 20 descriptions of that supernatural sound:

1. Armie Hammer’s voice sounds a little like Jon Hamm’s voice, if Jon Hamm’s voice was dunked in honey.

2. Hearing Armie Hammer say “fuck” in the Call Me By Your Name audiobook makes it totally fine that he had to say “Let’s gut the friggin’ nerd” in The Social Network, because, you know what, some things are just worth the wait.

3. To hear Armie Hammer say “languorous” is to feel like Obama is still president, he’s just taking a vacation, but he and Michelle will be back in the White House soon.

4. Armie Hammer’s voice is the physical manifestation of those wooden decorative signs at Marshall’s or TJ Maxx that sell for $24.99 that say “Your Husband Called And Said It’s Ok To Buy Anything You Want.” Armie Hammer’s voice sounds like the fantasy of luxury.

5. Sometimes, when Armie Hammer is in the heat of a particularly vivid description, Armie Hammer’s voice sounds a little like the man who does the Men’s Wearhouse commercials. You know, the guy who says, “You’re going to like the way you look,” and now you kinda want to Google the nearest Men’s Wearhouse. You know, just in case.

6. I suspect that Armie Hammer’s voice would smell like linguini, seasoned with Tasmanian pepper and lemon with Parmesan cheese on top. I’d need to speak with Armie Hammer in person to confirm this. 7. You know when you’re a regular somewhere? And there’s a long line, but, say, the barista or the clerk or the tailor motions you around the long line because they’ve got your order ready? That’s what Armie Hammer’s voice sounds like.

8. Armie Hammer’s voice is so deep and viscous it sounds like when Beyoncé performs “Love on Top” live and she sings the chorus again and again and again and again, but that last time she sings “Baby it’s you,” she switches it up and goes to a lower key!

9. Armie Hammer’s voice sounds like it’s soaked in maple syrup and — surprise! — you’re at Bubby’s, and there’s no line, and lucky for you, your James Beard pancakes with peaches have just arrived to your table.

10. Armie Hammer’s voice sounds as euphonious as Oprah’s voice, which is quite possibly the highest compliment you could ever pay another human.

11. The way Armie Hammer says “kiss” feels like you have literally been kissed, not by his lips, but by the sun itself. You took a picture of this sun-kissing, posted it to Instagram, and you’ve gotten a lot of likes.

12. The way Armie Hammer says, “Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine,” feels like a shared secret too tender for this savage and cacophonous place called the internet, but here we are.

13. Armie Hammer’s voice feels like when you’ve decided to take a nap, but to hell with setting an alarm! You’ll wake up when you wake up, and everyone texting you will have to deal with it!

14. Armie Hammer’s voice sounds like when the violins come in on Nelly’s “Grillz,” which is to say that it sounds like the ideal combination of highbrow and lowbrow.

15. Armie Hammer’s voice sounds like the opposite of that swish-swish a nylon sweatsuit made in the ’80s, because Armie Hammer has never worn nylon, he exclusively wears corduroy or linen.

16. The timbre of Armie Hammer’s voice is identical to the timbre of the bells ringing on the last day of school, when you could dump the entire contents of your backpack into the dumpster right in front of the teacher who wouldn’t round your 89 percent up to an A-.

17. Armie Hammer sounds so sumptuous and moneyed, you might think you’ve paid off all of your student loans.

18. Armie Hammer’s voice inexplicably sounds like he’s both speaking to you and listening to you and deeply interested in every fleeting thought that pops into your head, even the ones about Mother!

19. Hearing Armie Hammer’s voice is like going to the salon and getting a really good shampoo, where they use a little bit of tea tree oil and massage your temples and then say it’s on the house.

20. There’s such melody in Armie Hammer’s voice that the devil has to work overtime to get a new Nickelback song in the world, just so everything stays in balance.

Vulture (September 21, 2017)

[moongirlwidow]

File: Volkov, Anetka Vespera —> Notable Events

Aliases: Winter Widow

Status: Classified

File Last updated: July 6, 2023 AD

Status: Student

Age: 15

Class: 16ABX

Total Missions: 681

Missions completed: 671

Missions successful: 670

Mission failures: 1

Kill count: ~10k

The First Winter Soldier Incident

Date of occurrence: April 6, 2012

Age: 6 years

Summary: the Winter Soldier was brought to the academy for a pruning of classes and training session. After watching the elder classes fight and largely fail against the Soldat, Volkov faked unconsciousness. The objective of her class was to survive, however she laid limp for an hour before performing takedown 6AN19Y, a skill she had not been taught not previously seen. She proceeded to render the Soldat unconscious, the only Widow under the age of 11 to do so

Aftermath: following this, in consideration with Volkov’s other skills, statistics and mannerisms, she was selected to train as the replacement for the Iron Maiden, Melina Vostokov, alongside A. Dreykov, Taskmaster

Melbourne Playground 618

Date of occurrence: July 16, 2010

Age: 4 years

Summary: flammable gas canisters were placed in the playground at [redacted](Melbourne, Australia) by Volkov, Galkin and Zubov, lit with a dropped cigarette

Casualties: 29

Targets killed: 6/6

Myers Mountain Poisioning

Date of occurrence: October 16-31, 2022

Age: 13

Summary: Volkov infiltrated the Myers-Henderson Charity Gala in Salt Lake City Utah, seduced Messers. George Cawford and Issac Wells into her suite where she followed orders to lead them on in belief of a possible three-way encounter. She then put a heavy poison on her neck and lips which when oral contact is made knocks the victim unconscious, with the safety precaution of a powder which could be applied via [redacted]

Casualties: 2

Targets killed: 2/2

Retrieval of Archival Soviet Files from [redacted] Castle, Scotland

Date of occurence: August 12, 2022

Age: 15

Summary: Volkov alongside Taskmaster attended a fantasy-theme event in Scotland, using this as a cover to retrieve various Soviet files and archival items. Volkov created a contact with Nina Brown to gain na alibi for being out late, once again showing her skill in seducing women of a lesbian persuasion

Casualties: 0

Items Retrieved: 45/44

Graduation Test

Date of occurrence: July 28, 2023

Age: 15

Summary: following suit with N. Romanova, Volkov’s test included the retiring of her class. She was left blindfolded in a room with four of her peers, all of whom were shot at point-blank range, one shot to the heart and one to the throat. She then found herself in a laboratory chamber, and after moving through light gunfire she mixed chemicals to create toxic fumes, claiming the single gas mask for herself and climbing her to aid in avoiding the chemical.

The final room contained Katarina Yubkin and Olga Oborin, second and third ranked in the group. She eliminated Oborin without issue. Yubkin gave a fight, showing weakness as she begged for mercy before her death. Volkov then checked all bodies to confirm deaths and emerged for her assessment.

Score: 112/100

Time: 7 minutes, 26.751 seconds (record, beats Natalia Romanova)

Casualties: 28