#this is the third time they've been dangerous and it's more than welcome

[swan2swan]

Chaos Theory taking the baton from Camp Cretaceous: sauropods being dangerous.

[kiaxet]

Am I in the AU comp? No. Is that about to stop me? Also no.

...not when there's a Discord server of people encouraging my shenanigans, at least.

---

Cissy has no idea where she is. It looks to be a gymnasium of some sort, large enough to house hundreds of people, with a banner reading "WELCOME AU COMPETITION" hanging from the rafters - a clue, or an answer, if she had the context to decipher it.

Which she doesn't. Great.

She bumps into one vaguely familiar turtle, and then another, and it takes a third for her to realize they're all her brothers. Sure, there are some she doesn't recognize - the adult in the cloak and violet mask with a parade of very young turtles trailing after him, for one - but for the most part they come in sets of four, have similar scale colors and distinctive markings, and answer to the same names. There's a Leonardo who seems to be an adult with a mechanical prosthetic, leading a younger Leonardo fully missing his arm; there's a Leonardo in a wheelchair; the yellow-eyed Donatello moving on all fours and snarling doesn't trigger her danger sense, but the Leonardo and Donatello wearing bows that look like they've been styled by Big Mama and leaning nonchalantly against the wall definitely do; and there's more than one set of them with tails.

None of them are hers - none of them recognize her.

There are no other versions of her - not that she's been able to see, at least.

Maybe there's not another version of her to recognize.

Maybe she's alone here.

But why would she be alone-

Why is she here at all-

She turns abruptly and weaves through the crowd, making her way to the edge of the room and the bleachers that line it, climbing them until she makes it to the mostly unoccupied top row. High ground. Good vantage point. She can gather information here. Maybe there's something she missed- maybe everything will make sense once she finds it- if she can- if there's anything to find-

She pulls the hood of her stolen-then-borrowed hoodie up over her head. She wasn't prepared to come here- she doesn't have her weapons, or any gear, or her mask-

(Maybe it's better that she doesn't have it. Maybe these versions of her siblings would recognize Big Mama's Assistant instead of Cissy. Maybe it's better they don't know her.)

She pulls herself out of that spiral just in time to witness a fight breaking out in the crowd. Maybe it's a good thing that she got out of there when she did.

Her mouth pulls into a smile that borders on a grimace as the twins with bows zoom halfway across the room to hurl themselves into the brawl. Definitely better that she's up here now. She settles in, keeping an eye on the combatants. Maybe someone will provide answers. Maybe someone will find a way out. Either way, for now, all she can do is keep an eye out and wait.

(And stay the hell away from that particular version of Leonardo and Donatello. She's faced down her brothers in combat before; she knows what they're capable of; and those two just look nasty. She would prefer to keep all of her limbs intact, thank you.)

[katyspersonal]

I am feeling so ill. My mental pain keeps translating into physical one, like something that keeps poisoning me from within, and it can last from very morning to very evening at times. I wish I stopped being reminded of the backstabbing, of how much that person has been lying to us, and how she threw away her empathy and common sense in an instant, as soon as she got enticed with the prospect to feel like a """victim""". When everything was explained and even forgiven prior.

For a Christian, she sure is a terrible one, and really should pray to her God for forgiveness. Because that's sin of vanity if I've seen one. Her sorry pro-lifer ass that can't even use they/them pronouns because it is "not correct in English" and has been following Mico herself before he deactivated must be satisfied with people around with whom she has to censor her true opinions, I suppose? She had all context, she had explanation and apology, she faked having accepted that apology too, lied about not really caring about the "drama", faked patience and lied about always welcoming me back - only to latch at the first chance to backstab me and my friends she got. And the way she conveniently ignored how I took my words back, too.. I don't know what is WRONG with people who think that when a person that has been stalked and harassed for a year lashes out upon feeling threatened - they've shown their """true face""". Nobody is more alien to normal human emotions and reactions than Americans. I guess for them you are either physically incapable of anger, fear and fucking up OR you are a vile dangerous monster.

But the real question - what did she want to ACCOMPLISH? She didn't really feel like a star and gain sympathy like a victim of the """horrible mistreatment""" that me lashing out when she defended my STALKER was - that I also TOOK BACK. From my knowledge, she kept herself anonymous. And of course instantly blocked me, because like a coward she could not answer for her lies. She also lost other friends too - one HATES liars and hypocrites more than anything, another has similar emotional problems to mine so no longer feels safe, third straight up was harassed by that person as well.. "They are still lovely people" she says. And I am not a "lovely" person, of course. Because "lovely" people just smile and shrug off being stalked, harassed and talked untrue shit about for a year, I suppose? Because "lovely" people don't become clingy for someone defending them so loud and proud?

My only theory is that she just secretly harbored hatred towards me all along but was forcing the facade of patience and understanding, until one day finally came what looked like a good justification to drop it. But then why sending me all that emotional support when I fell for suicidal road back in spring? Why write at least two essays to Alfred-chan about her right to interact with me and about how I deserved kindness and compassion? Why acting flattered when I said I loved her (platonically) when in reality she was creeped out? Why bothering to explain me how she did not blame me and always would welcome me back in the blog? Following me for a decent time and all that interacting. Was feeling like a poor victim that fell under attack of the "monster" for like 5 minutes without even revealing her name to the world and losing more likeminded people worth it? Was it worth it? How? How mad you should be at someone for getting attached more than """acceptable""" and for lashing out before learning why you'd defend someone that harassed us, that you'd resort to backstabbing and break all your prior promises? She even told me stuff like "ratting someone out is very condemned in my culture and I'd never do that". Then what DID she do, when she showed the moment of weakness I had 40 days ago, to a deranged ableist that has been condoning harassment and canceling for hell knows how long and she could tell wished me harm?

I want to ask whether it was worth it, but clearly she didn't lose anything of value. One of those "but internet connections are not REAL uwu" people.

I so badly want to say that this is my fault for trusting someone who is not only American but also a Christian, double combination of hypocrite and all you know. Because I just want to find a reason. I want to know WHY, even if the answer is something as shallow as nationality and religion. But this is just not fair to people who are one or both of these things but have common sense to not lie and not be cut throats. I guess the real reason is that some people are just too easily enticed with the chance to feel like the "good" guys, to mark category of people that do not deserve any empathy, human bonds and understanding because they are "evil and dangerous". It is just easier. You feel justified to mistreat a certain category of people because they are "bad" - all while the criteria for why they're "bad" is growing progressively absurd. But this coming from a person that preached kindness and acceptance. Yet she sided with the people that punish me FOR having shown that kindness and acceptance to someone else, and never intend to stop. Why following Mico yourself, then?

I have no skill of forgiving people that do not feel remorse, I am not that kind of a person. It just hurts until I forget or find another thing to worry about. I don't know where to turn to, what superior power to pray to for faster healing from this, because betrayal like this is the worst thing you can do to me. It is fine to refuse to forgive someone's mental breakdown, but why not tell me off in private? Why run under the skirt of the person with bad faith that only supports neurodivergence in the form of being quirky about one's special interests and not for what problems it really brings? Does she really think it is victim's fault when they develop bad trust and abandonment issues upon a creepy stalker trying to ruin their life? The cunt would've doxxed me if they could only over the fact that I said I was gonna reblog from who I want - again, something she herself kept getting harassed over. So was that okay, then? She never meant her words, then, and only flexed her "I interact with who I want" for weird flex of herself as a hero, and not for our friends group?

Well, yes. It has to be that. Until she saw an opportunity to switch sides and find a more compelling "enemy" to stand against. The final punch in the gut is that she assumes my friends are okay with the betrayal either, just goes around as though nothing happened, as though having betrayed someone and still writing them down as vile and unremorceful even after they apologised to her two times was nothing. Yeah, why? If a person failed to meet her personal mark of forgiving, tolerating and shrugging off harassment - then they deserve to be backstabbing and thrown to those cultish ableists. That's her logic.

And I just want to vent all this in a sorry effort to remind myself: "See, she is so petty and callous that she doesn't deserve crying and hurting over! People like that are below you, Kat, just forget it and move on!" But in the end, I just can't stop asking myself why. She did not feel like that type of a person. My other mutual also said it was not expected, since she had that 'wise', thoughtful exterior all along and acted as though she was trustworthy. At this rate I was right in my accusation of her being brainwashed, I guess... The only thing I was wrong is the TIME when it happens.

[mareastrorum]

They rewrote Thrall's backstory to be more racist stuff in stuff like Chronicles so now instead of Thrall being a good person because he reconnected with orcish culture and escaped his abusive human upbringing, he's only good because he was raised away from the inherently evil orcish culture, because cultural genocide is good now.

Speaking of ShadowLands, remember they had a beloved and benevolent vodou god that is worshipped to this day as a purely evil being that the players kill.

Hence my point that it got worse. Also its started to attract real world racists to Warcraft whom are attracted to the fantasy of pure and good aryan whites protecting the world from POC monsters.

This is going to be the last WoW anon I'll reply to because I just don't play the game anymore. You're welcome to message me if you want to chat about game experiences, but I can only speak as to what I remember from that time, and that's been a few years now.

I've only ever skimmed through a few WoW novels, and what I saw didn't interest me further in them. It wouldn't surprise me if the Chronicles were of similar caliber. The Chronicles were meant to resolve lore discrepancies and gaps, but they were never going to fix everything.

White Savior narratives aren't surprising in fantasy spaces. Thrall's original story was that he was raised as a slave by an orc-hating noble, a virtuous white woman was kind to him and fostered positive traits, and then Thrall committed to violence when that white woman was about to be forced to marry (i.e., get raped by) that same noble. He only found the strength to rebel and escape when his savior was in danger, and then she died, and he was recruited into the Horde, etc., etc., etc. Then Draenor was a thing, and orcs were aliens instead of dimensional invaders, and green orcs were corrupted by fel instead of being brown/red orcs, but Thrall could be good anyway with enough exposure to white people, so the corruption wasn't that bad, but red/brown orcs are good even though they were easily conquered by the Legion, and on and on... The point is, they've gone back and forth on how corrupted and redeemed Thrall is, not because of anything he's done, but because he is the test case for comparing all other orcs. He's as good as an orc can be, so unless he's Orc Jesus (and man, did they really push a Jesus narrative), it's a criticism of non-white cultures. Blizzard fucked themselves into that corner.

There has always been that undercurrent in Warcraft that orcs (including Thrall) have a natural inclination toward violence and that any peaceful orcs are rare, only achieving that through third-party intervention. That's also true in Lord of the Rings (corrupted elves), D&D (the curse of strife), and countless other fantasy worlds. It wouldn't be racist if not for very consistent efforts to code orcs as non-white cultures, whether by skin color, cultural practices, or language.

I'm not sure which loa you're referring to. Mueh'zala and Bwonsamdi didn't die in Shadowlands, and they weren't portrayed as evil so much as very suited to their positions as loa of death. Amoral rather than malevolent. Rezan was murdered, but was benevolent and noble, and the players killed (freed) its puppeted spirit. G'huun was only worshipped as a loa by the blood trolls, and I guess you could argue it was evil, but it was more of an eldritch horror (since it was an experiment to create a being like the old gods... for containment science...). I don't recall killing Hakkar permanently; only preventing a resurrection. The trouble with loa is that they rarely actually die because they live off of worship.

Edit: Woops, my brain went to Battle of Azeroth there for part of that. But I don't recall any loa being enemies to kill in Shadowlands. IIRC, Bwonsamdi made an appearance in the Winter Queen's court, and while she wasn't pleased with him, he survived the encounter. Mueh'zala was the boss in a dungeon, but he was captured rather than killed. Anyway...

I'll be honest, Blizzard's handling of the Zandalari in game was actually fairly well done because they were portrayed as a troll culture with noble values, a wide range of interests, bustling trade, meaningful religion, and respected scholars. At least, it was Blizzard's best to date for handling a troll civilization after initially introducing them as savage cannibal heathens with lots of references to Caribbean and Meso-American cultures who obstructed the expansion of the noble, blonde, blue-eyed, light-skinned elves.

Of course, that's not getting into the stuff from the novels, which I have not read in depth. It would not surprise me to find more stories of blonde, blue-eyed, light-skinned characters acting as the shining examples of Good in comparison to blood-tainted, fantasy-colored, brutish villains who would absolutely go Evil without a white character to keep them on the straight and narrow.

I mean, Madeline Roux wrote several novels for Warcraft, and look at what she did with Brevyn Oakbender and Lucien in TNEOL. If only this idiot colored man had been more like that white girl, everything would have worked out, but she died and he tried to end the world. Also, he had a thing for the white guy and white girl in the Mighty Nein, because he has a type, apparently.

People love that racist bullshit.

[pwblogarchive]

April 2004

April 1, 2004

“hey heartbreaker, you'll never work in this town again”

I think someone is impersonating me online. Could be a joke. But if you talk to someone online and they say they are me, they aren't. I don't talk to anyone online. Texas is fun. We got some sick clandestine hoodies. They've got bats on the hoods and all. Sidenote: I love nickplan. Sorry my words don't have the same weight they usually have right now. Usually they feel stuck in my throat, today it feels okay inside my skin. Oh yeah chicagoland. We want to roadtest some of our new songs so we will be playing around unannounced on shows at really small venues in the next few months. If you snooze you lose. You never know what show we may play.

April 4, 2004

“we love life”

Texas was sex. Dallas being the most amazing. Its hot down here. We played with a band called DV8, this really young band (13-15). They were rad. The bassists bass was bigger than him. Me some rad kids in arkansas, they were starry-eyed and made me tongue-tied. I've been writing a lot lately. All my old charms and curses are back in full swing. I can't wait to get home. Well take these hearts and rename them dangerous and invincible. Well make them too hard to break.

Peterpan

April 7, 2004

“a man-made monster with every human emotion (clandestine explained 1)”

So a lot of people have been asking us about these hoodies and shirt with bats on them. It is not a clothing company. It is not a new band. When I was younger I had this same nightmare over and over again- so my friend tim biedron and I made a story of it (www.timbiedron.com to check out his art). The story is finished and we are waiting on some of the illustration. You may love it or hate it but its something that was stuck inside my head for a long time. We will be selling shirts and skatedecks online soon (www.clandestineindustries.com) and the story will be available this summer. Take the time to check it out if you get a chance.

Love peter

April 10, 2004

“ice age, heat wave cant complain”

i really like the new modest mouse cd. it's called good news for people who love bad news. purchase it.

April 11, 2004

“the moon has one third less gravity than your earth, i don't know if you can comprehend that”

im home. i love aqua teen hunger force. its hilarious. i wanted to let everyone know that if you haven't heard the point id suggest checking them out. a good mix of core and punk rock type stuff. i really really enjoy the hell out of them. www.thepointrock.com

still listening to modest mouse. still think you should get it. being home is nice. im full of food and really clean and im wearing my hood up. im way tired.

April 11, 2004

“I want to sleep on portraits painted as perfect as you”

Thanks for fun on tour. For the record for those in freeport- we had a little bit of fun with you. I will not ever drink. Its not my thing. So if you think there was more than water in that beer bottle, I have a bridge you might wanna buy too.

April 12, 2004

in response to a post on our messageboard, i want to say that i eat only cocoa crispies. i dont dig any other cereals.

April 14, 2004

“in case you're keeping score”

Being in a band is the ultimate friendship ruiner. Went to two shows tonight. In addition to all the smoke got to hang with: akas, beautiful mistake, dld, apo, senses fail and rufio. Being in a band is the best friendship maker. I am getting this awesome bass custom made, black with a red pick guard, no knobs, wired "on". I think it got me weird, so I dyed my hair red and black. Its sex or maybe not. I have 80 pages of lyrics to wade through. New songs soon. New love soon. Style update: I'm only gonna wear little polo tees with the collars up from now on. The clandestine webstore is almost up. I want to get "mom" tattoo for mothers day.

Peter

April 14, 2004

i just wanted to welcome the academy to the family. it's cool cause i've seen these guys go from the beginning and now we're here....

- petey

April 15, 2004

“who dares wins.”

i have been having such a rad time at home. but i must admit i haven't gotten used to sleeping with out hearing my friends breathing in hotel rooms. my bed doesn't feel the same. we leave again today. i am excited to see old friends. i am excited to see some bands too. the full clandestine website is going to launch on april 22 at www.clandestineindustries.com - we'll have some gear at the next couple of shows.

i was gonna post some pictures of my experiments with shaving and hair dye here. but i don't know how so go on over to: www.fueledbyramen.com/journal to see em.

love peterlewiskingstonwentz

i've found that liars always sing the loudest. heart in mouth, ego on sleeve. you've always got the right girl and the right line. i swear to god, take this mic and cross my heart and hope you die. i'm singing this one just flat of the key of love. liars always sing the loudest. the act is getting old but i'm sure all the fools will follow like vermin down the hole.

April 15, 2004

hey jerks. i got bored and dyed my hair red and black- oooh scary. when i am home i only wear sweatpants and don't shave. here's a look into the life of a loser:

make me say ugh nahnahnahnah

[image here]

there's that quarterback smile we all hate 

[image here]

born to lose 

[image here]

pretty emo bro, you could use this one to score on live journal 

[image here]

and here's the after shaved and ready to do some stagedives. new jersey or bust. 

[image here]

this may in fact be photo evidence that i am gay 

[image here]

now that we have that out of the way. the full clandestine site should launch on april 22. we'll be selling some gear at skateandsurf and at a couple of these shows on the way out. tour never ends. for real go and listen to my friend ben's band, it's called Not Enough Gold. they smoke. our tour this summer is gonna be called "believers never die" get into it. sorry for all the pictures, this ain't my space biatch, send me some.

1 2 3 L U V!

- petey

April 26, 2004

so much has been going on. my head has been moving too fast, i can't catch up. clandestineindustries.com is up.

i've got a picture from skate and surf in new jersey. we will have more soon, excuse the quality. you can see how insane this room was.

[image here]

- petey

[themaresnest-dumblr]

A very articulate and enjoyable venting of one's spleen - there's newspaper columnists at weekends who try doing this and don't turn out even a quarter as good.

Continuations of original stories and sagas are always potential banana skins, not least of all when the motivation is money in the short term above creating something that will last the test of time. At every juncture, there's the danger of alienating fans who enjoyed the older stuff - including ones that came on board at a particular part of the time line with a new set of writers with new priorities.

A previous work colleague was a devotee of all things DC, and tried to explain the utter mess it got itself into with an 'old earth' and new earth' era. Another, the Sandman series after killing off Dream only to realise they did need him back after all.

The greatest danger seems to be when they take something regarded as canonical fact and decide to make it the loci of a lazy plot twist- ie. Star Wars Palpatine or Buffy The Vampire Slayer's The Master being toastiest than a piece of toast that's just been dropped into Kīlauea when it's having a very bad day - only to return them alive because they 'say so'.

If you are gonna do stuff like this in any medium, the writers need to have a Bloody Good Reason For Doing So, otherwise they've just Jumped The Shark, Nuked The Fridge And Showered The Bobby all at once. But ninety nine times out of a hundred, it's just to carry on where they left off.

In short, Star Wars Reboot, Third Film, What Were They Thinking?

In defence of the reboot Luke Skywalker, the trouble with the old Luke was he came across as too Harry Potter, too perfect with a thin veneer of youthful flaw, and too self-righteous. The squeaky cleanness of Skywalker - and old SF aesthetics in general - was always a little too uncomfortably perfect for taste. Something that was equally grating about musician Gary Numan - whose music was heavily influenced by SF - and who was also welcomed back with open arms later when he became craggy and battered.

80s heroes and icons were always a little too pristine for their own good - even the rough diamonds like Han Solo - the media corporations living out Reagan's All American Dream of a Disneyfied Master Race against Evil Commies, Gaddafi And Stuff. No wonder so much of it hasn't aged well. Look for anything to match a 'Casablanca' or an 'Ice Cold In Alex' in the 80s and you'll be searching in vain - it was all about the aesthetic, whilst the scripts were pathetic.

This Skywalker at least had some wear in him, looked like he'd not only lived, but been battered by life, including the one enough to make him feel dashed enough to throw in the towel. A hero never feels as good as when they've come back from that and despite all their misgivings decides to give it one more shot, regardless of the end result.

In terms of the Star Wars universe, it could be argued that Skywalker had gone the same way as his dad Darth Vader - so consumed with grief and bitterness as to cloud his reasoning on the life path he was now pursuing in catharsis: Darth, helping oppress the galaxy and calling it 'order and progress' (like many a warrior turned politician tends to); Luke, having his fortress of solitude/Tibetan Monk/disappearing up his own arse in self-pity calling it 'protecting the galaxy from myself and the Jedi'.

As a teacher to Rey, he was more sports coach than Wise Old Master de a la Obi-wan Kenobi, but hadn't Yoda been the same? One of the most fun parts of the second reboot movie was seeing Luke being a reluctant teacher one minute, back to being the hapless pupil the next when you know who decided to gatecrash with a cameo. Although sorry to see him go, what a way to do so, after one of the funniest moments of the whole series that topped every piece of snark even Han ever made.

On that note, the killing off of Han Solo just as they were bringing him and Chewy back was unforgivable, and the attempted prequal movie series (stillborned by fandom evangelicals negative reviews for ideological reasons) a futile attempt to make amends - the bitter irony being they'd thought Harrison Ford was on his last legs (ah, the Tinseltown rumour mill, where facts come to die ...) whereas Carrie Fisher had plenty of years (and thus movies) in the tank.

But look on the bright side, at least the memories of your youth aren't of Battlestar Galactica ... no wonder Jane Seymour preferred to be Dr Quinn Medicine Womble instead!

Back in 1991 I was a college student in the music program at Douglas College, 20 years old in May 1991 (a month before I turned 21). I was not finding college much fun and my educational difficulties were showing up full force.

Then along comes Timothy Zahn with a continuation of the Star Wars saga that I had grown up with. Gen X were the target audience as children for Star Wars back in 1977 when I was a kid of 6 years old at least when Star Wars came out in April of that year. And the entire trilogy (Star Wars, Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi) were complete and released in the theatres by the time I had turned 13.

So as a young adult, what’s now referred to as the Legends series of books were a part of my life. I would save up and buy each one as they came out, reveling in the further adventures of Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, Leia Organa (now Solo) and their growing family. Some of the events in my own personal life (in general my luck with women mirrored that of Luke Skywalker who couldn’t seem to find a match even if he tried. I mean, look at his track record (the woman who tried to kill him back during the Rebellion days then there was Gaerial Captison, a few others here and there, Callista (the Bodysnatcher) Ming) and well, Mara… who finally in the Legends became his wife).

The relationship of Mara and Luke was one that really struck a close chord because to me Luke was the “everyman”; the hero of the story; the one everyone wants to be. And what I really wanted at the time,considering the circumstances of being in an abusive situation with my mother and her narcissistic traits, was an escape (from reality, perhaps); someway to get out of the situation I was in. So Star Wars was a way, when I wasn’t working at selling houses which frankly was no longer enjoyable by the time 1998 rolled around, to escape the abuse and BS at home.

Narcissistic parents and their enablers want you helpless and strip away your emotional supports and they did that quite well. If you’re doing the math, I was 29 at this point.

The Hand of Thrawn duology of Ghosts of the Past and Visions of the Future had come out and we saw Luke and Mara get engaged.

And well, I had met (online) my future wife and was on the phone with her a lot. This was wayyyy before everyone and their dog and cats. having their own personal cell phones. Cell phones and pagers (remember those?) were the realm of business people. I was in real estate, so I owned one of both.

I rolled a sabacc on that one. We’re 23 years together as of next month. We’ve been through ups and downs that probably would have broken up most couples including my mother’s meddling. But the choice that I made was to stick with my wife: to get away from my mother who had done nothing other than to beat me down every chance she got.

In other words my relationship with my wife saved my life.

And that’s also a reason why Star Wars is so important to me. It provided an escape and a bit of sanity in an insane situation and allowed me a bit of time to plan my escape. I left my parent’s hpuse in March of 2000. 4 months before my now-wife came up from the States and 5 before she and I got married (parents were not invited - her mother due to logistics because of her being back in the States, secondly, my parents weren’t due to my mother’s abusive controlling behavior and my dad because by now he’d become her enabler). My uncle; my mother’s flying monkey had predicted our marriage wouldn’t last.

23 years and every wedding anniversary that passes is lile another happy “fuck you” to my uncle.

This is one of the reasons why I’m disgusted with the sequel series. Everyone goes through trials and tribulations and they grow, learn from their experiences and mature to become hopefully a better version of themselves.

Rey on the other hand is a Disney’fied version of their typical Princess stories. There’s no growth at all other than the time she was on Jakku. There was the “immediate learning” of her Jedi skills with very little training - a kind of Mulan’ish immediately good at everything. There was no connection at all with Rey as a character.

But then again if one likes their stories to be all fluff and light, then fine. But don’t disrespect the original characters while doing it.

Turning the hero character into a miserable old grouch who lives like a hermit who tosses his father’s lightsaber when he originally treated it with reverence is not subverting the plot.

It’s being a dick and ruining a much loved character just for a cheap laugh. Yeah, I’m pretty angry with the sequels because when I was a kid, I idolized Luke Skywalker and Han Solo.

I looked forward to the sequels, hoping that they would do justice to Lucas’s vision, but we got a disjointed plot, “Somehow Palpatine returned”, Super Rey Palpatine and bitter old angry OT characters who were characterized as incompetent. And what enraged me the most was that we got this.

The final insult from Disney’s screwing up the sequels so badly was after filming TLJ, Carrie Fisher went into full cardiac arrest on an aircraft and passed away. There is now no way to rectify the mess that the House of Mouse has made to Star Wars; the franchise that I love more than any other sci-fi franchise. I grew up with this franchise and while I’ve grown out of what Lucas had termed as the target audience, when someone messes with the memories of your childhood, screws up your heroes, yeah, you get mad.

For me, Star Wars was my happy escape and thanks to Rian “Ruin” Johnson, it’s tainted irreparably. Harrison Ford may have wanted out but the rest loved their characters. And Mark Hamill wanted his character treated with some respect but instead of Luke Skywalker, the noble Jedi, he got Jake Skywalker - the down and out green-milk guzzling irritable hermit who “doesn’t give a shit no more!”

Disney has gone full on and said that anyone who dislikes the sequels and dislike the way Rey is written are old racists and white misogynists who live in their mom’s basements.

Well I ain’t white, I don’t live in my mom’s basement, I wish women got treated more fairly, I’m more liberal than conservative and I’m frankly pissed that my childhood film heroes got so disrespected. OK granted, I may be old and not a kid any more (my wife would beg to differ. She says I’m a 2 year old in a 53 year old body) but I still love my Star Wars with the exception of the sequels.

And Legends will always have a special place in my heart because it got me through the toughest part of my life.

[dandelion-sugar]

𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐢𝐟𝐞 『Adam x Reader』

Summary: Reader was Adam's first wife before he married Eve.

Warning: Angst, a little fluff, death, deities are really cruel

15,8k

Author's note: Requests for Genshin have not been forgotten! I'm working on it BUT I just finished season one of Record of Ragnarok and needed to write about Adam. I think he deserves more writing about him...he's the best husband and father Earth could have!

"A demoness? A succubus? No! A human whose legends turn her into a fearsome ruler of the underworld! She rules an entire army with an iron fist! Made of the clay of creation, she is made in the image of the gods! N°00000000002 : Lilith!" shouted Heimdall to announce your entrance.

You have been chosen to save humanity. The creation of Adam and Eve. You don't know why Brunhilde trusts you to save the humans. What could she possibly have been thinking in choosing you? Were you the best choice for this? Protecting the beings conceived by your ex-husband and his new wife. Unlike your ex-lover, you refuse to walk around naked. Your body is far too precious to be revealed to the world. You stand in the middle of the arena waiting patiently for Heimdall to finish presenting your opponent.

Your eyes rest on your army led by your only son. The only being you have ever given birth to. The third human born. A slight smile appeared on your lips. Your son resembled his father, and you found that particularly funny. You couldn't help but think that Adam's genes were particularly strong. But the way your son stood proudly at the head of your army...he took that from you. Even if you were to perish in this fight, you know that your army and your son will come through.

Your right hand will be around the shaft of your spear. You hear the mocking laughter of the gods, announcing your crushing defeat. You hear the hesitant whispers of humans about your place among the fighters of humanity. You are known in human legends to be a danger to pregnant women and newborns. To be honest with yourself, you hate this legends. You are a mother, how can humans think that you would harm a woman and her child? Your eyes drop slightly to the floor and your lips pucker into an unpleasant pout. After a few seconds, your face frees itself of all displays of emotion and your hand rises to challenge Heimdall.

"Yes, Lilith?" asks the god who has the role of announcer.

"I will not fight under that name," you announce.

"Huh?" he blurts out in surprise.

"I will not fight under the name of the monster the humans wanted to make me," you reply immediately.

"So...what do you want to be called?"

Lying in a meadow, you enjoy the sun and the soft breeze on your bare skin. Rabbits and foxes quickly surround you to enjoy the comfort with you. Everything is perfect in the Garden of Eden. A shadow covers your face, forcing you to open your eyes to discover the obstacle between you and the sun. It is a pleasant surprise when you discover your husband's welcoming smile, his blonde locks framing his face. Adam sits down beside you, placing his fruit basket between his legs. He pulls out a bunch of grapes and takes one between his long fingers. He then brings the fruit to your lips to let you savour the sweet, pleasant taste of the fruit. A sigh of contentment crosses your lips. Your husband's smile widens as he notices your relaxed state.

"You have grape juice running down your chin, Lilith," Adam informs you.

Your eyelids droop slightly as your eyes express your displeasure. Adam only lets a laugh emit from his throat as he leans forward to lick the grape juice off. Your hand gently but firmly pushes him away. You want him to understand that his gestures of affection will not be tolerated again until he realises his mistake. And you know perfectly well that he has understood what he has done.

"Stop teasing me," you say, a frown appearing on your face.

"I like to see your eyebrows furrow. You look like that kitten that was trying to scare us." replies Adam, running his hand over your hip stroking it in lazy circles, as if to soothe you.

"But unlike that kitten, I can bite," you reply sharply.

"I know you can..." he hums in the hollow of your ear. "Y/N."

This memory was a moment of pure happiness that you experienced in the Garden of Eden before you were forced into exile. This name you chose with Adam was the beginning of your independence from the gods. You had never accepted the principle of being subject to a man and Adam always supported you in this choice. But the gods did not like this and in response you abandoned the name they gave you at your creation. Perhaps this is why Eve was created from Adam's rib? To prevent her from becoming like you.

"Y/N. Call me that," you proudly announce.

The gods of your creation frown but do not protest. They hope that you will perish against one of their own and that your soul will disintegrate in space and time.

Adam had slipped out of the room where he was locked up. When he learned of your presence here, he did not expect you to fight for the humans. The children he had with another woman. He snuck into the bleachers to get a better look at your figure. A sense of nostalgia stirs in his heart as he sees that you haven't changed in all this time. You stand with dignity, your weapon in hand. You are strong and independent, you have become the woman you always dreamed of. A woman you could not have become if you were in his company because...everyone wants his wife to be submissive to him.

Adam does not regret his married life with Eve, he enjoys it too. But he has enjoyed the life he has lived with you. He believes in your victory. He wants you to win. He does not want to witness your complete disappearance from the universe without any chance of reincarnation. Your first separation has already split his heart in two, Adam does not want to experience this intense pain a second time.

You swing your divine spear with one hand, deflecting your opponent's first blow. The strength in this attack was not worthy of a god, was he testing your abilities? Your eyes meet. The victorious and arrogant smile on the god's face already irritates you. He underestimated you because you are a human AND a woman. His leg comes to sweep over yours but you manage to dodge by gaining height. You position your spear, blade towards the ground to pierce his skull. The god quickly dodges in a backward leap, leaving you to land on the ground, puncturing the concrete floor which cracks under the impact.

Your exchange of blows lasts for a while. Or should we say: the god throws blows at you that you deflect with your spear. But suddenly, his paterne changes. The force that the god uses becomes more powerful. His leg comes to meet your stomach. You prevent the blow from reaching your skin by placing your spear between your stomach and his leg. Unfortunately, the attack sends you flying a few metres away. You manage to land with difficulty and before you can regain a stable footing, the god launches himself at you. You are forced to fall to the side in a roll to narrowly dodge the punch. Your cheek begins to bleed.

"Mother!" your distraught son shouts.

"Commander! Get up!" your soldiers shout to encourage you.

You let out a breath, your muscles relax, making your movements more fluid and lively. Your eyes fall on the figure of your opponent. The aura around you changes completely, causing the small smile on the god's face to disappear. Your hands grip the spear and your feet anchor themselves to the ground to give you a good foothold.

"Answer my question before we resume this fight. Why are you fighting for the humans?" the god asks.

"Do I need a reason to fight? The gods have forced me to be submissive and men have clothed me in a veil of monstrous lies. It's like choosing between the plague and cholera," you explain. "But I had to choose and I chose my ex-husband's children.

The humans observing the exchange begin to stir, either out of guilt or because they were moved by your story. Humans get teary-eyed easily, you think. But you can't help but find this side of them very touching. Perhaps it was a good thing that Eve was the Mother of humanity?

"Humans have the will to survive and a strength that allows them to constantly evolve. This is a strength that the gods can never possess," you say with contempt.

Your hatred for the gods is much stronger than your hatred for humans. On your words, the fight resumes. You manage to follow your opponent's movements. Like Adam, you were forged from clay in the image of the gods. You are Adam's equal, you have the same ability as him to copy the techniques you see. Your movements remind the gods of Athena. You had copied the movements of this goddess a long time ago.

Your body and that of your opponent are covered in blood. You are bleeding from the wounds inflicted on you, but you were able to avenge yourself by seriously injuring your opponent as well.

Adam clenches his lips into a thin line, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands but he still believes in your victory. You must win. You can't give him up a second time...you can't.

"They've created a second wife for you," you scream indignantly.

"You're the only one for me," Adam admits in an attempt to calm your nerves. He can't bear to see you cry.

"It's only a matter of time before the gods kick me out of the Garden of Eden! I don't understand their desire to have me submit to male authority! Do goddesses submit to male deities?" you growl in frustration. The anger was so strong that you can't hold back the tears.

"If they chase you away then I'll go with you," Adam announces, interlacing your fingers together.

A soft warmth spreads through your chest as a gasp of surprise passes through your lips. A slight blush marks your cheeks as you look away from your husband. You can't help but enjoy the tender feeling. Adam wraps his muscular arms around you in a soothing embrace. His scent calms your restless nerves.

"Spend the night with me tonight," you whisper.

"We always sleep together," he says, tilting his head to the side, not understanding the meaning of your words.

"Adam..." you gasp shyly. It almost sounded like a soft moan.

His blue eyes widen slightly as the implied request is processed by his brain. A teasing smile spreads across his face as he leans in to your blushing ear to whisper provocative words.

That was the last evening you spent in his company before the gods kidnapped you and threw you away from the Garden of Eden. You never tried to return to that place, you knew it wasn't possible. So you did your best to survive. You were able to thrive and enjoy your newfound independence.

That night Adam gave you a gift, your son: Eurynome. A child identical to his father, who grew up with you as his only role model. He has become an independent young man capable of leading an army. But he remains a child... a child afraid to be alone without the reassuring presence of his mother.

It is impossible to understand the pain of losing a parent when you have not experienced it. No one could understand a tenth of the pain of Eurynome's scream as the god's fist plunges into your chest.

Your eyes crinkle under the sudden fatigue your body feels. Your right hand struggles to hold the spear. The humans weep in despair as the gods celebrate the downfall of Lilith, the woman who did not obey divine orders.

Nausea takes hold of Adam's body. All that blood, your blood spilling on the floor. Will you die? Disappear forever...you don't even know that he witnessed your fight. You will never know that he missed you terribly. You will never know that he wanted to feel your warmth in his arms again and whisper those three words to you.

Your eyes linger on your son's tear-streaked face. A peaceful smile appears on your lips. A fire of determination shines in your eyes. Your hand tightens around the spear and you slice the god's jugular before collapsing to your knees. If you must die...then you will prevent the gods from achieving a victory as well.

Your eyes slowly close and your hearing becomes increasingly blurred. The voices are now just an indistinguishable din.

Adam could only watch as your body and the god's dematerialize into a smoke of green glitter. His legs move towards the battlefield as if trying to retrieve the flakes that represent your soul dissolving into space. But your son's crying snaps him out of his trance. His eyes fall on a miniature version of himself.

Cain and Abel have some characteristics of their father but Eurynome is a carbon copy of Adam and you would have to be blind not to notice. Adam walks over to your son and takes him in his arms, sharing his pain. Adam fully understands the tug of war that Eurynome feels.

That night Adam gave you a gift, your son. Today, this gift will show the world that you existed. That you are not like your legends.

You are an independent woman, a mother and Adam's wife.

"Adam," you call to your husband, who is perched on a tree branch.

"Yes?" he hums, keeping his eyes closed.

"Don't you think I'm strange?" you finally question him. "Do you think I owe you obedience too?

Silence passes between the two of you. A pain assails your heart at this lack of response and you instantly regret having asked him the question. The disappointment was much stronger than you had thought. You look up abruptly when you hear a thud only a few feet away. Adam had just jumped from his branch. His back was to you. He turns towards you, his face devoid of emotion. He encircles your cheeks with his warm palms. His piercing blue eyes almost seem to probe your soul and you struggle to hold his gaze. But your desire to know the answer prevents you from looking away.

"We are husband and wife, I accept you as you are. Don't change for the world, for anyone," Adam says with conviction.

"So...you love me like this?" you ask aloud, wanting to sound confident.

Adam looks at you slightly surprised at this sudden question. He hums softly before leaning in to kiss your forehead. The smile he flashes makes your heart race.

"I love you," he says.

"I love you too..." you admit after a few moments.

[s-brant]

The Endless Summer (2/?)

(gif: @beccs) (PART ONE) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: A day out on the water goes awry and puts JJ, John B, and Y/N in danger. With tensions rising and the stakes higher than ever, JJ finds it difficult to control his feelings.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: Angst, implied sexual content, strong language, graphic violence, and JJ being an emotionally confused asshat.

A/N: Welcome back! Thanks for the love on this series, I’m so glad you guys like it and I hope this part is just as good. Things get a little heated in this chapter, so buckle up. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Have fun!

JJ isn't sure why she did it.

He wasn't sure then and he isn't sure now, but he knows one thing for certain: there isn't any going back to how things once were now that the barrier between them came crashing down.

Sweat drips off of his skin from the relentless heat of the Caribbean that has made their recent lives hell with the painful tinge of sunburn atop their tans and heat exhaustion they must be careful to avoid at all costs. They were educated on both topics by Pope, their godsend of a survival encyclopedia in human form, who advised them to spend most of their day outside of necessary tasks like fishing and constructing stable shelter under the shady cover of the treetops.

The sole reason he and John B aren't hiding in the safety of the shade is that it's their day to fish, but he's not thinking about the sun. In fact, neither of them is. They're both wondering where their third fishing buddy is.

It took roughly ten minutes of spearfishing with him in comfortable silence for JJ to finally break and spill his guts about what happened last night. Though there was an unspoken agreement to never tell anyone that their hatred has turned into desire, he couldn't help it. He was going mad trying to unravel it in his head.

After all, he already had a conversation with JB about the recent shift in their behavior with each other by the ocean last night, so it seems fitting to pick up where they left off with the calm and clear blue water in front of them again.

He walks on the jagged outcropping of rock that serves as their perch to observe the fish without disturbing the pattern of the current they swim through with John B closely behind.

"One second she's pissed at me, the next she's all over me. It makes no sense. Then, she didn’t say anything to me after it happened," JJ says with his face hardened into a look of concentration at the fish he squints against the sun to aim at, "Not even "Fuck you, Maybank" or one of her weirdly creative threats. She just sat there all night and talked to everyone but me."

His gaze slips away from the water as his chosen fish disappears from sight before he can bother to throw the spear, eyeing up his friend's reaction to the news.

John B doesn't seem that surprised by it, because who else, aside from everyone else in Kildare who knows of their "hatred" for one another, could've seen it coming as much as he did? He considers it for a second, then props his arm up on the handle side of the spear he digs into the rock to lean against.

"I'm pretty sure that means she likes you."

JJ retorts, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard you say."

Why would anyone ignore a person they like? It makes no sense to him. Every time he wanted a person, he'd simply walk over and make it happen. It's never been difficult for him to pursue the people he finds himself attracted to...Well, except for her. For a guy that also ignored her for the rest of the night and pretended their moment in the woods didn't happen, he has some balls of steel to be chastising her for the same things he did.

John B shrugs and says, "I'm being serious, dude. Sarah wouldn't even acknowledge my existence when I worked on the Druthers, and I thought it was some stuck-up rich person thing but it wasn't."

They shouldn't be talking at all right now as to not scare away the fish, but they do it anyway. They both know he won't let it go until it's out of his system for good. He wouldn't allow himself to forget it if he wanted to, so its better to talk it out than turn stir crazy from ruminating over it 24/7.

Though it's, as he worded it yesterday, hot as balls out, being by the sea lessens the feeling of it by a landslide.

The breeze they crave whenever they work on their huts or forage through the forest for wild berries, coconuts, or potential building supplies blows on them without pause for the time they spend here, which almost makes it more dangerous. They stand under the direct harm of the UV rays frying them without truly feeling it burn yet, and he dreads the next few days in anticipation of the returning sunburn he just peeled off of his shoulders the other day.

JJ walks down the side to get a better view of the water, balancing precariously on the sharpened edge with the spear clenched tightly in one hand. The breeze is strong enough to threaten his balance, but he holds firm and digs his toes into the sedimentary rock for traction. His body sways in the midday sun with the struggle for stability, or, at least he suspects its midday.

Since being stranded here, time is a foreign concept to them. With no phones, clocks, or any guide to go off of other that the position of the sun above to display the hours that pass, they've lost complete track of what day it is, let alone how long minutes or hours truly are in comparison to the endless summer they live within. They suspect it's been a month since they were left here, but, in all honesty, it could be two. None of them had the sense to mark the days in a tally until it was too late.

He says, lifting his arm to throw the spear, "Well, she is a stuck up rich person, so maybe it's just—"

"You know I'm right here, don't you?"

The sound of her voice from a few feet behind them startles JJ into turning around to look at her right when he lets go of the spear.

Unfortunately for him, the jerking movement throws off his carefully distributed weight and skews his balance, making the feet placed on the edge slip from underneath him and send him slipping down into the water. His calf is the first body part to hit the rocks, and the groan of pain he lets out at the feeling of the jagged rock slicing through his skin could make her heart stop mid-beat. But what truly scares her is seeing the back of his head hit the ground too.

Before he can slide the rest of the way into the water, two pairs of hands are grabbing onto his arms and heaving him up with all of their strength. She and John B grit their teeth with the effort it takes to pull him back up, their muscles burning from the strain, and once his feet are over the ledge, he pushes off the rock to help them the rest of the way. Drops of his blood disperse into the water off the edge from where he cut himself, dripping until there's hardly any left.

Once he's safely laid back down a few feet from where he slipped, Y/N is kneeling in front of him in a matter of seconds. The rock beneath her knees opens small cuts into her skin, but she doesn't pay it any heed. She sits on her heels to lessen the minor pain and lean forward to inspect the damage he took with nothing on her mind other than worry.

Soon enough, John B joins her to kneel at his feet as he sits up and watches them eye up his injury as though it’s some sort of ghastly, life threatening thing instead of a gash that won't need stitches. He watches them against the glittering ocean, waves washing up on the rocks around them to sting his wound with saltwater.

"It's a scratch, not an amputation," JJ says.

She ignores him with a frown lining her pretty features and twists his leg by the ankle to get a better view of the wound in the sunlight. It extends up the entire length of his calf, almost from ankle to knee, and dribbles fresh blood onto her hands as well as the ground beneath them. From what he can tell, it doesn't look all too severe. No muscle or bone can be seen, so it's a simple, superficial scratch.

When he doesn't get a response from either her or John B while they're too busy checking out his leg, he says again, "Guys, I'm serious, it's fine."

This time, she doesn't hesitate to answer.

"Yeah, well you may not need stitches but you still have infection to worry about. This wilderness isn't exactly the cleanliest place," she says retorts with as much snark as usual, and he quietly rejoices in the fact that she's finally acting normal after what happened last night, "Not to mention, you hit your head pretty hard. There's no need to act all tough."

He shrugs.

"It's not an act, it really doesn't hurt that bad."

John B stands and smears the blood on his hands off on the front of his shorts.

"I'll be right back, guys, I'm gonna go get stuff to patch him up."

Just like that, they are left plunging into silence as he is running away down the peninsula back to the beach they've claimed as their own.

Silence has always been her least favorite thing to share with JJ. She'd rather anything over it—screaming, fighting, joking, friendly conversation, or even what they did together yesterday night. Anything is preferable over the tense and insufferable feeling of silence when they're alone together with none of their friends, or their playful hatred, between them as a barrier between them.

Instead of seeing the same pestering jerk she always used to when she looks at him, she sees the memory of how he looked at her in the woods. He didn't look at her like she was the worst person to ever walk the planet, or like she was his least favorite Kook "Princess", he looked at her like she meant something to him.

They sit together in uncomfortable silence in the time it takes John B to rush to the beach and back, careful not to slip on the rocks the way JJ did, with the supplies from the dinghy in his arms. It isn't much to work with, but at least it's something to keep the nasty wound on his leg protected from dirt and germs. She's sure he'd leave it uncovered and up to fate if he had it his way.

Before he can set them down on the wet rocks, thus ruining the gauze and bandages in craters filled with ocean water, she gestures at JJ with a stern command, "Take off your shirt."

His brows raise.

"Shit, Princess, take me out to dinner first."

She groans in frustration, "Can you be quiet for a second and actually listen to me for once?"

He catches John B's gaze with wide eyes, but complies nonetheless, reaching down to tug the tank off of his torso by the frayed hem until it's balled up in his closed fist to hand off to her. Her eyes only linger on his body for a quick second on accident before snatching it from him.

Her bloodstained palms lay the shirt out on the flattest stretch of rock she can find to act as a barrier from the small puddles of water to protect the supplies. One nod at John B has him setting them down atop the navy fabric as she glances up at JJ with a smug smile.

"Believe it or not," she taunts, unscrewing the cap to the disinfectant, "I didn't ask for it so you could sit there and look pretty."

The words throw him back in time to their conversation on the beach while they thatched the roof to their hut, and he wonders how long she's been waiting to throw that back in his face since he first said it.

He grins at her as he asks, "You think I'm pretty?" but before he can say more, she's pouring a generous amount of the hydrogen peroxide along the length of his cut without a warning for him to prepare himself. His leg jerks away on instinct to save himself from the burning sensation, but she grips his ankle tightly enough to force him to stay still.

His nose scrunches up with the urge to groan in pain, and he does a little. Through grinding teeth, he winces in response to the peroxide slipping into every cell of open skin and bubbling up like the white water of the waves as it kills the bacteria lingering in the gash.

"Does it hurt now?" Y/N asks.

She's looking up at him through her lashes with her lips curled into a smirk as she packs gauze onto the wound until it's covered to her satisfaction. And it should be the last thing he's thinking about right now after cutting up his leg and hitting his head hard enough to worry her about concussions, but he can't help it. Looking down at her like this, it's impossible for him to not think about the unfinished business they have.

Everything is the same as it was yesterday—the tattered white top, the red panties in place of a bikini, sunburnt cheeks, and a taunting look that he'll never get tired of seeing. But that's precisely why he's reminded of it. She's wearing the same clothes and looking at him the way she did on the beach before any of last night's antics occurred, and he can't keep himself from wondering if it'll happen again.

"Yeah," he finally responds.

Her smirk grows for a second before she gets back to work.

"Good."

JJ subtly eyes her up from where she shifts on her knees to set the open gauze wrappers under the peroxide bottle in exchange for the bandage wrap, but he isn't as subtle as he thinks. She can feel his stare no matter how sneaky he attempts to be. He may be able to evade John B's attention, since he dove into the ocean to retrieve the wooden spear that began to float out in the tide, but she never misses a thing. Not when it comes to him.

When he looks at her, he finds memories.

Her legs folded up beneath her bring him back to how smooth they felt on his palms when he lifted them up around his hips. Her rosy lips pressing into a line in concentration bring him back to the coconut flavor he tasted on them. Her nipples poking against the fabric of her shirt bring him back to when he lifted it up over her breasts to suck at the sensitive skin until he got a moan from her—There isn't a place he can stare without going back to last night.

Part of him hates that.

He can't stand that a girl who he spent the last five years hating has found a way into his daydreams. Why couldn't it have been anyone else? Why did she have to lure him into her trap? He supposes there's nothing he can do about it now, though. After hours of stewing over it, he's reached the conclusion that it was likely a one-time thing, a mistake made in the heat of the moment that she won't make again, and he should get the idea of it out of his head.

When she has to adjust her grip to hold the gauze in place while she wraps the bandage around his leg, he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and jerks away again. She glances up at him with her best, "Are you kidding me?" face. Didn't he say he was tough?

"I'm starting to think you're a sadist, 'cause it's like you're trying to make it hurt," he says.

She gasps, feigning offense.

"Me? Enjoying this? It's not like we've hated each other for years or anything."

And though he may not realize it, this is her way of distracting him from the pain of having her apply added pressure to his cut while she wraps the bandage into place. It has to be tight enough to keep water and sand out, but not so tight that it cuts off circulation, and while it may have been tolerable without her touching it, the contact is enough to make it worse for him.

He asks, "Uh, speaking of, why are you the one doing this? Isn't it some kind of HIPAA thing to treat patients you've threatened to violate with tree branches before?"

The sound of her laughter makes his stomach flutter with butterflies, and he wonders what the hell is wrong with him.

"That's not what HIPAA is, genius"—her eyes crinkle at the sides with her wide smile while she wraps his leg—"and I'm the one doing this because I know way more medical shit than the rest of you."

Even Pope.

"Ohhh right, I forgot. Your dad is this hotshot surgeon and that makes you think you know everything," he taunts.

The casual mention of her father makes her chest ache with something not many of the Pogues, excluding Pope, have felt since being stranded on this island. With their parents either disowning them, absent, abusive, or dead, they have no reason to resist the allure of living here for the months or years it may take to be rescued, but she does.

She misses him.

For the longest time since her mom died, it was her and her dad versus the world. In everything they did, they did it together, and before she met Sarah, he was the closest she had to a best friend. Since they had no other family to help watch her as a child, she grew up in the hospital with him, drawing with crayons on his office’s printer paper with her babysitter and picking up small things along the way from watching him for so long.

He could've chosen to leave her at home, sure, but he didn't want to miss out on seeing her more than he already did, so she spent the majority of her childhood in offices, waiting rooms, and the indoor playground of the PEDs wing.

She takes a deep breath to steady herself after the sucker punch of being reminded of her dad and says, "Well, I know enough and, thankfully for you, I'm the one doing this instead of John B."

From far away, twenty or so feet offshore where their friend is paddling through the water with the lost spear held in one hand, they hear John B shouting an offended, "I heard that!" back at her. It draws a soft chuckle from them both, and she silently thanks him for distracting JJ one last time as she finishes and secures the bandage so it won't unravel.

She wipes her hands off on her water-soaked thighs one more time to get as much of his blood off of her fingers as possible before she reaches out with both arms extended to offer him help to stand. He takes them with a murmured, "Thanks," as they both try not to show how affected they are by the casual touch.

It makes them feel pathetic that something as small as holding each other's hands makes them remember what they did and desperately wish to continue it. Her throat bobs with how she must swallow the lump in her throat at their close proximity, barely breathing now that he's standing close to her with less than a few inches between them.

For a second, they don't move away. They stay face to face, and all she can think of is how badly she wants to kiss him again. But she can't do anything yet, not when she hears someone screaming from the water.

"There's a shark!" John B screams as he paddles back faster than he's ever swam in his life, already close enough to the peninsula that they can see the terror in his eyes when they turn to look.

Surely enough, there a tip of a fin too pointed to pass off as a dolphin cutting through the surface of the water to alert them of the fish's presence, but if that weren't enough, the water is clear enough for them to see its outline.

Thankfully for him, it isn't huge. It looks about as long as he is tall, but that doesn't change the degree of danger. Just because it isn't as big as other sharks doesn't make a bite any less lethal, especially when their only form of medical attention rests on her knowledgeable yet inexperienced shoulders.

For once in his life, JJ is frozen with no clue of what to do.

He's always the man with the plan, the one who jumps into action when others choke up and sit on the sidelines, but this makes him falter. What can he do to help other than stand here and pray John B can out-swim a shark? He's helpless, and now that he's faced with the prospect of losing his best friend for a second time, he doesn't know what to do.

It was his blood in the water that must have attracted the shark, and he was so caught up in his own drama with her and the pain of his cut that he didn't consider the danger of John B jumping in to retrieve the spear he dropped. It's his fault. His best friend is about to be eaten by a shark and it's his fault—

The blurred image of her rushing past in his peripheral vision rips him from his stormy thoughts, and right when he thought it couldn't get worse, it does. Water splashes up around her body and swallows her under the surface after she leaps off the edge of the rock with the aluminum spear from the dinghy raised in her dominant arm.

"Y/N!"

Before he even realizes what he's doing, JJ is screaming out her name, screaming it like he cares, and damns the consequences to dive in after her.

While he was frozen, she sprung into action without thinking of her own life first. She knew he was close to the rock, but not close enough to swim faster than a predator designed for the conditions of the ocean. It took one glance at the spear resting to the side for her to lean down, scoop it up, and get a running start to jump out as far as humanly possible. Various joints and muscles ached from how she strained to push herself far off the rock, taking flight with nothing but their survival in mind.

She sucks in a heaving breath upon breaking the surface, but she doesn't take a second to pause with John B paddling up to her so soon.

"Go back!"

The only answer she gives him is, "Use your spear!" before she brings hers out of the water in anticipation of the grey figure bolting straight for them.

It's a stupid plan, but it's the only one she has, and if one of them is in danger, they'd all risk everything they have to protect them. After all, they're already trapped here with the threat of death every day. Is there anything more worthy of dying for than your friends?

Neither of them is necessarily trying to kill it yet either, they're trying to keep it at a safe distance or hurt it enough so it swims away from them, but she puts all of her strength into spearing the fish between the eyes anyway. Her legs kick tirelessly to keep her afloat while she and John B stab as accurately as they can, choking down a mouthful of salty ocean water from how her head sinks at the surface without the help of her arms to keep her up.

Blood stains the water with a crimson hue spreading out around their bodies—whether it's theirs or the shark's, she doesn't know—and she must keep her lips clamped shut to prevent it from spilling into her mouth, breathing solely through her nose. She can tell her legs are soon to give out on her, but then a pair of hands latch onto her body. Call her irrational or stupid, but even with the clear distinction of human hands on her waist, her mind reacts in instinctual fear.

The touch makes her jolt mid-stab and sobers her feral mind back to reality for a moment until she realizes it's a human touching her, not the shark.

It's JJ.

His arms wrap around her thighs and hoist her up out of the water as much as he can while still swimming, effectively pushing himself underwater with one last gasp for air.

The sudden shift in view has her gaze shifting around to take in the new sights with a gush of red water rushing off of her onto the splashing surface: a light grey tail whips around in the chaos, the shark's head oozes blood from the multiple puncture wounds that didn't push quite deep enough, and its jaws snap right where John B's arm is before he yanks it back.

After a fraction of a second, it clicks with her that there's no time to waste watching her friend almost get his arm chomped off while she takes in the unbelievable sight. Her slippery grip on the handle remains as firm as possible, and she raises the spear over her head with an improved accuracy she never could've had from where she previously aimed it before. All of their shots landed well enough, but with the height advantage, she won't allow herself to fuck it up this time with her friend's life hanging in the balance.

She hardly recognizes her own frantic voice shouting at him, "Spear it in the gills!"

Her hands bring the razor-sharp tip of the spear down into its head repeatedly, and she isn't sure whether it's the splashing water or tears wetting her face when she buries the weapon down into it for a final time right when John B lodges his wooden spear in its gills.

Whatever she did, it must've hit its brain, because the animal halts its thrashing. Its teeth no longer snap at her friend, nor does its tail whip around in the water as violently as it did a moment ago.

As quickly as it started, it drops off into a sickening calm that leaves the white bubbles dissolving into a puddle of bloody water surrounding the trio and the fish that dies with no small amount of guilt on her part. There was no choice but to kill it. It makes her ache on the inside, but how could she regret it if she knows it saved them? The guilt might ravage her for the upcoming days, but she can't bring herself to regret jumping in after him.

She hardly has the chance to process it before she's being pulled away by both of the boys, her view of the scene shifting drastically once more with the abrupt drop of JJ letting her down in favor of guiding her through the gentle waves. His calloused hand squeezes her arm enough to cut circulation off on their journey back.

Time rushes past her in the next thirty seconds or so it takes them to reach the peninsula again in a paranoid sprint away from where the dead fish floats. One of them, John B she thinks, tosses the aluminum spear he dislodged from the shark's head up onto the rocks and clambers his way back up on his own. The waves closer to land grow rougher than the tender current out where they killed the shark, and she grunts in pain as one sends her and JJ straight into the rocks. His body hits her back with a solid ‘thump’ and forces her to wheeze with the wind getting knocked from her lungs upon impact, nails cracking on the black rock from the desperate grip she uses in an attempt to lift herself.

Meanwhile, JJ can't seem to catch his breath either, nor can he think of anything other than her once he sees that John B isn’t injured.

As soon as he sees his friend is unmarked from the teeth of the shark after he's out of the water, he positions himself behind Y/N to help her out first. He places his hands on her backside to push her up as quickly as he can. Knowing that the carcass in the water will soon attract more sharks in the surrounding area into a feeding frenzy, he'd rather it be him than her. It's a thought that shoots by too fast for him to fully acknowledge the meaning or weight of it at a time like this.

Somehow within his adrenaline-crazed mind, he is careful not to push her onto the jagged edge that sliced his leg open earlier, then climbs after her with little space left between them.

She's coughing up saltwater onto the rocks as he scrambles over to her, eyes wild with the petrifying worry of anything bad happening to her. They scan over her arms, legs, stomach, and back, and he doesn't even realize his hands are reaching out to inspect her as frantically as she had with him when he got hurt.

His hands cup her face, petting over her dripping hair and forcing her to look up so he can see if she somehow got hit in the face. Never has his mind been so void of rational thought, and, knowing him and his impulsive tendencies, that's saying a lot. The confusion of his contradictory feelings for her muddle his mind. Worry and hatred, attraction and anger—they battle it out, but only two manage to reach him externally.

Worry and anger it is. Worry for obvious reasons. Anger because—

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

She has never heard him sound so vicious since the start of whatever odd relationship/friendship/enemy-ship they have. With his worried expression and how he checked her entire body for injury after helping her out of the water, the last thing she would've anticipated from him was anger. Especially not after she saved his best friend's life. Considering what she just did for him, she thinks he should be thanking her, not chastising her.

Behind her back, she can hear a collection of yelling voices and splashing footsteps over the water dripping from them. It can only be the rest of their friends racing up the peninsula to them, but she can't turn around.

She stares at him with utter confusion flooding her at his unexpected outburst. Speechless.

"What was I thinking?" she asks incredulously with her face still cradled between his hands, "I was saving John B's life!"

Their emotional distance and disagreement are made up for in abundance by how physically entangled they've become. It wasn't intentional. It was a result of him needing to get close enough to scour her exposed skin for any bites, but now that they're sitting so near to each other, they forget to back away.

John B is too busy to engage with them.

He's doubled over on the ground with the compulsion to vomit the contents of his stomach into the ocean, but he doesn't dare get close to the edge again after what they went through. Instead, he positions himself away from them and their approaching friends until the half-digested food is forced back through his mouth. The acidic bile scorches his throat and nostrils on the way out.

JJ doesn't have the opportunity to retort back something about her being stupid, because Pope is the first person to reach them and ask, "What the hell happened?"

The rest of the group isn't far behind. It's Kie who asks the next question, then Sarah, then Cleo. They all pop off in rapid succession before either of the three of them can answer.

"Are any of you hurt?"

"Why is he throwing up?"

"Is that a shark?"

The last question draws everyone's attention over to the half-sunken mass of fish bobbing up and down on the breaths of the sea with a wooden spear sticking straight out of its gills. Though it isn't the biggest, most intimidating shark to roam the ocean, its presence doesn't fail to make everyone who looks at it shudder with the realization of what must have happened.

John B wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and points over at her with his trembling arm outstretched.

"She killed it."

The four of them whip their heads in her direction, jaws nearly falling off their faces in disbelief, but she doesn't say anything yet. Because as soon as they feel the eyes of their friends burning into them, she and JJ realize, as though they're returning to reality from the hazy layers of a dreamscape, that they're still holding each other.

She's slumped halfway onto him from when he hauled her body closer to inspect her, so she's essentially sitting on top of him at this point. Her legs, bruised and scratched up from when the waves crested to send them crashing into the rocks, are entangled around his enough that they look back and forth between them and where his hands cup her face in surprise.

JJ doesn't know what came over him.

Now that he snaps out of it at the same time as her, both of them separating and nudging each other away until their bodies are no longer entwined, he feels his cheeks flush in embarrassment.

When he saw her leaping past him to jump into the water, his mind shut off. He wasn't thinking about himself, or the possibility of getting killed, or anything at all. He was only thinking of the danger she put herself in, then he dove in and the rest of his conscious mind faded away into pure survival instinct. Yet, even after he knew the immediate danger was gone, the adrenaline kept him on edge, desperate to get her back to land and pray none of them were hurt.

"It was trying to attack him," she rasps. Her throat is raw from the saltwater she choked on, and every word burns. "But we did it together."

She pushes herself off the ground with an exhausted sigh.

Muscles spent from the struggle in the water, her legs wobble beneath the weight of her upper body as she takes a few steps to help John B up from his position on his hands and knees. From what she heard, he has thrown up all he has left in his stomach and hasn't gagged again in a minute or so, so attempting to stand again shouldn't be too strenuous for him.

His hand is cold in her grasp from the water soaking their bodies, but it holds firmly enough for her to help him into his feet without their palms slipping apart. No patches of blood are visible on his shorts, nor are there any puncture wounds on him from the sharp teeth that snapped at his arm in the quick but vigorous fight.

They were very, very fortunate to have made it out alive, and when he looks down at her face, he feels nothing but gratitude for the girl he previously saw as nothing more than his girlfriend's best friend. They went into the water as casual acquaintances, companions of convenience and the happenstance of being forced onto this island together, but they've come out of it differently. Now, they're friends.

Now, she's a Pogue.

He smiles at her, glancing up at their friends as their questions die down at the sight of his crazy grin, and says, "That was some real Pogue shit right there, Y/N." His eyes come back to meet hers. "I think it's about time we officially make you one of us. What do you think?"

She's opening her mouth to respond when Kiara cuts her off. The rest of them are staring at the trio as if they have ten heads sprouting from their bodies for not immediately surrendering more details of their near-death encounter other than saying she killed it.

"I'm sorry, can we please rewind to the part where you got attacked by a shark first?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, can I get a drumroll please for..."

The campfire is roaring with the abundance of sticks, leaves, and branches thrown onto the pile to fuel it as she feels a strong pair of arms looping around her thighs to lift her into the expansive, star-flecked sky.

In a flash of haunting memory, she relives the moment where JJ dove into the water after her and lifted her body above the surface to give her the high ground over the shark. She relives its thrashing hunger, the water splashing on her, and the cloudy hue of blood around them that she hoped wasn't either of the boys. For a second, as the world grows taller with her new perspective, she is brought back to the sudden shift she felt then and feels her stomach drop in panic, anticipating the danger.

But then the sound of her friends laughing, as well as the surging fire and crashing waves, comes back to her and forces the frightful flashback away. Her hip fits perfectly in the curve of John B's shoulder, and she lets her head fall back in giggling laughter at how he hoists her up in the air as though she's a holy figure of worship for the Pogues to kneel to.

His voice can likely be heard across the entire island when he shouts, "The Shark Conqueror!"

The group erupts into a triumphant mixture of cheers and laughter that fills the beach, everyone celebrating in their narrow escape earlier today...everyone except JJ.

After John B divulged the gory details of what happened, from JJ's fall to her picking up the spear and jumping in to save him from the shark, they made their way back with enough conversation to last the month. They all asked questions and took peeks back at where it happened in morbid curiosity, wondering how on earth they managed to come out of the situation without a scratch.

The rest of the afternoon continued on with the same buzzing energy that can only be created from the thrill of being alive. She's felt it many times since joining Sarah's group of friends that seem to find trouble wherever they go, but she has never felt it as vehemently as she does tonight. It's a mixture of euphoria, shock, and soul-crushing guilt for having to hurt another living creature, even one that was intending to make a meal of her friend.

No matter how much she grows up or discovers more about herself as a person, feelings never stop being as frustrating as they were to her as a child. You can get better at processing and hindering explosive reactions to them, but they never simplify. She doesn't know why she feels so much at once. She doesn't know why she feels simultaneously on top of the world and thrown off the edge of a cliff, but she thinks it has to do with him.

Since they walked back to the beach and talked about what happened until the day withered into night, which led them here to the “official” ceremony of her being named a Pogue for life, JJ hasn't spoken to her once.

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot.

Much like how she avoided him all night last night leading into this morning, he doesn't talk to her. He tries not to look at her too from where he sits on the log of driftwood across the fire, but it's somewhat inevitable with the spectacle John B is making of her at the moment.

Painted in the warm tones of the firelight like a goddess in her own right, Y/N is impossible to look away from, and it makes him angrier than he already is. A handwoven circlet crafted from the hibiscus and hippeastrum flowers growing in the forest around their camp sits atop her head. It doesn't fall to the ground with the movement of her throwing her head back in laughter. It stays in its rightful place against the rule of gravity until her face comes back into view for him to quickly look away from.

It dampers her laughter to see him avoiding her gaze so adamantly, taking a swig of water from one of the small cups they carved from wood and turning to talk to Kie to keep himself busy. The distinct sensation of being on top of the world slips away with the feeling of his cold avoidance and John B lowering her back to the ground until her bare feet sink into the soft sand.

Before she can start sulking about it for the foreseeable future, Sarah steps up beside her.

The familiar touch of a hand on her shoulder brings her comfort amidst her confusion and hurt over the way JJ is acting, and when she turns to see a pretty face looking fondly at her, a warm smile finds her lips.

"Pogue for life?" Sarah asks.

The three words bring make her smile grow the same way it had when she was talking to JJ on the peninsula. It crinkles the skin around her eyes with its unrestrained happiness to hear them because, as much as she pretends to let JJ's comments roll off of her, tonight marks one of the first times she's felt at home with them.

That's not to say they haven't made her feel welcome in the past, they did, but this isn’t the same. This is closer, this is the type of bond that's forged in situations like these where people have no choice but to rely on each other or let their worlds collectively fall apart, and she thinks, for the first time, that she could live here with them forever if she must.

None of them know how much time has passed since they arrived here, least of all her, but it sure as hell feels like an eternity. At first, she could barely withstand the idea of living here for months with the intention of being rescued as soon as possible, but now...

She brings Sarah into an embrace tight enough to force the air from their lungs.

"Pogue for life," she echoes back with her face buried into the salt-scented tresses of dirty blonde hair cascading over her tan shoulders.

Would it be crazy of her to think that this is where they're meant to be? That they're her family and this place she has fantasized about escaping is now their home?

After all, the lush island provides everything they need to sustain themselves with the rationing, scavenging, and hunting routines they adhere themselves to. Freshwater runs down the land in a stream from a water source uphill, plenty of different edible plants grow in the forest, and there's so much left of the expansive land to explore; it's perfect. Everything here is perfect for them, calling out to them to make it their home, but there's one little problem as of right now, and he's sitting across the fire behind her back.

Sarah's arms squeeze around her shoulders once to bring her in even closer.

"Thank you for saving him," her voice is so hushed, Y/N can hardly hear it with her lips brushing the shell of her ear to whisper into it, "I'm not gonna get all mushy with you right now, but I don't know what I would've done if"—Sarah's breath hitches in her throat, and she shakes her head—"I just wanted to thank you."

When they pull apart, Y/N is looking back at her with a knowing expression, one that says everything she can't in the presence of the others, and Sarah can't help but mirror it.

It isn't long before the blonde-haired beauty is whisked away by her boyfriend to help him cook the crabs they caught closer to shore after their encounter with the shark. Not wanting to swim out or risk slipping off the rocks again with the dead fish promising to lure more predators to their area for the next week or so, they settled for hunting for shellfish and making good use of the fruits they find growing in wild abundance in the forest.

The night ticks away in swiftly passing minutes thanks to the humorous company of the people around her.

She nearly chokes on a mouthful of banana as Cleo tells a story from before she met them, when she used to live in Nassau and work jobs with Terence and Stubbs on ships. For such new additions to the group, they both fit surprisingly well with the lifelong childhood friends that sit around and banter with such ease together.

They talk, laugh, dance, and eat together, and there are moments when she feels happier than ever. There are moments exactly like when John B lifted her up and made her giggle at how their friends cheered on her behalf in indulgence of the silly "ceremony" they did, half out of boredom and half out of gratitude for what she did. But then she is reminded of the man sitting on the outskirts of the group with his features hardened into an expression of contemplation she wishes she could decode.

The night breeze feels heavenly on her perpetually overexposed skin. It blows into the fire and allows it to swell from the oxygen supply, crackling and popping embers out every so often like the spark of the zippo lighter JJ fidgets with in his restless hands. The movement attracts her wandering eyes while they should be focused on Cleo and Kie dancing around the fire with boisterous laughter while Sarah and Pope sing for them.

She keeps herself honed in on the opening and closing of the lighter under the guidance of his ring-clad fingers for the next minute or so.

They may have been pitting themselves against each other since they met, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know him well. If anything, the keen attention that her old hatred for him forced her to keep on him made her memorize everything there is to know. And she surely has picked up on the nervous habit of him playing with the lighter whenever he's thinking, whenever there's something crawling under his skin that he can't piece together.

He sits with his back to her, facing out toward the ocean so all she can see is the hand he uses to flick the lighter open and shut with. With a quick glance at the rest of their friends to see if any of them are watching or wanting to speak with her, she pushes herself up from the log and dusts her sandy palms on her shirt.

The tracks of her footsteps lead around the corner of the driftwood he rests against until her feet appear, sunken into the sand in front of him. It takes a lot of control to not allow himself to follow up the length of her body, panning up along her legs until he sees that infuriatingly tenderhearted set of eyes looking down at him.

However, he doesn't have a choice in looking when her hand outstretches in a silent invitation. His first glimpse of her in the last half-hour shows her jerking her chin in the direction of the beach curving around the bend of the island.

This morning, he probably would've taken her up on the offer. He would've done anything to get a few minutes alone with her, but now he can't see past his anger and doesn't know why. He doesn't know why it hasn't calmed yet, but, in truth, it has more to do with him than it does her idiotic yet brave decision to fight off a shark today. Trust him, it still has a lot to do with the idiotic shark thing, but the rest is lost in translation for him.

"Not in the mood," he dismisses her.

Her brows furrow and form a crease between them as she tries to find something to say but comes up with nothing. At least not until it clicks with her what he thought she was trying to do by inviting him to walk with her.

The last time they went off on their own together, it ended in an explosive encounter they have yet to erase from their minds. It's what greets them whenever they close their eyes for a second too long, existing in their wildest daydreams and fantasies whenever they have a spare moment to themselves. Hell, he can't stop thinking about it even when he's already occupied. It was the reason why he didn't catch any fish this morning before the incident that made him pissed at her in the first place. He couldn't stop thinking of her.

"Oh," she murmurs and starts to kneel down until her knees are sinking into the sand the same way she did when patching up his leg. Her eyes peek over his shoulder to ensure the others didn't hear them—"That wasn't what I meant...I was just wondering if you wanted to talk about today. It must have been a lot to process, since he's your best friend and all, and—"

JJ snaps, unable to tolerate it anymore, and stands up from his spot on the sand to move away from her.

"You don't need act all therapist with me, okay? I'm fine, and I don't need you to fix me if that's what you wanted. Today was fine. Everything's fine, so let it go."

Her mouth opens and closes like a fish with a loss for words. For the second time in the span of a minute, she is grasping blindly for something to say in the wake of him shocking her to silence. He's starting to walk past her but she doesn't let him. Her hand shoots out to stop him and holds onto his arm to turn him back despite his rudeness.

Underneath it all, her concern touches him deeply. It shouldn't trigger a reaction like this in him, so why does it? What about today set him off? He hasn't been this genuinely angry with her since before the hunt for the gold began, before she started to blend into their friend group and establish herself as one of them.

"Woah, woah, woah," she says, "I never said that. I thought that you needed someone to talk to. You know, as a friend."

Their friends start to notice their interaction tensing up now. Before, they didn't pick up on her stepping away for a second to check on him. Now, it's impossible to ignore what unfolds hardly six steps from where they watch as slyly as they can. The two of them haven't had a conversation as cold as this one in months, and what he says next takes it to a place that freezes over the connection they made last night and shatters the warm place it held in her heart.

He scoffs.

"We're not friends. If you think you gotta act different 'cause you threw yourself at me last night, don't bother. You hate me and I hate you. That's how it is."

No nicknames, jokes, or anything to act as a buffer, just cruelty. Rejection.

Though they truly were trying to pretend like they weren't paying attention, every single one of their friends stops and stares. A chorus of hushed reactions sound off from across the fire, and the faint sound of Kie muttering, "Oh shit," is the first thing to reach their ears. It's needless to say that none of them could've expected something so callous to come from him, not after what they saw when they ran up to them on the peninsula this morning.

With the way he was holding her then, doting on her and cradling her face between his hands even in the midst of his anger at what she did, they sooner expected the pair to admit they're dating than have a blowout like this.

In the delayed seconds it takes for her to realize what the fuck he just said to her, he watches her face shift from a look of concern to sadness, to flush-faced embarrassment, then finally to anger. Her teeth grind together, nostrils flaring on her inhale, and in one quick moment, she comes to a conclusion within herself.

She reaches up to rip the handmade crown of vibrant flowers off her head with flames to match the camp fire flaring up in her eyes for him. Before she can do anything, he already knows he crossed a line, if not multiple lines. It's evident in everything he sees, from the hurt look on her face to the force with which she shoves the crown into the center of his chest to send him stumbling back a few steps. Just like yesterday, except it couldn't be any more different.

"Fuck. You." She spits the words as though they're venomous, and he almost shrinks away under the intensity of her stare, “Go find somewhere else to sleep tonight, 'cause it sure as hell isn't gonna be with me."

Petals flutter out upon impact against his solid chest and float peacefully to the sand around his feet as he watches her turn on her heels and storm off toward their hut. Though, after what he did and what she said to him as a goodbye, it isn't really theirs anymore, is it? At least not for tonight, tomorrow, or the next day until he finds a way to make her hear him out for an apology.

He stands there, frozen, the entire time he watches her leave. Nothing can move him from the spot, not even Sarah knocking her shoulder against his with a pointed glare on her way past to follow her into the moonlit darkness.

He doesn't even resist the disappointed looks he gets, or the shoulder check from Sarah. This time, he deserves it. He deserves every ounce of their judgment. All she was trying to do was make sure he was okay and he was too consumed in his unreleased frustration from today to see it. And, in a way, he's still frustrated over it, but it's greatly overshadowed by the guilt seeping through him.

The shadowy shapes of the two girls disappear into the small hut further down the beach, and JJ is left with nothing to do but look down at the flower crown clutched to his chest in regret.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[asterjennifer]

© @khaizusan on Tumblr

Mystictober 2022 | Day 14 - Vanderwood

Summary: Just a little look into the depths of the work as an agent.

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“Left hall's clean. Be quick.”

They're not new to this; the tension suffocating the air as the time on the clock mockingly moved forward in slow motion. Times like these happened in heaps, which didn't expand their amount of calm; on the contrary. The more they do it the more it felt like they're getting caught.

At least it's that way for Vanderwood, he couldn't tell for his partner. The redhead sneaked around the corner as adviced and wore an rather unusual expression of seriousness on his young face. The older agent narrowed his eyes at the screen after hacking into the security cameras.

Why was he set up with this guy again? How's he a breathing nuance outside of missions who couldn't keep his place clean for longer than a few hours? Yet he's one of the best ranked agents in the entire agency? It's almost like a curse, Vanderwood thought in between all the research.

It's not easy keeping up with the position of every person who attended the Gala in the first place. However, knowing that the security room's only a couple feet away from the main hall's entry surely had nothing of a relaxing effect on the one wearing a fake costume.

“Where now?” Saeoyung asked, whispering into the mic attached to his ear. Vanderwood turned to the left in order to type other camera views into the keyboard. “Left side, third entrance.”

A nod to witness on the display before Saeyoung moved again to finally leave that place. With the work done, all they needed to do's finding an exit without getting caught in the process. Sounded so much easier than it truly was. Vanderwood put both hands onto the wooden surface then.

Although it's not the most dangerous task they've ever taken on, the fact the people could wander wherever they desired made it a unbelievable pain in the ass. He grabbed the phone that's vibrating, the charger no more plugged into the computer. The information collected must've been enough satisfaction for their boss.

Hopefully. “Vanderwood, where next?” Saeoyung demanded through their only way of communication. The older agent checked the other corners and noticed a couple coming down the right side of the corridor.

It made him gasp in silence. “Run up now and get to the left asap. There should be the exit!” He hissed unintentionally; yet Saeyoung took it as a warning and set his feet into motion.

Vanderwood watched the redhead sprint down the hall, almost getting in the view of the woman and man who just came around the corner of the wall. Luckily it's in time for them; he made another X in the calendar. Another day where the other gets to live.

“What about you? You good?” Saeyoung wondered while passing through the door, successfully out of that enormous building.

The other agent smiled to himself when rolling his eyes by the concern. “Worry about yourself first, idiot.” He muttered, pushing the phone back into his pocket. “I'll catch up in three minutes.”

And with that, he cut off the communication. Vanderwood pressed his ear to the door; hearing nothing but the fainted sound of music playing. Awful Classic Melodies. The sight he looked out for and pretty much luck as it's always the case.

Using his shoulder to push the door, he wasted no time taking the opposite way Saeyoung went. Given the positions had changed again; Vanderwood had no choice but plan out his own escape route.

Only plagued by minimum changes of course; he arrived at the back door soon afterwards. Still in one piece and already welcomed by the redhead who threw his fist into the air while the older one in the small team's gasping for air after running too much for his own taste.

“Woho~ We won once again, Miss Vanderwood! High five!” Saeoyung held out both hands, but the other agent growled annoyed before slapping them away. “Don't celebrate until we're back at the base, will you??“

“Ahh, alright. If that makes my maid happy!”

[itsbenedict]

Two-Faced Jewel: Session 8

Welcome to the Hotel On-The-Floor, Yeah

A half-elf conwoman (and the moth tasked with keeping her out of trouble) travel the Jewel in search of, uh, whatever a fashionable accessory is pointing them at. [Campaign log]

Last time, the party identified the culprit behind the murders in Barley and Wheat, but... well, it's complicated. The culprit was apparently being coerced by a dragon, and they managed to talk him down rather than fight. If they want that to stick, though, they'll need some kind of plan to get rid of that dragon. And... is it really worth bailing this guy out, anyway?

Saelhen, Oyobi, and Vayen all start discussing their plans in Elvish, which it doesn't seem like Arnie understands. Oyobi advocates for just killing the guy, but is a little less keen on the idea once Vayen advocates for the same. Saelhen would rather give the guy a chance, and points out that there's not much point to killing him as long as the dragon is still around- they'll need an answer for that, and the answer to a dragon is probably just as good an answer to Arnie.

Looseleaf, oblivious to their Elvish chatter, describes the basic plan to Arnie.

Arnie: "So you're, what... you're gonna get the church involved somehow? What're you gonna tell 'em?" Looseleaf: "Well, probably also Deathseekers," Looseleaf thinks, out loud. "We'll tell them there's a dragon conducting sacrificial rituals at the site of an altar to the god of pain. We'll get the church involved by virtue of proving to them that there's a dragon fucking around with divine shit, and we'll get the deathseekers involved by convincing them that there's a dragon stacked to the gills with cool magic items, which we'll prove by bringing them one of said items." "The important thing is to get going as soon as possible, right? There's a time-limit here measured in, uh... human... corpses..." Arnie: "Wait, how are you gonna get one of its magic items?" Looseleaf: "How do you think, mister 'I work for the dragon so he gave me a bunch of magic items to serve his dread will'?" "We'll bring the deathseekers that magic cloak you said you had." Arnie: "Uh, that's..." "Mine, though."

Eventually, after a persuasion roll or two, Arnie agrees to loan them the cloak, as long as it comes back in one piece. He also tells them how to safely retrieve it from the laundry room- as long as they exchange some dirty laundry for the clean cloak, they'll be happy and won't attack. He's got plenty lying around downstairs, which he heads down to grab.

While he's downstairs, the party confers, and decides to all go together to the nearest city- Cauterdale- to ask the local Deathseekers for aid. They figure Arnie's not a flight risk, since he doesn't have anywhere to run and a draconic boss who'll hunt him down if he tries.

(As they prepare to leave, a natural 20 on a perception roll alerts Looseleaf that Vayen has ransacked Lumiere's personal library, stealing- specifically- Lumiere's books on gods and divine magic, for some reason. She doesn't make any objection to this, though- Vayen's a creep, but it's not like they weren't all on board with looting the dead guy's tower.)

With Arnie's bloodstained laundry in hand, Looseleaf heads upstairs and retrieves the cloak without incident. She tries it out, and...

The result of her crit failing her Wisdom saving throw on the magic item is... nothing, apparently. That's always good to hear! The cloak appears to work exactly as intended! She's wearing a very fancy outfit.

Further experimentation reveals a few limitations- first, the cloak's shape is illusory, so it can't become armor or anything with particular utility. Second, it can get overly literal if you ask it to copy an outfit outright- you have to use your imagination properly. Third, it seems to get tired the more you ask it to change, so there's some limit on how often you can update your wardrobe. Those appear to be the only drawbacks!

So, with Arnie temporarily kept from murdering people, the party gets back on the road.

Saelhen du Fishercrown: For caution's sake, Saelhen calligraphs a piece of paper to say WE HAVE NOT BEEN TORTURED TO DEATH, and sticks it on the door on the way out.

As they make their way northeast, they make some Animal Handling checks to keep hold of their giraffes, as something seems to spook them. Looseleaf gets a critical success and is able to calm her giraffe right away... but the party ranger, who is proficient in neither Animal Handling nor Nature nor even Survival, because what kind of monster hunter needs to know that boring crap, has no idea how to handle an overexcited giraffe and is thrown from her mount with a critical failure.

Benedict I. (GM):There's a small sign by the road, heading off west towards what appears to be an actual forest. The prairie is giving way to a somewhat hillier and more forested terrain here, but the forest is thicker than anything you've seen on your way there. And as you're approaching the crossroads marked by that sign, your giraffes all try to bolt for it. Looseleaf is able to realize that they've been forced to graze on grass for miles, and when they see the trees, they get overexcited. Vayen and Oyobi get completely thrown from their mounts, and you have to follow them down the road a bit to catch up with them and rein them in. Looseleaf: Haha, oh, well, hopefully they don't try and spend the rest of the whole day grazing a pit-stop is within tolerances but we really do have to make it to Cauterdale sooner rather than later. Many lives are on the line! Saelhen du Fishercrown: Good thing Looseleaf can radiate peace at them! Benedict I. (GM): Looseleaf is able to beckon them back before they completely get out of reach, and pretty soon you've got them calmed down- but you've lost some time. There's a choice to make here, now: continue on to Cauterdale, but make the last hour or so of the journey in the dark- or rest at the location marked on the map near here.

On the map, where the sign marked "Umbrella Village" points (shut up, I don't even play Resident Evil, don't worry about it), is simply a warning that reads "EVIL WITCHES- AVOID!!!"

Oyobi and Orluthe inform the others that "witches" usually means "druids"- and Zero cashes in something from character creation. Looseleaf's background as an academic provided her with a book on some historical topic, which was never allocated because at character creation he didn't know enough about the world to decide on something interesting. Here he declares it's a book on the history of druids!

Benedict I. (GM): Druids, from what you've read, are sort of like clerics. They channel a divinity of some sort- which is typically revered as Mother Nature, or Gaia, or... every druid you meet is going to have a different name for it, because while it needs to have a thing to call it by, it is emphatically not a god. Druids have a complicated relationship with Ccorde, who's ostensibly the goddess of environmentalism and hippy communing with nature type stuff- but most druidic traditions regard this as a false claim on a divine domain. Nature is untamed and wild and exists on its own terms, a vital force that is not to be tamed with rules- people must forge their own relationships with Nature. The author of the tome you acquired was herself a cleric of Ccorde, and the tone of the book is defensive on that subject. The author's curiosity outweighed that defensiveness, though, and there's a long section dedicated to the theoretical differences between the channeling of Nature and the channeling of Ccorde- in particular, there's no common dispositional element with druids. Whatever Nature is, it's willing to act through anyone who puts in the effort. The author didn't seem to know anything about animism, but you suspect druidic practice might be related in some way- that their nature-spirit-channeling abilities may be a form of animism. The book is unfortunately light on the practical details of druidcraft, as the author prefers that the reader eschew the practice in favor of fealty to Ccorde.

Okay! So, they head down the road to stay at the druid village for the night- and notice something odd on the way, after some Nature checks. They notice that the dirt road they're going down seems to divide the forest in two- between a sparse, ivy-choked pine forest to the northeast, and a dense, healthy-looking deciduous forest to the southwest. You usually don't get such a sharp delineation between forests like that.

And Looseleaf notices... that their map doesn't show a forest on the southwest side of the road. The road is supposed to just go along the edge of the pine forest. Also, Looseleaf can see the trees' spirits there, and there's something... not quite right.

Benedict I. (GM):The left side of the woods- there does seem to be some ambient magic. Your Sight Unseen ability doesn't exactly detect magic, so much as it lets you see spirits, including the spirits of spells- but what's going on here isn't a spell effect. It's just that the spirits of these healthy-looking deciduous trees don't quite match their physical forms. Their spirits seem... sickly? Frail? Like they're not full trees, not trees that grew in their places from fallen seeds. There's something false about them.

Looseleaf: When you said 'the left side of the road is full of healthy-looking deciduous trees and the right side is full of misshaped thorny things' you know what the first thing i thought was it was, 'the left side is the dangerous side.' i didn't say it out loud but i was totally thinking that, and i am glad to have been vindicated.

The weird forest doesn't seem to be attacking them, though, so they head onward towards Umbrella Village, which seems to be built entirely on the pine side of the road. It's kind of cool-looking- every inch of available space, on the lawns, roofs, and walls, is covered in fruiting vines and various plants. The whole village is a carefully-cultivated ecosystem.

The villagers seem surprised to have visitors- apparently it's not a common occurrence. They seem normal enough, though- while they don't have an inn, they direct the party to visit the village elder, who might know where the best place for them to spend the night is.

(Oyobi once again crit-fails her Animal Handling check, and is unable to prevent her giraffe from ripping a tomato plant off the side of someone's house, which gets her scolded. Why are you a ranger, Oyobi?)

They head down to the village elder's house, which is unique in not being overgrown with crops- and knock on the door.

The door is answered by a little lizardfolk girl, who doesn't have any idea what she's supposed to do about there being... people... here? People she's never seen before? Who don't live in the village? What???

Benedict I. (GM): "...Who...?" "GRANDMAAAAA," she calls back into the room. Which she didn't really need to do so loudly, because there's an elderly lizardfolk woman sitting right there next to a small fire.

Looseleaf: Oh, and Looseleaf was about to ask if the little girl was the elder. Never let external appearances color your preconceptions, and all that. Benedict I. (GM): "Eh?" "Gramma there's Mysterious People!" "They don't exist!" The old woman gets up. "Who's... oh, visitors?" The little girl looks confused. "Vizza-what?" Looseleaf:"Indeed, we are emissaries from the Faraway Phantom Lands of Nonexistence," Looseleaf says in deadpan to the girl. "Behold as my incorporeal voice from out of the thin air astonishes you!" To the old lady, Looseleaf says. "Excuse us. You must be the elder?"

They inquire about a place to stay for the night, and the elder... checks the weather. Looseleaf, who has Druidcraft as a racial ability, also checks the weather, using a fancy little snowglobe spell!

Looseleaf: "I'unno, does this help?" Benedict I. (GM): "Oh, goodness. I thought you were from outside- do they..." "That's very well-done, really, and you smell delicious, but..." Saelhen du Fishercrown: uh Benedict I. (GM): "Well, it ought to be fine." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...hmm," says Saelhen. Benedict I. (GM): "Just put your bedrolls out anywhere- we're not doing rain tonight." "Well, anywhere in town, anyway." "You shouldn't set foot in the Mysterious Woods." Saelhen du Fishercrown: "Ma'am, rest assured that we have less than no interest in Mysterious Woods."

So the party beds down in some soft pine needles, making use of Looseleaf's recently-acquired Extremely Comfy Pillow and a few bedrolls. They have a druid elder's assurance that the elements won't be a problem, so... nothing wrong with camping!

And as they're going to bed, Looseleaf rolls a 21 on Perception.

Luckily, Looseleaf fails her unarmed strike roll, which would do no damage even if it hit because her strength mod is -1. So she does not do any damage to...

Benedict I. (GM): So, you kick out at the mouth full of sharp teeth. Saelhen du Fishercrown: Fwff, goes Looseleaf's puffy moth footsie. Benedict I. (GM): The mouth full of sharp teeth goes "Eeek!" and recoils before you make impact, and you see the little lizardfolk girl scamper away into the darkness. Looseleaf: "What." "Wh- how dare you bite me! I am an emissary of the Phantom Lands and all that or whatever." "Come back here and explain yourself to My Imperial Nonexistingness!"

The little girl, affronted, explains that if she's not real, then it's not bad if she bites her!

Vayen: Vayen stirs. "...Shouldn't kill a child," he mumbles. Saelhen du Fishercrown: "...this is a new dream," remarks Saelhen. "Better than the dreams about dad." "Vayen's even deciding not to kill someone. This is super neat, subconscious, keep going."

Saelhen argues that maybe Gramma doesn't know what things taste good, because sometimes grammas think things that taste bad taste good, like bell peppers! The child has no defense against this devastating logic bomb, and scampers off into the darkness, indignant.

Next time: the journey to Cauterdale, and the menace of the bobbledragon.

[virgofabreakdown]

Chapter One - Double Lives AU

Prologue | Next Chapter

One Year Later

Patton's POV

Blackberry Cafe 2:30 PM

"Virgil, where are the rest of the cookies from this batch?"

"What do you mean?" Virgil shouted from the bathroom. "That's all of the ones from that batch."

"What do you mean that's all the cookies from that batch?! The recipe makes over 30 cookies, but there's only 2!"

"I just sampled some of the cookie dough!"

"Some?"

"Most of the cookie dough..."

"For the love, Virgil. Why?" Ding! The bell at the front of the store rang across the store.

"Hello, welcome to Blackberry Cafe. Can I help you - oh, hi Roman!"

"Hey Pat, can I get the usual?"

Virgil came out of the back, "depends, are you gonna pay this time?"

"Probably not," he admits. I package up two cookies and three scones and hand them to him.

"Two chocolate chip cookies and three rosemary ham and cheese scones, on the house!"

"Patton, no," Virgil sighs. "I was trying to get him to pay for once. He can't just always get free food."

"That's just the perks of having an little brother who owns a cafe," Roman states with a wink.

"Plus, if I didn't give it to him, he probably wouldn't eat until dinner."

"Well maybe that would teach him to pack a lunch," Virgil reasoned. "Or better yet, actually pay."

"But he's hungry..." I pout at him for a minute before Roman cleared his throat.

"So, guys, me and Logan are going on a date tonight, if you guys are interested in joining us...?" Virgil looks at me. "It's up to you guys, of course, you don't have to, if you don't want to."

He trailed off, looking at the two of us. I shrugged, "I have work off tonight, so it shouldn't be a problem for me. What do you think Virg?"

"I don't think I have work. Sure, why not," Virgil looked at me with a smile. "We could use a date night anyway."

Roman gave us a big smile. "So, we've got a reservation for nine, so let's plan to meet up at my place around...eight, eight thirty?"

"Wait, you were planning on us coming?" Virgil sighed in frustration over the fact that his brother made the reservation without knowing if they could come. "Let's do eight, just to be on the safe side."

"Awesome," Roman said, walking towards the door. "See you later, then?"

"See you later!" I shout, waving to him.

"I can't believe he didn't ask us first! What if we couldn't have made it?"

"Then they would have a slightly bigger table," I say. Virgil looked very worked up. "It's fine."

"Yeah, but still."

"Now," I say, placing a hand on my hip. "Mind sharing why exactly you ate almost an entire batch of cookie dough?"

Time Skip

The Black-Berry Residence 7:30 PM

"Hey Virg? What do you think of this tie?" I shout across the apartment.

"I don't know, it would be a lot easier to tell if you weren't on the other side of the house." He sounded stressed.

I walk out of our bedroom into the living room and do a little twirl. "How do I look?"

Virgil seemed to be at a lack for words. "You look great," Virgil admitted. I wasn't wearing much, just some slacks and a loose blouse. I added a small blue bow to match my shirt. It was slightly fancier than my usual attire, but Virgil seemed to like it. We stared at each other for a moment. Nothing was said, but a comfortable silence filled the air. And then my phone rang. It pierced through the air with a certain, yet annoying ring.

I sighed, "one second." I picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, we need you to come in." I walked back into bedroom.

"I'm sorry, what?!"

"Look, I'm sorry, sir, but we need you to come in."

"No way, it's date night!" I protest. "I've got plans. Call someone else in."

"It is imperative that you come in to work," the man on the other end insisted.

"What could be so important that you need me too come in on my one day off," I demanded. "I mean, honestly, it's bad enough that -"

"Dracowitch. We have a lead on Dracowitch."

"Draco -" I shout, before lowering my voice. "Dracowitch? But how? He's been off the radar for months now."

"Which is why you need to come in. You are the best man we have."

I sighed, "fine. You better be paying overtime for this."

"Once the job is done, we will. But you must get here as soon as possible."

"I'll be there."

"Good. Farewell, and may you be fruitful."

"As to help the company grow," I say, finishing our company motto, before hanging up. Walking back into the living room, "so bad news," I look at Virgil, who had just hung up a from his own phone call. "Oh, who was that?"

"What, oh, I was just on the phone with Roman. So, what were you saying?"

"Oh, yeah. Unfortunately, I just got called into work. They need someone at the shelter for a few hours. Something about someone being delayed at the airport...? I don't know. All I know, is that I have to go to work because no one else answered the call." I felt bad lying to Virg, but I couldn't just tell him the truth. Honestly, I wanted to tell him the truth, I really did, but it was against the rules and could put him in danger. If something were to happen to him because of me, I couldn't live with the guilt.

"Oh, that sucks," he says. "Honestly, I want looking forward to sitting in a fancy restaurant and paying 50 bucks for spaghetti, anyway."

He was trying to make me feel better about the whole situation, bless his heart. This is why I love him, he was willing to do anything to make me happy and that, I lived for. Virgil restores my faith in humanity, no matter what happens, he finds a way to cheer me up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I'll call Roman back and explain. You go to work."

"Okay. Thank you." I head back into the bedroom for the third time that night to get changed. I get changed and grab my bag. "I love you," I say giving him a quick kiss.

"Love you, too. Now, go take care of those dogs like no one had taken care of them before!"

I giggle. "Be back in a few hours!" I say before closing the door.

Virgil's POV

Patton closed the door. I look out the window, watching for his car to leave. A blue Prius passes by the window. Correction, Patton's blue Prius passes by the window. I watch as it rounds the corner. Poor Patton. I knew he was looking forward to this. We hardly get to go on dates anymore.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Someone was calling me. Again. The first time was Roman and now it was, I look at the caller ID, work. Of course, work always picks the worst times to call. I hesitate for a moment, before picking up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, you need come here, like right now," the person on the other line spoke quickly and sharply, while also sounding rather rushed.

"What? Why?"

"We got a lead on Dracowitch and they put Morality on it. You're his backup, so you need to get here."

"Are they sure it's Dracowitch?"

"Yep. And this is the only good lead we've had in weeks, if not months."

"Alright, I'll be there in about half an hour."

"I said now."

"That's the soonest I cam be there," I insist.

"You live approximately eight minutes away, therefore you will be here in ten minutes. This is more than enough time."

"Fine, I'll be there in a few."

"Be there in five. Farewell and help guide the path."

"To lead the company to greatness."

And with that, I grabbed the keys to my car, a dark blue Honda, and ran out the door. I hopped down the flight of stairs at the front door and popped the trunk. Taking out an extra shirt, I close the trunk and climb in the car.

I hate my job, I really do. If I had the choice to just stay home, I would, but the bakery doesn't bring in enough money. So, I work for the 'print shop' and Patton has been helping by working at the local animal shelter.

My real job most definitely pays well, but it's not something that I would openly tell people about. Even if it wouldn't result in me getting fired. I am...a hacker, in a way. The term that the company hired us under is 'Personal Guide'. Which was true, we do guide people, just not the disabled and elderly. Think more along the lines of hitmen and assassins.

Our job is simple. Aide our assigned partner through their missions by briefing them on the mission, hacking into the security of buildings, giving them directions, and letting them know if anyone was up ahead. Typical hacker things. Oh, and keeping track of their location, incase they need backup. Typically, your partner will need backup occasionally, four to five months is the company average. But I've never had to call backup. Maybe it's luck, but I'm almost certain it's not.

I believe it's my partner, rather than luck. He is literally the best assassin this company has. When they paired us up, everyone was curious as to why. Based on all the rumors flying around, this guy was a legend. No one truly understood why he had been paired with a newbie with no prior experience in anything related to computers or the company.

Until they saw us work together. We just clicked. I would have locked doors slide open as he approached them, as he responded with the witty pun that made me groan. In the middle of missions, we shared our stories about life outside of the company. We'd swap jokes and recipes, recommend restaurants for the other to try, we literally would just talk about anything. Morality, as he was called, was the only thing that made this horrible job worthwhile.

Our current target was an online personality by the name of Dracowitch. It seemed to be a German, or possibly Russian name, seeing as it was pronounced Draco-vitch. They've been untraceable, up until now.

I pull up to the print shop. Even though the store was a small local business, it seemed to be bustling with life. The lights were on and about half a dozen people were running around doing various things.

Taking a deep breath in, I walk inside and straight to the counter, where a man sat, attempting to hide the fact that he was watching cartoons with a book. I cleared my throat, before simply giving him a "hey."

"Ah, Mr. Black-Berry. I don't believe you have work tonight," the man said, pausing his show and closing his book.

"Got called in."

"I see, your husband must be mad."

"Doesn't know, he got called in too, so I left after he did."

"Be careful with that. Do it one too many times, you'll get accused of cheating. I did that once and she signed us up for therapy."

"Oh, how is the Mrs.?"

"She's fine. Been a bit better since therapy."

"That's good. Well, have a good night, Larry. Say hi to Dot for me!"

"Will do!" And with that he pressed a button under his desk. The door behind him slid open, revealing an elevator to the basement.

End of Chapter One.

@vaugleysassygrunt

[happymetalgirl]

Khemmis - Desolation

Khemmis have been quickly making waves within the doom metal sphere, and for good reason. Though their self-titled debut EP in 2013 fell more along common doom metal lines, it was still a prototypic effort for the band, who very soon after honed their sound toward the more emotive side of doom with their first full-length in 2015, Absolution. It was the next year, however, that saw them really take the genre by storm with their sophomore release, Hunted, a truly genre-defining album that took the modern doom stylings of Pallbearer and occasionally the sludge of bands like Baroness and turned the sobbing sorrow and potent remorse up to eleven. Hunted was an unprecedented and powerful statement from the young band, delivering a masterclass on all things doom and sludge, with an emphasis on beautiful melodies, especially in the guitar department. Not to take away from the strength of the album's melancholic, yet impassioned vocal melodies and Phil Pendergast's thoughtfully sung performances. Hunted was one of my favorite albums of 2016 and it's one of my favorite albums in the merged vein of doom and sludge, period. Needless to say, with two stellar albums in the genre that could immediately rival classics from older bands and acclaimed albums from publication favorites like Mastodon and Electric Wizard, Khemmis are one of metal's most exciting new faces and a much-needed kick to the doom subgenre's ass. And I'm also happy that, in general, the band doesn't constantly beat me over the head with a fawning obsession with Black Sabbath like so many other doom bands do so often.

It's not that Khemmis approach the sound with more metallic oomph than their contemporaries or any wild twist on the sound's traditions; their sound isn't particularly more or less heavy than the likes of Pallbearer or Mournful Congregation. But where Khemmis excell is conscious, meticulous songwriting, and their consistent display of their compositional chops across Hunted is what made it such a compelling listen. The question that has loomed for the past almost-two-years since (not that long really) has been I'd they could do it a third time, on Desolation.

And Goddamn, do they! I can't say I'm surprised. In a year that has seen Germany, Spain, Argentina, Portugal, and Poland all crash out of the World Cup in humiliating fashion, I'm glad to have something so highly anticipated to deliver actually do so in the music sphere. Not only am I so thrilled to hear them deliver, I'm happy they were able to capture the same brilliance and doomy catharsis without simply rehashing what Hunted did. Though they've done a few things similarly, Khemmis introduce a few noticeably new elements to their sound, which sprawls from doom's most primitive forms to the most pummeling crush and howl of sludge metal's blackened variations, one more prominent feature namely being a distinctly more grunge-esque vocal harmony technique that reminds me of Alice in Chains in so many places. It's not littered everywhere in a distracting way that might point to cheap imitation, but the band pull off sorrowful harmonies with the same prowess as Stayley and Cantrell.

The band makes a greater use of the dynamic between their more classically-oriented side and their sludgier, heavier side (which shows up less) than on Hunted, but makes itself known arguably more dramatically.

With just six songs spanning a succint 41 minutes with enough to separate them each stylistically, it's an easily digestible body of work and one that keeps you on your toes. The album opens with the classically crunchy yet inventively sorrowful "Bloodletting", which is drenched in sweet, sorrowful guitar lines and harmonies and painful vocal melodies with beautifully sung lyrics like, "take my hand and twist the knife, we're depraved and reviled, welcoming eternal night". It's a fantastic track full of visceral self-reflection and finality, and even a climactically heavy section near its end and vicious black metal vocals to close out the monstrously cathartic introduction to the album.

The second song, "Isolation", is shortest track the band have ever released and one that leans hard on the mournful vocal harmony throughout, delivering such heart-wrenching lines as "How could I pray for salvation, when I'm the only mourner left to grieve" and with such conviction. It feels weird to compare Khemmis to alternative metal heavyweights like Breaking Benjamin in these moments, but they really do capture that same raw, emotional catharsis that so many of those groups try to (which so few succeed at). It feels like a blend between Pallbearer at their most emotive and classic Maiden at their most soulful.

The third track, "Flesh to Nothing" sounds like something that could have fit in with Hunted with the heavy use of the sludgy guitars throughout the track. This is where the Alice in Chains-esque vocal harmonies show up a few times in their most clear forms. It's a more stoic track than the previous two with Ben Hutcherson this time (I think) using his lower register in a more somber tone, reserving the song's high vocal notes and black metal growls for the end, but it's a good moment for the band to play to this more reserved type of grief and demonstrate their emotional and musical versatility.

The second side of the album starts off with "The Seer", a six-minute cut riding low-tuned guitars and fittingly ominous vocal melodies that warn of unseen danger through mysterious fog. It's probably one of the most emotionally out of place tracks on the album, playing on fear and tension more than tangible, vivid sadness, but it's not a poor addition by any means, and perhaps at this point on the record, a break from the inward-directed sorrow that precedes this track is a good thing.

"Maw of Time" is a rather unique track as well for its being so heavily black metal inspired. It finds the band blending their pensive doom and gorgeous vocal harmonies with more overtly blackened death metal growls. The band does it so smoothly it doesn't feel like either polar opposite undoes the work of the other; rather the two styles are woven together to strengthen the song's duality of mood. It's a compositionally interesting piece too, as a false ending brings on a slow, thick, darkened dirge with all façades of emotional composure forgone as booming drum crashes signal the loss of control amid guitar wails reminiscent of those on the title track of Leviathan's depressive black metal masterpiece, Scar Sighted. Yeah I very much dig that part.

"From Ruin" wraps up the album on a note of powerful solidarity in the face of all the grief preceding it on the album with the triumphant declaration "No one could help me find the way, but in the new spring dawn, I've found the strength to carry on" at the end. Despite being the longest track on the album, it doesn't bring much new musically to tracklist, but the lyrical shift it provides is an important one, and its use of the band's classic metal-esque doom/sludge to now deliver a triumph of emotional fortitude in just as captivating and cathartic of a fashion does add to the album's experience and the overall emotional arch the album creates from beginning to end.

I certianly went into this album with high expectations, but I was still prepared for the probability of it being overshadowed by the incredible composition of Hunted. Desolation, however, doesn't try so hard to outdo Hunted at its own game, rather it expands even more on what Hunted could have done and makes a wholly unique experience through the variety of focuses it takes. I really like the trajectory the songs on this album take, from raw and gripping sorrow, to more composed grief, to uneasy fears of the unknown, to the uninhibited breakdown of mourning that gives way to closure and the ability to come to terms with moving on bearing the knowledge of the ever-present burden of that grief. It's actually not all too different from the journey of strong feelings Hunted takes, but I would say that Desolation's emotional highs and lows are more dramatic thanks to the distillation and concentration of various aspects of the band's sound from song to song. The answer to whether or not it lives up to Hunted is undoubtedly yes. As for if it's the better album, I imagine it'll take most fans of the band, myself included, a while to decide. Three albums in though, Khemmis is on a great run and in only three years since Absolution they have made a tremendous claim for the doom metal throne. It's already been such a pleasure seeing their meteoric rise as early in their career as this, and I'm excited for what the future holds for Khemmis.