#otherwise i might take note of treasure maps and heart pieces

[waywardsalt]

now that ive remembered it, i might make my current ph playthrough a 100% playthrough (of as close as i end up with getting what i am interested in) because i am interested in the locations of all of the power/wisdom/courage gems to see if there’s any kind of pattern beyond just collectables being placed around

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out. And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief. A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 2/?: A Poetic Sort of Procrastination, Indeed

Sakura saunters home late in the evening, admiring the stars above her in a daze of spring air and clutching her tote bag to her shoulder as if her very life force is tethered to it.

In the flurry of emotion, she completely forgot about returning her library books, but she doesn’t give a damn.

She drudged through her entire pile of paperwork, though it was an almighty effort requiring every ounce of her discipline. Even after Sasuke left, she kept tearing up and just gawking at the impossibly beautiful gift he’s given her, affection requited bubbling up inside her ribcage and unleashed into the air she breathes like some sort of ambrosial perfume she can finally afford to bask in. She has always known there is a softer side to him, that there is much more beneath the surface than he lets on with his laconic demeanor, but this is something else.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out.

And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief.

A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

She hangs her tote on its entryway hook and carefully removes the box inside once she reaches her apartment. After she’s padded her way to her bedroom, she flips on the two lamps before placing it tenderly on her bed.

Sakura briefly contemplates taking the lid off then and there, but she knows she really should shower first, because otherwise the evening is going to quickly spiral away from her, whirlpool of tender feelings that it already is.

It’s the quickest shower she’s ever taken in her life; berry-scented soap floods her body and seems to take forever to rinse clean in her haste, although it can’t actually be more than a minute or two in reality. It’s also the quickest she’s ever toweled off and changed into pajamas, scurrying back to her room and grabbing the first pair she lays eyes on from her dresser drawer.

Once she has shimmied them on, she opens the box again, and just looks.

It still exists - it doesn’t disappear or dissolve as a figment of her imagination - so she picks it up with careful hands.

It is so, so pretty, exquisite in a way that makes her heart hammer relentlessly against her sternum, a catharsis in her chest sweeter somehow than anything she’s ever experienced.

It’s unavoidable; her eyes well with tears again, because he said he had it made for her. Not found in an antique shop off the beaten path or some happenstance market who knows how many miles away. Not just something that reminded him of her.

Made for me.

Which means he thought of this himself. Silk that shifts colors like the Uchiha crest, fastidiously stitched petals, and a cherry blossom tree, carved light wood that is startlingly similar in tone to the accents here in her bedroom.

And the way he looked at her, after, a storm of silver and obsidian that took her breath away.

And he kissed her.

Sakura doesn’t know how she’s supposed to fall asleep tonight, deliriously happy as she is, or how she’s going to spend any of her free time from here on out not staring at this supernal treasure. She strokes the wood with careful fingers, bringing the carving upwards for closer inspection. Every inch of it is gorgeous; she is especially enamored with the pink and pearlescent stitching, coruscant in the low light. She assiduously counts the slivers of bamboo, too, and follows the rivulets of fine branches stretching upwards to the boundaries of the framework. Upon her inquest, she notices an impossibly tiny etching, faintly whittled on the interior of one of the slats of bamboo. Tai Ro, it says; she assumes that must be the craftsman’s signature. She wonders where it came from, which far-off land Sasuke traveled through to commission something so resplendent.

She has never seen anything so bewitching, except maybe silver flecks.

Tearing her gaze away from the fan, Sakura eyes the vanity by her balcony door, an idea brewing.

It’s an aged piece, of a bygone style featuring small drawers on each size and a sunken point in the middle, from which rises a large circular mirror. A framed copy of their original Team Seven portrait sits pushed against the framing, right in the center. She placed it there because she enjoys seeing it as she gets ready for the day. It’s a good memory, one of her favorites, sentimental in a way that makes her heart swell, after everything. A pale wooden hairbrush also sits perched atop its surface, given to her by her mother forever ago while she was still at the Academy.

“I found it in the market today, just after swinging by to pick up rose food from Ino’s mother. It’s old, an antique, but I think it suits you, my dear,” she’d said, ruffling her hair, still long at that point and chattering a mile a minute in the overbearing way she has always tended to. She’d brushed her already combed locks in the manner that Sakura thinks all mothers must with their daughters, even when they are starting to become too grown for that sort of thing. “What I wouldn’t give for your hair! So unique; you should have something lovely to brush it with. You’re already such a pretty girl, but someday you’re going to bloom, and when you do, heaven help the boys.”

There’s a cherry blossom on it, too, adorning the back simply with five perfect petals.

When Sakura moved out of her parents’ house, she chose the tones of her bedroom accents, inclusive of the frame, with it in mind; she’d been using it for years by then, and had developed a fondness for pale wood rooted in familial nostalgia. Most of her actual furniture in the room is secondhand, of an older variety and painted with a white stain to make them somewhat match - she prefers things with a little bit of history, has since her mom gifted her that hairbrush - but the few frames and wall-mounted shelves are lighter washes of wood.

Many of the surfaces in her apartment are cluttered with books and other knick knacks she has accumulated through the years, but she tries to keep the vanity’s top clear, almost like an altar, an ode to the things she finds lovely atop it to give her hope with which to greet the day.

Still clutching the gift tenderly in her hands, Sakura ventures over to it.

She holds the fan close to the frame as well as the brush, comparing the color, near an exact match, a fresh memory making her heart swell in a completely different way, a way she had previously thought was maybe unrealistic.

She’ll get a stand for it, she decides, and display it in the spot the frame currently sits; it would look perfect there, the curvature echoed above it in circular looking glass, a hairbrush of a similar stain beside it. Then she’ll be able to gaze at it every morning and evening. There is no way something this precious to her could ever be stored away in a box and only seen on special occasions; it’s the same reason she struggled with the idea of hiding his letters away in one.

No, Sakura is resolutely sure that admiring it will be a daily ritual.

She can relocate the photo frame to her bedside table, maybe, next to An Introduction to Electrocardiography , or perhaps to her living room, though it doesn’t really match the wood out there.

That gets her thinking. We’re... together now, right? He’s kissed her, and she really hopes he will again, surprisingly soft lips against hers, an aroma of woodsmoke, and butterflies unleashed in her stomach. Maybe she should put the frame on the shelf in the main room. He might come over, sometime; it would be good to have it visible, situated in a place where he can see it.

With the utmost care, she lays the fan on the surface in front of her. Sakura combs through wet locks, coaxing out tangles with an old gift and appreciating a new one with watery eyes. When she’s finished, she carefully clutches it again and admires it atop a lavender comforter for the better part of an hour, alternating between mentally mapping its fine stitching within the confines of her hippocampus and paging through her book of Sasuke’s letters in a way that is more than fond, affection freed from her chest after so very long. The jubilance crests to a sense of omneity as she does so, moon glow filtering in by way of the gauzy white curtains that shield the balcony’s glass door.

She absolutely can’t wait to see him tomorrow. She sincerely hopes she’s not dreaming all of this.

She is so enamored with it that she doesn’t even drink her customary evening tea, her being warmed in an entirely different manner she is as of yet unaccustomed to, better than earl grey or some variety of dessert. It’s immensely difficult to pry it from her own hands when the time comes to do so.

Always is the last word she thinks of before she succumbs to slumber, curled up in soft colors and hoping he has found somewhere comfortable to sleep. Treasured memories emanate from objects old and new, brewing together before a looking glass where she’s placed them for safekeeping and admiration.

XXX

When she awakens in the morning, Sakura jerks upright in bed, turning to her vanity to ascertain if it was all a dream, cozened in by her subconscious as she slept.

It wasn’t. The fan is still there, precious and so enchantingly beautiful, dawn flavoring the memory of Sasuke’s return just as sweet as it had tasted yesterday with his lips on hers.

She brushes her hair again, working at the task way longer than necessary and trying not to cry out of sheer happiness. She feels so light, as if being pulled upwards by a latterly existent force of gravity, theoretically possible in terms of relative physics and with the right circumstances, but never actually experienced.

Birds are singing on the balcony when Sakura finally steps outside, snacking on seeds from her bird feeder as she gives her fledgling plants a drink before leaving for work.

It is such a lovely morning.

XXX

Sakura makes it through work as if encapsulated in a brand of inertial navigation system, floating as if she’s a bizarrely sentient cloud from patients to test tubes. She feeds the mice and records the brief observations she usually does on Wednesdays, and then a Genin is being brought in with a linear fracture in their tibia, twisted wrong and impacted during training. She gives instructions to nurses, too, taking care of smaller tasks in between, part of her feeling like she is barely there.

Well, not barely. She still keeps her wits about her and heals people; she takes pride in what she does. She just… daydreams a little, too, sage, smoke, and silver occupying her spare moments, flitting in between the corridors of her head as she flits from exam room to exam room.

She’s sitting at her desk, eating an early dinner and working on a new pile of paperwork before her next appointment arrives at five thirty, when one of Naruto’s clones bangs on her window.

Her gaze shifts to the glass at the familiar boisterous whining of her name - “Sakura-chaaaaaaan!” - and she rises to open it the rest of the way, allowing him entry into her office, an easy grin coming to her lips.

“Naruto!” A million thoughts run through her head. He has to know Sasuke’s back at this point, right? Has he seen him? He must be so happy.

Cyan bores into her, and he grins as he steps down. “Sakura-chan, teme’s back! Can you believe it? Though I guess you knew since yesterday.”

Sakura’s cheeks warm at the implication of that, wondering how he knows this information, but her friend is plowing onwards.

“Anyways, wanna have an original Team Seven reunion dinner on Saturday night? Or maybe Sunday night? Kakashi-sensei said Saturday would be better for him, if it works for you. And we should also make it a housewarming party for teme, but Kakashi-sensei says DON’T tell him that, or he won’t agree! It’s a surprise.”

Laughter erupts from her chest, rich and joyful, because it is crystal clear in that moment that Naruto is as elated at Sasuke’s return as she is - okay, maybe not quite on the level that she is, but close - even through a clone. “Of course, we should! I don’t have anything planned for Saturday night.”

Her teammate grins, all infectious happiness in the way that is so utterly characteristic of him, eyes crinkling at their corners. “Good, great, awesome! Be sure to mention it to him when you see him at seven. I’m sure if you suggest it, he’ll definitely agree.” Sakura blinks in surprise, cheeks staining darker. “Man, this is gonna be so great! Team Seven is fucking back ! I can’t wait to get a mission! It’ll be just like old times. I gotta tell Hinata-chan, too!”

She can’t help it; she smiles so wide that it hurts her face, tears paying her another visit. Sasuke’s back. He’s really back. And-

“Well, anyways, I’ll leave you to eat your dinner, Sakura-chan, but we have to force him to be social. I can’t wait to spar! But also, we gotta have a picnic, and no tying me to the pole this time. We could even challenge Kakashi-sensei to get off his ass and give us another go at the bell test. And, and! We should have a movie night. And go drinking! I’ve never seen teme drunk. I bet he’s a lightweight, and he’ll probably say all sorts of embarrassing shit! And-” Naruto’s clone’s expression turns unexpectedly serious, blue eyes suddenly narrowing in a way that is all-seeing and a tan finger suddenly pointing at her accusingly.

“-I mean social outside of you and him, Sakura-chan! Don’t think for a second that you’re gonna escape my questions later, when my brain isn’t fried from staring at that stupid scroll Kakashi-sensei has me slaving over. I want answers. ”

And then Naruto’s clone disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving her blinking in a strange combination of bewilderment and somehow, shyness, too.

And ebullience. Mostly ebullience.

She stands there grinning like an idiot for a long time. She can’t wait to see him at seven.

[writing-frenzy]

Care to Make a Wager? (SVSSS Fic)

Summery: No System AU: In which Airplane finds he has a new lease in life, but of course it would have a cost. Of course, being the creator of this world gives him quiet the price cut. Not to mention the untended bonus content.

Still, he did not expect the direction his life would go.

(Warning: mentions of death, violence, and most stuff you could find in SVSSS Canon. You should be good, but here is a just in case.)

---

When one Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky was reborn, he really wanted to curse his lot in life. Sure, he had been born into a rather well off Merchant Family, but when the Lord of the Family has two Official Wives and a crap ton of Mistresses on the side, things were bound to get crazy.

Luckily one Shang Huan had one hell of a Mother; in another life, Airplane might have described her as a ‘killer queen or a ‘boss ass bitch’, but as his mother, he just thought of her as the most amazing woman on the planet. As it was, She alongside a whole bunch of tutors taught him everything he needed to know about the world and then some. 

(Sewing was a bitch to get right.)

But with those lessons, it didn’t take long for Shang Huan to realize he was in his own fucking novel; it had not been a happy realization, making him break out into a truly childish tantrum, filled with screaming and tears that only calmed after he was given some delicious melon seeds.

(Luckily it had been attributed to wanting a snack after a morning full of lessons, otherwise he probably would have gotten the switch for it...)

But with all this knowledge of his place in life now with him, Shang Huan needed to start planning; good thing that was one of his specialties.

Noting down every bit of information he could, Shang Huan mapped out as much items and cheats he could afford to take from the Protagonist, as well as places he could and couldn’t go, hazel eyes narrowed as he messily scratched out his plots with his trusty quill and journal. The many lessons he Mother made him go through only helped to sharpen him, as well as learn the world’s common sense.

He was having a good go at it, building himself up as much as he could before something completely from left stage truly changed his course.

“There is a legend of Dreaming Glory, said to be a treasure to ensure great health and excellent rest. Though be cautious, for it is guarded carefully by the spirit of a Felled Divine Beast, angry and resentful of the betrayal it had faced.” was a tale a wandering storyteller spun, a group of children ooooing and awwwwing at the right places, even as Airplane felt his jaw drop at the information, focusing more on those words then the candy his mother allowed him to buy at one of the festival stalls.

See, while the Legend of the Dreaming Glory was definitely right at home with this world, it actually hadn’t been anywhere in Proud Immortal Demon Way; it had been in one of his earlier short stories, where Airplane had been practicing with the Xianxia/Xuanhuan genres (and didn’t need to rely on it, dreaming more of the theater then writing). (Until a mugging gone wrong and dreams cut short-) 

This... opened a few more roads then expected, especially if all his fantasy stories came into play, as there had been a lot of experimentation with plots and ideas until he hit his cash cow with PIDW. After all, taking something from the protagonist was always going to be a risk of somehow getting his attention, no matter how much the man wouldn’t actually need it.

(After all, showing off had always been a part of Luo Binghe’s character; showing that he was no longer the penniless street kid, no longer the weak disciple, no longer the one who was always pushed around, but now the one who can take.)  

It also meant more research; thankfully, his Mother was one to always encourage more in the way of learning, thankfully humoring all the ‘trips’ he wished to take.... In hindsight, he probably should have questioned why she was always willing to take him and go, but at the time was just thankful that he could indeed confirm places he would need to visit later and squirrel away items that were within his reach. (An actual legit Cultivation Manuel, even if it was only directed for growing crops and alchemy, was still his most proudest find, only needing a riddle to get and easily hidden in his pouch with his other learning books. Being an Author only got him so far, as every little detail was needed to ensure one stayed on a steady path, though did provide it’s own little boosts here and there.)

------=------

One day, when Shang Huan had been 13, sneakily already past the first part of Cultivation Qi Refining and entering into the first stage of Foundation Building, found his Mother to be ill, no Doctors seeming to be able to cure her (or willing too as he saw a servant of the Second Wife slip a few gold; he got his revenge in the end), Shang Huan took a deep breath and buckled down, doing all that his Mother said to do with the time she had left, learning as much as he could before it would no longer be open to him. 

(Like he could stay here in this den of vipers, without his Mother’s protection and love; there was nothing else for him here after all.)

In that time as his Mother stubbornly clung on, he listened as she mourned his chance to enter into the prestigious Cultivation Sect of Cang Qiong like the First Wife’s Third Son, Shang Shaoqing. She apologized greatly that she could not fight for him to get that chance, like so many of the other Mistresses did for their own children.

‘Huh,’ Airplane couldn’t help but think, ‘looks like I just dodged a arrow.’ though it was good to finally know just what the timeline was for the story; Shang Shaoqing was to be a certain traitorous Peak Lord after all.

As it was, his Mother showed her determination and spirit greatly, lasting till he was 16 before she finally past away, a smile on her face as she did, her son long gone with his inheritance and her blessing of broken ties, carrying her name meaning of Shang instead of his Father’s.

(If the night before, Shang Huan had decided to tell her of his other life, told her how this was a story he had happened to read, showing her a few of the treasure he had gathered, how he cried when Shang Wenyan had only smiled with a few too many teeth, her voice fierce as she praised her son with all her heart, hugging him close with what remained of her strength as she told him her last words.

“Live life however you want my child, live and dream and hope, do not be afraid to destroy any your way, and know I will love you always my greatest pride and joy.”

Well... no one needed to know about that.)

But with this new freedom came it’s cons as much as it’s pros. As he was stuck at a bottleneck in Foundation Building at Middle Stage, there was still a number of things outside his reach until at least Core Formation First Stage...

------=------

It was during his wandering, selling talismans he could make at his level, along with tales he made up that he finally got his big break.

He first heard tales of a powerful Resentful Spirit that was residing in a broken land near the Borders, no one from Demons to Humans wanting the land as it was deemed useless for all the resentful energy there, and no one bothering to pay a sect for what they considered a waste of money and time.

Shang Huan saw this, and wonder if it was what he recognized... Taking in more details and scoping out for any information, Airplane couldn’t help but wonder how lucky it was; this was indeed a spirit from one of his very first stories in fact. He knew exactly what to do.

Instead of fighting the Resentful Spirit, Shang Huan brought it pure cave water and incense, smelling of ash and jasmine. 

This certainly got the Spirit’s attention.

“What do you want Rogue?”

“I want for many things to be honest.” the brunet Cultivator smiled, not showing any teeth so as to make it look falsely gentle, “But for now, I admit I do desire your land.”

That got a huff for his efforts, the spirit a mass of negativity and ire, but actually still listening.

“You have provided the right offering, so I will give you a chance; bring me wine of the Soothing Jade Flower, the Broken Sword of Chun, and a branch of Deathly Yew... You get me these three things, and the land will be yours.” And with that shopping list given, the spirit was gone, even as the energy seemed thicker then before, the incense and water gone.  

And with an absolutely evil grin, Airplane was off; he had already remembered the Wine and branch, had even gotten them first as he had plans for them, but he had not remembered the broken blade.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too hard to find; he had written that the blade had been struck with a heavy stone in a battle between Demons and Cultivators on the borders of the land, where it would lay forever. And lo and behold, there was only one ancient battlefield it could be abandoned in, as this was PIDW.

There weren’t many left over from the borders after all, most of them being purified already. And as he thought, the Bloody Sword Grave was still around, a testament to just how much the resentful energy had soaked into the ground, demons and cultivators alike avoiding the place like the plague, even as bloody rusted swords stayed stabbed into the ground, their thirst and hatred still felt even to this day.

Couldn’t be compared to Xin Mo of course, but for being swords on the surface they sure were impressive. Ignoring all these deadly, intact blades stabbed into the ground, Shang Huan covered his face with a scarf drenched in purified Qi infused water, even as the talisman he sewed on for defense and purity glowed the more he traveled through.

He finally stopped at a blood splattered rock, digging carefully around it as he did, before he managed to pull out four broken pieces of what had once been a beautiful blade, but was now nothing but shambles and rags.

Having what he needed, Airplane made his way back to the spirit and their lands.

------=------

(This deadly spirit of a truly terrible Cultivator, who had been feared and revered for being a monster on the battlefield... cried as they saw the items laid out before them.

“Ah, no my Han-Er, my beloved figher... why you stupid, loveable fool...” The Spirit sobbed, easily using his energy to clean and reformed the blade, manipulating the energies of the other two items to aid it, ensuring the sword would still be pure, hugging it close even as it seemed to damage them.

“... He tried, to come back to you; his fellow soldiers betrayed him... He loved you so much... still does.” Shang spoke, watching as the spirit that laid resting in the blade finally came out with this truth, purifying the other as they did, along with most of the land around them.

The brunet had to look away from their reunion, their emotions a bit too much for him... This had been one of his first tragedies he had written, a solider and their beloved separated because of jealousy and hate, doomed to wait for each other forever, the solution to be so easy to have, if someone had given them a bit of kindness, to discover the truth of their separation, though never given the chance in the end... He never mention just what the Beloved’s gender was, made it ambiguous, but had in his mind of minds always thought of them as a man...

Maybe he shouldn’t have put too much of himself into his work, but a habit is so hard to break.

“... We truly thank you; as promised, the land is now yours to do with as you see fit; all you need to do is put your name on the deed and your blood into the ward stone. All the treasures inside are now rightfully in your ownership, so mote it be.” was announced, making Shang Huan turn to see two beautiful and handsome men smiling at him, before they bowed seeing they had his attention.

Airplane could only bow back, biting on the words of how he owed to them to do this at least.

And with that, they were gone, to enter finally into the cycle of reincarnation, together at last...)

------=------

Having his own place was wonderful; a lot of work, but wonderful all the same.

The wards around his land ensured no one with malice could actually enter it, along with protections against thieves and robbers like most noble Sects had. Shang Huan even went as far as to make sure he owned the plot of land in the official records, having everything stamped and recognized, even as he made sure no one actually looked too closely at what land it actually was.

He even made sure to pay his yearly taxes to the Emperor on time, making sure everything was nicely recorded and logged. (And seeing as he didn’t live in any town or such, he didn’t have to bother paying anything to any Lords for protection! How nice was that?)

But having a base of operations, one with land rich in Qi and perfect for Cultivating on, it not only gave Airplane security, but many other advantages as well.

He now had a place to securely put all the treasures he had gathered, which was a lot considering it was a variety of weapons, valuables, and even priceless seeds to plant. He could be completely self-sufficient as he cultivated, the spirits on the land easily convinced to do chores in exchange for sweets and treats (And being able to live in such a energy rich place). Not to mention how his Cultivation not only went up, but combined with other manuals that were treasures of the home, Shang was set on his way to being a powerful Cultivator in his own right.

And if he was feeling a bit cooped up, he could always go on journeys around his world, exploring and treasure hunting for odds and ends as he saw fit.

Soon enough, Shang Huan had managed to reach 34 years old, entering the Peak of Nascent Soul stage in his cultivation when, in a bit of boredom and interest, he bought out a debt ridden gambling house on the border of his territory, that rested in a ghost-like town on the border of the Human World and the Demon Realm.

It was, quiet frankly, just something to do to pass the time. It wasn’t too hard to fix the place up, and warding it had been a fun challenge of his skills, but he honestly hadn’t expected anything much of it, just putting a few of his lessor needed or easily replenished treasure up to be won. And making it to where anything bet could only be what one had to bet, alongside making sure others would have to honor it had been a fun spell to create, as he really didn’t want to be bothered by liars and braggarts and then having to chase them down. He even just made up some Golems and bargained with a few willing natural spirits to help run the place.

This was just suppose to be a fun little venture; he never expected it to blow up like it did.

------=------

It started slow; a trickle, with a whisper, a simple rumor.

There is a place where priceless treasure could be won; if you’re willing to bet for it that is. But be careful to not bite off more then you can chew, for it might be more then a bit of blood and coins you lose.

Some poor sods have even lost their very souls to the place, even now working where screams and laughter flow so freely to the terrible click the dice, the gentle flap of the cards.

It is a place no Mortal is safe, where no Demon has promise, where a Cultivator is honor bound to accept what is due; after all, no one has to enter the place, no one needs to keep coming back, no one has to bet their all, not all all. 

But oh, how they come; even those who dare not darken the doorway of that gambling hall come, filling what was once an empty town into one practically bustling with life. Funny, how it came about because of such a deadly place.

And oh, do not even bother messing with the Gilded Plane Gambling Hall’s Owner, a man who at first seems so weak and stumbling, so gentle and busy with their hard work, who at first couldn’t hurt a fly even as he smiles so prettily.

He’ll smile that same smile even as you sell your very soul at his tables, those gorgeous hazel eyes amused even as the crowds pant at his feet, screams all around from both terror and ecstasy.

(Shang Huan can’t help but sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he is once more offered someone’s entire being; if he’s said it once, he’s said it again, betting is at the tables, not at his feet.

Just another day it seems; hopefully there will be no explosions in the kitchen again.)  

-----------------------=-----------------------

0.0 huh, I did not expect this when I started writing; I just wanted to have Airplane have some fun in the world he created, maybe opening up a few businesses to make money on the side. I did not mean to make him into an oblivious Hua Cheng of the PIDW verse (Yes, in this verse, he will be as terrifying and pretty, I will not take criticism for it.)

Also, I was greatly inspired by Nighthaunting, though instead of ballet I have SQH as a theatre kid whose dreams got cut short due to bad luck and assholes. I love how they have built their world, and how they say that writing was probably a side thing for Airplane, which just makes so much sense. Also, I am all for Airplane being scary and fully taking advantage of his author knowledge, so haha! Hope you all enjoyed this story~

[capnjay21]

Brink, 4/?

But this woman was neither mermaid nor Brave, radiant but fierce — and the cool touch of steel to his skin reminded him of the sword she had pointed at his throat.

“My name is Emma Swan,” she said, in answer to the question he had yet to give voice to, “and I’m here for my son.”

Season 2 Canon Divergence; Hook never escaped Neverland, and once the curse breaks Pan comes to collect the loneliest lost boy of them all - the one in possession of the Heart of the Truest Believer.

                                                       ---

one | two | three | ao3

A/N: it’s been a while, and I doubt any of my old readers are still following, but here is #4 as part of my mission to complete all my old projects! some references to Peter Pan source material in this one, details of which you can find in my note at the end. Enjoy! Rating: T

                                                       ---

With the morning came a swirl of fog, having spent the night rolling down from Dead Man’s Peak itself, and the moment Emma roused from her restless slumber she found she couldn’t see anything beyond the bruised and leaden smog that had amassed outside the porthole. Her first thoughts were of blind panic; where she had woken up, how the ground appeared to rock beneath her, and questioning why the image of Henry becoming little more than a vestige of sleep distressed her so. It took a few beats of staring into the gloom of Hook’s cabin, but soon enough she remembered.

I have to give you your best chance.

Well, that wasn’t enough for her.

In the privacy of the cabin, she allowed herself a few moments to gather herself together. Although she had initially rebuffed Hook’s invitation to take his quarters for herself, she didn’t want to owe him any favours, she had to admit the seclusion had been a welcome change of pace from the exposed region of jungle behind them. Hook had taken extra care to demonstrate the locking mechanism on the door, and with the barely noticeable furtive look he cast up at the deck as he did so, part of her had wondered how much of his offer for the night had been about politeness and how much had been about keeping her away from his crew — or keeping his crew away from her. The moment had passed, and he had mastered his expression before she could ask.

On waking, an uncomfortable crick in her neck had throbbed painfully and she attempted to massage it out, but she had slept awkwardly atop the satchel she had brought with her from Storybrooke and the knot remained persistent. The closer they got to the Jolly Roger the night before, the more aware she had been of Hook’s hard gaze straying to it on more than one occasion. Its importance had struck her then like a bolt of lightning in the dark — the satchel was where Hook had to believe the hat was, the hat she had assured him would transport them back to her world, the hat she had refused to show him.

(The hat she didn’t have.)

(Hook definitely didn’t need to know that.)

It was imperative, she had realised then, that she never let Hook or any of his cronies catch a glimpse of the true contents, which amounted merely to Henry’s storybook and a couple of protein bars Mary Margaret had insisted she take for the journey — and that was all. Given how little she trusted the Captain, she had far from ruled out the possibility of him sneaking back into his quarters through the night to steal it, and as a result she had wanted it close to her at all times.

Somewhere in between the paranoia of being disturbed, her weary sadness at Henry’s rejection of her rescue and the growing fury at the anonymous figure that had brought them all to the chessboard, Peter fucking Pan, Emma had fallen asleep.

Now, in the ashen light of what she assumed was morning, she could get a better look at the cabin itself. She felt it would be stupid not to take advantage of the situation — here was an auspicious opportunity to try and get a better sense of the man she had tentatively chosen to ally herself with, and as eager as she was to get back out there and start doing something, she took a moment to explore her surroundings first as she munched on one of the protein bars Mary Margaret had sent with her.

The cabin was mostly bare, functional. Aside from the bunk she had rested in, the only other pieces of furniture were the table and chairs at its centre, and a few shelves to the rear of the room laden with books, charts and other trinkets. A large chest lay in the corner, and though Emma ran her fingers over it the lid would not budge — the lock seemed intricate, and she doubted a man like Hook would be so foolish as to leave a key lying around. She tugged open drawers, peeked inside cupboards, but it seemed as if the only clues would be amongst the meagre belongings atop the shelves.

There were a few books, most pertaining to nautical techniques or otherwise mariner related – to her amusement, one battered copy of Treasure Island stood amongst the tomes. Perhaps he had been looking for tips. Some sort of tool lay beside them, bright gold and meticulously polished, with the effigy of a winged horse welded into its side amongst what Emma assumed to be maps of constellations. She didn’t care much for any sailing trinkets and set it down, but her eye was caught by a piece of parchment folded in between two books near the back.

Carefully, not wanting to tear it, she tugged it out. A charcoal sketch of a woman stared back at her, beautiful, gentle. Undoubtedly important to Hook if he had tucked it away so tenderly, and she had to wonder who she might be. A family member — a lost love? Any explanation seemed entirely incognizant with his character. He was harsh and sharp edges, like her. Certainly nothing like a fairy-tale.

She considered that maybe that was the reason she was finding him so much easier to deal with than the rest of Storybrooke, even her parents — once the curse had lifted, between the panic of Henry’s kidnapping, it had been all talk of ‘good will out’, of happy endings. Henry would have loved it. As it was, Emma hadn’t grown up in an Enchanted Forest, and the idea of achieving anything just because she was good, and it was right, was a concept that she could not yet grasp. That she refused to grasp.

She didn’t want to lose her grip on reality just because, apparently, she was the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming; the product of True Love.

And yet, now she found herself in Neverland, in league with Captain Hook and trying to prevent her son from becoming a Lost Boy.  

Emma folded the parchment back along its crease and returned it to its place upon the shelf. No answers had immediately presented to her, nothing about the cabin made any suggestion that he was being anything but straightforward with her about his intentions. But then, her world had taught her that evil didn’t always appear like it did in books. And she didn’t want to waste any more time.

Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, Emma clambered the steps back up to the door and unlatched it, letting the dull light of the morning stream inside. As she stepped out onto the deck, she was met with a flurry of activity. Men marched back and forth hauling tools, bundles of rope, and from a stance by one man which suggested extreme weight, possibly a cannon ball or two. They were certainly hurriedly preparing for something, but as she stepped past not even one of the crew could avoid turning their gaze to follow her, and she felt each beady stare like a prickle crawling up her spine. She felt like snapping and telling them all where they could shove it, but her attention was demanded by a small group clustered in the centre of what appeared to be the main deck.

The sky out at sea was a blanket of white, bright enough that she at first shielded her eyes from the sudden contrast, and the tip of the mast was hidden from view by the clinging mist that threatened to curl downward with every groan of the ship’s great weight. Ahead of her a few crates has been shoved together to form a crude attempt at a work surface, and Hook stood at the centre of a handful of his men, gesturing over parchment with hand and hook.

At her arrival, he lifted his eyes from the work in front of him.

“Ah, Swan,” he gestured for her to step up beside them. “Good of you to join us. Are you well rested?”

Dismissing the question, she took a spot directly opposite Hook between two of his men. They each took half a step in either direction away from her and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. What was it with this crew? Did they think she was going to curse them? Pointing at the chart spread across the crate, its curling edges spilling over the side, she carried on. “What’s all this?”

“Preparations, of a sort,” Hook replied. “Apologies for its crude nature, but I was remiss in forgetting most of our charts are kept inside my cabin.”

He didn’t disturb her, then. Or he just wanted her to think he didn’t.

The chart, she quickly realised, was a map — clearly one of the island. It was her first real look at the scope of Neverland, so she leaned in closer with interest. It was impeccably detailed, the jagged ridges of the island’s perimeter clear and sharp. There were three distinct bends inland, two at the south of the island and one towards the east, the latter illustrated with a tiny figure of what Emma recognised to be a mermaid. The smaller one towards the south, at the bottom right of the map, tapered off into a curving river leading north west, constantly meandering back on itself until it opened out into a large lake at the centre of the island. The second also trailed north among an estuary, before slowing to a trickle at the foot of a large mountain near the northernmost edge. ‘Dead Man’s Peak’, it was labelled, in cursive script beside it.

Subtle.

The others were given equally conspicuous names — the smallest coastal edge that led to the lake ‘Pirate’s Cove’, the mouth of the river that flowed from the mountain ‘Misery Bay’, and the final towards the east as ‘Mermaid’s Lagoon’, all written in a looping, aged curl of ink. She mused on whether these were the names that came with the island itself, or if they were titles bestowed upon them by the crew as they encountered them. The native camp they had been taken to yesterday was marked by the icon of a totem pole near the western edge of the isle. Emma could almost trace the route they had walked when they came upon Pan’s camp.

Preparations, Killian had said. “Preparations for what?”

“War, Ma’am,” one of the crew spoke up — a tall man, with a scarlet cravat tied neatly about his neck, sporting a deep brown beard trimmed with precision, his hair parted at the side and combed down to his ears. Emma thought she might have recognised him from her first confrontation with Hook the day before. He was much, well, tidier than the rest of them, and he had just called her Ma’am. Emma arched an eyebrow. “With Pan.”

“I didn’t ask for a war.”

“Nor will it come to that, if we have our way.” Hook shot the man who spoke with a hard glare, and he visibly shrank away. “Our plan is to link up with the widest part of the river,” here he rested his hook upon the mouth of Pirate’s Cove, “take Pan by surprise. We rarely sail inland, and if we can make it to the Great Lake then we can continue to use the Jolly Roger as a base while we search the island.”

Emma was watching men she didn’t know nodding and murmuring along to a plan she hadn’t been part of, on a mission that was turning the rescue of her son into some kind of war. And she didn’t like it one bit.

“Woah, hold on a second,” she cut across them, “we can’t just grab Henry and run, you know that. We’ve got to try something else.” Hook had been there, had witnessed Henry refuse to be rescued. It wasn’t as simple as just finding him and leaving anymore. Hook’s lips parted, but didn’t seem to immediately have a response. “Probably the reason you shouldn’t start making plans about my son without consulting me.”

Hook’s eyes rolled skyward, and for a moment she thought he was going to drip out the kind of caustic remark as she’d come to expect from him, but instead he seemed to master that instinct and fixed her with a rigid stare. Emma tried to ignore the crew watching the exchange with an uncomfortable curiosity.

“It seems to me we have two options,” Hook began impatiently, “we either make your lad believe he should not stay, that his place is with you, or we make him believe he cannot — by virtue of Pan being a villain.” He raised hand and hook to gesture the man around him. “For which we can all serve as testimony.”

“No offence, but according to every story he’s ever been told, including probably Pan’s, you are the bad guy.”

“Believe me, on this island, I am not the bad guy.”

Emma wasn’t convinced. “We’ll see about that.”

Between Hook’s imploring look and the map rolled out atop the crate, and she noticed for the first time the thin, burgundy line drawn in ink which followed the river up from Pirate’s Cove to the lake, with a few crosses scratched in at locations on either side of it, she could admit he had clearly put some work into this. And some thought. Though she was loathe to admit it, Hook was right — her best shot was just getting a chance to talk to Henry a second time. If he really felt staying in Neverland was what was best for their family then she might not be able to change his mind on that account, but if he found out what Pan was really like (and she ignored the little voice inside her that pointed out she had only Hook’s and Gold’s word on what Pan was really like) then maybe he could be convinced to return with her.

God, she just wanted him back. That was all.

“Fine,” she said finally, reaching forward so she could spin the map to face her. “This looks good. And just so we’re clear — just because I agree this probably the best way to go about this, does not mean I will be okay with every damn idea that pops into your head.” This, she directed at Hook. “I call the shots here. Got it?”

Her son. Her mission.

Hook raised hook and hand in a mock surrender, before giving her a saccharine sweet smile she didn’t buy for a second, and touching two fingers to his temple in salute.

“Aye, Captain.”

In a moment he was gone, bounding the steps up to the quarterdeck and barking out orders. Like mice, the crew scurried to carry them out, and for the first time she could get a real glimpse at the power he held over his men. As he leapt onto the gunwale on the left-hand side, his hand secured in the rigging to anchor him, he surveyed the work below him before turning his gaze to face the island. Only once the ship groaned and began to turn, the main sail pulled taut against the wind, did he drop down and take his place at the wheel.

Emma returned to the map. Only the man who had spoken earlier remained, and he appeared to be waiting for her to finish before gathering it up.

“So this is Neverland,” she mused.

“Aye, ma’am. Chartered out as best we could manage.” At Emma’s arched eyebrow he hastened to continue. “It isn’t always easy with poisoned arrows being shot at you from every direction.”

Poisoned arrows? Great.

Before straightening, Emma shot the man a wry look. “And ‘Misery Bay’?”

The man had the good grace to look a little sheepish, before starting to roll the map under his fingers.

“I suppose it’s a little on the nose.”

***

At the mouth of the river, as the fog began to roll up the bank, curling and swelling and concealing the edge of the jungle from view, they disembarked. Unused to the drastic contrast in temperature from the day prior, Emma shivered as she descended the gangplank thrown over the side, conscious that the only piece of clothing sheltering her from the elements was the khaki tank top she was wearing - she had thought of it for blending into jungle, and had been foolish enough to believe Gold when he had told her Neverland was an exclusively tropical climate. Or maybe he hadn't been lying; he just didn't know the island as intimately as he had thought. She had considered asking Hook for something else to wear, but her stubbornness had persisted until the gangplank had been raised again and his ship was disappearing into the mist, to her immediate regret as they began to mount the shore.

For the landing party Hook had chosen just two of his crew to join them — Starkey (the name, she had learnt, of the tall, polite gentleman from earlier) and a far smaller pirate, Noodler. Noodler, for a reason Emma could not immediately discern, made her profoundly uncomfortable. Although his stature was smaller, and with his shoulders hunched she found his height falling a little below Emma's own, his features were pressed in upon themselves like a raisin, one of his eyes appearing slightly higher on his face than the other - but even that wasn't enough to unnerve her. It wasn't until she noticed, with a jolt that made her stomach turn, what it was about him that made him so odd and jarring to her.

His hands were backwards.

When resting at his sides his thumbs pointed outwards, palms facing forward, and it cut his shadow into an unsettling shape. It made Emma instantly want to recoil — but, morbidly, she couldn’t stop cataloguing the details. At his wrists sharp, scarlet scars zig-zagged across the surface of his skin, as if the hands had been first removed, and then sewn on again the wrong way. Before she could even begin to consider what had caused such a grisly deformation, the pirate caught her attention and answered for her.

“Pan,” he said, in a dark, gravelly tone, as if the very words scratched the back of his throat.

On this island, I am not the bad guy.

She was starting to consider Hook's words may be truer than she had realised. And if that was something he did to his enemies, what could he be doing to Henry?

“I'm sorry,” she said, for lack of anything else to offer. She had meant what she said before; she was not interested in a war with Pan. Just Henry. Revenge wasn't on the table.

Noodler nodded his gruff acknowledgement, before turning back to watch Starkey hoisting a bag of provisions over his shoulder. Meanwhile Emma pushed ahead, falling into step beside Hook. Only slightly envious of his thick leather coat, and with Noodler’s gruesome injury still fresh in her mind, she decided there was something they needed to discuss.

“Alright, let’s Sun Tzu this bastard,” she began bluntly, to ensure he wouldn’t fill the silence with something inane before they could get to it, “tell me about Pan.”

Hook’s eyebrows furrowed. “Forgive me, ‘Soon —'?”

“Know your enemy,” she clarified, “The Art of War?” At his continuing perplexed look, Emma realised she had no idea why she bothered – nothing she had learnt about Hook over the short day and a half or so she had known him suggested he would have any idea what she was talking about. Maybe she should be keeping any kind of allusions to her world to a minimum. “Well, I can’t blame you — that would’ve been a niche reference even for a twenty-first century man.”

“You’re speaking in riddles, love.”

“I want to know more about Pan — what makes him so powerful? He has magic, right?”

Once she mentioned Pan’s name, Hook slowed down noticeably, making a show of stepping nearer to the river’s edge and assessing their path ahead; Emma might have considered the sudden concern for its face value, if she hadn’t also observed the tic that had moved in his jaw, the flash of unease that had appeared before he could suppress it. Typical, she spent so much time trying to shut him up, and when he finally had something useful to offer he dried up like a desert.

“Oh, now you clam up.”

Hook met her ire with a sharp stare of his own, immediately coming to his own defence. “I just don’t see the purpose. We’re here for the boy only.”

“The purpose is not walking in there with my eyes shut,” she insisted. “You heard Tiger Lily – my ‘impending duel’ with Pan. I need to know as much as possible.”

Whether or not she was truly intending on starting aforementioned duel, she very much liked the idea of being prepared for any eventuality – whatever it would take to get Henry back.

Hook appeared to consider her for a long moment, before apparently reaching whichever decision he had been wresting with and rolling his eyes skyward to the canopy. Emma decided there was something distinctly off about him in the light of morning, a marked difference in his countenance. It seemed whatever easy humour he had pestered her with throughout their journey to the native village and back had evaporated into the mist, and she was left with the stern, formidable figure she had seen on the deck of his ship. It made no difference to her in the long run, as long as he continued to help her, but it was definitely something of note. She considered of the folded parchment tucked between the tomes on the bookshelf; a reminder that there was a lot about Captain Hook she didn’t know.

“The entire island is what makes him powerful,” Hook finally replied, carefully. “They are… linked, somehow. I can’t speak for the particulars.”

In the entirety of Emma’s brief experiences with real, rabbits-out-of-hats and poisoned apple magic, hardly anybody seemed to be able to speak for any particulars. It was just an accepted fact of life for the inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest that while some warred with fists, others liked to throw fireballs. With startlingly good aim.

“The energy, the heart of the island flows into him, and he flows right back into it.” Hook led them away from the water’s edge then, following the tree line as if choosing a place to enter. “He’s in every inch of this jungle, every creature that traverses its land. Nothing happens on the island without His knowing about it.”

Emma let out a thoughtful noise. A cake walk then, clearly. “Is that right?”

“It’s been my experience, yes.”

“So he probably knows we’re here right now.”

“Most likely,” Hook mused, his dark eyes flickering to hers as he raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t say this quest would be easy.”

Emma bristled. “I wasn’t expecting it to be.”

If it were easy, Henry would have agreed to come home with her yesterday, like he was supposed to want to. If it were easy, Regina would have been there to start blasting apart the jungle with her patented Sensible Pantsuit-ed fury, and they’d all have a way back to Storybrooke.

Emma recognised she was in a make-it-up-as-she-went-along kind of headspace, but it wasn’t exactly working out poorly for her so far, aforementioned setbacks notwithstanding. The situation could be a hell of a lot worse; she knew that for certain. She still had Hook’s help – even if he seemed to have lost the lightness he had exhibited the day prior as he pestered her about her past.

A sudden thought occurred to her, and she decided to take advantage of this streak of honesty. “Noodler’s hands,” she said, “he said that was Pan.”

Hook looked grim as he replied. “Just a taste of his… particular humour.”

So it was supposed to be funny, was it?

Finally he sighed, stopping in his tracks as they reached an entrance into the dense jungle that he was satisfied with. It was narrower than where they had travelled yesterday, and required they all move single file. Before he stepped inside, Hook paused to meet her eyes and Emma tried to scrutinize him for any clues. There were none.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

In lieu of a response she pushed past him into the undergrowth.

***

Have a drink, Captain. You know it always helps you think.

The day had been long.

Emma Swan was proving herself to be the most tenacious of companions, and Hook gladly allowed her to take the lead as they began combing the jungle along the banks of the river. They had a lot of island to cover, and he was learning quickly that as long as Swan felt she was in control, she was a lot less difficult to deal with. A notion he was happy to entertain if it meant she would keep her longsword and acerbic wit directed at the undergrowth, and not at his neck. He had enough on his mind to consider without the thought of her plunging that blade into his back.

Pan’s offer drifted often through his thoughts – his mood soured further with each occurrence.

As the hours got longer, the fog had receded and the usual blistering heat of the jungle returned, reminding Hook with an oppressive surety why he tried to avoid spending time inland as much as possible — there had been a time, the princess Tiger Lily had once told him, that Neverland had been a place of peace, of wonder, that children had come to visit in their dreams, only to disappear back into the stars by morning. Only after Pan himself had found a way to stay permanently, had connected his fate with that of the soul of the island somehow, did the Lost Ones find their home on its shores. And only with them, so the tribe’s legend told, did the dangers of Neverland begin to manifest themselves.

Of course, whispers of the realm as it was before held no bearing on Hook; for as long as he had known it, it had been creatures that could crush a man’s spine with a single bite, mermaids who lured sailor’s overboard with the strength of their ardour, trees whose branches could choke the breath from you before you could scream, sand and swamp that could drag a soul to an early end beneath the earth. Unbearable, torrid heat. Dark jungle and darker magic. Little boys who would sooner stab you in the heart than care to listen to a bedtime story.

Vines of deadly poison, claiming pure hearts with an indiscriminate precision.

No, only the sea could he truly trust; but what he needed now could not be found in its waters.

It was easy to bait Emma, perhaps easier than she realised — with every suggestion that they take a break, pause for rest or perhaps even return to where the Jolly Roger planned to berth for the night, she would insist they carry on. Such was the extent of her desire to contradict him, all Hook had to do was propose they head in a north-easterly direction along the river in order for their heading to instead be decided as dead west, following the arc of the sun above the canopy. It made her – well. Pleasingly predictable. The further they trudged the more nervous he could see Starkey and Noodler becoming, but their uneasy and imploring looks went unacknowledged as, for all the day’s walking had suggested, he was not the one they needed to persuade to turn back.

Emma Swan wished to be the leader? Fine by him. It suited him greatly to be absolved of any blame in what they might stumble across.

As they emerged into a clearing, Emma immediately marched over to the opposite edge, beginning to hack away at the tree-line in order to carve a path through the undergrowth for them to follow. Hook watched as Starkey and Noodler took the brief pause as an opportunity to rest, perching on a large rock and passing their waterskin back and forth. He, on the other hand, merely took out his spyglass and began assessing the journey of the sun. It was just beginning to caress the tops of the wide trunks now, casting broad strokes of dark orange across the sky and dappling out into light pinks and blues, the herald of dusk on its way.

“That’ll do, Swan,” he called over to her, “this clearing is easily protected. I suggest we make camp for the night.”

Emma’s response was vexed, and she didn’t move an inch from her position at the edge of the clearing. “What?”

He should have known this, too, would be a point of contention to her. Hook tried to suppress his irritation. “We’re going to need our strength. Starkey, Noodler; set some snares. We would do well to catch some game by morning.” The two pirates nodded their assent, taking their knives and heading off into the undergrowth.

“We can’t just sleep while Henry is out there, that’s insane!”

“That, love,” Hook bit back, “is exactly what we are going to do.” Her mouth opened, presumably to voice a further protest, so he hastened to cut her off as he shrugged his duster from his shoulders and laid it in the earth. “I have let you carry on for quite far enough out of sympathy for your situation, but if you insist on disregarding my every counsel then you’ll soon be finding yourself another pirate to guide you.”

Lips tightening in a grim line, Emma folded her arms. She gave nothing away, but that in itself was the only tell he needed. He softened in tone a little as he continued.

“My men are tired. The jungle boasts many dangers at night. Better we start a fire, eat something and live to continue our search tomorrow.”

When she didn’t immediately reply, Hook began gathering kindling for a fire. Although for all accounts making a show of concentrating on that action, he kept his focus on Emma — it was important that he show just the right amount of sympathy to merit receiving the same from her. It was the only way she would start to trust him.

And he hadn’t forgotten what she had told them when they met; he had no intention of telling her a lie, not if she could catch him in it.

After a few minutes of silence between them, only the babble and chirps of the jungle rising into the air, the gentle crunch of boots on dust denoted Emma finally joining him back where he was building the fire. When she began to mimic his movements, collecting a few larger, discarded logs to form the foundation, he took it as a minor victory.

“I thought you wanted to be back on the Jolly Roger by nightfall,” she said finally; that had been their original plan. Search by day, return to the ship by night. In the early hours of the afternoon, by the punishing pace she had set, he had quickly realised that would not be the case.

“We’ve travelled too far to make it back now.” A flash of guilt crossed her features, and it caught him by surprise; she showed so little care for what anyone but herself had wanted so far, but perhaps his chastisement had gotten through to her. “Not to worry, lass,” he continued with a wink, “Knowing even as little of you as I do, I did plan for this eventuality.”

That, at the very least, drew the ghost of a smile from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, after adding what she had collected to his pile. Hook confirmed it — the lass had the good grace to look a little sheepish after all. “I know I’ve probably been pushing everyone a bit hard. I’m just — worried.”

Understandably so. She had chosen herself a great adversary.

Convince Emma Swan to leave Neverland and I’ll give you what you want most.

And how, prey, was he supposed to manage that?

“Pan does not harm those he recruits,” he replied, not untruthfully, as he began striking his hook with the flint. “Your boy is in no immediate danger.” Emma merely grunted in response, and he decided to dip a toe in a darker current and watched her reaction carefully. “If anything,” he began, “you might say yesterday the lad appeared quite… comfortable.”

Her gaze immediately shot up to his, a fierce glare behind her stormy jade eyes. The fire suddenly burst to life underneath him and he hissed, snatching away his hand as a burn began to redden the flesh on the heel. Bloody sirens, he must have been using more force than he realised.

Emma had since looked away, glaring stonily at the spitting embers and he sighed.

“I apologise,” he added, to assuage her ire, “that was in poor taste.”

Hook rose, intending to check upon the work of his men out in the undergrowth, but turned at the sound of Emma’s voice.

“Thanks,” she said bluntly, like the words had been wrenched from her reluctant form. “I haven’t really said it yet, properly, but… thanks.”

The implication was there — he didn’t have to help her, to offer his services, for all the reasons he had tried to make clear to her when they had left the native encampment and he had intended to part company entirely.

To his surprise, he found himself smiling. A small, sincere thing. “Fear not, lass —”

And just where is this magic hat Emma keeps telling you about?

His gaze dropped meaningfully to her satchel, as Pan’s words rose like an icy wave within him. The smile quickly disappeared.

“—I’ll get mine.”

They set about preparing their camp with the supplies Hook had ordered Starkey to bring, meagre as they were — some sacks within which to sleep, and a single canvas sheet in order to shelter them from the elements. Once they had returned from setting traps in the undergrowth, Starkey and Noodler had managed to tie the opposite ends to some low-hanging branches to allow for the maximum amount of cover. Even still, Emma had baulked at the idea of resting in such close quarters to them, and while offering her thanks at the offer of the sack, had insisted she set it up a little ways away.

“It’s only natural,” Hook had declared slyly, “after this long in my company. We wouldn’t wish to give into a little temptation, now, would we?”

Emma’s eyes had rolled skyward. “Please.”

As they did not expect to catch any game until morning, the evening meal had been a simple affair of bread and a few small chunks of cheese, along with some berries Emma had collected from the brush (not the blue ones, he had insisted), before they had settled in to sleep. Starkey had volunteered to take the first watch and Hook had allowed it, wanting to catch at least an hour’s rest before night truly threw its sway over the island, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

As it happened, not more than thirty minutes had passed when he suddenly jerked himself awake, heart hammering and grasping for his cutlass. His left forearm spasmed and he winced; he hated sleeping with the brace on, but he daren’t remove the hook while ashore lest he awake and need to swing it immediately. It had happened before.

The dark remained permeated by stillness, the occasional chirrup or whistle from the trees the only sound aside from the heavy breathing indicative of sleep, and he knew it was coming. Starkey, watching him rise, merely nodded back at him before settling as quietly as he could into his sack for sleep — it was far from the first night they had spent side by side on the island, and most of his crew were aware of his habits inland.

He settled himself at the base of a tree several metres away from his resting companions, and cast his eyes to look up at the sky. To his great relief, tonight the stars were visible — often shielded as they were by magic, Pan liked to erase any and all distractions that could soothe a troubled mind on the island, but tonight they shimmered in and out of view like gentle ornaments adorning the inky blackness. Hook rarely thought of the island as beautiful, not with the litany of dangers it boasted, but sometimes he felt he could.

If he slowed his breathing, shut his eyes tight to the cool air and thought of Milah. He thought of the legends the native people told, of tides of pale moonlight that lapped against the shore, life eternal and evergreen; if he could just see a sprinkle of that magic through Milah’s eyes, it could all be redeemed.

Is it wonderful, she had murmured once, to travel so much?

She had gasped, convulsed, and collapsed lifeless in his arms.

He had to kill Rumplestiltskin. It was the only happy ending that mattered, now.

He considered what had caused his thoughts to be so full of tumult all day. Securing passage to the Land Without Magic, this Storybrooke, was all he cared about — taking Pan’s deal, if history was any indication, was the surest way to guarantee that eventuality. The sheer scope of his power over Neverland made Emma’s rescue attempt into a non-starter, and there were too many variables to consider. Not only did they have to be successful, Emma had to be telling the truth about the magic she possessed, and he had to trust her to follow through on her end of the bargain once she had what she came for. Pan had always been a trickster, but he never broke the deals he made.

And yet —?

Perhaps it was the clawing vestige of Liam, murmuring at his breast about honour, or his fleeting memories of Baelfire — perhaps it was how much Emma’s lad had seemed to resemble the boy he had once rescued from Neverland’s icy waters. There was something holding him back from throwing his weight behind convincing Emma to depart the island.

Still, he had brought them westward even as he wrested with the decision, and a tide of guilt rose within him as he surveyed her sleeping form. If he were truly against taking Pan’s deal, they wouldn’t be there.

Liam would be ashamed of him.

(Well, he couldn’t help but think, he’d done far worse for the promise of less.)

Before long, the purpose for his errant wakefulness began to stir.

When the low shivering, sobbing noises started to sprinkle from the treetops, Hook tried to shut his ears to the sound. As always, it pierced right through any meagre attempt at blocking them out. Every night inland was the same; the cries of the lost children of Neverland echoed for hours until a short while before dawn, weeping for the families they had lost, the love they would never again find.

Hook had discovered early on that only a few of his crew had been aware of the devastating chorus, the rest continuing to slumber peacefully despite it. It had been one of Pan’s great delights to make clear to Hook just why he, among others, was able to hear the crying – a certain kinship existed between he and them, so he had been told. The lament of the children cast away. It was a paralysing clamour, and it never failed to make him ache in places that had lain untouched for centuries.

Your father will watch the light for you.

Gone by morning.

A figure stirred in front of him and his gaze snapped to them – to his surprise it was Emma, turning in her sleep with a frown before suddenly jerking awake. She scrabbled for her sword immediately, chest heaving, head whipping around quickly. It became clear she was trying to find the source of the cries, and her eyes soon enough landed on Hook from his perch a few paces away.

Evidently his lack of alarm relaxed her, if only slightly. “What the hell is that?”

“The Lost Ones.”

“I thought you said they were savages?”

Hook closed his eyes, willing the noise to just stop. “And at night they remember what it is to be boys.” They cry, and they cry, and they cry until they rise from their weary trance, and are as dangerous and as proud and loyal to Pan as they had ever been, as if the events of the night had never happened. Perhaps they didn’t remember; or Pan held such sway over them that they dare not dwell.

Hook had never felt an urge to spend any time finding out.

Emma looked profoundly uncomfortable, hand curling into a fist around the lining of her sleep sack. It occurred to Hook that if she, too, could hear the whimpers of the Lost, then they had something in common beyond a shared dislike of the villain they faced.

“Well, I can see I was right about you, love. If you can hear them…”

This is Neverland, the home of the Lost Ones. They all share the same look in their eyes. The look you get when you’ve been left alone.

Who had left Emma Swan, he wondered?

Hook spread his hand. “As they say – an orphan’s an orphan.”

Emma surveyed him carefully, her expression unreadable. “And what does that make you?”

“A commodity.” Something within him, some distant desire to have that particular betrayal vilified once more, compelled him to be honest. “Traded by my father for an old rowboat.”

Before his companion even had a chance to respond, another cry pierced the year – however this time exceedingly different. This screech was far higher in pitch, more mature than the sob of a child, and curdled the thump of his blood from his heart. It broke it merely to hear it, devastated his soul and wrenched at something dazedly sad inside him. He longed to go to it. Even as he repressed the urge, another wail rose into the sky.

“That’s no boy,” Emma realised, suddenly throwing back the sack and lunging for her sword.

“Swan,” he called, almost half-heartedly, but Emma was already tearing off into the bush, as he knew she would. “Wait.”

Hook, after assuring himself that both Starkey and Noodler remained sound asleep (and the stillness of their slumber could only be described as supernatural, which made him certain He had had a hand in it), began to jog to follow her. He had only travelled this path once before, but if he were at all unsure of the direction he should be heading in, the noise Emma was making crashing through the jungle was enough to be able to track her.

“Swan!” he hollered, loud enough for her to hear him. He had to admire her. All it took was a single scream into the air from an unknown source and her first instinct was to go to them – she was certainly more than just a mother, that had already been made clear, but the extent with which she put herself in harms way for another was nothing short of, well. Heroic.

Low-hanging branches and wide, reaching shrubbery attempted to block his path but he kept pace, and before he long he broke from the tree cover and almost sprinted headfirst into Emma, paused as she was at the edge of the jungle. They had reached the mouth of the westward river, the one whose waters flowed from the healing spring of Dead Man’s Peak itself, the area his crew had fearfully coined Misery Bay. Not least because of the sight now rolling out in front of them.

Halting further progress was the way the path in front veered into a steep drop, where dirty-white, craggy spikes of rock awaited any who dared attempt a descent. Behind that, the rock rose high upward, the beginnings of a wall which spanned at least two, maybe three hundred metres across, its surface crawling with moss and ivy like outstretched arms reaching upward to its peak. The barrier continued outwards into the centre of the bay, the sand it rested on discolouring the nearer it got to the sea, and began to spiral in on itself in a circular, winding fashion. The result was a gigantic ivory labyrinth with walls that appeared to blur into one another the longer it was observed, and Hook found a familiar, dull ache began to knock at his temple the longer his mind instinctively tried to find a coherent route through it. From Emma’s expression, he could tell she was experiencing similar discomfort.

On all sides the maze was guarded by the ragged spikes, pointing outwards with unveiled threat, but Hook felt no particular desire to enter; the sounds that rose from the inside of the structure were enough of a deterrent for him. For it was here, surrounded by towers of rock and wet moss, that the screams they had heard originated.  

Loud whimpers and devastated moans struck the air with a clarity that made him wince, but with proximity came the ability to identify genuine words within them, desperate pleas destined to be ignored.

“Oscar… Oscar, where…”

“Michael, dear god, oh, Michael—”

“Nabil!”

If he looked close enough, Hook could make out the dreamlike figures floating around each corner of the maze.

“What is this place?”

Emma’s attention was entirely fixed on the labyrinth below them, her grip on her longsword so tight that her knuckles were turning white. The air around them was heavy with sadness, clutching at them like a desperate fog, and he could feel more than see the way it was beginning to affect her.

“I didn’t want you to see this.”

The lie came to him easily, but when Emma looked back at him, eyes wide and imploring and fearful, it instantly turned to truth. The remorse he had been planning to fake crystallised into sincerity like lightning, and he realised with surprise that he didn’t want her to see this. He was assaulted with visions of her and her lad yesterday, of the pain she must have been working all day to suppress, and all of a sudden he did not want her to spend another second staring out across the bay. But it was too late. The notion of this encounter he had worked to engineer made him want to retch.

“My men call it the Maze of Regrets,” Hook continued, trying to be gentle. The regret was palpable in its every twisted corner. “You are… far from the first to have come to Neverland to retrieve a wayward soul.”

“I don’t understand.”

A wail rose from below.

“Somebody, please, somebody, my Charlie…”

The moment realisation struck, he watched as the colour drained from Emma’s face.

Hook had first stumbled across the Maze of Regrets in the same manner Emma herself had, following the trail of the distant sobs, although at the time his men had misidentified the haunted mothers as witches, and sworn off approaching any closer. Only Hook and Smee had investigated further, making it even to the mouth of the maze at the edge of the bay before discovering the invisible barrier that would not let them pass. One woman had torn around the corner before them, skirts shredded and feet bleeding, her hair falling in straggles around her gaunt, pale features. Her eyes were rimmed red with crying.

To their horror, she had spotted them. But instead of approaching, she had uttered just six words which even now sometimes visited Hook in his darkest slumbers.

Felix? she had asked hoarsely, Have you seen my Felix?

“They’re – well,” Hook hesitated.

Convince Emma Swan to leave the island.

This was why he’d brought her here, wasn’t it?

And yet, it was with great reluctance that he confirmed that which he already knew her stricken expression had surmised.

“Mothers, Swan. They’re mothers.”

                                                   ---

A/N: *Noodler's hands are mentioned in Peter & Wendy as being "fixed on backwards"; I felt this could certainly be due to a Peter a la OUAT sort of twist.

*the Maze of Regrets is an area of Neverland created in Peter Pan in Scarlet by Geraldine McCaughrean, considered the "official sequel" after a competition was hosted by Great Ormond St Hospital (to whom JM Barrie granted all rights to Peter Pan) to find an author to write one - it's an excellent read, and I highly recommend it. This particular section on the Maze I found devastatingly lovely, and again I enjoy giving it a little malicious OUAT Neverland twist.

if you’re following this, don’t be shy, make yourself known! <3 

[kaorei-endgame]

Who would have thought that it was the massive open world 3D zelda game that got you. How did that happen?

Who knew, right!

I had a cautiously optimistic feeling when people whose tastes tend to sync with mine started talking about how Breath of the Wild recalled original Zelda (versus I don’t think -nobody- whose tastes fall with mine said Resident Evil 7 was like Resident Evil 1). Everything after the first few 2D Zeldas ain’t may favorite, so that perked my ear up.

Turns out it’s a pretty good game. For my take on it: it systems are intuitive, discrete, and fun. There’s statistical variance, but it’s in a small enough band to be immediately apparent, no spreadsheets required. “Blue goblins are harder than red goblins” and “This spread does 13 damage and swings fast, this sword does 26 damage and swings slow,” versus “Level 47 Elite Goblin Crusher With Fire Resistance, Might Aura, Headshot Immunity” and “This spear is a Level 59 Spear of Striking with +20% mp regend on kill, +137 attack power, and +20% roll speed, this sword is a Level 59 Greater Broadsword of Maiming With +5 mp/second, +137 strength, +20% roll distance.”

It’s a game made out of discrete micro-experiences instead of bulk grinding: solving a tiny logic puzzle to get a korok seed with the knowledge that six more will get you another weapon slot (which is a big deal when you have like, eight weapon slots!) vs. killing enough Night Ogres that your “0/100 Night Ogres Killed” bar is filled and you now have the +10% Night Ogre Damage trait. 

That being said, it needed just a touch more depth. For example: cooking is fun! The jingle is cute, all the little food icons are adorable, it is totally rad how there are recipe posters all over the world–in our usual fashion, we wrote down every one we saw in our little notebook. Any game that has me writing stuff down is an okay game by me!

…but none of the food does anything interesting! 

Like why the hell am I going to go out of my way to cook Salmon Meuniere, where I have to sit there and remember what the ingredients are, when I could just throw anything with the world “Hearty” in front of it into a pot with anything else and get literally the same result. I like that there are a billion crafting ingredients because one of my primary weaknesses is nice menu icons&this got a ton of ‘em, but it’s a total letdown that it all amounts to nothing, because there are really only about six traits recipes can have (Attack Up, Fire Resist, etc) and the only difference otherwise is how many hearts they give back.

The dearth of permanent rewards–outside of armor sets–is a colossal bummer, and turns weapon durability into an annoying chore when otherwise it’s a perfectly fine system. Shrines are fun, I would do all the shrines for NO reward, but paradoxically that makes it all the more frustrating when you kick open a chest at the end and it’s like some “Knight’s Halberd” that’s half as strong as everything you’re carrying and even if it weren’t it’d break in two seconds, so who cares. I’m a Path of Least Resistance kind of game player, so the joy a rare ultra-strong chest weapon produces in me is completely lost in the brain suck of inventory management of all the other crap I had to shuffle around. This is also why I don’t like crafting systems pretty much ever: I’m not going to waste mental energy and time scrolling through menus to make a Sword +45 if it feels like my Sword +30 that I picked up a random barrel I broke will do the job until I find a Sword +50 in the next hour or two worth of barrels. 

Zelda is not THAT, but it’s still kind of a mess, bequeathing you these anti-nega-prizes as like, some kinda taunt or something. In lack of actual, substantive rewards I would’ve rathered 90% of the weapon chests in shrines be replaced with cash or gems. 

I can’t say exactly what these permanent rewards should’ve been, but it’s ridiculous that the best you can hope for at the end of any quest is money, and money is irrelevant almost immediately upon starting the game (especially if you don’t care about upgrading the few, mostly redundant, armor pieces that require precious gems). But I can’t believe we’re at the end of the game and it doesn’t look like there’s going to be a way to upgrade the master sword, which even in its temporary buffed state is barely stronger than many of the random trash weapons you can get in two seconds from fighting any mini-boss. I guess it’s the strongest one-handed sword by a wide margin, but there’s a huge dearth of good one-handed weapons in that game and that super sucks, and that feels really super weird to me, coming from a series that popularized circle-strafing around a target with your shield out.

Even though Link to the Past is not my all-time fave (pieces of heaaaaartts 😦), one of my favorite things about that game is doing the sidequests to upgrade the master sword and watching the sprite change as it was tempered, and getting the little 1>2>3>4 numerals next it.

I guess you could count the faux pieces of heart (spirit peeps) you get from shrines as your permanent reward. Through the stamina (and the callback to Zelda 1 of needing X amount of hearts to get the master sword), I found upgrading my bars to be more interesting than any game SINCE Zelda 1. But that’s also a passive, expected reward from any Zelda game–basically: don’t you got anything new to show me? Really, I’m just saying: I shit a brick every time we opened a shrine chest and found a Climber’s Bandana. It would’ve been nice if the rest of the shrine chests were, like, the mild positive of more rupees (so we don’t have to more of our gems) versus the active negative of a pain-in-the-ass hit of inventory management where I waste thirty seconds throwing some random sword I was using, but might be almost broken, on the ground so I can pick up this NEW random sword I didn’t want in the first place out of this chest.

Considerably offended that you can’t board anything at stables but horses. Which is bullshit, and 50% because you can work up some p. good Ashitaka cosplay if you wanna. As a result, I have boycotted stables (but also because going out of your way to get a horse from the stables is just enough of a pain that I’d rather walk)

🎉You can ride a moose🎉 

(ED NOTE: WAIT NO YOU CAN’T DUMMY, YOU WERE CONFUSED BECAUSE OF THAT TIME GRAZ *EXPLODED* A MOOSE RUNNING INTO IT WITH A HORSE)

(thats a bear tho)

I do wish there were more dungeons. Having gone to Hyrule Castle for the first time last night, I was impressed at how they made this giant building with a bunch of different sub-challenges in it (I like “final exam” video game levels) but I was also disappointed that there was nothing else like it in the game. The four other dungeons were okay, but I liked their themeing much more than the actual puzzle solving (outside of the map manipulation, to a certain extent). Entering Hyrule Castle and feeling like you’re in an open world WITHIN the open world– where you have a ton of intersecting paths and shortcuts to unlock, and about a million different entrance points (lift a dungeon portcullis with an ice block, sneaking mission by swimming in through the underground port, full frontal assault on the gate)–I’m not sure I can think of a comparison. Maybe how the castle successively unlocked in Devil May Cry? 

But really, it’s like you’ve been dropped into someone’s living Dungeons and Dragons module, or how a fantasy novel or a manga present dungeon exploring, where everything seems impossibly expansive and dungeons are truly cavernous and intricate, and nothing at all like Dragon Age’s (or anything else) “go right for monsters, go left for treasure (and then go right because it’s the way forward).” In a way, it’s one of the main things I’ve craved from games in a long time–this ersatz D&D dungeon crawl experience that doesn’t require eight hours on a Sunday every month and someone to suffer being your DM.

What really tied the whole thing together for me (and seemingly everyone else, tbqh) was the traversal. My major complaint about open world games is how much of your time they waste on brainlessly parkouring through essentially featureless environments, it’s not really that much of a surprise that this Zelda worked for me, because you actually have to involve yourself in the getting around. Managing your stamina bar to go up mountains, wearing the right armor for the climate, all these things force you to consider what you’re about to do for five seconds before you actually do it. It’s not hard or brain taxing, but it does invest you in the process. “Okay it’s cold now, I should put on my winter gear” or “this mountain’s tall as hell, but there’s a ledge ¾ths of the way up I’m pretty sure I can take a break on” instead of Shadow of Mordor’s “hold the direction and a sprint button until you arrive at your destination” or Skyrim’s “I’m just going to shove myself against this hill and hope the physics engine doesn’t arbitrarily decide I’m not allowed to climb anymore.” It’s still an open game world game, which means you spend more of your time getting around than you do anything else; but what a surprise–getting around is actually a lot of the fun part???

It also just has a good art style. We probably generally understate/spend too little talk acknowledging how that works on you in ways that don’t factor into a score tally, or whatever. Aesthetic pleasure can be both substantive and difficult to quantify. For a long time I’ve been like “they should make an anime borderlands.” Because even if they left everything else about Borderland’s sorta-crappy mechanics the same, I crave that sort of co-op shooting experience enough that I’d be more willing to give it a shot if I didn’t feel like I was being constantly needled by its trash aesthetic and bad meme jokes. Well, they did that here with open world games. Instead of being dropped in some humdrum brown & gray world, things are actually super colorful and vivacious. That affects you almost on a subconscious level, makes trucking around the world less like a chore because it’s a pleasant world to truck around in.

Good game! I’m always happy to have my expectations defied! 😮👌😮👌😮👌😮👌

[globalblurb]

[dropcap]M[/dropcap]etroid is a Nintendo institution, one that dates almost as far back as the company’s console business. The series includes phenomenal games like Super Metroid and Metroid Prime, two games that frequently appear on “best of” lists. But Metroid has been in a funk for the past decade and losing favor along the way. Fans don’t want experimental spin-offs like Metroid Prime: Federation Force; they want to explore alien worlds as Samus Aran, hunt for high-tech equipment, and use it to dig even deeper into the unknown. Finally, with Metroid: Samus Returns, that call has been answered.

[tie_index]Most VR games[/tie_index]

Most VR games

[tie_full_img][/tie_full_img]Why it took Nintendo so long to get to this point is anyone’s guess, but Samus Returns is so good that it almost doesn’t matter. A reimagining of the oft-maligned GameBoy game, Metroid II: The Return of Samus, Samus Returns is classic Metroid at heart.

Teleportation is also what VFR uses to replace the gory melee kills in Doom: once you stagger and enemy by dealing some damage, you telefrag them (teleport on top of their location) for fun and extra items. Watching gore shower around you as you explode a demon from the inside isn’t quite as satisfying as Doom’s elaborately animated demon-dismembering kills, but it’s just about as effective in adding some strategy to the fray: the same concept of picking off weaker demons off to replenish your health as you take a beating from the stronger ones works in VFR.

Using those two types of movement together to stay one step ahead of the horde takes some getting used to, especially learning not to panic when it looks like a 12-foot-tall Hell Knight is about to rip your spine out through your eye socket. But once you get the hang of teleporting behind an enemy and using the 180-degree-turn button to whip around and blast them in the back, and using the backward-scoot button to kite as you lay down a stream of fire at pursuing enemies, it starts to click.

[tie_index]Motion Controllers[/tie_index]

Motion-tracked controllers

The other movement is a sort of scoot, where you use the directional buttons or d-pad to jump a few feet at a time. You can do this as quickly as you can push the button, making for a jerky but speedy form of movement. It works, but makes me wish I could just enable smooth movement in the menus, just like you can turn on smooth turning if you don’t like the default incremental turns.

Motion-tracked controllers dramatically improve the immersion of aiming and firing a gun.

As in the 1991 monochromatic classic, you hunt down dozens of powerful Metroids on planet SR 388 in an effort to eradicate the bioweapon species and keep them out of evil’s hands. However, two key changes have occurred: the map has been greatly expanded and reshaped to more closely resemble what you might find in Super Metroid, and combat is more of a priority than ever. The latter is an effect of Nintendo bringing on Mercury Steam–the most recent developer to work on Castlevania–to develop the game. Thankfully (and most importantly), Samus Returns feels like a Nintendo-made Metroid, but it’s still easy to spot Mercury Steam’s influence–for the better.

[tie_full_img][/tie_full_img]

[tie_index]VFR uses[/tie_index]

VFR uses

BY DAN STAPLETON So far, the most common way to adapt an existing first-person shooter to VR has been to turn it into a shooting gallery, where you hold still and shoot targets as they pop up. Doom VFR is not that, at all.

Instead of taking that route or converting the original version (as Bethesda did with Skyrim VR), id built VFR from the ground up as a new game that bravely embraces Doom’s love of movement and momentum. It lets you get up in the faces of demonic invaders in some of the fastest-paced VR action I’ve experienced yet.

[tie_full_img][/tie_full_img]

[tie_index]The other movements[/tie_index]

The other movements

Maize, that crazy-sounding, and cool-looking corn game launched on September 12. Other notable new releases this week include Don’t Starve Together: Console Edition (September 13) and Baja: Edge of Control HD (September 14). You can see a rundown of new Xbox One releases below, as compiled by Microsoft.

VFR can be played with a controller by using your face to aim, but preferably with Moves or Vive controllers (or the Oculus Touch controllers, if you enable the new Steam VR beta), or the PSVR Aim controller. Motion-tracked controllers dramatically improve the immersion of aiming and firing a gun, and the sticks on the Aim controller work especially well for controlling teleportation. The one downside to the Aim is that accessing the weapon wheel is tough because it’s hard to hold the R1 button on the side down while gripping the handle.

But one of the persistent issues I have while playing with motion controls is that a charging enemy (imps, mostly) will often get so close that pointing my gun at them and firing misses because the barrel of my gun is sticking out of their backs. I have to hold the gun up above them and shoot down, which is just goofy. There’s a shockwave move that blasts them back to help combat this, thankfully – and it works on big enemies that have you cornered, too.

The most immediate contribution that you see is Samus’ new parry action, a first for the series that allows you to counterattack and stun a rushing opponent. In turn, common enemies are more aggressive than usual, more liable to seek you out then wait for you to make the first move. Though parrying feels a bit strange at first as it brings your momentum to a temporary halt, you quickly learn the proper timing and understand how it fits into your repertoire, and when to rely on it.

[tie_index]Using the other types[/tie_index]

Using the other types

You can also fire in any direction now thanks to the 3DS’ analog stick. The same input is used for movement, which means you can really only fire at a few angles while running forward, but all you need to do when surrounded by enemies is hold another button to stand your ground and aim freely. Samus’ newfound flexibility and physicality makes her feel like an even more capable hero, and makes the moment-to-moment exploration more lively than usual.

Considering that Metroid is more or less the foundation of so-called “Metroidvanias,” games where you wander massive environments, poking and prodding walls and ceilings to reveal secret chambers and items, it’s both curious and exciting when you unlock Samus’ Scan Pulse ability.

Triggering a pulse both reveals map layouts and information (including hidden passages) and temporarily highlights breakable objects in your environment. On one hand, this capability robs you of the unique joy that comes from isolating the one false brick in a wall, but it also means that you no longer need to waste time looking for secrets that may not exist.

To account for the bit of old-school joy that’s now taken away (unless you opt not to scan your environment), Samus Returns makes the process of acquiring items you’ve located more difficult than usual. You’re now often challenged to quickly juggle weapons, abilities, and maneuvers, without faltering, to reach items picked up during scans.

This may involve slowing down time and be activating Samus’ Lightning Armor to negate damage while moving along a wall with electrified plants (two abilities that share a resource meter), morphing into a ball and laying bombs to destroy a brick, and finally sliding through the gap before it regenerates.

There’s a healthy balance between easy pickups and these puzzling scenarios, and compared to other 2D Metroids, it’s far more fulfilling to work smarter, rather than harder, to reach 100% item completion–the real Metroid endgame.

For much of Samus Returns, that goal feels attainable thanks to your scanner. Sometimes you need to obtain a new piece of equipment or two before you can sol This Post Author

For much of Samus Returns, that goal feels attainable thanks to your scanner. Sometimes you need to obtain a new piece of equipment or two before you can solve an item-related puzzle, but that’s to be expected, and a handy multicolor marking system allows you to note where a specific weapon may be useful down the road. And by and large the game does a great job of providing insight into Samus’ ever-growing capabilities.

[tie_index]Conclusion[/tie_index]

Conclusion

[tie_full_img][/tie_full_img]

Giving you the information you need to overcome specific obstacles. There is, however, one isolated blemish in this regard: a traversal maneuver with inconsistent behavior, depending on a very specific circumstance that’s never mentioned or hinted at. Whether by design or by accident, this exception flies in the face of the game’s otherwise clear and informative nature, and proves frustrating in a few specific and punishing locations.

Fontainebleau A Forgotten Treasure Metroid is a Nintendo institution, one that dates almost as far back as the company's console business.

[guideofstardewvalley-blog]

Stardew Valley Guide

Stardew Valley guide is a superb RPG/cultivate reenactment diversion that spots you in a summary ranch, offering you the chance to reestablish it to its previous eminence utilizing whatever system you like. There are numerous ways to progress and no ideal intend to take after, however it's ready with game play includes and making that can keep you snared.

Stardew Valley guide offers various alternatives for profiting, movement by leveling aptitudes, and making up new manifestations as you open them. Outlining a fantasy homestead and building associations with occupants of the town is a genuinely unwinding and drawing in involvement. This current's guide will likely help coordinate both new and experienced players toward highlights they may not see, answer questions players may have, and endeavor to enhance their game play encounter by offering data in the correct measurements.

Stardew Valley was made by Eric Barone (otherwise known as ConcernedApe) and I'm not the slightest bit partnered with him. I need that expressed, however I very prescribe the amusement to any individual who appreciates 16-bit designs, reenactments/RPGs, or affectionately recollects the SNES diversion Harvest Moon. It's sort of abnormal nobody made such an amusement as of not long ago in light of the fact that it was a void that required filling. There's a great deal of profundity here for such a low-evaluated amusement. A shocking measure of it given it was made by this one solitary individual. Stardew Valley will discharge for PS4 and Xbox One late 2016 and will supposedly have a multiplayer mode and other new highlights one day so there's a considerable measure of fun ahead!

Fledgling Walkthrough: First Days in Stardew Valley

Starting a diversion in Stardew Valley

This walkthrough has some accommodating guidance for newcomers. Not all things need to be done on the primary day, however the counsel here might be convenient in helping you to begin.

Beginning in Stardew Valley

You're given 15 Parsnip seeds by means of the blessing box inside the house and begin with the apparatuses you have to clear a zone for crops. The ranch is horrendously overwhelm, however much should be possible with it when it's tidied up. The assets you find are extremely useful. You should clear a 5x3 fix of land to plant your parsnips.

Continuously Show Tool Hit Location is a standout amongst the most accommodating alternatives for a newcomer. It will give you a chance to abstain from squandering vitality by hitting the wrong spot with your apparatuses and will hold your hand until you never again require it.

Head into the diversion menu to make this less demanding. Press ESC and go to Options. Turn on 'Dependably indicate device hit area' there, and you'll have a guide to enable you to figure out how to focus in Stardew Valley. Later you won't not require it, but rather until further notice it's a learning help. For most instruments you can hit the 3x3 region that encompasses your character, however the cultivator is somewhat more ungainly and expects you to arrange appropriately.

Apparatuses

The 5 apparatuses you're given are really plain as day however to guarantee there's no disarray:

Hatchet: Clears stumps when redesigned, breaks logs, and gives you a chance to hack down trees. Cleaving trees expends a ton of vitality yet logs can be softened up one hit.

Cultivator: The scraper gives you a chance to get ready tillable earth with the goal that you can plant seeds.

Pickaxe: Use this to break rocks and stones. Afterward, you'll mine with it.

Sickle: Use this to effectively clear plants and grass. When you get a Silo based on your ranch later, it will gather grass and transform it into feed that can be utilized to nourish creatures.

Watering Can: This is utilized to water your plants!

Clear the ground for crops, plant the seeds, and water them. Afterward, you can utilize manure subsequent to working the land (yet before planting seeds) to enable your plants to develop to higher quality.

Plant the Parsnips

In this way, you will swap amongst instruments and clear the zone so you can plant crops. At the point when it's unmistakable of all flotsam and jetsam, first utilize the tool to make a fix for a garden, at that point plant the seeds by changing them to utilize them (hotkey 1-9 or the mouse wheel), lastly water the dirt that has the seeds. Try not to stress on the off chance that you foul up with the cultivator and till the earth where you would prefer not to - things recover in Stardew Valley, including any ground where nothing was planted.

Where to purchase seeds in Stardew Valley

Pierre's General Store is the least expensive place to purchase seeds each season, rather than Jojo bazaar which marks them up.

General Store to Buy Seeds

Once your plants are watered, I recommend you head into town to spend your 500G at Pierre's General Store (take note of the store is shut after 5PM and on Wednesdays). Leave through the Eastern homestead exit and stroll until the point when you see the town. Pierre's is alongside the white working with a red cross (center), straightforwardly East of your homestead. Stroll up to the General Store entryway and snap to enter. At the counter you can purchase seeds for the flow season. The most gainful plant for Spring (that are accessible now) are potatoes, which take 6 days to develop. You have enough cash to purchase 10 of them, so do as such!

Note the rucksack on the store rack, which can be purchased for 2000G. This will grow your stock from 12 to 24 openings. You can't manage the cost of it yet, however it is ideal to purchase around week 2-3 of Spring. For the time being you have the money box. Come back to the ranch and plant your potatoes. They'll be finished developing on Sunday.

Making in Stardew Valley

Art a money box to enable you to store devices and creating materials you don't require right now. It'll enable you to convey more plunder!

Making a Treasure Chest

Presently we will need to make a tresure chest in which we can store things. In case you're low on vitality you can hold up to do this on the second day. Gather 50 wood by slashing down 3-4 trees. Press ESC to open the menu and go to the tab with the sledge - that is the place you create. Make the money box, at that point change to it on your hot bar. You can put the chest anyplace alongside your character. The grass around the house is a decent place to put it, however you can do this anyplace you like. Presently you have a place to store things so you aren't compelled to junk or offer them.

Vitality, Exploration and Going to Bed

Your character will start to get worn out after this. Focus on the vitality meter and when it cautions you that you're close depletion, stop or you'll take a vitality punishment the following day and potentially go out from it, losing a bit of your Gold. You need to be sleeping before midnight so you don't take another vitality punishment.

It's imperative to take note of that exclusive utilizing apparatuses channels the vitality meter. So if it's just early evening you can in any case head around the town, investigate, locate the different shops, and meet new NPCs.

The TV

At the point when your vitality is low or it's late, head inside the house and watch the TV. This ought to be something you do toward the begin of consistently. You'll get the climate estimate for the following day, exhortation from 'Livin' off the Land' and 'Ruler of Sauce' will give you formulas. Ultimately, the crystal gazer gives you an every day measure of where your character's fortunes stands.

The Second Day

You'll need to sit tight 4 days all together for your parsnips to be completely developed. Water them consistently or they will stop in advance. You'll comprehend why agriculturists adore rain, as it gets you out of that errand. Refilling the watering can is finished by setting off to the little lake toward the southeast of the house and utilizing it there.

Stardew Valley outline

The guide is exceptionally helpful to getting around. You'll soon realize there are quicker courses to a building you need to visit.

Investigating the Map

Hit ESC or M to open a guide of the town. Float over regions and you'll see the names, so on the off chance that you see something said here or on the web it's genuinely simple to discover it. You'll see your character's present position and additionally real historic points and zones of Stardew Valley.

From here forward, you can start to investigate alternate ranges of amusement while you guarantee the development of your plants. Cultivating is just a piece of it. The mine will open up on the fifth day, and you can start to investigate it. I propose you get the knapsack first. Willy on the beachside dock will give you an angling rod post, and you can get them for 500G in the event that they're at any point lost. Robin can grow your homestead, yet you'll require bunches of gold and materials. Make sure to investigate the group focus, at that point meet the wizard too. This diversion effortlessly has 100 hours of play in it, and things will just show signs of improvement as the engineer includes new highlights. Ideally this guide serves to kickstart your play or offered you some knowledge. My more profound aides on different subjects should help too. They're recorded underneath and I'm proceeding to extend the site.

General Gameplay Guides

The manual for Giving Gifts to manufacture Friendships and Get Married is one worth referencing over and over, so you know which endowments will help raise hearts with villagers. The inhabitants of Stardew Valley will give you cooking formulas and different endowments at different heart levels, and getting hitched may prompt your life partner giving you an important stardrop to raise greatest vitality. It merits become a close acquaintence with various villagers!

My Stardew Valley Tips page incorporates a considerable measure of convenient data for players new to the diversion. Figure out how to spare, what you should keep, and general solid counsel for gaining ground in Stardew Valley.

Apparatuses in Stardew Valley: the Ax, Hoe, Pickaxe, Watering Can, Fishing Poles and Scythe. This guide talks about overhauling your instruments and how you can get the metal bars.

The Guide to Winter and What to Do should enable you to make sense of what winter exercises are useful toward the following year on your ranch. Try to update your watering can while you have the shot!

The Secret Woods of Stardew Valley are an incredible place to get Hardwood for making. Bring your tool as there's loads of worms to be uncovered here, so it's likewise useful for discovering library books. You can likewise discover one of the diversion's numerous Stardrops (which raise greatest vitality) by going by the region with a Sweet Gem Berry.

Calico Desert: Oasis Store and The Skull Cavern - finishing the vault package at the Community Center honors you with a completely operational transport. You can take it to Calico Desert, where an awesome store is situated (with 2/3 of the best seeds in the diversion) close by the Skull Cavern, a harder