#like what the fuck do you mean *resilient*. I can’t even handle seeing a bug flying near my face or getting a B in a class. or being told

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

My roommate and I had a conversation last night and I keep rotating it in my brain and I Don’t Like It

[desroundtree]

I Shouldn’t Live In NYC or Maybe I Should...

I love NYC. 

But there are very real reasons I shouldn’t live here anymore. Real is relative of course but you know what I mean. I feel like I just don’t like anyone - not the people here already, or the new people coming in, or the tourists spreading their germs. I am over it all. Packed streets with people wearing their masks the wrong way, teenagers that are not yours that you want to yell at, the smell (sometimes I yell at the smell too, I can’t lie).

What are some of the reasons? Well there are many. Sometimes I feel like too many to name but for you I will take a stab at it. A slight continued stab like getting shanked in prison.

I hate crowds. 

Despise them. They make me anxious and uncomfortable. I love concerts though so this makes zero sense and I’m ok with it. There is a difference between being in a crowded train and being in the crowd at a concert. One of these things just doesn’t belong here. It’s me. I’d rather not. Hard pass on the NYC crowds. 

I hate noise. 

It legitimately annoys me when my neighbors make what I feel is unnecessary noise. Stop with the half ass drilling and build whatever it is you decided to build quickly. The bouncing of any kind of balls before 9am isn’t necessary. Clean your BBQ quickly. And don’t do it at 7am. Seems like it isn’t much to ask - yet I have the balls to complain about noise in NYC. I mean I have other complaints like when leaves need to be shoveled from the concrete with a metal shovel or when the snipping of leaves is met by the face of someone who shouldn’t be in my window at any point, never mind when most normal human beings are sleeping. I hate bugs. 

And there are bugs here. Crawly ones and flying ones that I just don’t like. I despise being scared of bugs but NYC doesn’t need help in the big fear department. We have flying cockroaches for the love of all that is holy. I saw a murder hornet. Mosquitoes are vicious and will eat you alive. There are bugs that are long and have what seems like a million legs, with some even sprouting out of their ass. What are ass legs necessary for? I don’t even like ladybugs and have killed more than a few by “accident”. Anything that flies in the vicinity of my face is a goner. I hate bees, yes they are important but they can do their business the fuck away from me. I saw a god damned murder hornet -IN BROOKLYN. It’s completely unnecessary and if I wanted to be accosted by bugs I would have chosen to live in the damn South. I guess I really don’t know where I can go where there are NO bugs but I guess I can figure that out in time. I hear Aruba is nice.

I hate waiting. 

I am the most impatient person most of the time. And in NYC there is a lot of hurry up and wait. Which I cannot stand. I hate people who do not walk with intention or if they chose to do so it’s as if the whole sidewalk belongs to them. Just move in your slow space. When I can’t move at the pace I deem acceptable, I make sure to move to the side so others can get where the hell they need to be. 

I hate lines and rushing (though my anxiety dictates otherwise) that’s all we seem to do. 

Rush here. Rush there. Never stop moving. Rush to wait. It becomes a very annoying thing. I like punctuality and that does not exist - even with a damn reservation. Usually I sing wait wait wait wait wait (To Rihanna’s Work) and legitimately it can get me through. Sometimes. I hate traffic. 

There is so much traffic and it’s traffic of all kinds. If you aren’t dodging cars like a game of Frogger, you’re dodging bikes. It’s never ending. Traffic on residential blocks, on highways, on avenues. If it’s not the car and trucks or bikes, it’s the people. People traffic is very real, even in pandemic times, when regardless there is always someone standing, being or breathing too damn close to you.

I hate people. 

Yep. You read that right. NYC has people. Lots of them from all over the place. The sheer amount of people in NYC has kept me in my house and neighborhood during this quarantine. Since I dislike crowds it would make sense that people are apart of that. And now there are even more people for me to hate like the people you see on the news, hanging out outside of bars, maskless and inconsiderate. I’m talking about the entitled, the ones who fled when the City became too much for them to deal with. I don’t like them as much as they don’t like me. So we all don’t have to play nice.

So maybe I shouldn’t live in NYC. Not anymore. Born and bred doesn’t have to mean born and stayed. Maybe I have had enough and I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired of every one and everything. 

Then I think, what other state could handle me. I’m as opinionated as the people I come up against, and as hardened as the next bitch. And New York has made me that. It’s made me resilient and sometimes coarse. Sometimes soft and supple too - like the air after the rain cools down a summer day. It has made me cry, with pride, with sadness, in anger and in disbelief. It has helped me grow and feel acceptance, in the same way it has ostracized me yet still made me learn just how to be me without any apologies.

You have to be a certain kind of person to make it here. And the meaning of making it is different for every single one of us. You have to me a different kind of love and light. A different wave length that somehow vibrates at the length NYC demands at all times. I have slipped and it has always broken my fall. It’s been my everything and my nothing all at once. 

So I guess I will always love NYC - even with how expensive it is and will always continue to be, even with all its smells and people and bugs and waiting - it’s the only kind of life I’ve ever known and it hasn’t been so bad so far. I’ve made amazing memories, met and married my husband, had a wonderful child, I’ve decided to be a writer, to give in to the things that feel so NYC they make you cringe like pizza and bagels and great fucking live music. NYC teaches you how to love. That’s what it is. Sometimes it’s other people. Sometimes it’s yourself. Sometimes it’s the silence yet insane loudness that is this place. It taught me how to laugh - at myself and others - and for all that to be ok. It humbled me and gave me strength, and I don’t believe it always does both for everyone so I’m grateful for that.

NYC gave me my diagnosis, and each that followed, which made me feel both fear and relief all at the same time. It gave me the strength I never knew I had. It’s a bittersweet relationship, I guess. I am fiercely proud to be from NYC, especially Brooklyn, and it will always be a part of me - no matter where the wind blows me or where we end up.

It’s hard to just decide. It’s hard to figure out how to just be - but living here shows you who you are, good or bad. Maybe it doesn’t define you but it can show you what you’re made of. It’s a love/hate relationship for me. There are days when I wouldn’t want to live any place but here but then there are days that have turned to months that have turned to years when I’ve wanted nothing but to leave.

As I get older and try to figure out what I need for the REST of my life, I don’t want to ever look at my years in NYC as anything but the first half of my life. I’ve come to the realization that maybe the second half holds something totally different. 

[hencethebravery]

⤀ “Falling Catching,” by @hencethebravery​. | After a long, hot summer, Emma and Killian escape Storybrooke to enjoy all the aesthetic pleasures that fall has to offer. Post S6, newlywed road trip 2k17. 

Notes: For CS Halloweek (“Seasonal”)! Please note, I am a biased little bean and had the babes spend some time in NY because NY in the fall is the actual best. The lil tale Killian tells towards the end is taken from a short story by Angela Carter in The Bloody Chamber. Many thanks to @the-reason-to-sail-home for her notes on this. Also on Ao3.

+ A few months after the wedding (and yet another curse), a few months after things return to normal by Storybrooke standards, the weather finally starts to turn. Summer takes an unusually long time to end; the hot, occasionally humid days persisting long after the first official day of autumn. By the end of September, the heat starts to feel oppressive. However much Emma had enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her skin, had vainly admired the smattering of dark freckles on the bridge of her nose and along the tops of her cheeks, her enthusiasm had begun to severely wane.

The only way she could seem to find relief from the heat were those few blissful moments standing beneath a freezing cold shower—those few seconds after she’d step into their adjoining bedroom, luxuriating in the warm breeze against her wet skin. Unfortunately, it never lasted very long. Despite lying perfectly still and mostly (if not completely) naked atop the bed, she would almost immediately begin to feel the sweat gather in the dip at the base of her throat, sliding down the smooth, flat pane of bone between her breasts.

Killian wasn’t generally one for bemoaning physical discomfort, living on a boat in a uniquely inconvenient world made him almost annoyingly patient with the irritating realities of being a human being. She could see the damp floppiness of his hair at the end of the day, the way the sweat would create an unpleasant looking rash between the leather of his brace and the flesh of his wrist. What he couldn’t really handle, apparently, was her complete lack of interest in being touched.

It wasn’t as if they’d gone all summer without indulging in one another, she could, in fact, recall many a time in early and midsummer when she could barely keep her hands off him; relishing in the slipperiness of their bodies, the saltiness of his skin under her tongue. But now, with summer officially over, and that sluggish, inescapable exhaustion that comes with too much sun keeping her from wanting to do fuck all—it’s time to admit it, enough is enough.

“I don’t care how resilient you are,” she moans into the hot, oppressive space above his shoulder, “there’s no way you aren’t miserable right now.”

“What is this new obsession with dragging me down with you, darling?” he asks on a laugh, trying to chase after her lips, only she will cry if he comes any closer, and he’s already far too close—she can feel the heat coming off of him in waves, and it’s not enticing. If anything, she’s feeling a bit nauseous.

“You’re too perfect, it makes me nervous.” He laughs and flops onto his back, pushing the hair off his brow. “Please be miserable with me.”

“I guess I’ll admit to this infuriating lack of being able to kiss you,” his eyes meeting hers over the gentle, sloping hills of pillows and tangled sheets between them. “Don’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

Despite the heavy note of sleepiness in his voice, he still manages to ignite a fire in her belly with the way he’s staring at her lips, and she has to actively remind herself that she will not be seduced anytime soon. Sure, it’ll feel nice in the moment, but very soon after she’ll feel like a swamp monster and have to take another cold shower.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, love.”

Against her better judgment, she takes a heavy finger and starts prodding at the soft, sweaty, fuzziness of his bare chest. “You’re a terrible liar, Killian Jones.”

“Ah, yes,” he admits in a whisper, his lips coming closer all the while. She can only just make out his features in the now near-darkness of their bedroom, but she can feel the enticingly light feeling of his lips against hers, and takes a moment to mentally chastise herself for being utterly weak.

“...But so are you.”

The heat breaks with a storm off the coast and the entire town breathes a sigh of unmitigated relief. It’s October, but better late than never. It takes a few days for her body to adjust to the drastic temperature change, and she manages to get a stuffed up nose and a sore throat in the days that follow.

It’s annoying, but it’s better than being so hot you can’t sleep properly, or touch your husband, or put on pants. She takes a day off to sit on the couch and drink water full of so many lemon slices her lips start to get chapped, and in preparation for the upcoming season, watches a handful of old Halloween-themed television specials that she hadn’t thought of in ages. There aren’t many pleasant memories of her childhood, but there’s still something about this time of year—the changing of the world, as if everyone’s getting a second chance.

There’s a lot about how the both of them have grown up that can make it challenging to relate to certain experiences that other non-magical folk might get equally as giddy about. Lily, for example, despite her propensity for grumpiness, was more than happy to indulge in some hot, spiked cider with her on the porch. She’d even shared the large, heavy blanket that Emma had pulled from the hall closet. There’s just a certain kind of magic to autumn—to the ending of one season, the beginning of a new one. The break in the heat is kind of like a jolt to your otherwise languishing system, and while she couldn’t necessarily ride on horseback growing up, or take a potion to instantly cure her chicken pox, Misthaven didn’t have apple festivals. Or seasonal coffee drinks, or oversized, fuzzy cardigans.

“Had a bit more to worry about, didn’t I?”

The kitchen is bathed in a soft, warm glow as she sits patiently at the table, her feet pulled up beneath her thighs to stave off the chill. She hasn’t really gotten sick of it yet, the sight of him at the stove, stirring or steeping something or other. The scent of some kind of spicy seafood chowder hits her nose in just the right way and she can feel all that stuffed up nastiness clear for a few blissful seconds, her mouth watering and stomach grumbling.

“So, what, you just weren’t paying attention? Do seasons not change at sea?”

He’s serving up two bowls as he scoffs at the suggestion, playfully scolding her ignorance of seafaring matters. “Of course we have seasons at sea, Swan, and I paid very careful attention, thank you very much.”

She wonders if it has something to do with modernity and culture. Killian makes it a point to consider the pre-modern age of this world, when people had to rely on the Earth for their living, when the day-to-day was far less easy than it is now. There just simply wasn’t time to indulge in such things.

“But you did have magic, didn’t you?”

“Oh, it existed certainly,” he chuckles briefly, wiping some excess broth off her chin, “but it wasn’t quite so easy to access as your parents and Regina make it seem.”

She wrinkles her nose at the deeply complex realities of living in a fantasy realm and backs away from that rabbit hole before she completely tumbles down, down, down inside, never to be seen again—choosing instead to consider this reality, and all its delightful, season-specific propensity. It’s hard to explain it and not sound like an idiot, quite honestly. And even though she feels shockingly comfortable speaking with Killian on almost any subject, it’s still kind of hard to really relate in words the sheer feeling of hearing dried leaves crunching under your feet.

Which is when she suggests taking a small vacation.

“Are you sure, Emma?”

Never taking a honeymoon, too anxious to leave Storybrooke as if everything would fall apart once she crossed the town line. Nervous about Henry, even though he’s more of a teenager than ever these days and most of their communication is via text. She knows her parents and Regina would be more than able to keep a handle on things, but still, the idea of an actual break seems like a fantasy to her. Something you imagine and dream about, but which is, ultimately, far too good to be true, and if you start thinking like that, Emma Swan, one or both of you will end up cursed or dead.

“Yeah,” she answers suddenly with a shake of her head, sniffing away the unpleasantness, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

The bug is confirmed drivable before they leave. The brakes get checked, the tires pumped full of air. The trunk is packed with duffle bags, the backseat is stacked with thick quilts and maps and a cooler full of snacks for the road. She’s an old gal, so the only musical option is the radio and a tape deck, which would suck, if you were a monster and hated Fleetwood Mac. Killian might hate Fleetwood Mac, but there’s no way of knowing until they’ve listened to Rumours about 500 times.

They leave early on a Saturday morning, before the sun comes up, and Main St. is flooded with a thick, damp fog. The air is cool and smells a bit like smoke as they drive through the woods towards the town line, the AM station on the radio crooning some old, classical concerto beneath the turning of the tires. It doesn’t feel much like a time for talking, so she reaches out to curl her fingers around his hook instead, his face flushing a delightful pink in the periphery of her vision. As they pass the sign for Storybrooke he emits an audible hum of relief, and her toes wiggle restlessly inside her boots against the gas pedal. So much better than magic.

They drive for about half the day before making their first stop, far too enamored with the infiniteness of the highway, the pine trees towering overhead—the sweet, heady scent of them seeping in through the cracked windows. The fog dissipates eventually, but the day stays grey and cool, and by some unique, human trick of the head she’s all but forgotten about what the heat had felt like, as if those last few, brutal weeks had never happened. They make it over the border into New York around noon, and despite all the coffee the inside of her head still manages to feel like it’s been wrapped in wool.

The bleak day finally gives way to a light drizzle, and Emma yawns as they pull into a local hotel, lovingly adorned with garlands of fake leaves, piled high with pumpkins and cinnamon-scented pinecones peeking out of a barrel. A lone ghost hangs from a string by the front office, and she feels a kind of delightful, anticipatory chill in her bones.

“Wait here, love,” he says lightly, stopping her from abandoning her post against the side of the bug. “I’ll check in. Back in a tick.”

There’s a vision stirring in her mind and it’s the unique, dark quiet of an unclaimed hotel room; freshly cleaned (hopefully) and awaiting new occupants. While hopping from place to place had gotten exhausting and depressing after a while, there was always something comforting about the expectant nature of hotels. Especially when there were nice people behind the counter, ignorant of whatever petty crime she and Neal had committed that day, no way of knowing the pathetic sordidness of her life. They would stand there, smiling and chatting behind the counter talking about free amenities like they actually wanted her there. We’re here to help you, they’d say happily, not a hint of bitterness in their tone, enjoy your stay.

Thunder claps as Killian closes the door behind them, the sound of the rain growing louder in its ferocity, lashing against the windows. She falls heavily onto the bed without removing a single item of clothing, her feet still trapped inside her boots, the creases of her elbows stiff inside her jacket. He lets out a chuckle from somewhere by her feet, his own voice carrying a hint of drowsiness, “While I would be more than happy to join you in this endeavor, you might be more comfortable without the boots—” he pauses and she can almost hear the way his hand comes up to stroke at his jaw, “and the jacket.”

“Are you flirting with me, Jones?”

Her voice is muffled against the comforter but he lets out a chuckle regardless as he begins to peel the boots down her legs. “I would never.”

He undresses her slowly, and while there’s almost always an attraction simmering beneath the surface, it doesn’t interfere with the platonic affection of this particular moment. Each variation of their intimacy has its own kind of magic; whether it be entirely domestic and fleeting, as if an afterthought, or deliberate and physical, a mad moment of almost painful lust. She’d taken note of it before they’d gotten married, but it had just seemed so much more obvious after the fact. The foreverness of their intimacy; all the different kinds she would be able to know and love with a certainty she’d never felt before.

Eventually he manages to secure the both of them beneath the blankets, but not before cracking open a window at the back of the room to let in the wetness on the air, the sound of the rain and wind a quiet, drumming soundtrack to the warmth of his breath against her ear, the beating of his heart against her back. She feels herself drift away in time with the sensation of his fingertips trailing up and down the top of her arm, her body sinking heavily into the pleasantly soft mattress.

When she opens her eyes, there’s a rich, buttery light falling across the carpet. For a moment, she wonders if maybe they’ve slept until morning, but a cursory glance at the digital clock on their nightstand reveals that it’s only been a few hours. It’s a pre-dusk light, the final, powerful rays of the sun reminding you that they’d been there all along, even with the doggedness of the clouds during the day. Killian is a sturdy presence at her back, a warm and blissful reminder of where they are at this very moment—asleep and away, with no one to bother them.

A gust of post-storm air slinks in through the open window and she can feel the bite of it against her nose, smell the impending frost as it crawls south through the mountains. She had noticed a cheap set of wind chimes hanging from the office door and she can hear them now, an inelegant clanging softened by the walls of their room, the insulation of the pillows and blankets cocooned around them both.

Without really thinking about it she adjusts herself against him, trying to better fill any of the empty space left between their bodies, and his arm tightens around her waist; her heart thumping with an overwhelming feeling of affection for this man she now calls her husband. His wrist skims lightly over her hip and she slowly turns to face him, hoping that she’ll have a few more minutes to admire him in the stillness of sleep, but predictably he’s already awake, his tired gaze mirroring her own.

His voice is gruff and quiet when he inquires after the time, and she whispers something about it being close to 5 or so before hushing him with a kiss. It’s not as stale as she’d expected, having only slept the few hours, and his nose is unusually cold against her own. Normally she finds genuinely concerned that he might have some sort of fever with how hot he tends to get in his sleep.

“Your nose is cold,” she whispers against his lips, trying to avoid disrupting the peacefulness of the moment. He grunts and playfully hides his face against the warmth of her neck, and she laughs loudly into the silence, relishing the feeling of his skin against hers. The rest of their clothing comes off easily enough, as they’d be down to nothing but their underwear anyway, and she spends a leisurely amount of time enjoying the sensation of his breath between her legs; his unshaven cheeks and chin sliding along her belly.

It’s another few hours before they emerge, the sun having set somewhere between his fingers sliding through her hair and her legs wrapping lazily around his waist.

The night is quiet as they make their way towards the bug, hoping to find a diner open somewhere for dinner, and she has to pull her jacket a bit tighter about her person to ward off the cooler temperatures of the evening. Not a bad way to start, she thinks happily as she watches Killian jump behind the wheel, his hair wonderfully mussed at the back, not bad at all.

The rest of the trip follows in a similarly blissed out, pumpkin-spiced state of carefreeness that she’s never really experienced in her life. By the many happy, confused looks on Killian’s face, she thinks it’s fair to say that he feels the same.

There’s one day spent in a state of near-endless intoxication, having stumbled upon a farm that offered apple picking and impossibly cheap alcohol all at once.

“This realm is a miracle, Swan,” he had been forced to admit, delighted at the prospect of their being apples and booze made from those same apples all on the same premises; the cider bubbly and sweet, it’s hard to forget it’s actually alcoholic, and they get lost in the multicolored infinity of the orchard until one of them’s sober enough to drive back to the hotel.

They take another day to hike through a particularly dense forest, where the sun can barely manage to break in and out between the leaves of the trees, coating the forest floor in vivid oranges and yellows, as if the whole world were on fire. It’s an unexpectedly strenuous hike, the land shot through with rocks and exposed roots; the topographical nature of the area made of steep inclines and narrow paths through the mountains.

Luckily for them it’s the middle of the week, so there’s few people to bother them, and it’s as if the world is empty with the exception of the two of them, the only sound being the crunchiness of leaves underfoot (just as satisfying as she remembers), the heaviness of their breath loud and taxed in the cold air. When they finally make it to the top mid-afternoon, the view is enough to effectively silence them both; the atmosphere becoming charged with an as yet to be determined significance that hadn’t been there before.

The mountains stretch on, and on, and on towards the horizon, as if they’ll never end, and there’s the look of the sea reflected in Killian’s gaze as he stands at the edge of a cliff, his lips parted in appreciation.

“I feel as if I could set sail,” he admits softly to himself; to her, to the howling of the wind as it whips around the mountain’s peak. It sounds like a confession, as if he were revealing some kind of hallowed secret, and there’s a feeling of honor in its profundity—that he’s chosen to reveal his misdeeds, his desires, the benign secrets that pass through one’s mind at any given moment.

She hums in agreement, coming up behind him to link their arms and rest her chin atop his shoulder. When she takes a deep, cleansing breath, the smell of him mingles with the air and the earth and if she could bottle it she would—the mustiness of the leather, the hint of apple on his breath, sweet and enticing. An illustration from Henry’s book springs suddenly to mind. The Jolly Roger sailing through the air, her wing-tipped sails almost indistinguishable from the surrounding clouds.

“Me too,” she whispers into his ear, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. No harm in taking a moment to indulge the lost, lonely children inside them both; the travelers and adventure-seekers they’d been before they had found a home in one another. Thinking about the past is so much easier than it used to be, not quite so heavy as it had once been. It probably has something to do with a renewed faith in the future. It doesn’t feel quite so painful, thinking about the person she used to be, knowing where she’d end up, who’d be at her side.

“Let’s get back before it gets dark,” pressing a firm kiss to his cheek, tugging him back towards the trail for the return trip, “I hear there’s some rum in it for you.”

A week or so before Halloween they find a drive-in screening a few horror classics. Thanks to Henry, he’s gotten a bit of a crash course in film, although he’s never really watched a horror movie or sat in a car to watch one, but he does seem to understand the general principle of the thing.

She spots an ad in the lobby of one their hotels, a stack of fliers next to restaurant menus and haunted house attractions. Apparently it’s been there for years, and when they drive up past the ticket booth the age of the place is undeniable. It’s a large swath of open field surrounded by tall, imposing pine trees, in front of which stands a large, slightly dilapidated movie screen.

“Explain the charm of this particular activity to me again?”

It’s only after she’s grabbed a quilt from the backseat and laid it across their laps, a full flask of mulled cider and a half-empty bag of locally-made caramels resting between them that he finds his answer without her having to say a single word. She’d had to spend some time curating his sweet tooth before and during the trip, not wanting him to miss out on some of the more crucial tastes of the season: all that sticky, sugary goodness.

She manages to stay awake all the way through Dracula, but falls asleep about halfway through The Mummy, her head in Killian’s lap, blanket tucked securely around her shoulders. At one point she realizes she’s falling asleep, which is odd—most of the time it happens too fast to really notice, only this time she can feel herself losing her grip on wakefulness, the growls, shrieks, and gasps growing less focused, the dialogue less comprehensible.

“Are you having fun?” she mumbles sleepily, trying to stay awake long enough to appreciate the heat of his body, the scratchiness of the blanket that smells like the inside of her mother’s large, superfluous trunk of cloaks and quilts.

He chuckles and tries to remove some of the hair from her eyes and mouth, “I do believe I am, love. Are you?”

There’s a suggestion that they leave for a more suitable bed, but she manages to utter a hasty refusal, wanting him to enjoy the rest of the night despite her own surrender. In her few, final moments of consciousness she manages to hear a gasp of surprise and delight at something that’s happened on screen; the sound of a crinkling candy wrapper, and it’s the soundtrack of his movements, unintentional and familiar, that lulls her the rest of the way into sleep.

The night before the drive back he suggests that they camp under the stars, and while she’s never been one to pass up spending the night in a soft bed, it’s hard to say no when he seems so excited. Not to mention the fact that he’s gone along with pretty much every objectively silly fall-flavored activity she’s suggested thus far.

He manages to find the most isolated patch of land he can, right on the edge of a sizable lake that reflects the moon in absurdly picturesque fashion. They’d spent most of the day hiking through the forest to find it, taking advice from the park rangers as well as Killian’s own attractive map-reading abilities. It’s mesmerizing—the sight of his shoulder angling back to pull it from his pocket, the way he glances at it quickly and easily, confidently turning one way and then another. She has a great many skills, but intuitively wandering through the woods has never been one of them.

They set up the tent in the event of rain, but he’s pretty determined to lay out beneath the stars, and she arranges their bedrolls, blankets, and pillows in an attempt to create a satisfactorily cushioned bed between their not-quite-so-spry bodies and the unforgiving reality of sleeping on the edge of a forest.

“Trust me,” she says at the sight of his indignant glare, “your back will thank me.”

He puts up a bit of a fight at first, but she ends up using magic to light the fire, as it would take significantly less time than rubbing two sticks together, and the frigid air is starting to make her grumpier than she’d like. The flames lick and snap their way towards the sky, the embers floating lazily upwards to meet the stars. She asks him for a story and he happily concedes, embarking on an oddly familiar tale about a girl who falls in love with a beast, only he doesn’t turn into a prince at the end. She’s the one who’s grown a lovely fur coat after their shared kiss, her nails sharp and teeth bared.

“I hope this isn’t some kind of weird guilt trip,” she says afterwards, tilting up her chin to glance at him from her cozy place between his legs. It rings a little too harshly of the worries that plague his own heart, the fear that he’s somehow corrupted her with all his villainous misdeeds, but he actually surprises her with a shake of his head.

“Not at all. The girl’s happy at the tale’s end, aye?”

Shaking free of her fine dress, the pins falling from her tightly coiled hair. The story ends with the pair of them running through the trees, howling at the moon.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Oh, you ‘guess,’ do you?” Playfully mocking her words, poking at her ribs in a way that proves unexpectedly delightful. It’s like she’s a teenager again, the way he laughs against her ear and she helpless to do anything but shriek gleefully and unashamedly into the night. “Howling at the moon are we, princess?”

Not a princess, she thinks, watching the clouds as move against the sky, the silver light of the moon intermittently bathing their campsite in an eerie glow, never a princess. When she throws her head back against his shoulder, a resounding, ecstatic cry on her lips, the past has never seemed further away.

A few days before they’re scheduled to make the trip home, she starts to get a little bit ahead of herself. Nervous at the prospect of the night before and the morning of—wondering if she’d spend the entire trip back thinking about what they’d missed while they were gone, what fresh hell they’d be expected to fix.

She knew she was sullying the last few days of their trip, which she wasn’t particularly proud of, but it was hard to ignore the impending reality of the fact. In a few days she’d be back in Storybrooke, back at the sheriff’s station, fielding calls from her mother and Regina, worrying about portals opening and spells gone awry. She’s sitting on the balcony off their hotel room, watching the sunrise from behind the mountains when she initially thinks of it. Which, she’s not entirely sure why she hadn’t thought of it earlier, it makes perfect sense, and honestly, the mere suggestion makes it feel as if a weight’s been lifted off her shoulders.

“Hey,” she exclaims in an excited whisper, straddling Killian’s stomach as he drifts in and out of sleep, “wake up.”

“Am I not allowed this one morning of peace?” he groans, his hand and wrist coming to rest on her thighs regardless of his apparent ire. She can remember the days when touching one another was this planned, careful thing. The wrong moment, a touch too firm or too light, and the whole thing might have fallen apart. She can’t deny the joy of noticing this particular touch, as if he hadn’t even thought about it.

“I had an idea.”

He opens one of his eyes, a twinkle of mischief there despite the rudeness of his awakening, and he grins. “How unfortunate.”

“Shut up. This is a serious idea.”

“Which is?”

It had seemed impossible to keep inside only moments earlier, with the sun shining on her face, the hot coffee running in her veins. Really, an incredible idea, almost mad at herself for having waited this long to think of it, only now that it’s here and she’s got his undivided attention she’s a little more terrified than she thought she’d be. What if he thought it was stupid? What if he refused?

“Emma,” he says firmly, giving her thigh a gentle pinch, “what’s your idea?”

Be my deputy. Be the hero you always wanted to be—that I’ve known you could be for almost as long as I’ve known you.

“I need a partner.”

He lifts a quizzical brow, imploring her to continue within this same vein of her vague suggestion, while she desperately hopes that her face is not as red as it feels. “Being the sheriff,” she elaborates, slowly finding the words as she continues, “David won’t be helping out as much anymore, and… I need someone I can trust. To help.”

“You think the Storybrooke denizens would be content with a pirate replacing their king?”

“He’s not a ‘king,’” she corrects quickly, rolling her eyes. “And I think you’ve proved yourself capable more than enough times.”

She tries to keep her gaze from seeking out the sensitive skin of his neck, the feeling of his heart beating beneath her legs, and instead attempts to gauge his reaction, consider what he might possibly be thinking in these few moments of torturous silence. Tries to imagine what he might look like with a badge at his hip instead.

“I suppose,” be begins carefully, “if that’s what you want, I might find it within myself to accept such a charge.”

“But is it what you want?”

He takes a few moments to think it over and she’s grateful he’s not jumping at the chance simply because she’s the one to have suggested it. He sits up rather abruptly, the hint of a smile on his face, and she has to hold onto his shoulders to keep her balance, her eyes meeting his as she wraps her arms around his neck.

“Well? What do you say, Captain?”

Whereas the drive west had been wet and dreary, the return trip is bright and unusually warm as they make their way back to Storybrooke. The leaves have somehow turned even more vibrant in the intervening weeks, and she keeps her window rolled down the entire trip back, basking in the comfortable weather before it turns frigid and unpleasant.

The bug is packed once again, only there are bags of apples for baking, bottles of cider and liquor to keep them sustained in winter, and a few other odds and ends for Henry and her parents. The fear that she’d felt a few days earlier, the overwhelming certainty that she’d be headed back for disaster had slithered quietly away. Driven off by the feeling of Killian’s lips against hers, the familiar charm of his words against her ear.

“Of course, Emma. I could never imagine myself anywhere else but at your side.”

She glances over and smiles at the sight of him asleep, handsome as ever. It’s hard not to be suspicious when you find yourself with nothing to worry over, but she does her best to keep herself in time with the voice crooning softly from the speakers. Admires the leaves falling from the trees as they whiz by, back towards the sea. Back home.

[animeniac]

Starbomb Ch. 2

Fandom: BNHA Pairing: Bakugou x Uraraka Genre: Romance and Comedy because I swear it’s a lot more light-hearted than it sounds. Chapter Summary: The aftermath of the proposal continues, and when Bakugou spots Uraraka fawning over a bunny in the window of a toy store, he resorts to craftier methods to “win her.” Meanwhile, Uraraka toughens up in the face of his harrassment. 

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII

Maybe if Todoroki could have left the troubling quandary alone, Bakugou would have retreated to his room for a quiet evening of studying. But, he foresaw sleepless night for allowing history to repeat itself. He felt like he had the responsibility of preventing the sins of his childhood from ever occurring again, and he had every right to be troubled.

Quirk Marriages should have been outlawed - in his opinion. At least, the masses should reject such a deplorable practice. While the fire and ice young man knew nothing about love firsthand, he knew the effects of a choleric marriage.

When he grabbed Bakugou's arm, he had to curb his violent urge and hinder himself from giving the lout the battle that he wanted back at the Sports Festival. He pulled him into an alleyway on campus and pushed him against the brick wall out of any teacher's line of sight. "What was that back there?" he demanded to know.

Bakugou's eyebrow twitched. He exclaimed, "What the fuck is this shit?" He couldn't understand why Todoroki of all people pulled him aside for a sudden confrontation.

"Marriage with Uraraka? You know you embarrassed her in front of the entire class," scorned Todoroki.

The only reason that Bakugou added to this conversation was so that Todoroki didn't mistake him for some kind of romantic, sappy softie. There was no way he'd let his reputation stoop to that level. He begrudgingly elucidated, "I shouldn't have to tell you, but it's not the fairy tale shit you might have been thinking. I'm marrying her for her quirk and nothing else - not that it's any of your damn business." As usual, his scowl did not betray him. He had nothing to hide.

"Yeah, I got that," scoffed Todoroki. His hands shook as he restrained the combustible kid against the wall. He had to contain a lot of disgust in order to prevent an escalated altercation. "That's repulsive. She's better than that, and she deserves more for her life. You don't even know what it means to marry someone for their quirk. Do you know what kind of life that leads to? Pain, neglect, abuse of power are the only things that come from a quirk marriage. Such an arrangement escalates from a legal convenience to an abusive tragedy - especially with someone as violent as you."

Bakugou snorted, "Ha. Spare me the emo dribble, half-and-half. I don't need a fucker like you talking down to me. I know what I'm doing, and I don't give a flying fuck how you feel about it." This trifling conflict bugged him. The destructive young man only spoke what was on his mind. He knew that his life was destined for greatness, and he needed to carry on that legacy with a person who could lend the most compatible genes.

Why would he waste an opportunity on sentimental crap when he could make kids that could make tons of floating bombs?

Maybe Todoroki needed some time to collect himself, for he felt his rage swell within both sides of his body. Even if he shared his past, he would not be able to quell the drive of Bakugou. He could hear his breath as he panted, "Your volatile personality will kill her inside before she ever gets to the age to marry you. Don't you get that? You can't force someone to marry you."

Was someone like this capable of love? Todoroki wasn't even sure if he was capable of such an affinity for someone else. They were all in the middle of their adolescence and had only been pubescent for a few years.

Daringly, Todoroki knew that if he glanced at Bakugou's glower, he'd feel the emptiness that his father often had throughout his childhood. However, when he raised his eyes to study Bakugou's, he had a glimpse of his wide, crimson eyes and neutral, relaxed brow. Sadness? No, vulnerability - that couldn't be it. Quickly, he turned his head around to see what his classmate saw - Uraraka.

The class prodigy slowly loosened his grip on Bakugou's collar. Those weren't the eyes of Todoroki's father.

Noticing the movement, Bakugou snapped back and shoved Todoroki away from him. "I got shit to do. Enough of this," he barked before he shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away from the scene.

Todoroki could properly calm himself. He took a deep breath before Yaoyorozu met up with him. "I had my doubts at first, but there's something about him that's different from the way my father looked at us. He's not dead behind the eyes - he's just difficult," he sighed and stretched out the tension from his arms.

"It kind of came out of nowhere, don't you think - this whole obsession? He probably doesn't know about the thing that Midoriya and Uraraka have for each other," she pondered out loud to him.

Of course, that didn't cross Todoroki's mind. He softly smiled, "They do?" Midoriya would be more than suitable as a romantic interest for her.

She wanted to tease him for his density. Yaoyorozu let out a deep sigh as she gazed at him. He had such a capacity for caring despite his stoicism. "They don't know about their feelings for each other, either. Well, Uraraka knows she likes him, but she doesn't know if he likes her because he doesn't know that either. And, he doesn't know how she feels. I probably shouldn't have told you that."

Why did something like that have to be complicated? He could hardly comprehend the drawn-out explanation. And, how does that count as liking each other if they may not even be aware of their feelings? "Anyone would make a better partner than Bakugou," decided Todoroki. He could still stand by that fact. Even if he weren't the worst for her, he definitely wouldn't be the best.

"And Mineta," added Yaoyorozu as she watched the kid fawn over one of the girls from their school.

"What does he have to do with this?"

Kirishima met up with Bakugou at the gate UA's campus. He noticed how late he was, but of course, he refused to say where he'd been. They agreed to get some fast food before heading back to the dorms. On the way to a burger joint, the red haired boy spotted Uraraka standing with a few of her female friends in front of some novelty toy store or boutique. The colorful lights illuminated her face, so there was no way that Bakugou could have missed her.

Since the best way to get to their destination would have been to cross the street, Kirishima stood at the crosswalk and patiently waited for cars to pass. He also wanted to avoid any conflict with the girls. Bakugou seemed a little more perturbed than usual. His rigid hands gripped the insides of his pockets.

A smirk rose to his face as Bakugou passed up the crosswalk to pass by the toy store. What could have caught her immature eye? Her wide eyes glowed along with her giant smile. The window displayed a green rabbit about the size of a cat on sale at half price. He would have just passed by, but the sight irked him. "What are you staring at that for? You look like a baby. What kind of high-schooler gets shit like that?"

"Bakugou, no," muttered Kirishima as he jogged up to the scene from meters away. If he kept harassing her, he'd get in trouble. On top of that, he would probably ruin his chances of being with her. Above all of that, he could hurt poor Uraraka's feelings!

But, she was strong. She could stand her ground in the face of petty adversities. "Leave me alone. I thought you were going to study," Uraraka complained.

Toru and Mina had gone into the store. They apparently failed to see Bakugou approach them, or else they would have stayed by her side.

"What? I already know the material. It takes me less than an hour to study," he explained, but then he shifted his attention back to the infuriating bunny. His blood boiled as his haughty demeanor surged. "Why don't you just buy it already? Are you stupid?"

Uraraka held her breath and tried with all her might to fight back the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes. If she uttered a single word, they'd probably spill down her face and reveal her weakness. She couldn't afford something like that to happen in front of him. Although the stuffed animal only cost a few coins above her budget, she couldn't bear splurging her limited allowance. "I have to go," she strained herself to say.

The instant that Uraraka turned her back to Bakugou, tears stained the pavement as she walked away from her tormentor and back to the dorms. He probably had no idea that he hit a nerve, but she would rather he never know her financial situation. A block away, she messaged her friends that she had forgotten something at the dorms. She wouldn't have been able to afford to do anything with them anyway.

Kirishima ran up to Bakugou who was still fuming. The rocky hero had difficulty balancing his stern sincerity with a tactful plea. Only the perfect medium would be sufficient after all. Gritting his teeth, he frowned, "Bakugou, Uraraka is poor."

"How the fuck am I supposed to know that?" spat Bakugou as he continued down the street. He didn't have much money on him either - enough to go to the shitty burger restaurant and play some games afterward. That particular location was mostly an arcade, so their food was cheap and legitimately mediocre. He burst open the glass doors before stomping into the facility.

Who would he be if he stopped to coddle Uraraka? He knew she could handle whatever he threw at her. Her resiliency was one of the characteristics he didn't despise about her. However, when she took it too far and became cocky, that pissed him off the most.

The explosive hero-in-training growled his order at the cashier before he trudged over to the prize bar while he waited for his food. He needed to calculate which games he should play for what prizes. Most of the cheap toys and accessories never appealed to him, but upon approaching the booth, he immediately spotted that grinning, green rabbit that Uraraka had fawned over earlier that evening.

An even 2,000 tickets were all it cost. How unfitting. That's about how much it cost at that toy store. At both locations, the dumb rabbit was insanely overpriced in his opinion.

"Do you see anything you like? Do you have a girlfriend? Maybe you see something she'd like," pitched the irrelevant booth operator.

Were women so simple? Could he win something like that to get her to quit crying and whining all the time? And if she were as destitute as everybody cried about, then that would make his objective a lot easier to achieve. Even though he didn't have a lot of money, he probably could buy more than she could.

She'd be at his mercy.

Now, Bakugou could not comprehend just how malicious his thought process truly was. Even if he knew, that probably wouldn't quell the drive that flamed in his eyes. "Win her over. Win her. Win," he thought to himself with a growing grin. That's what it came down to after all. Fortunately, he didn't think to go as far as Endeavor once did by approaching her parents with a lump sum of cash. That case scenario failed to cross his mind.

Regardless, he only had the money in his pocket.

Bakugou knew not to go too crazy with this investment. He had other shit to do.

Kirishima shivered. He felt the aura of fervency burst from Bakugou. As they walked back to get their food at their table, he nervously laughed, "You didn't tell me that you wanted to marry Uraraka. Aren't we kinda young?"

"We're not too young to plan for the future," he muttered without any inflection in his voice.

"Ah," he replied. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I don't even have anybody I like yet, and I'm already 16." Should he ask more questions? Did Bakugou like Uraraka, or did he have some convoluted plan that involved her? He couldn't tell.

With his mouth full of food, Bakugou set his classmate straight. He corrected, "Who said anything about liking her?"

Well, that was that.

Sweat slid down Kirishima's temple, and he sighed, "I think I'm just gonna play a couple of games and go back to the dorms. I just got an email that said the exam tomorrow is canceled."

Perfect. Such an occurrence was as if the world parted for Bakugou's destiny. He grinned as he chomped through his burger. At this point, he had to wonder if influencing her would even be a challenge. He knew just the game to play to win the most tickets - a game of chance, for he felt incredibly lucky.

Meanwhile, Uraraka reached the dormitory shortly after her encounter with Bakugou and had since cleared the tears from her eyes. She spotted Midoriya and kind of wanted to avoid him just in case he recognized that she had been crying. In front of him, she wanted to appear strong. When he approached her, she smiled, "Hey, Deku. What's up?"

"I thought you were going shopping with Tooru and Mina. What happened?" Midoriya asked. Hopefully, he didn't sound like he was accusing her of anything. As always, he was a little concerned. The scene from earlier with Bakugou was a little intense. He had a lot of guts, though, and after knowing Bakugou for a considerable amount of time, he had never witnessed the blond go out of his way for a girl or anyone for that matter.

Like she read his mind, Uraraka mumbled, "Bakugou's really annoying."

Midoriya's eyes widened. He rose his head to see the irritation in Uraraka's knitted brow and frown. "What?" he said. Did something happen between them again when she went into town?

She continued as she stared at the ground, "He's selfish and really brutal and harsh. I wanna say that there's more to him, but sometimes, I don't know. Maybe he's just a bad guy."

If Midoriya had intentions like that for a girl, he would have to go through a lot of effort before he talked about marriage. In a way, Bakugou was similar to him. They both had social inhibitions. For Midoriya, it was a lack of self-esteem that prevented him from getting close to others. And for Bakugou, his greatest hindrance was his egotistical behavior. "Kacchan isn't a bad guy. Every nice thing he says, he really means," he added. Inversely, he didn't mean every insult he threw at people.

Except, Midoriya figured that Bakugou meant every jab he slung at him.

Uraraka frowned. She kind of hoped that Midoriya would just agree with her, but he was right. She took a deep breath and smiled, "Midoriya, you might see the good in people when it's not even there. You're really special like that. Maybe that's your other quirk."

He jumped and blushed as sweat rained from his head. "R-Really?" he stuttered. "You're okay, right, Uraraka?"

Gripping the air, she nodded, "Yup! I just came back to get something I left in my dorms." Maybe she could splurge every once in a while. "Thanks for talkin' to me." She went up to her dorm after waving back at her friend.

Whenever Midoriya became a hero, Uraraka would be one of the many people that he wanted to protect.

Sure enough, after Kirishima left the arcade, Bakugou wound up with the stupid green rabbit. He had slaved at some game of chance for hours. Naturally, he won the jackpot twice with minimal effort before going back and forth over whether or not he should waste his tickets on a stuffed animal. How could he go back to the dorms with such a piece of shit toy in his hands? It would attract attention. He glared down at its smug grin.

How could he give something like that to Uraraka? What was he supposed to say? Maybe he could just throw it at her or leave it at her desk. Everything he thought of sounded too uncanny and out of character. He had only given something to someone a handful of times, and typically, the gifts were more of a repayment than a token.

Token? What the fuck was this token supposed to symbolize? He gripped the cotton plushie by the neck and ground his teeth together.

No way! "I'm not going to give her shit!" he decided out loud as if to announce to the world that he wasn't a pansy. Initially, he thought that he had the advantage in the situation. By flexing his monetary muscle, he thought she was at his mercy. Yet, he was the one that spent hours of effort and time trying to win her a toy. For what? Was this the only way to get what he wanted? After all, he reveled at the idea that all the events lined up for him earlier that day.

Moreover, would she smile?

No, not fucking moreover! Who gave a shit about things like that?

Bakugou's eye twitched, and the image of a smiling Uraraka withered out of his mind just as quickly as it had faded into his thoughts.

All this contemplation disgusted him, and he needed to put an end to it. He was already thinking of the girl way too much. As he neared the campus, his grip on the toy steadily increased until he finally decided to blow it up. He planned to focus on other aspects of the future aside from marital opportunities until at least his third year of high school. And for the rest of the night, he didn't think of Uraraka once.

Not thinking of other people was one of his best talents.

Then, at school the next day, he spotted Midoriya holding the same stupid rabbit stuffed animal that he had destroyed the evening before. All the annoyance picked up where it left off.

Bakugou's fingers twitched at the knuckles as he stomped towards his former childhood friend. "Oi," he snarled, "Where the fuck did you get that? You can't give that to her."

"Oh, hey, Kacchan," greeted the All-Might protege. He wasn't too sure what Bakugou meant, but he figured he could easily clear up the confusion. "Uraraka gave this to me this morning." Although Midoriya assumed that he could read Bakugou pretty well, he had no way of knowing what went through his mind at that moment. Why did he care about Uraraka giving him a toy?

Then, he saw evidence of a flicker of feelings - Bakugou's glistening eyes. Of course, Midoriya knew that Bakugou wouldn't cry over something like this, and the tears wouldn't even well up in the corners of his eyes, but he'd seen such a look in his eyes before then. He was frustrated as if something he wanted but couldn't reach had swung in front of him and away from him without warning.

Midoriya felt guilty. He was about to apologize, but then...

Abruptly, blood shot within Bakugou's eyes as they radiated a demonic crimson glow. He couldn't believe the situation, the audacity of that girl. His anger swelled faster than he could think. "Where is she?" he barked as he stormed into the classroom. Even though no one knew the strides he made for the prize that he destroyed, he felt like his cards had been exposed to everyone in the damn class.

"K-Kacchan," stuttered Midoriya as he followed him into the classroom. Was it a blunder to reveal where he got the toy from?

Bakugou slammed his hand onto Uraraka's desk causing her to jump. "I'm going to buy everything for you after I become the number one pro hero. You got that? Don't be stupid and waste your money on nerds, and then, maybe I'll marry someone like you," he shouted. When he slowly lowered his head to see her response, he respected her to cower or cry or at least look away. Yet, she looked into the deepest part of him with a knitted brow and the darkest glower he had ever witnessed.

Something in his chest jumped even though he had his feet firmly planted on the ground, and then, she slapped him at his weakest moment.

"I'm never gonna marry you, and if you think you can buy me makes you disgusting! I'll be my own hero, Bakugou," Uraraka barked back as she tried her hardest to keep him on the ground so that the teachers didn't see her delinquency.

The desk rattled as Bakugou gripped the sides of it to stay still until she forced him back to the ground.

She barked back despite the consequences. She readied herself for a fight as she got to her feet.

His eyes widened and dilated, and the redness somehow faded from his eyes, but at that moment of tension, he swore, his rage had grown tenfold. In a low grunt, Bakugou replied with nothing but dryness in his stare, "Motherfucker."

Midoriya ran up to the scene. Many other people prepared to defend her in this calm before a storm. "Kacchan," he began to challenge him with the utmost intention of ending Uraraka's sorrow.

Typically, Uraraka would have faltered to Midoriya's act of heroism, and while she found his gesture to be incredibly charming, she wanted to seize this opportunity to stand up for herself. She was her own hero just like she said. "I can handle this," she replied as sweetly as she could despite her frustration and determination in her shaking voice. Midoriya would stand up for himself, so she needed to, too.

Bakugou's hands had remained in his pockets. His fury grew by the second, but this time, it merged with a unique sentiment - undeniable intrigue. How bad could a good girl get? He wanted to test her limits.

He still wanted to fight her or someone.

Fortunately, Eraserhead entered the classroom and ordered everyone to their seats and tried to not pay attention to whatever over-the-top dramatic scene occurred. The class obliged.

[ghost-recon-wildlands]

Skip to the bottom for TL;DR.Let me preface this, because I know I'm gonna get comments saying "then why play the game" and "who gives a shit about realism" by saying that the game for the most part is fun. Yet the more I played it, and the farther I got the more glaring it's flaws became. Having played enough of Wildlands to render a verdict, and having explored every nook and cranny of Bolivia, I'd like to express my opinion of the game.It is a serious disappointment, on many many levels.What I see is a game with massive potential, a huge open world with co-op capabilities, tactical stealth and shooter elements and a variety of ways to approach objectives.All of that is wasted by a mix of poor design choices, a just didn't care attitude, oversights, bugs, frustrating gameplay and a "get out the door as fast as possible, quality be damned" attitude that Ubisoft has been guilty of in the past.Let's start with the story. Ubisoft had a great opportunity to do a ''Shadow of Mordor'' style story: depending on which cartel branch you took out first, it could change the game world. Take out Security first, the rest of the cartel becomes disorganized and less competent in combat (because you took out their trainers and camps and commanders), take out Influence first, the cartel radio stops broadcasting and the cartel's grip on the country weakens somewhat. Take out Supply, and Security beefs itself up in response. Take out UNIDAD HQ in Flor De Oro, their patrols become less frequent.Nope, Ubisoft instead goes for a shallow, uninspired story in which none of the characters are given any meaningful backstory, it's just "X character is bad because Y reason, go kill him/her." It just feels hollow, there's no impact. I felt like there was no meaningful progress to the story as we dismantled the cartel piece by piece. The ending of the story (the true ending that is) literally makes your efforts mean nothing. I won't spoil it, but yeah, everything you did? Doesn't mean anything. It's such a cop-out.The world doesn't change and react to your actions. You take over a base carefully with no detection? It makes no. damn. difference. That base will be repopulated the next time you load your game or if you travel to another province and back. The SAM sites respawn, and cartel members remain in a province even if you cleared out the buchon. It has no impact and basically is a middle finger to your efforts.Honestly, in my honest opinion the world is a little TOO big. The provinces look nice from a distance, but up close structures repeat and the civilian AI doesn't react to its surroundings. Bases have no variety; its almost always variations on a few buildings, one tower, guard post, alarm. I ran into a civilian in Koani (the salt flat province in the northwest) bundled up like it was extremely cold, and I saw civilians dressed for summer. In Inca Camina, the mountainous, cold province. The fact that planes fly at a snail's pace means it can take anywhere from 10-15 minutes to traverse from end to end.Gameplay wise, Wildlands does some things right, it does a lot of things far worse though, and unfortunately those things end up ruining and weighing down the game:*The attachment system is a mess and its clear that the devs simultaneously didn't care, and half-assed the whole thing. I talk about it more here: https://www.reddit.com/r/GhostRecon/comments/5zhk7o/the_attachment_system_in_this_game_makes_no_sense/*To add, some weapon attachments are in the wrong place and not where the text says they are, which is a huge oversight. There's also multiple copies of the same attachment. Why? I found a folding buttstock in one province and another for the same weapon type in another. Why not just consolidate them into one?*The weapon variety is weirdly inconsistent. There's only three non DLC shotguns, not that many pistols, a good selection of ARs, but LMGs are lacking and the devs could have added far more SMGs.*In addition, a lot of weapons are locked behind a paywall, which just smacks of greed. In fact, you can buy all the weapons and attachments if you want to.*The combat system is okay, but lacks elements that should logically be in the game (blindfire, human shields, low run to cover)*The co-op system in my experience is sloppy and glitchy, requiring multiple disconnects and reconnects so we can see each other in game. When it does work, its fun and enjoyable.For a game that calls itself a tactical shooter, it has a lot of errors. Your character throws grenades at a pathetic range, reloads weapons by pulling the charging handle with their shooting hand (highly discouraged, especially in Special Forces), there's no +1 chambering when reloading mid-magazine, your character will loudly yell when they kill an enemy with a weapon, etc.*Reload animations for weapons are incredibly samey and lack any variety (ACR reloads the same as the TAR-21, MP5 reloads the same as the Scorpion Evo 3, etc), pistols don't even lock their slides back or display accurate pistol mechanics.*Vehicle physics are laughable sometimes. Cars handle like they're on ice, APCs slide around and motorcycles are basically unusable. You shoot the tires of a truck, it explodes. Somehow.*Your character has the resiliency of a wet paper bag when it comes to vehicles. Light tap? You're down on the ground.*Character customization is great, but camouflage doesn't do anything and is useless. You could wear all black at night and get spotted as easily as wearing green in Koani.*Ammo pool limits don't come out to even amounts. 68 rounds for a sniper rifle? 225 for an assault rifle? 45 for a shotgun? How does that make any sense?*Sniping is less than optimal, you can't snipe very far and bullets drop like cannonballs (I can visibly see the bullet falling out of the sky).*There are an insane amount of bugs, some of which could have been fixed if the game had more time. They're all listed here: https://www.reddit.com/r/GhostRecon/comments/5xw6qg/megathread_feedbacksuggestionsbugs/I myself have fallen through the map, had my motorcycle launch itself into the atmosphere upon hitting a pebble, had Kingslayer files not appear on the map, had my character model spaz out while running, had dialogue constantly repeat for missions I had long completed and many, many others.*The helicopter physics are atrocious and the plane physics lack basic controls that every open world game before it has had. Like, how did Ubi think this was a good idea?*Enemies are unacceptably omniscient, to the point they can spot you in brush from half a mile away, while facing the other direction.*No helicopter fast-roping.*No non-lethal options (even knocking out counts as a kill)*Movement options are limited (no quick dive out of the way, no jumping, no forward roll or side roll)*No door breaching.*Can't move bodies.*No wire-cutters for fences. Fences may as well be concrete walls.*You can't switch back to earlier rebel drop vehicles once you upgrade them. Want an armored SUV but have level 3 rebel drop? Fuck you, you get a helicopter and you will like it.*No flares for aircraft. SAM coming your way in a medicine helicopter? Hope you can dodge.There are so many gameplay elements missing, it's almost weird given the series pedigree. Ghost Recon is known for tactical realism and variety in tackling objectives after all.Rebel missions become useless once you have fully upgraded abilities, yet they keep spawning in each new province. They're the same missions, over and over and over again. It could have been made so once a rebel mission is completed, and that particular rebel ability is fully upgraded, instead it gives you 5000-7500 of a resource. As it stands, I have ''no'' incentive to do those missions. There's no variety in Supply Raids, its the same "steal helicopter/steal plane" over and over.In fact, let's talk about the missions. They're incredibly tedious and samey. Each province has the same subset of missions and rebel missions; there's no variety, no difference. Blow up this, tail this person, kill that person, rinse and repeat. Rebel missions could have had some variety depending on the province and geography. A train intercept mission (missed opportunity there, fighting car to car on a train while a friendly helicopter flies alongside providing support would be fun) is one I would have liked to see, given the abundance of trains that make their way through.One of the most glaring flaws in this game is the dialogue. Sweet Jesus, the dialogue. It repeats and repeats and repeats so many times, it's grating. I got tired of hearing "the music that makes your culo bounce up and down!" very quickly, to say nothing of "this medal has a coca plant on it. That's kinda cool", but the worst one is "what are we waiting for? There's gotta be more of us than them. Charge!!!" Apparently everyone in Bolivia has maybe 2 lines, and they repeat them Infinity1000 times in an hour.I came into Wildlands with elevated expectations; I enjoyed the beta, and I wanted to give it a shot. Dicking around in co-op was a blast. It seemed like a fun game, and catered to my gun aficionado/Special Forces dressup desire. Yet it's so clear that Ubisoft fucked up majorly by releasing a beta/demo a week before release, and then not using the beta to fix anything.What they should have done, and should do moving forward for future titles, is release the beta, vacuum up all the feedback and delay the game for 6 months or more (with an October/November release) and polish the game to fix as many bugs as they can. They did not do that with Wildlands. They released a buggy game with shallow elements, when they could have fleshed out so much, made the world vibrant and interesting and reactive (to a degree), and made sure the game ran smoothly and played well.Should you get the game? In its current state, its hard to recommend it. If you can overlook its flaws and same-y missions and endlessly repeated 2-3 lines of dialogue, there's fun to be had in co-op. I'd wait for Ubi to patch and fix bugs, but there's the possibility that they may never fix the issues that Wildlands has. I hope that's not the case; there is a solid game under all of what I mentioned, it just needed a few more months of polish.TL;DR: Wildlands has a lot of bugs, and the story sucks. Also has a bunch of flaws and should have been released in September/October, not March. via /r/GhostRecon